#people noticing and asking about things and spotting references in my writing is one of my favorite things | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

zombiigrll · 4 months ago

Text

──────────────────────────────────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

IMMUNE? ⋆｡°✩ carl grimes x immune!reader .ᐟ WORD COUNT .ᐟ ⭑ 2.1K ꩜ .ᐟ WARNINGS ⭑ hurt to comfort?, use of y/n, blood, zombie apocalypse stuff ofc, post-terminus era, references/slight spoilers to twd 5x2 ?? petname (angel - which also did we all collectively agree that carl would call his s/o angel? i see everyone use it i have before too its so cute .ᐟ SUMMARY .ᐟ ⭑ you get bit, but nothing happens. ꩜ .ᐟ A/N .ᐟ ⭑ hey guys... its been a minute... (45 days COUGH COUGH) i am so sorry i have been SO BUSY and i didnt even realize i had this fic almost completely finished in my drafts so i decided why not finally finish it!! (which is also why the ending might be a bit weak because i also have no written anything for 45 days LMAO) my favorite thing about the whole science behind zombisim is all the theories of if you could or couldn't become immune so i wanted to write a little fic because i love... zombie science.. nerd alert!!! ☝️🤓 <- me but also whats a carl grimes/zombie fanfic writer without writing at least one immunity fic!! hope u guys enjoy!!

⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────────────────────────────────────────

everyone knew you were clumsy. you'd always have to be with someone, no matter what. that's how much people worried about you.

there had been plenty of times where you had been close to getting bit, and if you were alone, you would've been bit.

but now, you and your group were back on the road after the prison had fell. you all met up at a terrible place called terminus, and almost died if carol wouldn't have shown up. it was dangerous, and terrifying. but you had carl on your side, as always. he was the person who had saved you so many times. he was like your personal bodyguard.

you guys had eventually ended up at a church with a priest named gabriel. you felt uneasy being there. gabriel seemed, well, unstable. rick saw it too, telling carl to keep his guard up.

but after a while, everyone was inside the church, laughing and having fun.

you spot bob walking outside, which catches your attention instantly. no one else really seemed to notice, so you turned over to carl.

"i'm gonna go outside."

"do you want me to go with?" he asks, immediately sitting up.

"no, it's fine. i think i saw bob go out there. i wanna go check on him." you smile at him, standing up and walking over to where you saw bob go.

but when you stepped out, he was nowhere to be found.

"bob?" you called out, walking forward a bit more as you looked around for him. "where'd you go?"

you walked a bit further, leaning your arm on a tree as you looked past further into the distance, searching for any sight of bob.

but, to your luck, you were snuck up on. you heard a growl to your side, where your arm was leaning, and then a pain shot through your forearm.

you let out a loud shriek as you fumbled for your knife, stabbing the walker who was still attached to your arm in the head. you kicked him off, breathing heavily.

you could feel your heart pounding out of your chest.

you glanced down at the walker who was now laying dead on the ground, gripping tightly on your knife as you processed what had just happened. you lifted up your pained, bleeding arm.

"no... no, oh, my god." you dropped your knife and began wiping away the blood that was profusely leaking out of your fresh bite wound. "shit..."

you stared at your arm for a moment, attempting to catch your breath while watching your own blood drip onto the floor beneath you.

the doors to the church busted open, snapping you out of your daze. carl, rick, and michonne stood at the door, staring at you.

carl stepped a bit closer. "what happened? are you okay-" he stopped as he spotted your arm. his face fell flat and his eyes widened.

"it snuck up on me.." you quietly and breathlessly responded, tears falling from your agonized face. "i was looking for bob."

rick runs up to you as he realizes you had been bit. he grabs your arm, his face a bit panicked as he starts speaking. "we have to cut it off."

"no!" you tugged your arm away from his grip, holding your arm from him. "we don't have the stuff for that!"

"stop yelling." rick sternly ordered, putting a comforting hand on your shoulder. "let's go inside. i'm sure gabriel has the stuff for it."

you anxiously nodded, stepping toward the church with carl by your side.

"i'll get gabriel." michonne said, walking towards his office. "find somewhere for her to sit."

you take a seat in one of the rows, still holding your arm tightly.

"what the hell happened?" glenn asks, quickly walking over to the three of you with maggie by his side.

"she got bit." rick runs a hand through his hair. you look to your side and spot carl, just staring blankly, his expression the same as when he first saw your bite just moments before. he was speechless, and afraid.

you held your arm tighter as the pain increased, blood seeping through in between your fingers as you clenched your jaw. your breathing was progressively getting more and more ragged and uneven the more you panicked.

"i don't want you to cut my arm off.." you protested, your voice high pitched and wobbly. you closed your eyes tightly, a few tears falling from your eyes.

"we have to." rick shook his head. "otherwise you'll become one of them."

"i don't care." you sobbed, gripping tighter and tighter onto your arm. "i can't do it. i probably wouldn't survive either way, we don't have proper stuff for it." you could tell it was difficult for them to understand what you were saying through your sobs. "i just want to wait it out."

rick eyes widen, along with everyone else who were crowded around you.

carl finally steps closer, grabbing your other hand tightly. you could spot tears falling from his eyes. "please, y/n. i'll be with you, it'll be okay. please i.. i can't lose you."

you looked up at him through your lashes, pressing your lips together. "i can't, carl. i can't."

...

they had moved you to one of the rooms in the church that had something you could lay on. they tied your wrist to a pole and stood in the room with you.

you could barely keep track of what was happening. you genuinely felt fine, besides the side effects from losing blood.

"can you wrap my arm up..?" you requested. the tickling feeling of your blood dripping down your arm becoming too much, and you also wanted to test if that was what was making you feel sick.

being immune wasn't even a thought in your head yet. but you were just creeped out about not having any of the same side effects that anybody else had when they'd gotten bit. you were sweating, but you weren't feverish, that's just how the weather always was.

"yes, of course." glenn grabbed a thing of gauze out of his bag, going up to you and carefully but tightly wrapping it around the bite. he also grabbed a nearby rag to wipe the access blood that had been dripping off of your arm.

"...thanks." you sighed, looking away from everyone.

they were all just staring, waiting for something to happen. but nothing was. the awkward silence and suspense was killing you. you saw the sun starting to come up through the window, which means it had been quite a few hours since you had gotten bit.

you've seen people last a day, maybe the tiniest bit over a day, but you noticed that they always had obvious symptoms by now. and you still didn't.

you blew a raspberry, looking around the room. ".. i don't feel anything."

"what?" carl squinted in confusion, his voice still a bit brittle from crying. "like, you're numb?"

"no, like.. i don't feel any symptoms of turning." you laughed at how idiotic your sentence probably sounded to everyone.

"so, you're saying you're immune?" carls voice changed from being upset to just pure confusion.

"i don't know." you shrugged, tapping your foot on the hardwood floors. "i seriously don't know what's going on. the only time i felt sick was when it first happened and i saw my blood dripping. i feel fine right now, a little lightheaded, but i think thats from the bloodloss."

"look, theres no such thing as being 'immune.'" rick shook his head at your statement. "it might just be.. taking a while to settle in."

"dad, can you have a little faith?" carl turned to rick, glaring slightly at him before turning back at you. "i believe you."

everyone else seemed really skeptical about what was happening, exchanging confused looks with one another.

"we'll keep her in here for a little while, alright? if she still doesn't feel anything by tonight, then we'll untie her." rick sighed, looking down at you. you had been with everyone since the start, being there when carl reunited with rick and everything, so you could sense everyones panic when they first saw you get bit. and now, you could sense their pure confusion. people in our group have gotten bit before, but they'd show signs almost immediately.

"i can stay with her if you guys want to leave." carl said, sitting down right next to you. "i'll let you know if anything happens."

everyone agreed and left the room.

you laughed to yourself, looking over at the door.

"are you okay?" carl asks, looking at you anxiously.

"i'm fine." you turned your head over to look at him. "this is just so fucking weird. and we don't even know where bob went. i'm so confused right now. nothing is making sense." you let out another light laugh, shaking your head in honestly disbelief.

"maybe you're the chosen one." carl laughs, smiling at you. "i really hope you're being honest. i.. i don't think i can handle losing you."

you look at him with a lopsided smile, happy to hear how much he cared. "i wouldn't lie to you about this. i genuinely don't feel sick at all. i mean, i feel gross, but not in a 'i'm dying' way. more in a 'i just got my arm bitten into' way." you tried to make light of the situation, despite being terrified. carls expression stayed a bit worried. "..sorry, not funny. i don't want to lose you either carl. you're the best thing to ever happen to me, you know?"

his concern turned into a smile at your words. he leaned forward and hugged you tightly. all you could do was put your hand on his back, due to your other hand being tied up still.

"i love you." he mumbles into your shoulder.

you laugh, leaning your head on top of his. "i love you too."

...

a while passed, yet you still felt perfectly fine. your arm felt odd though, of course. you had been bitten into after all.

carl stayed by your side, telling you stories and just conversing with you to keep your mind and his off of the whole situation while everyone was out searching for bob.

you moved your arm up to your tied up one, itching at your tight bandages. “i want these off…” you dramatically complained.

“we should probably check on your arm anyways. even if you feel fine, there could still be something messed up with your arm.” carl says as he rotates his body towards your arm, carefully untying your arm looking at you for permission.

you nod, and he proceeds to take the bandage off. the teeth marks had dark bruises and dried blood around them, and your veins were darker and more apparent around the bite. it looked unreal.

you quickly looked away from the wound, shuddering. “holy shit.” you closed your eyes tightly.

you could hear carl stumble over his words as he tried to figure out what to say. “i… it… is it supposed to- um.. look like that?” he let out a nervous laugh, moving his hand to comfort yours.

you returned the nervous laugh, looking back at the bite momentarily. "i don't- i don't think so?"

your body was violently shaking, unsure what to do or what was going on. would you still need to cut your arm off? or would it still be fine, despite looking like that? you knew that you'd have to hide your arm for.. well, ever, if you decided not to cut your arm off. it could cause so many different issues if people outside of your group found out.

carl proceeded to grab anything he could find to clean your wound, as well as new bandages. you two sat in silence as he carefully cleaned your arm, the only sound being your light winces of pain as he applied the antibacterial ointment he luckily found.

he wrapped your arm back up and planted a quick, soft kiss onto your bandaged wound, looking back up at your flustered face with a smile afterward.

your face was hot, and you quickly averted your eyes away from his out of embarrassment.

he put his hand on your cheek and kissed your forehead, then pulled you into a hug right after. "i'm so glad you're okay."

you were shocked, but let out a flustered giggle before returning the hug. "thank you.." your smile kept growing and growing. then, the words "i love you." finally left your mouth.

he broke the hug and looked at you shocked, but then his big smile came back. "i love you, too, angel."

─────────────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────────────────────

#🌙 — maxines fics #carl grimes #carl grimes x y/n #carl grimes x reader #the walking dead #the walking dead x y/n #the walking dead x reader #twd #twd x reader #carl grimes angst #carl grimes oneshot #carl grimes fanfiction #carl grimes imagine

550 notes · View notes

carmenized-onions · 9 months ago

Text

Do the Thing! | Toilet Repair

logline; Today's itinerary: Fix the toilet, catch up with Syd, try not to cry when everyone asks you where you've been.

series history; Previous Chapter

portion; 7.1k+ (this shit got away from me man, idk what to say)

possible allergies; Negative self-talk (It's the Bear, babe, everyone's sad). I did no research on plumbing and am truly making it the fuck up-- I know for a fact I'm not using any word correctly and I simply will not be fixing it. Reader eats meat!! Specifically pork!! Your 'name' is 100% just Tony now.

pairing; Carmen 'Carmy' Berzatto & Fem Reader (No pronouns, but 'handywoman' and 'Miss' are said. Plus a chest reference).

you ever start writing and you just cannot seem to find an end so you keep going forever? yeah.

“I think my name is just Tony now.”

You sip your overpriced orange juice. You really have to fucking savour it, now a days. That’s like 25 cents a sip, and Syd’s treating you to this breakfast outing, so it’s not even your own wallet on the line here.

“You lose all sense of identity, in a restaurant.” Syd straightens her back, mocking her very own mechanical movements of whenever she steps in a kitchen. “I am Chef.”

This diner isn’t more than two blocks down from The Bear. It was probably your second favourite spot in this neighbourhood. Probably still is. Sitting in the back corner booth (your favourite) with Syd is nice but distracting. She’s been updating you on everything since the catering scene and her botched credit, and you’re absorbing all of it, you swear, it’s just hard to not remember why this was your favourite booth.

Not because it’s seats are the least worn in, not because it’s got the right amount of sun through the window without blinding you, but because of the company you kept here. You’re trying to not notice your own name carved into the table. Especially since it’s not your handiwork.

You laugh at Syd’s joke on time, thank God. No awkward pause. “Yeah, you fuckin’ are. Head, right?”

She nods. “It’s cool. It’s like, vomit-worthy stressful but also…”

“You wish you were dead when you’re there, but you’d rather be dead than do anything else?”

“Yessir.” She nods again, digging further into her pancakes. “I really fucking owe you, by the way.”

“You’re paying me off through breakfast.” You wave her off. “Plus, I was available and it was like maaayybe 5 minutes of manual labour, it’s nothing.”

“Y’know what?” She hums, “I think actually, you owe me.”

“Yeah?” You grin.” Please, let me clear my debts, Syd?”

She smiles, pointing her fork at you. “You owe me the fuckin’ Beef background I’ve apparently not unlocked. Everyone was talking about you after.”

“Good things?”

“Vague things. Shit made me even more curious.”

You laugh. No shit they’d be vague. What can they say? “When my dad was running the repairmen gig, Cicero or Fak would call him in—”

“Oh fuck.” She snaps her fingers, seemingly in realization. “Your dad’s the connection!”

“The connection?”

“Fak said he had a connection for our fire safety test shit, and then said he didn’t—”

��Ah.” You nod knowingly. “Dad cut the cord on his business phone when it transferred to me, didn’t really keep people updated. Whoops.”

She nods, taking another bite of her pancakes, speaking mid-chew. “You could’ve saved our asses way faster, and I’ll-I'll never forgive you, but continue.”

Snickering, you continue, “Well, they’d call my dad in, and then my dad would call me in as his like, like his fuckin’ Sous of Repairs. And shit broke all the time at the Beef, as I’m sure you’re well aware, so I hung out around Mikey and everyone a lot.”

“Ah. N’ then…”

“He fuckin’ died.” You laugh, because there’s no way to say it smooth, so you might as well say it bad. You stretch out your arms and lean back in the booth. “I kinda took a step back, after that, so we didn’t manage to crossover ‘til now. S’ironic that you’re the one that brought me back instead of an oldie, honestly.”

She desperately wants to ask more about Mike, but she can tell now is not the time, so she just lets it lie and moves on. “You stopped being an EMT to take up the handyman shit, then?”

“Yessir.” You nod, finishing your straggling home fries. “Just kinda made sense to trade off, and I didn’t want to see the family bizz die. Do I have to occasionally pick up shifts bartending to make rent during slow months? Yes. But I also don’t watch people die anymore, so that’s a win.”

“In a way, you’re watching people die still, just slowly.”

You bite down hard to stifle any semblance of a smile or laughter, deadpanning, just to see her squirm in awkwardness for a moment. It works with flying colours, of course it does. It’s Syd. She’s still Syd. You speak at the same time.

“Cause of the alcohol?” “Cause—Cause of the alcohol.”

You both break into laughter, she throws her napkin at you. “Can’t stand you, oh my god. Let’s go clock in.”

She pays your bill before you can try to sneak your card in, which feels all too familiar, and you’re off.

Off to fix an exploded toilet.

“How the fuck do you fix an exploded toilet?”

Your hands rub over your face, lifting your safety goggles for a second. Too fucking foggy. Too fucking sweaty. Plumbing never really was your biggest strength. You’re staring at the bane of your existence, and it’s the latrine. How far we fall.

“You good, Cousin?” You hear from behind. You don’t need to turn to know it’s Richie in the doorway. It’s a fair question, you’re sitting criss-cross in front of a toilet, head in hands.

“Yeah, Cousin, I’m good.” Your words are muffled by your hands. Fully not cousins. For the record. You would argue you're not even that close, but he'd slap you upside the head. You turn to look at him over your shoulder. “Can you like, get me a pen and note pad? I need to like, strategize an attack.”

“It’s not that bad, Cousin—” “It’s that bad.” “Just tape the—” “Fuck off with the tape!”

You click your teeth, staring at the gurgling porcelain before you— At least it’s clean, it’s just fucked. “I shut the valve and it didn’t do shit. I think I have to remove it entirely so I can see what’s going on with the underground pipe.”

“Heard.” Richie and you both know that his hotfix handiwork has absolutely contributed to this penultimate mess you’re in now, but you’re both letting that go quietly for now. “You charge by hour or service?”

“Service flat rate and then after two hours it’s by hour.”

He hums, knocking his fist on the doorway a few times before walking away. “Pen and pad, Chef.”

“Not a Chef!”

“Term of Respect, Chef!”

You tap your leg incessantly, groaning like you’ve got an 80-year-old body as you stand to your feet. Richie’s grown a lot. He wears suits now. Hasn’t even poked at you for vanishing. Though you have a feeling it’s coming. If not from him, from someone.

You step out into the hall, leaned against the wall with your arms crossed as you wait for your pen and pad. And now you just have more time and a better view to take in how much has changed.

Gutted. A few walls gone. Makes sense, you told Mikey he was getting a mold problem. He never listened. Seats are new. The booths are the all-around style ones now. Ritzy. It’s too good for this neighbourhood. Is that a good thing? Yeah, right? Despite the fact that The Bear should feel out of place, you feel out of place being in it. Could you afford to eat here? Could the people who work here afford to eat here? Syd said she’s not getting paid for the next few months, so at the very least, the Head Chef can’t.

“Strange?” Tina sidles up to you on the wall, wiping her hands on her apron. Completely knocking you out of your dissociative fugue state.

“Yeah.” You nod, a little too quickly, that felt judgey, you correct, uncrossing your arms. “It’s daunting, I think; to see it all at once rather than slowly built in. Like, I know objectively this is very cool, but—”

Tina hums with understanding. “Feels gutted?”

“Was gutted.” You nod. “Doesn’t mean I don’t like it, it’s just, I dunno. Adjustment period, all that.”

“I needed a second too, but Jeff is good. Change has been good.” You nod like you know who Jeff is. “Carmen, I mean.” Your nod is now significantly more understanding. She smiles, you’re a little surprised to see Tina’s got a lot more insight than she used to. She pulled the thought of Carmen right out of your subconscious before you even detected it for yourself. “He’s good. You’ll see.”

You nod. You know the good she means is not Michelin Star Good. You already know that. He’s Mikey good. Person good. You clear your throat. “How’s Louis?”

“Good. Y’know, he’s getting to that age, getting in trouble. S’been a while since he’s had a good influence.” She nudges you. There it is. There’s the poke. The ‘where have you been?’ The ‘it’s been a year’. The— “Y’know, Chef didn’t come to the funeral neither.”

That one you didn’t expect, your head swivels to her hard. “Carmen didn’t go?”

His brother didn’t go? Oh, who the fuck are you to judge...

She nods, practically with her whole body, she looks more amused than anything. But like, mom amused. The worst amused. “You’re both the sensitive type.”

You cock your head at her, raising a brow. Smirking slightly. “Wow, Tina, I thought you changed too but you still talk your shit, eh?”

“I’m not talking shit!” She laughs, hands up in defence. “I’m just saying, you’re alike.” You hope that the laughter makes her forget the topic but it doesn’t.

“Where have you been?” She softens. She’s not asking to be mean, she’s asking out of concern. Why does that make it feel worse?

You tuck your hands in your pockets and retrain your eyes on hers, even if it feels bad. “Thought time and distance would heal all wounds.”

“Did they?”

Before you can answer, “Pen delivery, cousin!” Richie returns, triumphantly, with a pen and pad held high in the sky. He makes you jump for it. You elbow him in the gut, not hard. “Fuck off, Rich…” He keels over enough for you to grab it. “Thank you, chef.”

You turn back to Tina, who you now realize has spent half her smoke break on you. She nods to you, and then the bathroom door. “I’ll let you get back to it.” You nod in return. When she turns to walk away, you grab her shoulder.

“Tina.” She turns again. You should say something. Something vulnerable and thankful. Words of affirmation are not your thing. But maybe they could be, “If you end up with a dead plate—” Or maybe not.

She grins, and part of you is concerned by this, but she waves you off, giggling like she knows something you don’t. Already walking off. “You’re gonna be taken care of, Terry, don’t worry.”

This is a bad new nickname scheme. The fridge guy is just gonna end up being called ‘fridge guy’ if you take all his names.

It’s maybe three hours later. 11 am ish. You’ve finally put the toilet back in place, the pipes fixed underground— Which is a huge win of progress, the problem is, it’s just seemed to open the toilet’s ability to have other problems that need to be addressed. There’s a strong chance you’ll be here until you die. And even after that, this stupid toilet will still be gurgling, outliving you.

But you seriously have to eat something, so you scrub yourself clean, set your safety equipment down, and head out of the bathroom for a much-needed stretch of the legs— And to hopefully get a plate from Tina.

On your way to the kitchen, you’re stopped and walked backwards to a booth in the corner by Richie. “Hey, Miss, happy to serve you today, my name’s Richard but you can call me Richie, how’re you doin’ this fine morning?”

They’ve yet to open front of house, so you play along, taking your seat with a laugh. “I’m doing perfect, Richie, how are you?”

He nudges the air . “Ey, better now that you’re here, ah? Can I get a drink started for you?”

“Really gonna practice your set on me?”

He shrugs, still smiling. “If you don’t use it, you lose it.”

You hum, then rub your temples, the headache is setting in— Not cause of him, just been a tough morning. “Just your coldest fuckin’ glass of water, Rich.”

“Right away, Cousin.” He slips off into the kitchen.

When the door swings open again, it’s not Richie coming with your ice water, but Carmen— It’s your first time seeing him since the walk-in. When you came in this morning with Syd, it was Nat that gave you the quick briefing on the schedule and goals for today.

“Tony.” He hums, corners of his mouth just slightly upturned. The nickname has stuck. Goddamn. He sets the water down in front of you, along with a plate— Covered by a cloche—Or the silver lid thing, whatever.

“Carmy.” You only mean to mimic his tone, but then cringe. “Is Carmy fine?”

He pauses mid slide into the booth, sitting across from you. He seemed all cool and collected and is now suddenly extremely caught off guard. Already sweaty. “Y-yeah, I’m better, thank you—”

“No, I meant—” It is so difficult to hold back laughter. You deserve an Oscar.

You’re not doing great to be fair but like, still, Oscar worthy attempt.

“I meant like, like is the nickname okay?”

The horrors just keep piling on his face, and you can’t help but feel guilty. No shit he feels like he’s starting on a lower playing field here. You knew his dead brother, you know his Head Chef, your first time meeting him was at quite possibly his lowest moment and biggest mistake— Of which you had to coax him out of, and now he’s misunderstanding every innocent question you have for a inquiry into his psyche.

He clears his throat for objectively too long of a time. “Carmy is fine. Tony is fine?”

“I’m doing okay, yeah.”

Thank God, he laughs, awkward sure but objectively amused.

You nod down to the covered plate, smiling, “Fuck is this?”

He leans forward in his seat to get a hand over the lid. “I, uh. Made you a thing. As thanks or like, an— an apology.”

Ah. That’s why Tina was laughing about you getting taken care of.

He lifts the lid, and what is revealed, if you weren’t careful, would be enough to make you cry. Thankfully, the shock registers as uproarious laughter, one that Carmen cannot help but join.

“What the fuck?”

Pork brisket sandwich. Something that Mikey made for you, specifically. Because you said one time you were more of a pork fan than beef and he absolutely lost it. In a cute way, though. Said ‘Oh, I’ll make you fuckin’ pork, alright?’ You’re not sure if he won or lost the argument, because you did find it better.

“I, uh, we had some cuts left over that we weren’t gonna be able to fuckin’ use, and uh, Tina showed me this, this recipe card, last night.” He slides over the very same brisket recipe Mikey had written down. Little doodles of angry faces and Xs over pigs in the margins.

“He was so fuckin’ mad.” You snort, looking at it. “All I fuckin’ said was I had a preference!”

“In The Beef!”

“He asked!” You quickly defend, through laughter. “And it tastes fucking good. All he did was prove my fuckin’ point— And spent hours doing it. Were you here overnight for this, slowcooking?”

He shakes his head, though there’s a hesitation in it— So you’re not privy to completely believe him. He sniffs, swiping at his nose “I, uh, just came in early. Had to fix some shit anyways.”

He’s staring at the sandwich, then occasionally you, expectantly. You look at him with equal expectance.

“Well?” You start.

“Well?” He astutely adds.

You nod down at the dish. “Do the thing.”

“The thing?”

You pick up one half of the sandwich, but you’ve got no plans of eating until he satisfies this craving first.

“The thing Syd does where she explains why she’s proud of her dish and why I should care. I know it’s Mikey’s, but you clearly made changes.”

“Oh. Uh…” He was both expecting and not expecting this soap box. “So, followed the rub to a T— Well, with a salt bed, this time. Put it on brioche instead of the old shit. And I uh, added uhm—” He snaps his fingers, staring at the sandwich in your hand. “Added pickled red onion, for acid and sweet, and garlic confit. I’m—I’m happy with my spin on it.”

You whistle as a form of praise, he flushes with a glow of pride and is desperately trying to not show it. He’s proud because it’s curated, personal. Ah, he is Mikey good. You nod and take a bite, trying to control your reaction. Worst part about having Artists as friends (especially chefs): They fucking stare so hard when you’re taking in their work. And they’re over analyzing every micro expression. He’s no different.

Fuck. It’s fucking good. Is it bad that it’s better than anything Mikey ever made? Nah, that’s how he’d want it.

“Ah fuck, that sucks—” Is the first thing you say, and his face falls, “Expensive food is worth it.” Right back up. Easy to please. “It’s really good, Chef. Thank you. Did you try it yet?”

He shakes his head, so you push the plate with the other half of the sandwich— It’s brisket, anyways. You’ll be full by the end of this one. Portions generous. He looks momentarily hesitant, which is cute, but inevitably leans forward and takes the sandwich. He nods with each chew.

He hums when he finishes chewing, pointing emphatically at you, though his voice is neutral. “You don’t like something, though.”

“What?”

“What’s wrong with it?” He stares at into the cross section of his bite. “Chewy? Texture?”

“There’s nothing wrong with it.” You’re quick to deny.

He shakes his head, hand over his mouth to hide the sauce on his mouth. “M’not gonna be hurt.”

“There’s nothing wrong with the dish, Carmen.” You take another bite to prove your point. Also you’re hungry. Two things can be true.

He zones in on the emphasis immediately. “It’s the plate, isn’t it? I told Syd—”

“Your tables aren’t bolted.” You interrupt, swiftly. Mouth semi-full.

“Huh?”

You put your sandwich down and swallow, taking your time with it. “Your booth tables.”

You knock on the pristine wood with the joints of your left hand. You swivel your body to look under the table, he follows suit, meeting you there. His left leg has been violently shaking, but he’s thought you wouldn’t notice it until now.

You put a hand on his knee to stop the shaking. He bristles, slightly, but you’re not even doing it on purpose. Your focus isn’t on him. It was making the table imperceptibly shift— Which, of course, you clocked. You tap your foot to the bottom of the table leg. No screws. “They aren’t bolted down.”

You lift yourself back up, moving your hand back to yourself in tandem. He stares at it for a little longer. How you noticed that, he will never know. Repairmen are a different breed…

“I just thought it was a weird choice. Nothing wrong with it, per say. Maybe you wanna test different layouts.” You shrug, taking another bite.

“The booths aren’t bolted either.” He adds, lifting his head up above the table, finally. “I don’t— we’re not gonna fuck with the layout, I don’t think.”

“Should get Fak on that, then.”

“Fak’s big-timing us.” You cock your brow, mid chew. He explains. “He’s focusing on hosting, f'now.”

You nod, swallowing, hand in front of your mouth so you can lick the sauce off your upper lip in non-humiliated peace. “This another job for me, then?”

“If you’ll take it.”

“If your fuckin’ toilet doesn’t kill me, I will.”

“How’s that going?”

You shake your hand so-so. “Ask me in two to three hours how it’s going.”

“Heard.” He sighs, leaning back in the booth. The stress is too apparent not to ask.

“How’s the second day open going?”

“I’m not in a fuckin’ freezer, so that’s a win.” Oh-ho, he’s acknowledging it. You were very comfortable forgetting that moment for his sake. “Thanks, uh, f’ that.”

You shake your head, shrugging off the thanks. You lift your last few bites of the sandwich to him. “You’re good. You’ve gifted me brisket. You relax since?”

“Not really.” He replies bluntly, taking a deep inhale. He pulls at his face from the top down, with both hands. Oof. Bad sign. “I think I’ll be good by tomorrow. Gonna get off early, tonight.”

“You don’t seem happy about that.”

“Ask me in two t’ three days if I’m happy about it.”

Back to work and this is taking so much fucking longer than it needs to take. Why is there tape there? Fucking Richie. Fucking Fak. Fucking Mikey. Godssake. Pipes are fixed. Water pressure is fixed. What the fuck is still wrong with it? What the fuck is wrong with you? Everyone is going to hate you if you can’t fix this. You’ve been here for like 5 hours and you can’t figure out what’s fucking wrong here? You’re nothing. You’re—

The toilet does you the favour of knocking you out of your episode by spraying you in the fucking face, soaking through the top of your jumpsuit. With a groan, you unzip the upper half and tie the wet sleeves around your waist. “Son-of-a-bitch.”

Maybe you just need a change in task for a second. Also, a new t-shirt, because your tank did not survive the waterworks either. This room isn’t the thing you need right now. You slip down the hall to the kitchen. “Who needs a coffee? Or water?”

There’s a chorus of orders, all of which sound like you’ve just asked ‘who wants a gift from God?’, which, you might as well have. This is what you like about being a handyman. The relief you bring. You just need a smidge of praise to get through the rest of this job. You’ve got this.

The small, but serviceable coffee machine in very back of the kitchen calls your name, but Richie sticks his arm out, blocking you from walking past expo up front.

“Hol’ up, Cousin, you look like a fuckin’ wet dog.”

“Well, what ‘ya gonna do about it?” You retort, despite the retort not honestly making any sense, you put your hands on your hips. “Do you want a fuckin’ coffee or not?”

He rolls his eyes, falling back onto the balls of his feet before walking off. “Ey, Sug, are those shirts still in the basement—”

You’ve won for now. You scrub your hands clean before getting to work. This is good. Oooh, Marcus has fresh coffee beans (that he’s willing to share!)— This is easy. You can already fix most broken things, but a machine that actually fucking works? Baby, you can make that sing.

Plus, the bartending gigs you’ve done don’t make you a barista by any means, but they certainly don’t hurt. Oooh, Marcus has syrups! Fuck it. Steamed and frothed milk. That toilet has you on your ass, you need to go above and beyond here. Make each cup personal. You need a win in the form of admiration.

You gather a tray of coffees (and a water for Sweeps, who is too fucking sweaty for a hot drink right now, so fair), all varying in milks, sugars, syrups, intensity. “Coffee run, I hand ‘em out, don’t just take! Corner!”

Ebra, to no one’s shock, likes his coffee black— But, and he’ll tell no one this, you just know it on instinct— He likes it a little too watery. “Good.” Who are you to judge? He likes what he likes.

Tina would take hers black for simplicity, if you let her, but of course you don’t. 2 sugars, foamed milk, chocolate and cinnamon syrup. “Too good to me.” It’s too worth it, when she says it like that and slaps your cheek. Balm of the soul.

Marcus, who watched you make these, did opt to let his imagination run too wild and added one of every syrup to his own cup, wanting to experiment with you. It doesn’t taste good. You switch it for a spiced coffee when he’s not looking. He’s silently very thankful.

After handing out a few more to the new cooks, you come up to Syd. “Take this one, take this one.” Then whisper, so no one knows you are displaying supreme favouritism. “It’s the one oat milk latte I made.”

She turns to you from her station, then darts looks over her shoulder like she’s making an under the table deal before grabbing it from you. She takes a delighted sip, eyes rolling just slightly in the relief of caffeine, she nods. “Fire, Chef.” Ah. This will get you through the day alone.

It also gets you through the willpower it takes to ignore Fak running by you to steal a coffee off your tray. Out of the corner of your eye, you point to the one meant for him— As if you didn’t make it for him, c’mon…

“How’s bathroom?” Syd asks, taking another long sip.

I’m going to fucking explode, not unlike your drainage pipe. “Needed a thinking break, but I’ve made a lot of progress. How’s kitchen?”

“Made a lot of progress. Auto-piloting through this prep.” She looks down at her cutting board, cracking back to it. “Latte helps, a lot, thank you. You should join for family, if you’re still here for it. Unless you don’t want more brisket.”

Fuck. She doesn’t think you’re so slow that you’re gonna be here until family, does she? “Yeah, maybe.” You look around, three coffees still on the tray. “...Where’s Carmen?”

She grimaces. Uh oh. The tension she glossed over at breakfast is still definitely there. She nods her head to the back door. “Smoke break. Or temper tantrum. I don’t fuckin’ know. Don’t tell him I said that.” You laugh, nodding. “You think a coffee would help—” “Please.”

“Corner!” Yells Richie, returning to you. He silently flicks out a shirt for you, holding it up proudly, ‘THE BERF’ stares back at you. You give it a solid five seconds to process before you say anything.

“Collector’s item...” You nod, tone sarcastically impressed. You pivot your shoulder for him to throw it over, hands too busy.

“That’s what I fuckin’ said!” He throws it over your shoulder. “No one fuckin’ listens, these days.”

You bite back laughter and nod, handing him his coffee. Hot. Dark. Two sugars. And, to his delighted surprise, a touch of cinnamon syrup. “Oh, fuck, missed your twists, Chip.”

You wince at what was a long-forgotten nickname, and so does Richie. Funny how remembering origins can do that to you. He’d just said it so instinctively, really. “My bad—”

“Chip is good.” You interrupt, rolling your shoulders back. And it is good, really. “It’s kinda—It’s kinda comforting.” It’s nice to not forget. He nods, and you give each other the ‘we are still so fucked, eh?’ smile before lovingly bumping shoulders as he returns to expo and you head to the back alley.

Carmen’s squatting, cigarette in one hand, creating a halo of smoke around him, and his phone in the other. He snaps out of his mental fog when the door opens, slipping his phone into the pocket of his apron like he’s got a secret to hide.

You hesitate at the doorway, maybe this is not the moment. “Sorry, Chef, I just wanted to offer a coffee? If you need air alone—”

“No, no, I’m good—” He’s quick to correct, then even quicker to correct himself. “I— I’ll take a coffee, I mean. You can stay, s’fine.”

He reaches for it when you sit next to him, but you pull the tray back to hand him the correct one. “Sorry, I—I like, did a thing, for yours. I dunno how you take your coffee, so I thought I’d do it weird.”

He takes the cup, eying it curiously. “Do it weird?”

“Do it like, like a Chef. Can’t make anything fuckin’ simple. The lot of you.”

He hums, amused, staring at the cup, then looks at you expectantly. “Well?”

“Well?”

“Do the thing.”

You snort, shaking your head. “Oh, fuck off.”

“C’mon, tell me why I should care.” He teases.

“Ah, fuck.” You sniff, oh to have your own words turned on you. Looking at the coffee in his hands, “I figured you’d like strong black coffee, but like, complex. So, it’s got like, cardamom and lavender n’ maple syrup. Shout out Marcus.” He smiles. “And then, I know I did just say black coffee but I wanted the aesthetic so I spooned foamed milk on top and sprinkled on some dried lavender.” You take your own cup in hand, putting the tray down. “If you hate it, we’ll trade.”

He pays close attention to your explanation. Man, his eye contact is simultaneously so soft and so scary. He takes a sip. Let’s it sit in his mouth for a second. “Excellent, Chef.”

Oh, if Syd’s ‘Fire’ could get you through the day, Carmen’s ‘Excellent’ will get you through the week to spare. You hide the way you beam by drinking your own coffee.

“How’re you doing?” It’s far too obvious that he’s had something heavy on his head all day, but you’re not going to say the quiet part loud, yet.

He takes a long time to respond. “I, uh…” And when he does, it’s weak. “I’m alright, yeah. I’m alright.”

You nod repeatedly, digesting the huge lie. “Ask me how I’m doing.”

He squints. “…How’re you—”

“Fuckin’ terrible, Carm.” You cut him off, putting your cup down next to him, standing up. You speak emphatically, gesturing with your whole body.

“I’m at my wits, Chef. Completely out of my depth. I fix the main pipe, I fix the water pressure, I triple check the tank, I fuckin’ power cycle the valve— I’m absolutely at a loss as to why it’s still gurgling— Why it shot water straight at my tits— Close your eyes, if you care, by the way.”

With barely any warning you peel off your tank top, you’ve got a bra, it’s fine. It’s very cute that he still looks away. You slip the new shirt over your head as you speak, muffling the words.

“—I’m wearing a shirt that says Berf, and the only way I can feel any semblance of not being utterly useless is by making coffees so good everyone has to praise me for them. And now I’m telling the fucking owner, my boss for the day all this.”

He nods, slowly. There is perhaps, not a single person in his life that has ever been this forthright. Someone he hasn’t had to over-analyze or dig into to figure out what’s actually going on. It is refreshing, terrifying, and for some reason, removing your walls have completely shattered his.

“So.” You lower your head to his level where he sits. “How are you doing, Chef?”

He takes a long sip of his coffee. Stews on the question before he spills his guts, calmly. “I’m sitting outside of the restaurant I started that I own, and my brother should be here, but he’s not and— And I was locked in a fuckin’ freezer on my opening night, which was my own fuckin’ fault— And the tape is wrong and the painting is stupid and that new hire did meth so now we’re down one.” He takes a deep breath.

“And we have Heinz instead of Frenchies, and it’s fine. That’s the fucked part— It’s fine. The ship did not sink without me— It went fine. Better, maybe. My problems aren’t fuckin’ problems. I’m just making it worse for myself— everyone. And I know Syd is mad at me, and I know my— My girlfriend? Is mad at me, and I know that I’m gonna break up with her tonight because I’m not meant to be— that.” He says the last part fast, more to himself than you, really. And then he finally looks back up at you.

“And I’m telling all of this to the person who saved me from hypothermia and a fuckin’—Fuckin’ meltdown, who probably thinks— knows that I’m a psycho.”

You take a beat before nodding, sitting next to him again, arms crossed. Silent. Contemplative. “I have thoughts.”

He nods, taking a drag. “Don’t pull punches.”

“Well, to start most honestly, we must remember, I love Syd. So, I’m not gonna mince about her.”

“Heard.”

You recall everything Sydney had told you at breakfast. The recap of how she got to this point. “Syd isn’t mad at you, she’s disappointed and distrustful.”

He grimaces. “That sounds worse.”

“It is.”

“Oh.”

“But in a way you can fix.”

“How?”

“Handle shit different. Actually show up to shit and make calls. Manage your priorities by urgency— Not by favourites. If I broke my fuckin’ arm and your ‘girlfriend’ had a runny nose, who are you taking to the hospital?”

“You can’t take yourself?”

“Bitch?”

“Kidding. Heard. What else?”

“You’re not gonna tell her I said this because she would rather die than tell someone she wants something.” You lean closer to him, peeking over your shoulder to make sure no one’s secretly come from the kitchen. You knock into his knees.

He takes another drag, short, choked. “Sure.”

“You were kind of a bitch about the menu.”

“The chaos menu? She said—”

“She fucking lied. She lied when she said it was fine, Carm, it does not take a psychic to read Syd’s mind.” You interrupt, taking a sip of your coffee. “She was so excited to get to build a menu, especially with—” you, “—a partner, and then you completely ditched her. And then you just made your own! Total control freak shit! Cut her out of the fun part of being head chef completely! You get to invent masterpieces and she picks out the best cheap plate? Fuck is that?”

He nods contemplatively, poking his inner cheek. “Yeah, that, that makes sense. That’s shitty.” He turns his gaze from looking ahead to face you, hand over the bottom half of his face. “What else?”

“You’re reactive.”

“No shit.”

“How long do you think you were locked in the walk-in for?”

He swallows, thinking. “Like… an hour?”

“It had been 23 minutes.”

“Oh.”

“You catastrophize, it’s a fancy therapy word,” You cannot help but be impressed by this white man writing down the word in his phone for later. “It means, basically, when something bad happens you blow it completely out of proportion into something it isn’t. Your opening night was definitely a bummer from being in a freezer— But be honest with yourself, would you have let yourself have a good night if you weren’t in there?”

“…No.”

“No. Which is also bad. Which brings me to my key point.”

He tenses up, preparing for you to rip into him further.

“You’re doing a good job, Carmy.”

He immediately swivels back to you, almost dropping his phone. Knee knocking into yours. “Fuck off.”

“I will not.”

“You just said I was a catastrophe.”

“Fully not what I said.”

“I read between the lines.”

“Carmen.”

You take a breath, putting your arms on your knees, bent over. “The restaurant is beautiful, your cooks are talented and they’re prepared— So prepared that they can handle 23 minutes without you. That’s a good thing. You’re threaded into The Bear— The ship didn’t sink, not because you weren’t there, but because you had been. Everyone had the tools they needed to succeed, even with Heinz, a Mid painting, and torn tape. And listen—” You take one last sip of your coffee. “You need to check your ego if you think you’re the first man I’ve coaxed through a panic attack while doing a repair.”

He laughs, half-heartedly. He scratches his nose. “Heard. Yeah, thank you, Chef.”

“I don’t know shit about the meth thing though, I really couldn’t tell you.” You smile when this coaxes a better laugh out of him. You’re considering a career in stand up exclusively for him because it feels like such a reward to hear it.

“And the girl?” He asks. Amusement tinging but leaving his voice.

You click your teeth, shrugging your shoulders at him. “Based purely on your hesitation to say girlfriend, I’d say yeah, probably not ready for a relationship.” You reach your hand out to his shoulder when he flops his head down. “But, just asking, is this your first relationship?”

He thinks for too long before nodding slightly. “First one.”

“First restaurant too?”

He nods again.

“Yeah.” You pat his shoulder before letting it go, opting to hold your cooling cup. “I know you’re a Michelin star fuckin’ big deal but like, me personally, I can’t name a thing I got perfect the first time I did it.”

There’s something in his eyes, when you say that. Something wistful, nostalgic, hurt? No. Something different.

“It’s not that I didn’t do perfect—”

“You’ll do better next time.”

He wrings his hands together between his knees. “Yeah.”

“You’re gonna be fine, Carm.”

“You’re good at that.” He sniffs, head down, scratching his nose.

“At what? Self-help?”

He exhales what just barely sounds like a laugh. “Kinda. S’just, when you say it, you say it in a way where I actually believe it.”

You’re getting the fuck out of here before they open for dinner. You’re not letting anyone down tonight motherfucker. The Berf shall prevail. Maybe a win here will feel like a win for Carmen, too.

You run the sink to wash your hands, as you’ve done before here— But since fixing the pipes and the pressure… Something’s… different. You pause your scrubbing, listening closely.

…

When the sink is running, the gurgling flow of water from the toilet stops. Huh. You stop and start the faucet a few times to verify this. Yeah. You stare for a long moment before connecting the dots, then punch the sink in realization.

“Fucking Mikey!”

“What’d he do this time?”

You twist around. Ah, other sibling. Natalie. Clipboard in hand, business ready. You take a beat before remembering to smile, nodding to the sink behind you. “He connected the tank flow to the toilet and the sink with one wire.”

She tilts her head, squinting. “Why would he do that?”

“I suspect to save water?” You spin around, kneeling down to look behind the sink. “I think the idea was to have the sink not function when the toilet is flushing. But, it uh, well, did the reverse, kinda. Toilet doesn’t function when the sink isn’t running.”

“Oh.”

“So uh,” You shut the valve under the sink. “Your water bill should go down a little after this, since it won’t be running into what is an essentially a second trap pipe.”

“Oh!” Did she get what you said? No. But she doesn't need to. She heard ‘bill should go down’ and that’s really all she needed. “Thank you!”

“Not a problem. S’my job.” You stand, shutting off the valve to the toilet as well. As you kneel down to work again, you feel her gaze burning into your back. You don’t turn to face her. “You have questions.”

“Oh, ah… Am I so obvious—?”

“Yes.” You’re too quick to answer, unbolting the wires where it attaches to the toilet and the ground. You sniff with a panicked, “Ah, uh, it’s endearing.”

She’s quiet, for a moment. She doesn’t ask you what she actually wants to ask you, and you know that. “Well, I’ll need to exchange info for your invoice.”

“Ah, don’t worry ‘bout that, your brother already covered it.” You stand once more, before going to the sink to undo it’s valve, you fish through the deep pocket of your jumpsuit, pulling out a crumpled business card and handing it to her.

“But it’s good to have my info on hand, for sure. It’s ah… Kinda old.” Kinda is an understatement. Your dad’s name is still on it, scribbled out in pen and replaced with yours. The dead business line is also scribbled out in exchange for your personal cell.

“It’s uh… I usually only work for friends and family, these days, so I’ve kinda stopped trying to keep up appearances.”

She smiles at it. Thank God, she finds it charming and not sloppy. She tucks it into the clasp of her clipboard. “That’s fine, we are friends and family.”

All you can do is nod, pivoting to the sink. There's a beat of peace.

“Didn’t see you at the funeral.”

Ah. There it is. For a Bear, she sure knows how to poke one. You stutter in unscrewing the bolt.

“Would’ve been nice to meet you, then.”

You clear your throat, it's strangled. “Yeah, I think I was trying to avoid introductions, honestly. Grief comes in different ways, eh?”

“Does it?”

“Mine does.” You swallow, unbolting the wire. With it free, you can just yank it out of the wall. God, forgive your brain, but Mikey was right, she does like to fight. Too bad you don’t.

She just hums in reply, watching you pull the wire from the wall. “You’re a real lifesaver.”

Fuck. Fuck. Lifesaver? Is she fucking with you?

“That toilet sprayed me right in the face, yesterday. And you saved Carmen.” There’s an amused lilt to her voice. She’s not fucking with you. “There’s something about a handywoman that Fak cannot match.”

You can hear a faint ‘Hey!’ through the walls. You laugh through an exhale.

“Again, s’my job. I do my best. Did uh, what was it, Terry come by for the walk-in? I wasn’t looking when I was there.”

You sort through your tools, deciding caulking the holes closed is probably the best option.

“He came over basically overnight to fix it, bless him, still don’t know his name.”

You laugh, it’s a little strangled. So Carmen did stay overnight. He must’ve. You smooth out the caulk with your thumb and a palette knife. Blending it into the grout as best as you can. “Good. Good.”

You dust yourself off. Standing. “Well. That’s uh. That’s my job done. Carmen asked me about—”

“Bolting down the booths?” She nods, checking the time on her watch. There’s not enough time before lunch to do it now. Plus you don’t have the screws. “You’re free to come by in the morning tomorrow—”

“But?” You interrupt, throwing your tool bag over your shoulder.

“But?”

“You said free like you’ve got a preference, what do you prefer?”

She chuckles, slightly. There is something about you that feels familiar. “If you could come after close tonight around 12, that would be nice—”

“It’s done. I’ll be there.”

“Lifesaver. I'll give you the code.”

Fuck.

Always gotta give the reader/mc some sort of mysterious background that even you don't have all the info on. Always.

Hehehehe, again, we're slowing this burn so much. Strangers to Friends to lovers but they're both so comfortable in friends it's hard to move !!

Forewarning, btw, if you've already sunk 10k worth of words into your brain for me (thank you!! I hope you've enjoyed!!), I've never written smut before and I feel like I probably will not build up the courage to do so by the end of this series, but I could prove myself wrong, I dunno. But warning in case that's your thing!! I might blue ball you babe!!

Pretty please tell me your thoughts or I'll eat my Berf shirt. Collector's value!! Thrown away!!

Next Part

#carmen berzatto imagine #carmy berzatto #carmy x reader #carmen x reader #carmen berzatto x reader #carmen berzatto x you #carmen berzatto #the bear fx #carmy the bear #the bear x you #the bear #the bear x reader #the bear fanfiction

486 notes · View notes

peachhcs · 8 months ago

Text

she's not her.

hughes!sister x will smith au (samy + will)

will thinks the combine will help him get his mind off samy, but that completely backfires when he realizes she's everywhere with him.

3.2k words

hiii here's the first (new) installment of the new breakup timeline of the au!! (also so long wow) i'm writing four of the major points of the breakup into fics, but if you guys want smaller blurbs about any of it, send them to the inbox. cassidy is a completely fake character here, but zeev and james are real people! (i don't know the other boys too well, sorry!!)

au masterlist

“yeah, mom. it’s going great,” will hummed as he shuffled around his room searching for his keycard despite him already being ten minutes late.

the boy could never keep his belongings straight whenever he stayed in a hotel room by himself. how did he even manage before? the answer hit will before he could even really think about it because you know who was always with him on these things?

he knew who and he was not going to say her name. will promised himself he’d use this week to just forget about all of his problems and just enjoy getting to know the other guys here and that meant he was not going to say—

“samy’s mom called me earlier. she asked about you,” damn it. whatever his mom was saying before didn’t process in his brain because he snapped right back into reality as soon as the name left his mom’s lips.

and why on earth was she referring to ellen as “samy’s mom.” will knew his mom always, always called her ellen. she probably read his mind or something knowing he was trying (and failing) to not think about her this week.

“oh. okay,” will didn’t know what to say, so he continued searching for the stupid keycard.

“i told her you were at the combine having fun. she told me samy’s at her sleepaway camp for the week too,” mrs. smith continued even though she knew will didn’t want to talk about samy at all.

“mom, can you not?” the boy mumbled.

“can i not what, will? she’s still a part of this family, so i am gonna ask about her and tell you because i know you still care,” colleen had a point and the blonde hated it because she was right.

he did care. of course, he cared no matter how much he didn’t want to. that was the hardest part about all of this.

“i gotta go. i’m already running a bit late. i’ll talk to you later, mom. love you,” they exchanged their goodbyes as soon as will found what he wanted under a pile of clothes in the corner.

“thank god,” the boy mumbled as raced out of his room to where some of the guys he met were waiting down in the lobby.

will felt so new to all of this—the media, the sudden popularity, the press. these guys seemed so used to it all yet he was so lost in it all still. he spotted his new friends in some of the chairs awaiting his presence, so he mustered up his best smile as he approached them.

“there you are, smitty. where were you?” zeev spots the blonde first, his legs hung over the armrest of the chair.

“sorry, i lost my keycard. i had to find it before i left,” will explained a bit embarrassingly. the other guys laughed him off though and that’s when the blonde noticed a few girls mixed into the group now. a few of them sent eyes his way, whispering things to one another which made will’s cheeks flush a slight pink color, but not in the blushing kind of way.

“come on, i’m starving. those lines got me wanting anything,” cole muttered as the group pushed themselves to the door. the five of them plus the three new girls walked down the sidewalk chatting about anything in hopes of taking their minds off food until they found something.

“hey, you’re will, right?” the new voice caught the blonde off guard.

to his right was one of the new girls in the group he didn’t really know. her name was along the lines of cassidy, but he wasn’t 100% sure. “yeah, that’s me,” he laughed lightly.

“nice to finally meet you. i’m cassidy, but everyone calls me cass,” she held her hand out with a big smile. will stared at her outstretched hand for a moment, his mind running in circles.

this could be his chance to finally forget about samy. he said he needed an distraction and this seemed like the perfect one. plus, what was the harm in a little flirting? he took her hand a moment later.

“nice to meet you, too. you play for minnesota, right?” will wondered, watching cass’s eyes light up that he even knew that about her.

“yeah, i do!”

“you guys had a real good season. i was impressed,” her smile continued growing with will’s words.

“yeah, we did. i mean, you guys were incredible, too. you dominated the ice,” she gushed a little making will flush. he knew people watched his games from all over the place, but he never paid much attention to all of that.

not when he was always thinking about samy watching the livestream from her dorm room while cheering him on. wait. no.

no. there was no samy.

“thanks. it wasn’t always easy, but the fans made it worth it,” the boy hummed. cass grinned again, letting their conversation die into comfortable silence as they followed their group into a restaurant someone chose.

the young hockey player spotted rutger and some of his buddies at a nearby table making him stop in his tracks for a second. he knew rut would be here, but he just hoped he’d manage to avoid him because he knew the older boy probably hated him knowing what happened between him and samy.

some of the guys behind him pushed will forward again. his eyes glued themselves to where rutger sat in a laughing fit over what someone at his table said. the older boy held his chest, violently shaking from laughter and finally looked in will’s direction. the two met each other’s gazes and in a surprise gesture, rutger nodded toward the younger boy.

that threw will off guard. he studied rut for a second longer until someone pushed him forward again and he landed in his seat.

“woah, careful smitty. you okay?” james laughed a little as he walked around to his seat. the others glanced will’s way.

“yeah, sorry. got a little distracted,” the blonde excused himself, eyes diverting to the menu to get the attention off of him. the others shrugged, returning to their conversation while will’s eyes stayed right on his menu.

“what’s your favorite food?” cass’s voice filled will’s ears again. he looked up, her eyes already on him where she sat in the seat next to his.

“anything, really. i tend to eat anything,” the boy mumbled with an awkward smile.

“hey, i’m the same way. i’ve never been too picky about my food,” she returned his smile.

“my sister’s a big picky eater. our mom was always making three different meals for the family because we were all eating different things,” the blonde chuckled as some of the nerves he had earlier started subsiding.

the two quickly hit it off, having their own little conversations throughout lunch. will’s smile was big when cass laughed at the things he said and he laughed right back at her own corny jokes. it felt refreshing for the blonde. he suddenly didn’t have this heavy feeling in his chest anymore that he’s had since the end of may. this felt really good.

but what did they say about good things? they never lasted long? something like that.

will’s gaze would bounce over to where rutger still was every so often. the older boy was never looking in his direction when will looked, too occupied with his own conversations, but rut did glance over at the younger blonde when he wasn’t looking too.

rut only heard bits and pieces about the breakup, but he knew samy was really hurt from all of it and while the older hockey player wasn’t one to involve himself in things that he wasn’t a part of, he couldn’t but watch what looked like will laugh a little too hard with that girl.

sure, will could do whatever he wanted and rutger didn’t care. the boy did care, however, about the fact that it looked like will was trying to talk up a new girl not even two weeks after breaking up with samy. that bothered rutger because he knew if ethan or mark were here, they wouldn’t be afraid to go over and bitch at will.

rutger’s subtle glances finally caught will’s. the blonde was in the middle of a conversation with cass when he caught the glance from the corner of his eye. rut was looking right a him with a look on his face that will knew wasn’t good.

“you good?” cass wondered when she noticed will’s attention shift.

the boy’s attention immediately snapped back to hers, “yeah, sorry. my bad. what was i saying?” his words rushed out together making him come off a bit nervous.

“something about…sumer on a boat or something?” cass reminded him.

“right, yes. yeah. so, as i was saying,” will’s mind couldn’t stop thinking about rutger’s look. it felt like a warning or..disapproval? disappointment?

why could he never escape samy no matter how hard he tried? it was like she was everywhere.

“every summer my family and i go to this lakehouse in michigan. my best friend and i—well, used to be best best friend would always stay up super late to see how many planets we could count. whoever counted the most by the end of the summer would buy one another something the other really wanted,” will hummed, somehow always finding ways to talk about samy without even realizing it. a small smile was on his lips at that memory because he was the one buying samy things by the end of the summer every time.

“huh, that sounds interesting. aren’t the same planets always coming out at night though so how does that work?” cass’s expression became puzzled.

will’s gaze snapped to hers, his face flushing again. “i mean, yeah, but different ones will come out and go away as the summer goes on. it was just some little thing..” the boy’s voice trailed off as he slowly realized that game only really made sense to him and samy because they were the ones who came up with it when they were younger.

cass didn’t look too impressed though. the blonde’s eyes swept over to rutger again who wasn’t looking at him this time, but will still couldn’t get that look out of his head nor the fact that he talked about samy without even trying after trying so hard to forget about her this week.

it seemed like everything will did or said led him straight back to samy. shit.

who was he kidding? he couldn’t flirt with someone. he didn’t even know how to flirt because he never really had to with samy.

cass’s attention drifted away from the boy and no one else was really looking at him, so will took that as his chance to excuse himself. he needed air or something to just get out of his fucking head. the boy scrambled out of his seat in a rushed goodbye, hurrying off to the bathroom before anyone could really bat an eye.

rutger’s gaze fell on the younger boy as he retreated further back into the restaurant. he saw will’s friends glancing around for a moment before letting him be. the older brunette gazed one more time before saying fuck it and going after will.

the blonde stumbled into the bathroom suddenly feeling hot. his hand clutched his chest where his heart wouldn’t stop pounding a bruise on the spot while his other hand grabbed ahold of the edge of the counter, bending over the sink as if he was going to puke. will squeezed his eyes shut, hoping that would slow his heart rate down, but it only heightened as his breathing picked up into heavy pants.

“fuck, pull yourself together,” will mumbled to mostly himself.

she’s not her. she’s not her. she’s not her. the stupid phrase replayed itself over and over in will’s mind.

the bathroom door swung open with rutger rushing to will’s side when he saw the kid bent over the sink while panting. “jesus christ, will? are you okay?” the older brunette bent down to will’s level, trying to meet his eyes.

“i can’t breathe,” will managed through his hyperventilating.

rutger looked around, realizing no one else was in the bathroom with them. he wasn’t really an expert in this, never really having dealt with panic attacks before.

“hey, yes you can. it’s okay. i’m here,” rutger tried his best, his attention back on will.

“she’s not her,” now the blonde was crying.

“what are you talking about?” the older hockey player grew confused. the heavy pants and now tears didn’t make it easy for him to understand what was being said.

“she won’t ever be her. i fucked up, rut,” will got out a bit clearer this time.

rutger quickly understood.

“do you want me to call her? i can call her?” rut eased his tone, finishing for his phone in his pocket.

“no, no. don’t,” will shook his head. he couldn’t call samy like this. plus, she didn’t want to speak to him ever again, making it very clear after blocking him on nearly everything.

“will, i gotta call someone. you’re freaking me out,” the older boy said.

“call gabe or ryan. i need to talk to them,” so rutger listened and searched his contacts until he landed on ryan’s number first.

the phone rang three times until ryan finally answered. “rutger? what’s up?” the younger brunette sounded confused that the michigan hockey player was randomly calling him.

“hey, sorry for the call. i-i’m with will. he’s..he’s having a panic attack i think. he wanted to talk to you,” rutger explained the situation, eyes on will who’s breathing began slowing down.

“shit, is he okay?” ryan urged.

“i-i think so? i don’t know. i’m not an expert in this,” rut held the phone out for will to take.

the blonde’s shaky hand brought the phone up to his ear, “hey leno,” he managed weakly.

“will? are you okay?” ryan’s voice was laced with concern. he never called will by his first name unless there was something serious going on.

the guilt and shame quickly settled into will’s body. his eyes glanced to rutger standing beside him still and then his head fell. “i fucked up, ryan. i realize i fucked up now.”

“what are you talking about?” ryan didn’t get it.

“everything brings me back to her. no can be her no matter how hard i think they are or want them to be,” the blonde frowned deeply, especially because he was admitting this in front of one of samy’s closest guy friends.

ryan didn’t need to ask twice who his friend was talking about while a pause came from his end as he digested will’s admission. rutger realized this seemed like a conversation he wasn’t a part of, so he just squeezed the blonde’s shoulder and nodded towards the door saying to just find him when will was done with his phone.

“i’m gonna add gabe to the call, okay?” ryan finally said as will sunk down onto the ground. he didn’t care that the bathroom floor was incredibly disgusting because he could not go back out and face his friends out there without muttering some lame excuse about leaving.

“uh, hey?” gabe connected a moment later, confused about why he was on a call with ryan and rutger mcgroarty.

“hey, it’s me. will’s on the call with rutger’s phone,” ryan explained.

“oh. is everything okay?” gabe wondered, still confused on what was happening.

“i fucked up really bad. i know that now,” will said and gabe also didn’t have to ask twice about what his friend was talking about.

“what made you finally come to this conclusion?” ryan asked, trying not to sound bitter. he knew will was having a hard time, but he would not forget samy showing up to his house in tears after their breakup.

“i really, really thought i could just forget about her at the combine and just enjoy myself, but everytime i talk to someone, i always end up talking about her no matter how hard i try not to. she’s everywhere in my mind. i thought i could stupidly talk to this girl..be a distraction? i don’t know, but i think i just really wanted her to be samy instead,” will admitted sheepishly.

“yeah..that happens after having such a history with someone,” gabe said.

“i know i fucked up. you don’t need to keep telling me that. i feel like shit about it,” will scoffed, rolling his eyes a bit.

“as much as i hate you for doing what you did and never wanting to see samy that hurt again, maybe you should talk to her,” ryan finally said, tone softening out.

“i can’t talk to her even if i wanted to. she blocked me on everything almost immediately,” the blonde frowned.

“look, we all make mistakes. it’s human nature. are you an asshole for hurting her? yes. am i still mad at you for it? yes. do i think you fucked up completely though? no. maybe give it some more time and then reach out. things are still fresh, emotions are still high. we all know samy and we know she doesn’t hold a grudge for that long,” gabe gave his two cents about it as well.

“i wouldn’t blame her if she did hold a grudge for a while though,” ryan cut in.

“jesus, shut up, leno. i get it,” the blonde rolled his eyes.

“look, we’re always here for you, will. I’ll be in boston next, so i’ll see you and we can talk more, yeah?” gabe spoke again before ryan and will started fighting or something.

“yeah, thanks. sorry for bothering you guys,” will frowned a bit.

“don’t sweat it. love ya, smitty,” that made will smile again.

“yeah, love you i guess. just try to have a good time for the rest of the week,” ryan said and will nodded even though they couldn’t see him.

“thanks, love you guys too. talk later,” they hung up after that.

will pushed himself back to his feet, splashing water on his face to hopefully get rid of his red and flushed cheeks. he carefully pushed the bathroom door back open, surveying the restaurant for rutger’s table.

the boy made his way over, nudging rutger’s arm when he was closer. the older boy looked over, “thanks,” will said.

“of course. you okay, now?”

the blonde nodded. he glanced to his table where a few of the guys met his gaze, waving him over. he walked towards them, already having decided he wasn’t all that hungry anymore and just wanted to be alone for a bit.

“there you are! you good?” zeev asked seeing his friend.

“yeah, not feeling too well. i think i’m gonna head back. sorry,” will muttered out his excuse.

“oh, okay. feel better man. text me,” zeev said and will nodded before making his exit.

he didn’t even look cassidy’s way. the only girl on his mind was samy and it was gonna stay like that for a long time.

151 notes · View notes

gothic-aesthetic-gal · 26 days ago

Text

Old Scars (Part 11)

Ledger!joker x reader

Fem!reader is kidnapped by the joker and his henchmen while just trying to get a moment's reprieve from her boring, soul-destroying job ✨️

Tw: I mean, we all saw TDK, right? I'd say this is on the same level/rating. Kidnapping, violence, mentions of minor characters (not J) being misogynist/threatening SA, reference to past traumatic injury. Beyond this i'm not sure, i'll update these when I write more.

Part 11 -

We continued to lay low and time crawled by. Our movements were largely nocturnal, only venturing out of the Parkview Asylum complex at nightfall to a corner store for essential supplies. As J's injuries were healing he became more and more agitated, pacing up and down like a caged tiger, often muttering to himself. I could tell he wasn't accustomed to having to wait things out, but he was deliberately planning things very carefully - making the smarter play meant allowing his body to heal and letting the dust settle.

I had walled myself off from him again since my lapse of judgement and control on the first night. My robotic interactions with him didn't seem to bother him too much. I figured he either was banking on me coming around eventually, or was too preoccupied with weeding out the traitors in his ranks to care about my sudden change in behaviour.

I was startled awake one night when he shook me out of an otherwise oddly peaceful sleep. Waking up and seeing him looming over me, I scrambled upwards and out of the covers in surprise.

"We're leaving," he said flatly.

"W-what? Why?" I asked, blinking in the dark and clinging protectively to the blankets.

"We've stayed in one spot too long. It's time to move," he added, dropping my little cardboard box on the bed.

I hurried to get up, stashing the knife and screwdriver in my pocket again and he picked up the handgun from his side of the bed.

"We will need to get rid of this," he muttered, sliding it into his waistband for the meantime. I noticed that he was no longer wearing the sling.

"The arm's better now?" I asked tentatively as we replaced the bedding and plastic sheet before quitting the room.

"Near enough," he replied.

We wound our way back down the hallways and staircases to the entrance. I felt relieved to be leaving the godforsaken relic of Gotham's twisted past to rot. Nature was slowly reclaiming it, pulling it back into the earth - and that was the only comfort about the whole place. The car's engine rumbled to life and J put the heating on full blast to try and clear the fogged up windows. It was another bitterly cold night and I could see my own breath.

I soon found myself by a bridge watching J lean way too far over the barrier for anyone with a reasonable fear of their own mortality to hurl the stolen gun down into the darkness of rushing waters below us.

"Even if they find it, the water will wash away traces of any fingerprints and DNA, though they likely won't bother looking to begin with," He announced smugly.

I wondered how many other things had been hurled down into the cold waters below us. Knowing the city we were in, there were innumerable possibilities. People even... I shivered. The cops had condemned me to that sort of fate, I was as expendable as any other piece of junk sitting in a heap down there.

I felt dizzy just looking at the sheer drop as I clung to the barrier between my body and oblivion. As I was being buffeted around on the stormy sea in my mind, I hadn't noticed J stalking over to me like a big cat in the tall grass.

Strong arms linked around my waist from behind and began to lift my feet from the ground. The feeling of being suddenly airborne immediately set me in a panic and I began to struggle. In reality, he had probably barely hoisted me a foot or two off the ground, but I hated heights.

Not heights specifically, but how being exposed to them made me actuely aware of my own mortality and the endless possibilities of pain in the breakable body of a human being.

"Put me down!" I screeched in protest.

"No, I think I need to dispose of the rest of the evidence," he said sternly.

I couldn't tell if he was being serious.

"Please, i'm not joking - just let me go!" I begged.

"You sure about that?" He laughed, suddenly letting me drop.

I lurched forwards towards the railing for a moment, before he caught me by the waist. I jolted even further forward, feeling the railing dig into my ribs as I met it. My feet were on the ground again, and without being lifted higher or climbing over the rail, my centre of gravity was too low to go over it, but I still felt in danger. The shock of thinking for a moment that I really was going over it had felt like a stab to the chest.

My body was screaming at me to get away from the edge of the bridge. My eyes stung with the beginning of tears in the cold breeze. He pressed close to me, trapping me between his body and the barrier, which was digging into my mid-section.

I felt his cheek brush against my temple as he bent his head down to speak into my ear.

"Doesn't it excite you?" He asked.

"That wasn't funny," was all I managed to say, choking on my words.

"Ah come on, I wasn't going to throw you over there, doll. You know that."

"I don't know that. And i'm not good with heights," I said, shaking.

"Listen," he said leaning the full weight of his body against mine, "you're not going anywhere."

The way he said it and the feeling of being pressed between him and the barrier, his arms wrapped tightly around me, did make me feel anchored to the ground. I felt my tense muscles relax a little.

"Just look down," he said.

"I can't."

"Look. Down." He commanded, a little harsher in tone.

Reluctantly, I did as he told me and peered down at the long drop into the murky river below. I felt the fear rise in me again, prickling up my spine.

"Don't look away."

"I - I can't," I protested.

"Don't look away," he reiterated, unwaivering.

I continued to look at the way the river was churning below, muddy and silent. Deceptively quiet from up here, as the immeasurable amounts of water surged out towards the old docks in the distance. If you really had fallen in, and the height of the drop hadn't shattered your bones on impact, you'd have been swept along with such force that drowning seemed inevitable. This wasn't the sort of water you could swim or even tread water in. It was a chaotic force of nature and inspired a kind of morbid awe in me. Strangely enough this wave of feeling seemed to displace the fear.

"Does it make you feel alive?"

"I guess... it's more, like, it's more that it reminds me of how impermanent everything is. Like Parkview crumbling back into the ground... nature endures."

"We live. We die. We rot." He added, his voice rumbling out from his chest like some kind of running engine. I thought more about it as I continued to scan the view below.

Suddenly, he startled my sense of relative peace by separating from me and hopping over the barrier. His feet were now on the ledge as he stood facing the bridge, his back to the sheer drop into the river.

"What are you doing?"

He ignored my frantic question as he positioned himself directly in front of me.

I gripped the cold metal of the only boundary separating us tighter, whitening my knuckles. The disturbing thought crossed my mind for the briefest of seconds that I could push him and as my eyes met his, he had a knowing look on his face. He slowly pulled both of my hands away from their tightly locked grip on the bridge and placed them on his chest.

My head was spinning. Why would he make himself so vulnerable like that? Did he have total conviction that I wouldn't push him, or did he enjoy the slim possibility that I might do it? I searched his face for some kind of answer but didn't find anything conclusive. I stayed frozen like that for a while, the two of us standing on the edge of oblivion.

When we hit the road again, we drove in silence, until the car rolled into a run-down motel on the fringes of the city limits. J wound a scarf around him and pulled it up over his scars. I shook my hair loose around my face so that my own were less immediately obvious.

"Name?" Squinted the wrinkled old lady behind the reception desk as we stood opposite her - looking dishevelled.

A cloud of thick cigarette smoke seemed to hang around her as she tapped her latest into the ashtray.

In a panic, I blurted out an answer.

"Luna."

"Surname?"

Again I panicked. I had to say something and fast.

"...Tick," I mumbled out.

J shot me a sideways glance as if to say, 'you've just fucked this up for us'.

I swallowed, my mouth suddenly feeling bone dry.

"Luna... Tick?" She said dubiously, peering up at me over her reading glasses.

"Yes, my parents were pretty cruel for that one, don't you think?" I laughed nervously.

I somehow managed to convincingly pull off years of frustration that the name would have wrought. She smiled weakly.

"Well, maybe it's not all that bad, Luna is quite a pretty name..." she offered, clearly trying to offset the awkwardness she had brought by failing to hide her surprise.

I nodded sheepishly.

"And who is this?" She nodded towards J, still with the scarf wound over the bottom half of his face.

"That's my fiancée. He's mute, i'm afraid."

I looped my arm through his, trying to make our soon-to-be-married status more convincing.

"Oh," now she looked deeply piteous, "just sign here please."

I scribbled "L Tick" and she tore off the hand written receipt for me. Then I put down the crumpled bills for a two night stay and she handed over the key.

"Here ya go sweetheart. It's back outside, up the stairs and second on the left, you both take care now," she waved us off hurriedly.

Once we got inside the room and shut the door behind us, J erupted into laughter. The suddeness of his outburst made me nearly jump out of my skin.

"You," he pointed a finger at me, "I thought you had us rumbled, but somehow you got her to believe that!" He said, shaking me by the shoulders before he finally relented, unwinding the scarf and throwing himself down on the bed - still reeling with the odd aftershock of laughter. I smiled faintly as I hung up his coat on the hook by the door.

"Well, who knows if she really believed it, maybe she just didn't care..." I sighed, sitting beside him on the bed.

I looked around us. The room was like a 70s time capsule; beige and brown everything, from the wooden funishings to the thick blackout curtains. I could see through an open door that the bathroom was tiny and avocado in colour scheme. I was pretty sure from the cigarette burns on the bedside dressers and the yellowed ceiling that not one of the room's previous occupants had obeyed the faded no-smoking sign plastered to the door. Still, compared to Parkview it was warm. It had electricity and hot water, two things I had taken for granted until I was left without.

I felt a great swell of pity whenever I thought about how many people in the city were at the mercy of the cold. The homeless, the people forced into the squats and slums of the narrows. People left to die, preferably unseen and silent, in the minds of the men and women at the top of the ladder - heights you could only reach with blood money, corruption, and exploitative wealth, whether you were born into it, or a newcomer.

As I got under the covers and clung to my side of the bed, trying desperately to calm my frazzled brain, the girl from the dress store appeared there. I wondered what she was doing right now and I hoped she was happy and safe. Maybe she was also tucked up in bed somewhere. I briefly imagined that she wasn't plagued by the hostage situation... but she probably was. From pure physical exhaustion I finally drifted into the darkness of sleep, long after J's occasional bouts of snoring indicated to me that he was dead to the world already.

I stirred a couple of times in the night, struggling to calm my restless mind. At almost 4am I woke up, suddenly cold. J had his back to me and seemed to be mumbling something as he was hogging all of the duvet. I reached across to try and drag some of it back, hoping he'd just notice and loosen his grip. Instead, my increasingly frustrated tug of war caused him to roll over half onto me as the bedding finally gave in my direction. A heavy arm was now draped haphazardly across my torso. I realised that he was still in deep sleep as I watched the corner of his mouth twitch, and he mumbled something unintelligible again, his lips barely even parting to make words. I was fixated - seeing him this way was so strange.

In sleep, his face looked deceptively innocent and I wondered what he could be dreaming about. Who was he really? Before he'd appeared in Gotham, did he have a normal life? Everyone has a past... even people like him didn't just materialise out of thin air. Psychologically speaking, there was almost always an escalation. A spiral. A 'ramping up'. Often, though not always, there would be catalysts. Something significant. Endless possibilities ran through my thoughts.

But trying to apply these lenses to someone as mysterious and confusing as the man beside me was fruitless. Trying to gather any kid of tangible piece of his past was like trying to outrun nightfall, or trying to retain grains of sand spilling out from between clenched fingers. It felt like he really had just appeared one day, like the batman, a kind of mythical figure. Perhaps he was some kind of vengeful spirit, sowing chaos and disorder, or a harbringer of bleaker times ahead for this already bleak city of rot. Maybe he had rolled in on a desert storm, like the villain in an old Western, or one of the plagues of Egypt. It was hard to see any pieces of the man standing at ground zero...

I could feel his breath tickle my shoulder as he shifted a little, leaning still closer. I took in all the minute details of his unpainted face. The curve of his jaw, the shape of his brow, the delicate eyelashes... and his scars. I was still entranced, gazing at the little forked one which rose up into his lower lip, when his voice pierced the silence.

"You know," he murmured, eyes still closed, "it's a little creepy to stare at someone while they sleep."

I immediately felt defensive and embarassed to have been caught. He opened his intense brown eyes to look at me, staring into my soul for a moment. I sheepishly tried to look away but I felt paralysed under his gaze.

"I didn't mean to," I protested.

"Don't lie to me, or to yourself. What's the point?" He sighed, closing his eyes.

I wanted to protest, but he had got me there, so the words wouldn't come when I tried to summon them. He yawned and stretched out lazily, before returning to the exact same position - with his arm draped across my body. This surprised me, as did any trace of behaviour that could be considered affectionate, not least of all from him. I rolled onto my back and looked up at the ceiling, but I didn't move him away from me - a kind of fence-sitting gesture. Testing the waters, he moved closer, laying his cold hand flat against my warm ribs where my t-shirt had ridden up and planting his head against my shoulder. I didn't know what to make of this so I stayed perfectly still in his half embrace. He was silent for a while, and I thought he might have drifted back into sleep until I felt him bury his face further into the crook of my neck, inhaling deeply. My skin felt as though it was burning with each breath he exhaled against it.

"Why do you do it?" He murmured.

"Do what?" I frowned.

"Why do you keep fighting for restraint?"

"I, I don't want to lose control, to be powerless."

I felt his lips trail up to my ear, sending shivers down my spine.

"Does following the rules really make you the one in control?"

He was mumbling the words against my neck and I was struggling to stay focused on the conversation rather than the physical responses he was stirring in me.

"I don't know... my mind is so tired. For once I want to let myself not know."

"The only sensible way to live in this world is without rules," he sighed, as he pulled me into a tighter embrace.

"Some rules are bullshit, sure, but some are important. Some shouldn't be broken," I pressed back.

He let out a hum of derision, but it sounded lighthearted rather than angry - It didn't feel like he was suggesting I was stupid for disagreeing.

I thought for a moment about my apartment, and the life I had vanished from. What was there to go back to? Even if I chose to run from him, I was likely left without a job and the bills wouldn't stop while I scrambled to find a replacement. Even if I took the first thing I could get my hands on, the wage would be pathetic. I was at serious risk of ending up on the streets, or having to take to something illegal in one way or another to keep my head above water. To make matters worse, chances were high that the crooked cops would try to seek me out.

"Would you kill me if I tried to leave?" I finally spoke.

He seemed to give it some thought as he sucked air through his teeth and drummed his fingers against my ribs.

"No," he answered finally.

"Why not?" I asked, feeling more uncomfortable than relieved.

He shurgged non-comittally.

"Would it make you feel better if I did want to kill you?" He asked mockingly.

"No - I don't know!" I snapped.

"Are you going to leave?"

"No... I don't have anything to go back to, and I think those cops might be out for my blood," I sighed rubbing my forehead to try and relieve the stress headache I was getting.

"Well, the GCPD don't tend to like it if you cause bodily harm to any of their officers, even if they are as twisted as a corkscrew, speaking from experience," he grinned.

"If I stay, what will you do? It feels like no one in this city does anything out of good will. Everything has a price."

"If you stay, the only thing I'll ask of you is that you don't interfere with my plans."

"That sounds suspiciously easy..."

He looked gravely serious for a moment.

"And what if that pesky moral compass of yours tells you what I'm doing is wrong?" His voice had dropped low into a more sinister register again, and I felt the hairs on my arms stand on end.

"I thought you didn't like rules?" I muttered, wondering if I could make such a promise.

"Some rules are important," he echoed my own words.

"Okay, how about this? If I can't hack it, I'll walk away. I won't interfere, and you let me go."

He pursed his lips as he mulled it over.

"Hm, those aren't the terms of the deal I just laid out."

"Well, I like to keep you on your toes," I teased, hoping he would accept my compromise.

"Alright (y/n), we'll play it your way - but I mean it. If you break your promise, I might just be forced to break mine."

I knew by this he meant his promise not to kill me, but it didn't bother me as much as it should have. Maybe he was right that I did have a few screws loose. Abruptly, he slid his other arm underneath my body and pulled me into an almost crushing embrace. In the coils of the serpent I should have felt afraid, but I felt protected from the harshness of the outside world. I found myself playing with his fingers as everything began to slow down. Even my ceaselessly noisy brain seemed to be winding down enough for me to drift into sleep. I couldn't remember a time where anyone had held me like this, or a time when I had let anyone...

Link to the masterlist for other chapters:

Dividers by @strangergraphics

Tag list:

If I forgot anyone or you want to be removed from the tag list - please let me know! 💕

@dis0rderly-cl0wn-nerd

@dance-like-a-clown

@furisodespirit

@heath-ledger-jokers-wife

@sunfyrejoker

@lightsabergirl

@clowning--around

@ruby-da-archangel

@harleenqvinn

@helchronicles

@ostricx

@knoepfl

@jumpingjellyfishhaha

@nicklet94

35 notes · View notes

alyssas-personal-diary · 1 month ago

Text

windows

(tw for a mention of self harm) summary: Dean Winchester was not a creep. Dean Winchester was looking out for Sam and if he got hard while watching his brother slice himself open, so be it.

everytime i go to school i just think to myself ‘none of these people know im a freak and write about incest.’ and frankly, i don’t think anyone would ever guess that when looking at me

anyways, i feel like i’ve only been posting moodboards recently, here’s another one shot :3 this one kind of references my last post but you obv don’t need to have seen that to get this (also stanford era btw!!! fav era idgaf!!!!) (also sam is NAWT with jess. sorry.)

(reminder you can find a collection of my wincest oneshots here: Wincest Oneshots - alyssaspersonaldiary - Supernatural (TV 2005) [Archive of Our Own])

Dean Winchester was not a creep. He was not a stalker, not a creeper, not a leerer. He was just watching out for his brother. If anyone could be defined as a creep, it would be dad. It was his idea to look for Sam in the first place.

Things weren’t supposed to get this far. Sam talked to Dean occasionally, gave a call on holidays and sent cards about his adventures. Dean knew Sam lied in every single one of those letters after getting accustomed to watching Sam’s routine but he’d never call Sam out.

When Dean dropped Sam off at the train station, the first thing he noticed when he got back into Baby was the knife in the glove compartment gone. Dean wasn’t stupid, he knew where the knife went, knew Sam slipped it into his bag when Dean was distracted or something. He just couldn’t figure out why. Sam could’ve asked for anything else, a shirt, a hoodie, boxers, a ring, anything else of Dean’s. But he stole the knife.

He stole Dean’s knife and now Dean sat outside Sam’s apartment, looking in, one hand palming his pants and the other buried in a stack of papers, a subconscious ask for a slit to be formed, a break in the skin. Dean watched with morbid curiosity as the blade went in through one side and out the other, the handle slick and wet in the light glow of Sam’s apartment.

Dean Winchester was not an obsessive stalker, nor was he a poet. A bin atop his tapes held all the letters he never sent, held the sharp papers, stained on the edges with a deep maroon and a droplet of something he couldn’t quite name.

Dean Winchester was not a poet, he didn’t word vomit onto a paper, never wrote essays that made his hand ache for hours after, never journaled, never, never, never. Dean Winchester was a horny bastard and he couldn’t deny the heat in his stomach as he watched his baby pull the knife-his knife- out and dig around inside, couldn’t deny the way bile rose in his throat, almost matching the way his cock rose in his jeans.

Dean Winchester was not a dirty man. He, in fact, didn’t stay in the parking spot until the lights went out and his cock was raw and red in his pants, still buttoned and zipped. He didn’t stay to watch Sam dig his knife-was it even his anymore? or did it belong to Sam now, tainted with blood?-into soft flesh, didn’t strain his ears as if he had a chance of hearing the wet squelch of blood and muscle and fat seeping out the wound as Sam dug inside the new slit as if searching something out.

No, Dean Winchester was not a creep. He was not a stalker, not a bastard, not a poet, not a leerer. Dean Winchester was looking out for Sam and if he got hard while watching his brother slice himself open, so be it.

#spn #supernatural #wincest #dean winchester #samdean #sam and dean #dean and sam #deansam #sam winchester #the winchester brothers #oneshot #stanford era #weirdcest #i think

26 notes · View notes

holybasementdweller · 3 months ago

Text

wanted to add my two cents because shipping discourse is just all over recently. Forgive me rambling a bit here. I have a lot of thoughts on this topic and would like to get them out there in some form.

Stop harassing CC's about their boundaries.

Would you go up to a random person whom you've never met before in your life, who has never met you either, and likely has no idea who you are, purely to ask them if you can draw/write/ship them with one of their co-workers?

No! It's a wildly uncomfortable question to a lot of people, it puts them on the spot, and some CC's may not care as long as they never see it. Now that the concept has been shoved in their face, they're forced to view the idea.

I feel like a large part of the issue is the divide between younger, newer fandom members and older, traditional ones. Primarily the concept that fan content is not intended for CCs, but for fans specifically. Most 'traditional' and older fandom participants follow this view because that's what fandom is. You get to make cool things, and ramble about different head cannons and ideas with your friends and maybe find other fans who become your friends along the way. Maybe you want to throw these characters you really like into this elaborate superhero AU, or draw them in costume, or explore relationship dynamics because it's fun and you get to ramble with fellow fans. It's called a fandom for a reason!

I'd like to clarify here that this post is not meant to target anyone in particular; it's going off a general trend I've noticed.

There's been an influx of people who create fan works or fanart that seems to be aimed more to gain clout or to be noticed by CCs. It's something they wanted to make, but is leaving the realm of "by fans, for fans," in a sense that it seems to have lost more of that "for fans." The work is then shoved at the CC more aggressively than if it was just for friends.

There's a reason that spaces like AO3 and Tumblr exist with such large fan communities- because the communities are meant for fans. It's all well and good when CC's decide to take a peek or participate in said fan spaces of their own volition. They're the ones making the choice to engage. It's NOT all well and good when someone, as a fan, is trying to make that choice FOR them by shoving fanworks at the CC begging for clarification on what is okay with them. You're not going to help anyone in that way. Fan spaces exist separately from the CC spaces for a reason. The CC is a person behind the screen who you don't know. The character or role they play in the series you watch? You might know just about everything there is to know about them!

If a CC has laid out a boundary that they aren't comfortable with X Y Z, then there's a really, really simple solution here. Don't show it to them.

Don't put it in main tags, don't tag them in the post, hell, block the CC so you know they won't be able to view something that makes them uncomfortable.

There's a lot of what comes across as almost puritanical virtue signaling I've seen lately, where people are talking about CC boundaries everywhere and trying to police fanwork. I will again refer you to the point above. The fanwork is not made for the CC. It is made for fans, and if it is something the CC isn't comfortable with, then don't go posting it where they might regularly look at things (such as main fanart/fanwork tags.)

Yes, there are CCs who are over here. Yes, they look through fan works. This app is primarily a fan-oriented space and it has tags that CC's (or anyone else!!) can block to avoid things they are uncomfortable with. Though at this point the few that are over here either were already gay dot com natives or have basically become one.

I may have gone a bit off my original topic but TL;DR:

KEEP FAN WORKS TO FAN SPACES, AND STOP HARASSING THE CC'S PLEASE. LET THEM EXIST IN PEACE.

#bit of a rant #ive been wanting to say something for a while #theres been others who said this far more eloquently than me #the block button is a tool everyone needs to learn to utilize more #peace and happiness are more achievable when you block people

40 notes · View notes

bloodsadx · 8 months ago

Text

even the years that i retroactively have viewed as the most useless of my life have paid off. ive met and befriended many of my heroes from when i was down bad and doing nothing. however in spite of this any time im down im still like. well. i guess im going to jump into the fargo life size human mulcher and deboner (in order to become less full of blood). anyway every time im in an uber with my buddy anne she says the word transexual minimum like 6 times no matter what the vibe of the driver is and last night the uber driver told us to try the following pick up lines (which he called “jaw droppers”): when a girl asks your favorite food, say that “[you] don’t care about stuff like that, [you] want to get to know the flavor of [her] taste buds.” he insisted she’s never heard some shit like this before, so she’ll either like it and you’ll start making out, or if she’s “a more polite woman” she will be like ok ok, and at that point you say “i’m not trying to nourish your body, i’m trying to enrich your soul.” he said that you say that, this being the “jaw dropper,” and then you “can shove your tongue down her throat.” well me and my buddy anne were losing our minds in this uber. and then she started saying the word transsexual to refer to her previous partners and the guy became strictly quiet. well anyway. the moral of the post is, if you walk around a lot, you notice more stuff. i’ve been walking about 10-15 miles a day for the past few weeks and something i’ve been noticing a lot is one specific sticker around portland which ive seen i think sincerely about 300 different places in the past week. and i’ve been walking some really not well trodden, very annoying routes, and this guy has been putting stickers up in some really strange and not even particularly visible spots. and the thing is, i kind of don’t even like this guy’s sticker, but i do really like seeing it, so i really respect that guy. and last night i made direct eye contact with a guy as he put down a slice of pizza and took out a paint marker to write on a trash can. me personally if i made direct eye contact with someone as i was about to write on a trash can i would probably not do that.

i’ve been making draft posts like this when i get home from a long walk and then not posting them nearly explicitly because i don’t want a bunch of people to read them. sometimes i let one fly and it does get like a hundred notes and i just get pissed off. a few months ago i got so mad about something i kept hitting the ground with sticks as hard as possible and trying to suplex trees and victorian house porch support beams at my friends houses. not to test my strength but rather to feel completely indignantly impotent and to feel myself fail against the weight of the world. i got into a bad car crash and have been disallowed by the weight of the world from driving endlessly and aimlessly through the country and instead have endlessly and aimlessly wandered by foot through a place i have lived in for 3 years but only recently have come to feel like i have any knowledge of. so its hard to say which years are more useless. the years where i was doing stuff people gave a fuck about or the years where i was doing stuff that hurt my legs and feet and i saw more stuff? well at the end of the day i suppose nobody can say for sure…after all, on the internet, nobody knows i’m a seaman.

#from the mind of the author

91 notes · View notes

itsdeny · 5 months ago

Note

what made u like obkk

I’ve always had a soft spot for friends to enemies to friends - or, well, whatever - kind of bonds, so watching Naruto for the first time I immediately liked their dynamic and story. Obito was also one of the few characters I knew way before even watching the show which made me particularly intrigued when it came to his character.

But back to ObiKaka.

Last year when Jujutsu Kaisen was airing, I got pretty fixated with it. Eventually, that lead to my (more generic) shonen fixation coming back, and I ended up on ao3 reading Naruto fanfictions. It wasn’t long until I stumbled upon ObiKaka fics, and that’s when it hit me: “wait…they really were something, huh?”

However!

I only started liking them this much - hence, a lot - after rewatching Naruto; which, as you can imagine, happened because of the ObiKaka fics I’d found.

I’d never realised just how thoroughly their story had been planned out right from the beginning: one of the first (important) things we get to know about Kakashi’s character is that he has lost his best friend to war, and that his words and actions are a continuation to his will.

I’d always thought of Naruto as a show that isn’t much about extremely well organised storyline, foreshadowings, etc, (like Attack on Titan is, for reference) but more about just feeling the story and vibes. I was proven wrong, and it was through Obito and Kakashi’s story.

Ever since, I’ve started caring a lot more about their relationship: noticing every word, action, thought of Kakashi that could lead back to his old lost friend. Suddenly everything was about them, Kakashi’s entire character was about them; or, well, about Obito. And it all added up until the war arc, when the mask shattering meant Kakashi’s character slowly crumbling as well. It was one sight to see, really.

I love how they’re not your typical friends to enemies kind of story: were they even friends, really? I feel like their bond was much more complicated than that, their whole story is much more tragic than most people seem to realise, and that really appeals to me. Their personal story, their relationships with their characters, the general plot of Naruto and hell, even their designs all lead back to each other. I personally believe their story to be one of the parts of Naruto that was perfectly crafted. Every time I wish something had been different (postwar!Obito I’m looking at you) there’s always something else reminding me why it was meant to be like that. And like that it shall be.

Their whole story is a bittersweet tragedy that feels emotionally mature. I struggle to even put it into words, really.

Anyway, I’d write a lot more but I fear that might be even too much already lol. I’ll probably make a post in the future talking about this in much more detail, and possibly comparing them to SatoSugu, highlighting the similarities and the - endless, in my opinion - differences.

Thanks for asking and have a great day!

#naruto #anime and manga #naruto shippuden #obito uchiha #kakashi hatake #obikaka #shipping

27 notes · View notes

wormandzeewriting · 17 days ago

Text

This is a poetry blog run by @urlocalwormtoday (Worm) and @honeyzee312 (Zee)!

Here are their blurbs;

＿＿＿＿＿＿

Hello, Zee here! Let’s take a moment to brief what you’ll find with my writing.

I make up words pretty often, use obsolete/archaic words, and borrow words from other languages (especially German), so if you see a word and have no idea what it means, that may just be Zee Shenanigans™! Usually I’ll define a nonce word somewhere, so check the tags, comments, or even title (ex; ‘Trear Means Savage’) of the poem! If you’re still confused, then leave a comment, drop into our asks, or PM me!

(Check the comments of this post for a list of my made-up words with definitions!)

Along with the nonsense words, a lot of my poetry is nonsense too. Some have stories in them, others are just me playing with words, and a few are odd thoughts that I managed to write down! If you are curious about the origins of any of my poems, don’t be afraid to ask about it!

Some poems reference other works (ex; ‘Icarus’, ‘Thoughts on that poem about Sam McGee.’, & ‘Fish in a Birdcage’). If I ever reference, quote, or otherwise use someone else’s work without giving proper credit, please let me know.

Next, I’ll walk you through what is okay to do with my poetry and what is not.

Reblogs, comments, likes, sharing, etc. 〜 I encourage this!

Polite corrections on misspellings or grammar 〜 This is alright to do, I’m grateful for the help!

Rude comments 〜 Do not do this. If you write a clearly rude or disrespectful comment under one of my poems, I will delete it.

Using my poetry in something of your own (song, book, poem, etcetera) 〜 Please reach out to me to talk, or at least credit me.

That’s it for now, I’ll hand you off to my best bud Worm!

＿＿＿＿＿＿

Hiya, poetry enjoyers and literally anyone else! You probably don't know me, and I don't blame you because honestly I leave notes about myself few and far between when I post any writing. So, lemme formally introduce myself!

Here, I go by Worm. Both for privacy reasons and to make things easier! I go by she/her and, embarrassingly, sometimes forget to post things I'm proud of here. Whoops. I'm not too adept at making words, mainly because I have very little faith in myself to make something comprehensible! xD

Most of my writings are about things I've experienced/witnessed/felt in my day-to-day life. Occasionally, though, I write about characters (original or not) or other, really obscure topics. I also enjoy writing about concepts or animals on occasion!

I love tucking odd, hard to spot symbolism in some of my poems, so keep an eye out for that! Some of the references are impossible to get, mainly because nobody else would ever get them but myself, and I do apologize for that! Even though I'm not particularly sorry.

I love when people interact with any of my poems! Liking, re-blogging, commenting, even if it's just a critique! All I ask is that you be nice and respectful when you interact, prettiest please.

I worry I'm making this too long, but oh well.

As I mentioned before, sometimes I like to hide backwards meanings or otherwise cryptic expressions in my poems. Of course, they only pop up on occasion, which makes them even harder to notice and then subsequently connect dots to.

Because of this, I encourage you to comment, reblog, or shoot me an ask letting me know you'd like to hear me break them down in more detail!

There are some poems that I won't be able to explain certain aspects of for, again, privacy reasons, but I'll attempt to explain them all in the most detail I can. ^^'

This was supposed to be a quick summary and is now getting too long. Whoops again.

Goodbye !! Hope you enjoy any of my future poems ! :D

#poetry #original poetry #pinned post #information #this is an official blog for official poems and official stuff !!!#blog rules

6 notes · View notes

erraticrandomficwriter · 1 month ago

Text

Below the cut is Season 1 Episode 2 of my Ginny and Georgia Fanfic; My Mother's Daughter

At the bleak hour of 3 AM, Alex jolted awake, heart pounding, and sweat slicking her brow from another nightmare. Try as she might, sleep eluded her. She sighed and reached for her notepad; a song idea had sprouted from the chaos of her dreams, and she wasn’t about to let it slip away.

Alex’s creativity wasn’t confined to just writing stories and poems. She also sang, played the guitar, and wrote songs. Unlike Ginny, who excelled at the piano, Alex kept her musical talents hidden. Georgia probably didn’t even know she could play the guitar. Alex had picked up playing the guitar in music class back in Texas and now imagined the chords since she didn’t have one of her own.

She often felt overshadowed by Ginny and preferred to keep some things to herself to avoid comparisons.

As she was finishing her lyrics, she heard Georgia and Ginny talking in the other room. She tried to ignore it until something about Chewbacca caught her attention. Curiosity piqued, she went to Ginny’s room and saw her sister plucking a hair from their mother’s chin with a pair of tweezers.

“I’m not awake enough for this,” Alex muttered, shaking her head before returning to her room and closing the door.

Restlessness gnawed at her, making her feel as though she couldn’t sit still. She loved her home in Wellsbury but sometimes felt an overwhelming urge to move, to do anything but remain idle.

Abandoning her half-finished song, Alex decided to prepare for school. Getting ready and having breakfast early would give her a legitimate reason to leave the house without sneaking out. With that plan in mind, she set about her morning routine, hoping the activity would help settle her restless energy.

----------------------------------------------------------

Alex’s plan worked perfectly. She got ready, had breakfast, left a note saying she had left for school, and was out of the house before anyone else was even downstairs. She found a quiet spot in the school’s hallway and resumed her songwriting as she waited for the first bell. he was so lost in her creative flow that when a small package landed on her lap out of nowhere, she nearly jumped out of her skin.

“Jesus!” she exclaimed, her heart racing.

“I’ve been called worse,” Press said with a grin, plopping down next to her and glancing at her notebook. “Working on another poem?”

“A song, actually,” Alex replied, closing the notebook and examining the package. “What’s this?”

“Breakfast,” Press said with a shrug, tearing into his own. “If you’re here this early, I figured you might’ve skipped eating.” He handed her a carton of milk to go with it.

“Thanks,” Alex said with a grateful smile, accepting the milk. “I know why I’m here this early, but what about you?”

“The cafeteria makes killer turnovers for breakfast,” Press replied, his gaze fixed on something across the hall as he ate.

Alex knew better than to pry when someone didn’t want to talk. She despised it when people did it to her, so she wasn’t going to do it to Press. Instead, she set the milk carton beside her, opened her package, and said, “I’ll be the judge of that.” She tore off a piece of the turnover and popped it into her mouth, her eyes widening in surprise. “Holy apples, Batman – this is amazing!”

Press nearly choked on his milk but managed to recover with a smug smile. “Told you.” He studied Alex for a moment, clearly debating whether to ask her something.

Noticing his hesitation, Alex waved her hand in front of his face. “What’s up with your face?”

“Why did you take a picture of your fractured reflection and write that poem for your self-portrait?” Press asked, his voice steady.

Alex wasn’t expecting that. She looked away, biting her lip in thought before answering, “We’re not close enough for me to tell you that.” She was referring to an incident involving a bee, not what had happened with Kenny. She doubted she’d ever tell him about the bee; she didn’t want him to see her differently after knowing.

Press didn’t push further. “Okay,” he said, finishing the last bit of his turnover and his milk. He got up and threw his trash away in a nearby barrel. When he returned, he held out his hand to help Alex off the floor. “The classroom should be unlocked by now.”

Alex took his hand, tossed her trash, and together they walked to their first-period classes.

----------------------------------------------------------

“Where were you this morning?” Ginny asked, sliding into her seat beside Alex in AP English.

“Over the rainbow sipping tea with the Mad Hatter and the Scarecrow,” Alex replied, not lifting her eyes from her notebook.

“Is that a euphemism for something, or are you just avoiding the question?” Ginny pressed, genuinely puzzled.

Alex finally looked up and beamed, “Yes,” before diving back into her writing. She’d let Ginny puzzle over that one.

The bell rang, cutting off any further questions. However, as soon as class was over and they lined up to get their quizzes back, Ginny cornered her again. “I’m serious, where were you? Mom was freaking out until she saw your note.”

“I highly doubt that,” Alex replied coolly. “Besides, you said she saw my note, which clearly stated I was going to school early. So why are you asking me where I was?” Alex’s patience was wearing thin, and Ginny’s persistence wasn’t helping.

“I think what Ginny really wants to know is if you snuck out to hook up with Press before school,” Maxine chimed in with a smirk.

“Oh my deity of your choosing,” Alex groaned, rolling her eyes. Her attention snapped back to the teacher, who announced that only one student had a perfect score and that Hunter Chen was the one to beat. When Ginny and Alex got their quizzes back, both were scored 100%. “Racism is real, yo,” Alex muttered sarcastically as she exited the classroom, echoing Ginny’s words from their first day.

At her locker, Alex suddenly felt someone’s presence far too close behind her. She screamed and scrambled away, heart pounding, only to realize it was Press. He was approaching her slowly, like one might approach a startled deer. “Don’t do that!” she screamed again, not caring who heard.

“Whoa, Alex, I’m sorry…” Press’s apology was genuine. He hadn’t even managed to get out his intended “Boo!” before she freaked out. “Alex, you’re shaking.” He followed her into an empty classroom, watching as she hugged herself tightly, avoiding his gaze. Her behavior spoke volumes. “Who hurt you?”

Alex’s mind was a whirlwind, memories crashing down like a relentless tide. It wasn’t until Press’s words broke through that she managed to tether herself to the present. “What?” she asked, her voice fractured.

Press approached cautiously, stopping when she looked ready to bolt. “Who hurt you? Give me their name, and I swear I’ll make them pay.”

Alex saw the fierce determination in his eyes. She cleared her throat before speaking again. “I already did. Metal stool, below the belt – he won’t be hurting anyone else again.” She could see the anger simmering in Press, barely contained. “It happened in Texas, and I don’t want to talk about it.”

Press paced, trying to calm himself. “Okay.” After a moment, he stopped and asked, “Permission to hug you?”

Alex felt tears welling up. When she practically threw herself at Press, she knew she was clinging to him like a lifeline she hadn’t realized she needed.

So much for keeping it to herself, but Press didn’t run for the hills. If anything, it seemed to bring them closer, and to her surprise, Alex didn’t mind that one bit.

----------------------------------------------------------

After school, Alex was brought to the guidance counselor’s office by her Math teacher for a meeting to discuss her progress. Alex repeatedly told them that she didn't need tutoring, but they just pointed at her assignments and insisted. They even threatened to call her mother, Georgia, for a chat about next steps. Alex knew that bringing Georgia into this would lead to a lecture about her school performance and yet another comparison to Ginny. Though she doubted her mom even realized she was doing it, so she begrudgingly agreed to the tutoring. Again, it’s not like she needed it.

Alex plopped herself at a table by the window at Joe's Cafe, waiting for her tutor. She audibly groaned when she saw Hunter walking in. Sure, she knew that Hunter and Press were friends, but since Hunter dated Ginny, she figured Ginny would hear all about this.

"Hey, Alex," Hunter greeted with a friendly smile, setting his bag on the floor and sitting across from her. "I brought some practice pages for you to do so I can get a sense of your starting point, and we can go from there." He placed the papers and a pencil in front of her. "Do you have any questions before we get started?"

"Yeah, can we just pretend we did this whole tutoring thing so we can leave? I don't need tutoring, so you're just wasting your time." Alex’s annoyance was palpable.

Hunter looked at her supportively. "It's okay, Alex. Not everyone gets this, and if you're worried about me telling anyone, I won't."

Seeing the determination in Hunter’s eyes, Alex knew he wasn’t going to back down, so she begrudgingly started working on the sheets while he talked.

Hunter, thinking she was ignoring him and doodling, said, "I give you my word, I won't tell anyone you need tutoring." He added, "Could you at least try to be respectful and not doodle on the papers?"

"I'm not doodling," Alex retorted defensively. "I'm a horrible artist, so I don't doodle. You can ask Press if you don’t believe me. And like I said, I don't need tutoring. It's not that I can't do it; I just don’t care to. If the teacher paid attention, she’d see that I deliberately do just enough to pass. Why put effort into something I don't care about? Before you start lecturing me on respect, that goes both ways. How about you respect me enough to, oh, I don’t know, believe me when I say I don't need this?" She didn’t even look up from the papers as she spoke, and when she finished, she slapped the practice sheets down in front of Hunter— all completed.

Hunter looked shocked, his eyes wide as he saw that every single answer was correct. He flipped through the pages, checking to make sure the answer key wasn’t mixed in. "How...what..." he stammered.

"I told you I didn't need tutoring," Alex said, smugly.

"You sure don't," he laughed. "But I don't get it—why don't you do the work if you can clearly do it? Why aren't you in AP Math, too?"

Alex sighed with an elaborate hand gesture. "Were you not listening? I don't care about Math or any other subject. I do just enough to not get held back and focus on what I like. No point in wasting time on the other stuff.”

Hunter was still processing everything. "You could literally get into any college..."

Alex practically leaped out of her chair to lean over the table and cover his mouth with her hand. "I've heard it all before—no intention of hearing it again. If you promise to hush and never bring it up again, I'll show gradual improvement or whatever. Deal?"

When Hunter nodded, she removed her hand, returned to her seat, and sighed. "So, now what? We can go, right?"

Hunter, needing to collect his tutoring hours, said, "Actually...could we work on something? Anything? Joe needs to sign off that I've been here tutoring, and I’m counting on these hours to..."

Alex held up her hand. "Say no more. Homework it is."

Hunter was surprised she agreed. "Thanks. I appreciate it."

Alex shrugged. "You don't annoy me as much as I thought you would, so no biggie."

Hunter looked amused and confused. "Thanks, I guess."

Alex set her homework down. "I don't particularly care for Ginny's friends, and you're part of that group, so I assumed you'd be as nail-on-a-chalkboard-esque as them."

"Press is friends with them, too," Hunter countered.

"His so-called friends called him a psycho sociopath and told me I could do better. You may be friends with them and Press may be friends with you, but those ladies are so not his friends," Alex said without hesitation.

Hunter took that into consideration. "Noted." He then spotted some music notes and lyrics on one of Alex's notebook pages. "You're a songwriter?"

Alex flipped the page and went back to her History assignment. "We're not friends enough to get into that."

Hunter held his hands up in a playful, dramatic 'I surrender' manner. He could definitely see why Press was so into Alex and hoped it’d work out for them.

----------------------------------------------------------

When Alex got home after Hunter’s ‘tutoring session’ ended, she found Press perched on the front steps of her house, waiting. She couldn't help but feel a warmth spread through her chest at the sight of him there, almost like he was a guardian waiting to ensure she made it home safe.

“You’re not gonna go all Edward Cullen on me and watch me when I sleep, are you?” she teased, her playful smirk masking the genuine curiosity and slight nervousness beneath.

Press’s face turned stoic, masking any hint of confusion. “I have no idea what you’re referencing.”

Alex squinted at him, trying to discern if he was serious. A flicker of amusement crossed her mind, lightening the lingering weight of her day. She sat down beside him, chuckling. “What’s up?”

“You weren’t at Brodie’s tonight. Everything okay?” He cut straight to the chase, his eyes searching hers for any sign of distress.

“I had to do some mandatory tutoring,” Alex explained, rolling her eyes dramatically. “It was easier than dealing with the school calling my mom in.”

Press raised an eyebrow. “You’re literally one of the smartest people I know. You don’t need tutoring.”

“That’s what I tried to tell them,” Alex sighed, leaning back on her arms. She could see the concern in Press’s eyes, and it touched her more than she expected. “I’m fine, Press.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” he snapped, then immediately softened, rubbing his brow. Guilt tugged at him—he hadn’t meant to sound harsh. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

“No, you did, and that’s okay,” Alex took a deep breath, feeling the weight of unspoken truths pressing against her ribcage. “I’m not lying when I say I’m fine.” She saw Press about to counter, so she quickly added, “F is for feeling overwhelmed. I is for I’m not alright. N is for not being able to sleep, E for every night.” Alex couldn’t take credit for that, but when she heard the song ‘Fine by Kyle Hume’ she felt it in her soul.

Alex flashed a wide smile, masking the turmoil inside. “I’m very good at burying things and saying what needs to be said so people don’t freak out around me.”

“You don’t have to wear a mask around me,” Press’s tone softened, a gentleness threading through his words. He wished she’d let him in, just a little bit more.

“It’s not a mask,” Alex countered with a small smile, though her heart ached with the effort of keeping the walls up. “It’s a face.” She wrapped her arms around his and leaned on his shoulder, craving the comfort of his presence. “I’m never going to tell you the full story.”

Press didn’t move, didn’t look at her. He could feel the unspoken pain radiating from Alex, and all he wanted was to ease it. “Okay,” he said simply and sincerely, and that was good enough for Alex.

----------------------------------------------------------

Up in her room, Alex was getting ready for bed when Georgia came in. She was braiding her hair, trying to unwind from a long day – ironically, because in a way she was literally winding her hair.

“Who were you talking to outside?” Georgia asked, her voice curious.

“Matt Press,” Alex answered, deftly finishing the braid. “He’s a friend.”

“A friend who is a boy?” Georgia’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Are you going to be okay with that?”

Alex turned to face her mother, meeting her gaze head-on. “Yes, I’m okay. And…he kinda knows what happened. When he snuck up on me, I kinda freaked, and he figured it out.”

Georgia’s legs wobbled, and she had to sit down. The revelation was like a punch to the gut, causing a swirl of emotions—fear, relief, and a deep, aching sadness for her daughter’s pain.

Since Georgia was uncharacteristically silent, Alex continued, feeling a need to fill the heavy silence. “He didn’t react like I thought he would…he was supportive and asked for my permission to give me a hug. After everything, I really didn’t think I could get close to a boy, and I’m not saying that he and I will ever get close physically, I’m just saying…it’s good, Mom. I’m good.” There was a mix of hope and vulnerability in her voice, a quiet plea for understanding.

Georgia swallowed the words she wanted to say because, for the first time in a long time, she saw that Alex genuinely meant she was good. Instead, she put on a warm smile, feeling a surge of maternal pride and love, and kissed her daughter’s forehead. “I’m glad. After all, not all men…”

She didn’t need to finish her sentence. Alex responded instantly, the playful sparkle in her eyes returning. “Of course not. Gomez Addams would never.”

Georgia chuckled, a wave of relief washing over her. “My little Addams fanatic,” she said softly, her voice filled with affection. “Goodnight, Lexi,” she added before leaving the room.

Alex glanced at her new mirror and smiled – for the first time in a long time, it was a genuine one. The reflection staring back at her wasn’t forced or feigned, her smile was real and for the first time in a long time Alex thought she might actually sleep through the night because of it.

----------------------------------------------------------

At school the next day, Hunter hurried down the hall, weaving through the crowd until he caught sight of Alex. His heart pounded as he approached her, his steps quickening with urgency. He caught up with her and, panting slightly, blurted out, “Okay, so, I really need you to be cool and please, don’t hate me.”

Alex’s brows knitted in confusion. She couldn’t fathom what Hunter might have done to warrant such a plea. Trying to control the flood of anxious thoughts racing through her mind, she met his gaze and said, “I make no promises. What did you do?”

Hunter stopped abruptly, causing Alex to halt as well. He winced, his face a mask of regret as he confessed, “I may have told your guidance counselor that you’re incredibly smart and should be in AP classes.”

Alex felt her blood start to boil, the heat of anger rising from her chest to her cheeks. “You may have done it, or you did do it?” she demanded, emphasizing the words ‘may’ and ‘did’.

Hunter looked away, guilt etched on his face. “I did,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. He could see the fury blazing in her eyes. “I’m sorry, Alex, I just couldn’t let you throw away your chance at college and…” His words trailed off as Alex stormed away, fury in her stride. He raced after her, calling out, “Look, I’m sorry but…”

Alex whirled around, jabbing her finger into his chest as she advanced, forcing him to backpedal until he was pressed against the wall. “No buts. There are no buts in this situation. I trusted you, and you betrayed that trust. You had no right interfering in my life. Do you think I want to be in the same classes as my sister, constantly being compared to her? Now I’ll never hear the end of it from Ginny and my mom! I just wanted to stay under the radar, make my own choices, and you took that away from me!”

Hunter could see that her reaction was about more than just his betrayal. This outburst stemmed from deeper issues, from wounds he hadn’t known existed. “I’m sorry,” he repeated, feeling helpless.

“I don’t care,” Alex snapped, removing her finger from his chest and walking away, her anger leaving a tangible trail behind her. This time, Hunter didn’t follow.

Press entered the hall just in time to see Alex walking away from Hunter. Concerned, he approached his friend and asked, “What’s up?”

Hunter sighed heavily, the weight of his mistake pressing down on him. “I was assigned to tutor Alex and found out she’s a lot smarter than she lets on. I told her guidance counselor.”

Press looked at him like he was an idiot all whole doing his best not to get pissed. “Dude, Alex has her reasons.”

“I get that now,” Hunter replied, his remorse deepening. “She told me she only cared about English, but I didn’t realize there was more to it.” Granted, he didn’t know the whole story but with how Alex had spoken about being compared to Ginny, he could imagine.

Press shook his head at his friend. “You really screwed up, man. Good luck fixing it.”

“You’re not going to help me out here?” Hunter asked, hoping for some assistance.

“Nope,” Press said firmly, walking away.

Hunter exhaled deeply and headed to class, his mind racing with ways to make amends. He needed to fix things with Alex—not just because she was practically Press’s girlfriend and Ginny’s sister, but because he genuinely hoped they could become friends. He just hoped he could find a way.

----------------------------------------------------------

When Alex walked out of her guidance counselor’s office clutching her new AP class schedule, she felt a volcanic eruption of frustration bubbling within her. It took every ounce of her self-control not to tear the paper into confetti and scatter it across the hallway. She knew the inevitable confrontation with her mom awaited her—an interrogation about why she hadn’t been in these advanced classes from the start and why she’d coasted at a level far below her true capabilities. There was no escaping it now; Georgia wouldn’t let this slide. After giving Alex so much slack on bigger issues, her mom was sure to unleash her wrath this time.

As Alex stormed down the hall, she passed the lilac-painted wall where Ginny and her friends—Nora and Abby—stood, chatting. She hoped to glide by unnoticed, but Abby shot out her hand, gripping Alex’s wrist with a firm hold.

“Hey, Ginny’s twin, we’re going shopping, and you’re coming,” Abby said with a faux-sweet smile that didn’t reach her eyes.

“Hey, the name’s Alex, and no, I’m not,” Alex retorted, yanking her hand free. She added with a sarcastic, high-pitched valley girl tone, “Thanks for the invite, though,” and flicked her hair dramatically before turning to walk away.

“You could have just said no,” Abby called after her, a hint of annoyance in her voice. “No need to be a bitch about it.”

That remark was the final straw. Alex stopped dead in her tracks, fury igniting in her eyes. She spun on her heels and marched back toward Abby, her expression murderous.

Seeing the brewing storm, Ginny quickly intervened, stepping between her sister and Abby. “Don’t ruin my chance at having friends, I beg of you,” she quietly pleaded, pushing Alex away.

“No promises,” Alex muttered, glaring daggers at Abby. She shot her the middle finger before continuing her march down the hall to her locker, where she needed to gather her textbooks for return. She’d be getting new ones the next day.

As Ginny rejoined Nora and Abby, Abby watched Alex’s retreating figure with a newfound respect. “She doesn’t take anyone’s crap. I’m totally in love with her,” she declared with a serious tone, then burst into laughter, with Nora and Ginny joining in soon after.

----------------------------------------------------------

Alex sat at the kitchen counter, her focus intently on the card game she was playing with Austin. The quiet hum of their playful competition was interrupted when Georgia and Ginny burst through the door. Ginny, radiating frustration, stormed straight up the stairs without a word. Georgia, visibly exasperated, entered the kitchen, shaking her head in disbelief. "I don’t know what I’m going to do with your sister,” she muttered, her voice heavy with fatigue.

Deciding to face the inevitable, Alex turned to Austin with a sigh. "We’ll play cards again later. I need to talk to Mom."

Austin, sensing the seriousness of the situation, nodded and began to gather the cards. "Okay," he said simply, before retreating up to his room.

Georgia, still releasing deep, weary sighs, set her water bottle down on the counter with a thud. She looked across at Alex, her expression a mix of concern and exasperation. "Please tell me you don’t have a crisis too. Or if you do, let it be a normal teenage crisis, like a zit that makes you feel like you’ll just die if you have to go to school tomorrow."

Alex couldn’t help but chuckle at the oddly specific example but quickly regained her composure. "With the exception of Art, I’m starting all AP classes tomorrow," she announced, her voice steady despite the turmoil inside.

Georgia blinked, clearly taken aback. She moved around the counter island and perched on the stool beside Alex, her eyes searching her daughter’s face. "You barely get C’s in any class other than English, so please explain how you’re now in AP classes?"

Alex stood up, making her way to the fridge. She grabbed a can of cola and opened it with a crisp snap. "You know I don’t believe in wasting my time," she said, taking a sip. "So I just don’t bother in the classes that I don’t care about." She left out the part about avoiding being in the same classes as Ginny, a detail she wasn’t ready to share.

Georgia slowly rose from her seat, the realization dawning on her. "So this whole time—for years—you’ve been pretending not to be as smart as you are?" She didn’t wait for a response. "Why the hell would you do that, Lexi? And don’t give me that ‘oh, I just don’t care’ crap." She pointed a finger at Alex, her frustration boiling over. "You fooled me good, baby girl, and I don’t appreciate that. Once I figure out how to deal with everything else that’s going on, we will be having more of a conversation about this." With that, Georgia turned and left the kitchen, her footsteps echoing down the hall.

Alex exhaled a long breath, taking another sip of her soda. "Yep, that pretty much went the way I thought it would," she muttered to herself, the weight of the confrontation settling heavily on her shoulders.

With the tension between her and her mom still hanging in the air, Alex planned to retreat to her room for some much-needed solitude. That was the plan until a sudden knock at the front door made her spin around on her heels. She opened it to find Hunter standing there, a hesitant smile on his face.

“Ginny’s upstairs, I’ll go get her,” Alex said automatically, ready to dash away.

“Actually, I’m here for you,” Hunter interjected quickly before she could leave.

“Why? You have more decisions to make about my life?” Alex retorted, raising an eyebrow as she sipped her soda. She stepped outside, closing the door behind her.

“I deserve that,” Hunter admitted, then handed her a paper bag from the Wellsbury bookstore. “This is for you.”

Alex tapped her soda can thoughtfully. “Is this a bribe for my forgiveness?”

“Absolutely,” Hunter replied without missing a beat.

Alex chuckled, handing him her soda can. She took the bag from him and pulled out a compilation book of cartoons of the Addams Family by Charles Addams. Her eyes lit up with excitement. “Oh my deity of your choosing, this is amazing!” She laughed, flipping through the pages before looking back at Hunter. “How did you know I loved the Addams Family?”

Hunter shrugged, a smile tugging at his lips. “Your bag is covered with Addams Family-themed patches. I figured this would be a safe bet.” His eyes were hopeful. “Are we good?”

Alex closed the book, placing it back into the paper bag. She took her soda can from him and narrowed her eyes, a smile playing on her lips. “You’re lucky I love a good bribe.” She grinned, and he smiled along with her.

“Good, I’m glad. I really want us to be friends,” Hunter said earnestly.

Alex’s immediate response was blunt. “Right – not getting along with your friend’s friend and the girl you like’s sister probably wouldn’t bode well for you.”

“Not just that,” Hunter explained, “I think you’re cool and want to be your friend, just because.”

“A non-ulterior motive friend, eh? I’m good with that.” Alex lifted the bag. “Thank you for this. See you in class.”

Hunter smiled and waved as she went back inside the house. He walked back to his car parked down the street and got in, looking at Press who was sitting in the passenger seat. “You were right, she loved the book.”

“Told you,” Press replied, not looking away from his phone.

“I thought you weren’t going to help me though? Why did you give me the book?” Hunter asked, still puzzled.

“I wasn’t helping you, I was helping her,” Press replied seriously. “She could use you as a friend.”

Hunter could have easily teased Press for being sentimental, but he chose not to. Instead, he simply said, “I owe you one.”

“I aim to collect,” Press responded, his tone leaving no room for doubt. He had given Hunter the book because he wanted Alex to feel better and for her and Hunter to be friends. Press was willing to do anything to make Alex happy and he intended to see it through.

----------------------------------------------------------

End Season 1 Episode 2

#Ginny and Georgia Fanfic #My Mother's Daughter #Ginny and Georgia OC #Alexandria Miller #Matt Press #Hunter Chen

5 notes · View notes

osleeplessflowero · 1 year ago

Text

// i love merfolk, so i figured..why not write a skeleton oneshot with a merman blue? 💙 As always, gender neutral Reader. Their soul is up for interpretation! 💜 Ao3 link will be provided once it's posted there! (I am so sorry for my fic readers that get a bunch of oneshots instead of updates..) 💛 bonus points if somebody gets the barbie reference in here

🫧 Into The Sea 🌊

The ocean waves sway beneath you, the sound all too familiar. Your hair blows gently in the breeze, that salty ocean air filling your senses. You smile, comforted by the atmosphere.

In truth, you hadn't expected to come out here to begin with. But since your friend had an extra ticket for a popular cruise line in the area..how could you refuse? Plus, it's a great opportunity to see the sea life you're normally not that close to.

Speaking of said friend, they walk over to you and lean their arms on the rail beside you.

"It's beautiful, isn't it?" They ask, grinning. "I'm glad I could ask you to come with me. Sights like these just wouldn't be the same alone." "Thanks for asking me to. Beats staying at home by myself, right?" "Couldn't have said it better. Maybe if we're lucky, we'll see some of the Mer." "Mer? As in merfolk? I thought those were myths?" You turn to them, a brow raised. "Oh no, they're very real. I've asked a few people around and they said they've caught glimpses of tails moving through the water out here at night. They must be looking for food or something." They shrug. "Huh..how unusual. I wonder what they look like.." You look back to the water, a bunch of ideas flowing through your head as you wonder about these unfamiliar creatures you'd only heard about in tales. "Me too. Maybe we'll spot one."

If there were merfolk out here, would they even approach? Surely they would be curious about this large structure during the water. But then again, they may have experience with these sort of things and wish to stay away. Which, of course, you'd completely understand should you be in their situation. Who knows how many hunters have gone out here to try and catch them for fame?

"It'd definitely be a sight." You lean on them, trying to spot any unusual colors in the water. For a moment you perk up at the sight of a tail, but it just turns out to be a dolphin.. you still say hello to it, though.

Things are peaceful for a bit, before you look up to notice that there are dark grey clouds forming in the sky; a storm's coming. Better get inside before something happens.

"Let's go in. I don't want to get caught in this rain." You suggest, pointing at the nearest door leading into the ship. Your friend agrees, walking inside with you and grouping up with several other passengers on board. An announcement is said over the intercom:

"Attention to all of our passengers, please remain calm. A storm is currently approaching us and should be moving out of this area shortly. Please remain indoors at all times and near a safe space until the coast is clear. Thank you."

"I wonder how bad of a storm it'll be?" You ask no one in particular, looking outside at the increasingly growing darker sky and the waves. Your friend perks up, having been focused on something else. "Hopefully not bad enough to end our trip early. It's been so fun here!" They comment, holding up their phone to check the weather and showing you.

It seems a big thunderstorm is arriving, lightning along with it. The winds will be moving like crazy.. You silently hope it doesn't knock out the ship's power somehow. Your friend rests their hand on your shoulder, a reassuring gesture but also to get your attention as you're snapped out of your thoughts.

"Hey, I'm gonna go get us some drinks. You gonna be alright on your own? I can stay or you can go with me if not." They offer, gesturing to a room nearby that leads to the dining area.

You nod. "Yeah, I'll be fine. You go on ahead, I'll wait here."

"Okay! Be back in a sec!" They run off, quickly dodging anybody that walks too close to them. You feel around in your pocket for your phone so you can watch something to pass the time, but..it isn't there. You were sure you placed it there earlier!

..That's right. You brought it outside with you. It must still be out there, you hope it hasn't already gotten wet!

You contemplate leaving your friend before deciding you'll just walk right back in, so you rush outside out of anyone's view to go and retrieve your phone. The wind harshly blows your hair behind you as well as your clothes, the rain gently hitting you from above and falling from the sky like thousands of tears.

Sure enough, your phone's exactly where you left it, beside the chair you'd been sitting in while getting some sun earlier. You carefully walk over to it, dodging the wind as you move as best you can to grab it. Once you finally have it in your hands, you're relieved that somehow it remained untouched.

Your friend rushes out, presumably having looked out the window and saw you, running over and almost slipping.

"Hey! Be careful out here, the wind's insane! What are you even doing?" They shout, holding onto the railing beside the two of you.

"I was just getting my phone, I left it out here and really did not want to lose it."

"Okay, well, just give it to me for now. I don't want you to lose it again and throw yourself into more danger." They hold out their hand, and you place it in their hand before the two of you begin walking back to the door you came out here from.

The wind picks up, much stronger than before. The ship slightly tilts due to the power of it, causing you to fall right onto the rail.

Your friend calls out your name as you reach out to them, before you're abruptly shoved back again, falling over the rail. They try their hardest to pull you back up, but in the end you ultimately fall into the water.

"Someone help! My friend just fell overboard!" You can hear them shout as they rush back inside. You hit the water abruptly, struggling to swim back up.

You fight, swimming as hard as you can, trying to reach the surface without running out of breath. Yet it seems the water keeps somehow pulling you back down.. Tears prick at the corners of your eyes as you continue to try, before you eventually fall unconscious from the lack of air..

A brief flash of bright blue fills your vision before your eyes shut. You sink slowly down into the sea..

Someone swims up to you. You can't see him, because you're out cold. He's beautiful; a mer-skeleton that had seen you fighting before you fainted, wanting to help you. His bright blue tail glistens beneath the water, his arms having tattoo-like blue markings along them as well as his ribcage. His bright blue eyelights dart over you in a worried manner as he finally reaches your sleeping form. He looks up to the surface before realizing you need air, holding you in his big strong arms as he swims up to the surface.

He pops his head out of the water before pulling you out with him. There's no response from you..

His eyelights dart around before he spots a set of rocks, swimming over and lying you down before pressing down on your chest. He repeats this process a few times, before saying distressed words in a language you probably wouldn't understand, were you awake to hear.

He apologizes, closing your nose and lifting your chin before pressing his teeth to your lips and blowing air in.. somehow, leaning up to take a breath before doing it one more time.. the moment he raises his head again, you spit out water, coughing as your eyes slowly blink open, filled with tears. You take deep breaths as you sit up, the skeleton resting his hand on your back as he supports you.

You look over your savior..a beautiful skeleton merman, who's greeting you with a warm smile. He seems to be relieved that you're okay. So they really do exist.. that's..crazy. And to think one just saved your life..

"Thank you." You say, hoping that somehow he'll understand if there's a language barrier. He pauses for a second, before letting out a quiet gasp and nodding, seeming to have understood.

You turn your head towards the ship, pointing to it. "Can you take me back? My friend is waiting."

He tilts his head a little, so out of curiosity, you try signing the words out to him. His eyelights widen a little bit, and he signs back.

'You Can Sign?' 'Yeah, learned how.' 'That's Great! I Should Take You Back Now Before Your Ship Leaves.' 'Thank you!'

He picks you up in a bridal carry of sorts, motioning for you to hold on before quickly swimming up to the boat. A ladder is quickly dropped down by some staff members for you to climb. You grab onto it, turning to the stranger.

'Thank you again. What's your name?' 'Blue! And You're Welcome, Human!'

You smile at him, pressing a small kiss to his cheek, causing his face to flush a bright shade of blue.

'I hope I'll see you again!' You climb up, hugging your friend who makes sure you're okay.

He gives you a wave, before disappearing into the sea.

"You have to tell me EVERYTHING." Your friend states, wrapping a towel around your shoulders as you walk inside.

"Yeah..let me get some time to think, first."

#swap sans x reader #merman swap sans #gender neutral reader #underswap x reader #utmv x reader #underswap sans #underswap sans x reader

48 notes · View notes

emotionallychargedtowel · 2 years ago

Text

“I mislead audiences on purpose”

I was talking with @firepony67 a while back about something I noticed even further back, and I realized it’d probably be worth putting in a post. And then I sat on this draft for a while longer. But I’m trying to write up some of my lingering thoughts about Utsukushii Kare now, so I’m finally circling back to this. I’ve written before about how Sakai Mai (Utsukushii Kare’s director) has stated that she tries to follow the yaoi manga tradition that places semes on the left of an image/frame and ukes on the right and how this plays out in Utsukare. If you’re interested in more depth on this topic, this post is a good place to start, but you might want to work your way up from my last reblog and then move upward. I got a lot of help with finding background quotes on this from @xnoel and relied on translations of press material from @sparkling-rain (as usual, I highly recommend checking out their master post of translated Utsukare articles and other stuff). The screenshot-as-pull-quote below is from @sparkling-rain’s translation of this interview with Sakai Mai from the first season’s visual book.

When I was looking into this issue, I came across a quote from Sakai about the seme left/uke right thing that included a reference I didn’t quite understand at first.

(A quick note, because I had to look it up: your “oshi” is a celebrity/idol that you support/root for/are a fan of/advocate for. And I gather it sometimes applies to other types of people or even things? But it seems it’s mostly used in reference to famous people and related stuff.)

So, what did Sakai mean about misleading the audience on purpose in the hand-kiss scene? It was only when I went back to re-watch season 1 a while back that I figured it out--or at least, figured out what I think she meant.

In episode 3 of season 1, we see the hand kiss from Hira’s perspective. It’s one of the few times Kiyoi is on the left side of the frame. And it seems fitting for him to be in the seme spot. He’s initiating a few different kinds of closeness with Hira in this scene. Not only does he initiate physical contact by asking Hira if he wants to kiss him and then offering him his hand (even though he pulls it away the first time before Hira can get close), he also asks him a bunch of personal questions and drops some hints about associating with Hira more (like when he tells Hira to always keep his camera with him in the future, showing an investment in Hira’s availability to do certain things that suggests they’ll be spending time together). Basically, he’s moving towards Hira, in his prickly way. If he’s pursuing in a sense, then he belongs on the left side, right?

But Sakai said she was misleading the audience here. And in episode 5, which is the first episode in which we see things from Kiyoi’s point of view, we see this scene from another angle, both in the literal and figurative senses of the phrase.

At first we see the hand kiss from the same angle as before. But after that, we get this counter-shot. I wish I knew how to make gifs because Kiyoi’s expression here is only truly visible when he’s in motion. In a screenshot like this one, you might think he doesn’t look terribly affected, but his eyelashes are fluttering like mad. (If you’re familiar with the show it’s a pretty memorable moment, so in that case you may not need to see it again to recall how significant an effect this has on Kiyoi.)

And where’s Hira now? He’s on the left. This whole thing was Kiyoi’s idea, yes. But has he stayed in control of the situation? For all his posturing and faking Hira out and everything, in a very real sense he has lost the upper hand. He offered his hand, yeah. He knew Hira would probably try to make use of the opportunity. But how could he have known that Hira would literally bow down to him in such an abject way, that he would kiss his hand in such an intense, devoted manner and turn this gesture into something so loaded with meaning? Or, maybe more to the point, that he would give him such a case of the vapors?

This is actually a prime example of the way Hira, by ostensibly debasing himself, actually takes control of an interaction with Kiyoi. In the act of making himself a “servant,” he also simultaneously makes himself “Lord Hira” (the one who “gets stubborn about the weirdest things”). That’s a whole other topic I also mean to write a post about, but for now, suffice it to say that Hira has taken the leeway Kiyoi gave him by offering his hand and has used it to turn the tables on Kiyoi in a certain (very real) sense. When you get the full picture by adding in Kiyoi’s perspective on this moment, you can see that Hira is still very much a seme in this interaction.

I have an additional side note about the little fragment of subtitle in this screenshot (which uses @lollipopsub‘s subtitles, which are no longer up as of this writing but I hope will be available again at some point--they’re very thoughtfully done, with an attention for detail that you don’t find in either Viki’s or GaGa’s subs for this show). Echoing Hira, Kiyoi says here that they were like “two dots that never connected.” Kiyoi continues by saying, ”until the last day of high school.” But for Hira, even the events of that day, kiss and all, didn’t constitute a connection. When he says the same thing about himself and Kiyoi as “dots” that “never connected,” he just follows it up by saying, “and eventually the last day of high school came about.“ I find it really interesting that Hira can assert himself in his sneaky but undeniable way, blow Kiyoi’s mind with this tiny gesture, and still look back and tell himself, “nah, we never connected.”

Anyway, that’s what I think Sakai Mai may have been implying by flipping Hira’s and Kiyoi’s usual positions in the frame for this scene initially but then reasserting them when showing the same event from Kiyoi’s perspective. And I think that’s what she meant when she said she “misled” us.

#utsukushii kare #utsukushii kare season 1 #utsukare #hira x kiyoi #utsukushii kare analysis #utsukushii kare discussion #utsukushii kare meta #sakai mai

87 notes · View notes

uncaught-coolfish · 2 years ago

Text

The following post is a RWDE rant that is long, angry and non articulated. If you don’t like that, don’t read it, and leave me be. Thank you.

Warning for mentions of racism, bigotry, genocide and slavery.

RW//BY, as a show, is… I’m going to say it, actually really racist. Is it the most racist thing ever? No. Fuuck no. Not even close. But I’d daresay at least half of it is riddled with some of the most appallingly ignorant shit I’ve seen in any webseries, and yet… some people will go out of their way to harass any who dare to criticize it.

Remnant is not real. The characters I am about to discuss are not real. But the writers who wrote these characters and the world they inhabit are very real, and the shit they wrote fucking disgusts me.

so. Rant begin.

Something the crazies of the fandom will say (I say crazies because, the fandom isn’t all like this. many of you guys are chill and cool as fuck) in defense of RW//BY’s many problematic aspects, particularly the criticism of “75% of the show’s POC and minorities are villains”, is that “well, there’s a lot more POC and minority’s on the GOOD GUY side now! Hooray!”

And they’re technically right. I like Elm and Pietro and I love Maria (in V6 especially she was fucking golden) and Marrow. Them and all the other POC they’ve added in as of V6-7~ are, in my opinion, mostly great additions to the cast.

The side cast.

The thing that isn’t usually pointed out is that these characters… they are side characters. Pietro and Maria are side characters. The Ace Ops and Happy Huntresses, while playing a decent role, are side characters.

Hell that extends to pretty much every POC character we’ve gotten aside from Oscar. They’ve been side characters. Many of whom, we likely won’t see again (Until Volume 10… if RT lasts that long)

But I want to mention one thing. We didn’t start getting characters that weren’t blinding white until the end of V2 and the start of V3.

One of these characters in question I’d like to point out, Flynt Coal.

I like Flynt. He’s fine. I think his design is cool. But to deny that his character isn’t extremely racist is ignorant.

One of their first. Black characters. Was basically named… “Dark rock, Dark Rock”…

and his weapon is a TRUMPET😭

Not only that, but he and Neon fight Yang and Weiss in the tournament. Let’s talk about Weiss actually. She is the second oldest child to the megarich Schnee family, whom owns the SDC, which she is heiress to. Earlier in the series she acted extremely racist towards characters of an in-universe minority group, and never really apologized on screen. Instead, we’re given justification for why the rich girl is racist. She’s scared because of the White Fang! Poor little German name “White Snow.”

Anyways, back to the fight. Flynt mentions how it was the SDC who put his father’s own company out of business in their monopoly. Does this go somewhere? Nooooo he’s a side character, who’s beaten by Weiss and her bestie by the end of the battle.

How come they made one of their first black characters fight and lose a battle with their whitest richest character? (Obs not implying he should’ve won, just asking why they chose him in the first place) How come they named him after black rocks(which is in reference to how, in a minecraft letsplay, one mentioned the name “Flynt Coal” and another replied “He’d have to be a black guy!”)?

Who knows. But surely this is the last time they’ll make a (minority) character be positioned oppositely from our mains. Surely they won’t ever write one as a villain!

Surely she won’t be the Lakota girl, either!

Ilia as a character was a big stepping stone (at the time) in terms of RW//BY’s representation. She was the first canonical, on screen LGBTQ+ character. She was a member of the White Fang who, before joining, was able to “blend in” with humans due to her Faunus trait not being as noticeable, being spots on her face and along the rest of her body. Ilia was orphaned due to her parents dying in an SDC mine collapse, and when she saw her school friends laughing about it, she “punched their teeth out.”

Hell, overall I really like Ilia. Her design is adorable, as LGBTQ+ rep I think she’s good enough (though the fact they wrote their first lesbian character to be… a villain, is a talk for another day), and overall I find her decently written on her own. Plus, she’s fun as hell to write. Love her dearly.

On her own. Because in the story, the more I think about it… the more I’m sad, and mad, about how she was handled.

Firstly. Her name. Apparently it’s supposed to mean “Butterly Rainbow” (again, naming your first lesbian girl “rainbow” lol)… but nope. They got the name Amitola off a baby named website, when it really means something closer to “Like a blue sky.” From my understanding. Typical RT shenanigans. It gets worse :3

Ilia was also one of the very few villains in the show to be redeemed. How was she redeemed?

By being told by the much-more privileged, whiter minority girl whom she had a crush on that what ilia was fighting for was Bad. How Ilia was fighting for it was Bad. The White Fang? Baaaad. How dare the MINORITIES FIGHT WITH NEEDED VIOLENCE for their basic living rights against the POOR WIDDLE OPPRESSORS! It’s THEIR fault they’re oppressed, because they’re making the humans uncomfortable and angry! They need to just keep their dirty mouths shut and be good, presentable minorities.

And upon being redeemed, Ilia is immediately put on a bus. Shelved.

And let me remind you again. Who was redeemed through being told by her much whiter (I say whiter in a way not to demean Blake btw, as privileged as she is she is still a minority obviously. Just… stating facts) friend that “a minority Shouldn’t use violence against their oppressors for their rights. It’s Their fault the humans are still so racist towards them. The Faunus should stop being so aggressive and be peaceful”?

Not only the lesbian character, but…

The indigenous girl.

The.

Indigenous.

Girl.

I’m sure I don’t need to point out how fucked this is. Let alone the fact this whole show is written in fucking Texas.

It’s no secret, as much as some try to make it be, how horribly Native Americans and indigenous people have been treated throughout history. The oppression they have faced stems back centuries. Their land and home was stolen from them.

Their own culture was all but forcefully eradicated.

Men, women, children, were all genocided.

To this very day it’s all they can do to fight for not only their own rights as people, but the very lands that were stolen from them.

So for this show to write… it’s Indigenous

WOMAN

‘s character being “redeemed” by learning “Peaceful protest is good, violent protest for your living rights bad!” is… sickening. Genuinely. Fucking. Sickening.

But maybe that violent protest WAS bad! Maybe, it was going nowhere and really causing the problems. Who the hell would ever try and implement that? Who leads the White Fang?

…You wanna know?

Don’t bother.

Sienna is a character we see for. One. Scene. One scene and she’s GONE. dead, stabbed, thrown down some stairs. We know very little about her, but we know a lot of her actions.

Under her rule as high leader, she got shit gone. Through her use of violence against the oppressive humans, she did in five years what many before her couldn’t in decades: Her methods were working. Her people were being given rights.

But noooooooo!!!!!!!!! We can’t have the Woman of Color in power be CORRECT. Her methods were WRONG, MONSTROUS! How dare she end slavery and fight against oppression?! She should’ve just asked NICELY! Just like Blake told—

Wait… Blake? BLAKE?!

BLAAAAAAAAKEEEEE!!!!!

Blake is one of 4 main characters in RW//BY, and she was easily my favorite. Fierce and a bookworm, an ex-freedom fighter who was quick to call out Miss Rich “White Snow” on her bullshit. She was fun, strong, and like the show said itself, she was Feisty.

I miss that Blake, tails. I miss her a lot. I’ll be back.

Nowadays, that feisty personality she has has been diminished so she can be all meek and quiet and sweet for her white human friends.

(and just now in v9, she’s completely fine with being referred to as an animal. Sienna in honorary heaven: she would not fucking say that.)

White fans and likely the writers themselves were too uncomfortable having to face that all majority people still benefit from a society built on and from deep systemic racism, so they wrote Blake to be an All Lives Matter doormat so she was more palatable Blake saw the error of the White Fang’s ways and how their justified acts of violent protest against the privileged majority were making the humans SCAWED🥺, so she stood before them all and put her status as literal Faunus princess to good use: telling all those like her who’d suffered beneath the humans’ oppression that they were wrong. How could they fight back violently? They did this to themselves. They brought the oppression, the enslavement, the bigotry and cruelty upon themselves because they just didn’t play nice enough.

Fuck, even when she’s in the “City of Racism” Atlas, she’s too busy being uwu sad and nervous and having to rely on others (funny how instead of ever empowering her again, they write Blake as this submissive docile flower baby immediately after hey reveal she was an abuse victim. Real fucking funny. Laughing my eyes out of my skull with a toothpick.) except for when she jokingly comments how rich the Schnees are and how they own basically everything.

Past Blake wouldn’t be laughing about that. She’d use it against the Schnees, rightfully.

But we can’t have that. She’s the good minority, who keeps her mouth shut tight and looks pretty for the camera.

But… about that bigotry. That oppression, that racism… do we ever see that?

lol fuck no

We hear of how horribly the Faunus people are treated. Controversial labor forces that keep them as slaves to the SDC. Treated like dirt and beaten and killed and lynched.

We hear. We hear of that.

In the show, we get… a No Faunus sign put out in some background places. And the equal opportunist bully bullying a bunny girl.

That’s it. Background shit. Background shit that could easily be interpreted differently, or missed completely if you fucking blink.

There has only been one point where the true extent of this oppression is shown to us. One point which…

we’ll fucking get to.

But there’s one thing I’ve mentioned rather frequently throughout this rant. Two, technically. The Schnee family and the SDC.

Let’s talk. Let’s. Fucking. Talk.

*sighs*

So this show demonizes it’s fictional worlds only freedom fighting organization, so surely they do the same for the oppressive Amazon company that has a chokehold on the economy of an entire—

In the early volumes, Weiss, another main character, was extremely racist to those who were Faunus. She was also the daughter of the Richy Rich Bitch Family of “CEOs of Racism”. Her older sister was a cop, her younger brother out of the picture until V4, her mother a neglectful abusive alcoholic (she is a victim too but neglect. is. abuse.), her father a racist abusive asshole who looks like I could break him like a bendy straw. But her racism isn’t her fault at all! No, the dirty minorities in the White Fang who were terrorizing the richest of the rich were what made her racist. It was never her fault, only the scary minorities.

How dare the marginalized be so evil.

But she apologizes off screen and is no longer racist! Yippee! At least we marked “Racist” off her “Racist Blood Purist Rich White Weiss” card! she’s White Savior Blood Purist Rich White Weiss now! Now we can make fun of how much shit her family owns.

But before all that, she and her girlfriend battle… a black man! Gasp! Who… says before the fight, her family’s company put his family’s business OUT of business!

A throwaway line before he and his bestie get beaten. Also just realized as I type: not only did Weiss battle a black character who was affected by her family company’s monopoly, but… a Faunus. Another one for the jar.

B-But Blake knows Ilia was affected by the SDC, too! It orphaned her, because in their mines Faunus weren’t given nearly as much safety. Surely she can tell Weiss and have her see—

*Ruby voice* nope. Nope! Ilia was being violent for equality, and that’s no good. So she learns that all their oppressors (likely including the SDC)are really just SCARED of them! So she’s redeemed and becomes peaceful. The Lakota indigenous girl is turned “good.”

But maybe once they’re in Atlas—

Jokes are made about how FUNNY LOL XD it is that her family owns so much, and they’re appalled by how… literally fucking normal Mantle is, as if it’s just an utter travesty to their eyes. She doesn’t want to outright abolish the corrupt SDC, which basically rides on Atlas like a parasite, but instead free it from the dirty-blooded clutches of her father, and return it to the Pure Blooded Schnees, who will use it righteously, in Santa Schnee’s name!

She’s the granddaughter of a hero, after all. A hero who monopolized and capitalized the world’s resources and began a chokehold on an entire kingdom with how vital the Resources became, all the while implementing minority slave labor.

Because we can’t have our pretty princess Weiss face any consequences. We can’t have one of ours mains face consequences. Realize her privilege and try and do something. We can’t make our writers uncomfortable!

And this extends to Winter, too! The woman as racist as Weiss was, but without the “”excuse””, who is also a cop, and who… punches, kneels over one of the characters who is both an in-universe minority of a Dog and easily the darkest skinned character, and tells him; “You want a collar? Fine.”

But the Pure Blood Schnees are good. They’re beautiful and powerful. Even if Weiss has that scar, it’s as tiny as can be so to not ruin her pretty face. Let’s give the rich white family all the angelic imagery. Let’s show Weiss with wings.

Twice. Twice with white, huge and glowing angel’s wings.

Looking pure and holy. Pure. And. Holy.

But Angel imagery? Surely there’s a contrast. Demonic imagery: like the horns, black and red, something to do with darkness and the moon, who should that belong to? If the rich, white, blood purist main girl Weiss gets the angel wings, pretty face and princess aesthetic… who deserves to be the demon of Remnant?

…Oh, I know the answer to this one! It’s—

Throughout this whole post, there’s been one character I’ve purposefully neglected mentioning by name.

Adam.

We didn’t see the guy much. Black trailer, V2, V3, V5, V6. And he was really only reoccurring in V5, which… 😶

But from what we did see, we saw the Face of the White Fang. We saw someone who did bad things for the right causes. We saw someone who despised his oppressors, but who seemed to care for his fellow Faunus. We saw…

a fucking lie. A headcanon, perhaps. Badum tss.

What Adam REALLY WAS was an abusive cruel irredeemably evil monster jerkface asshole creep bitch who NEVER cared about his own people, NEVER cared about his people’s rights, NEVER wanted anything more than glory and power and to be lionized.

The minority character, by the way.

Why did the writers decide to make this guy the hatesink? Why did they decide to make Adam suddenly not care about his fellow people’s rights?

Why did they decide to make him laughably cruel to his own people whom he seemed to genuinely care for before (like in that scene in volume 3, where he only agrees to go along w/ cinder after she starts KILLING FAUNUS, but maybe that scene was a headcanon too, all in le head)

Why did they decide to make the goals of one of their in universe minority characters to be wanting nothing but fame and power?

Why did they also write him to be a former child slave?

Volume 6 is one of my more liked volumes, with it (for me) easily being the best looking, and the horror stuff was great. Also, Maria.

But then they threw Adam in last minute. One last kick of that dead bull.

He comes back in his finest NieR: Automata cosplay and starts spouting some of the most embarrassingly bad dialog this show has had while fighting Blang (basically that one fucking hilarious “Boobs in my mouth please please please hello You’re nothing” post as dialog), and it’s in this that, after 6 volumes, we finally see his face.

Adam was branded. I’m not putting that shit lightly, Adam was fucking branded.

And the brand is used to show how evil HE is. He was hurt more by his gf leaving him than ANY scar ever would. Who cares about all the trauma he surely went through in slavery, he sure fucking doesn’t! Okay, Cameraman Mike, be sure to focus a whole bunch of shots on his brand, which is still blood red and grotesque, to really hammer the point in how much of an asshole he is.

Never mind it’s a brand of the SDC, of which one of our main character’s family owns. Who cares if this is literally the only time we’re shown the true extent of racism against Faunus?

It’s swept aside! Because the same episode we’re given one of the most honestly depressing reveals for a villain yet is the same episode that villain dies.

Dies with the brand facing the camera. His death. Entirely. On. Screen.

Thank fuck Adam was written as an irredeemable monster of a villain(/j), because they literally wrote, animated, and voiced a scene where we the viewers watch a former child slave, branded and blinded over an eye, have his death be entirely on screen. A slow death, entirely on screen.

Adam, a former slave to the SDC who, sometime during his childhood was branded and permanently blinded, died more slowly… more gruesomely… than Jacques fucking Schnee did.

Even died before him, too.

But notice one thing. I keep referring to him as having been a “child slave.” Emphasis on child.

Don’t blame me. Blame your fucking writers.

I want you to read this. Read this paragraph. Twice, if you have to. As many times as you need to to get the fact into your head that THIS IS FUCKING VILE.

This is in the writers commentary track for volume 7. They tiptoe around with their words, but I’ll translate it to the best of my ability. In it, Miles shared a particular headcanon: in which the

FUCKING VILLAIN HE WROTE TO HAVE BEEN A CHILD SLAVE TO THE SCHNEE DUST COMPANY GOT HIMSELF BRANDED FOR BEING TOO MUCH OF A LITTLE SHIT TO KEEP HIS DIRTY TRAP SHUT.

SO THEN ONE OF HIS CAPTORS HELD THIS CHILD DOWN TO THE GROUND AND JAMMED A CATTLE PROD DOWN WITH THE SDC PROPERTY LOGO ONTO HIS EYE.

THAT LITTLE BOY SURE HAD IT COMING, HUH? HE’S ALWAYS BEEN SUCH AN INSUFFERABLE LITTLE PRICK, EVEN AS A CHILD IN SLAVERY. HIS CAPTORS REALLY LET HIM HAVE IT!

LET.

HIM.

HAVE.

IT.

THEY WRITE AND HEADCANON A FICTIONAL CHILD SLAVE BEING BRANDED IN THE EYE AFTER HE STARTS THE FIGHT. HE STARTED IT.

THEY WRITE AND HEADCANON A FICTIONAL CHILD SLAVE BEING BRANDED IN THE EYE AND GROWING UP TO BECOME A HORRIBLE, DISGUSTING DEMON.

THEY WRITE AND HEADCANON A FICTIONAL CHILD SLAVE BEING BRANDED IN THE EYE AND HIS CAPTOR JUST “LET HIM HAVE IT.”

“LET HIM HAVE IT,” NOT IN REFERRAL TO A MINORITY BEING HATE CRIMED.

“LET HIM HAVE IT,” NOT IN REFERRAL TO A MINORITY SLAVE BEING PERMANENTLY SCARRED.

“LET HIM HAVE IT” IN REFERRAL TO A MINORITY CHILD SLAVE BEING BRANDED AS PROPERTY IN THE EYE BY HIS CAPTORS.

And I think this says it all. From the white and the black, blue and the red, oppressor and oppressed and angel and demon, Weiss and Adam almost mirror each other.

Just look at their scars. Theirs are on the same side.

But while Weiss’s is the smallest, prettiest scar of all,

The brand of the SDC all but covers half of Adam’s face, in all it’s grotesque, blood red and hideous glory.

I’ll let you guess the implications.

Killing off a WOC in power the very scene she’s introduced. Showing the Lakota girl the “right way to protest”. Painting the oppressors in a more positive light than ever showing the oppressed be oppressed. Showing your hatesink character had been branded in the eye the same episode he dies on screen. And this is what broke me.

They’d read in the history books of children forced into slavery slaves being branded

and they’d see the backstory for a villain.

Because we can’t write the minorities fighting against their oppressors to be justifiable!

We can’t face how a member of the majority will almost always benefit from an oppressive system!

We can’t write the pretty white rich family of Fantasy-Amazon owners as wrong for their horrible practices both past and present!

We can’t let the WOC be right about violent protest!

We can’t let the native girl be angry and fight back against her oppressors!

We can’t have a shred of sympathy for the ex slave who was branded while he was a boy!

Because they did this.

Faunus.

#rwde #seriously long post #image heavy #long post

125 notes · View notes

jeannieiscool · 6 days ago

Text

Difference | | Sam x Jeannie (OC)

Jeannie was in the forest, running from something when she sees two people who she thinks might be human, so she waits and watches around a tree, making sure they're not like the things she saw earlier. As soon as she got too close they noticed her and pointed their guns at her.

Sam: "Who are you and why are you here?!"

Dean: "Are you human?"

Pairings: Sam x Jeannie(OC) Dean x Jeannie!platonic(idiots)

Word count: 1.7k

Tw: Demons, blood mentions, swearing, a few British terms (I am South Asian - don't blame me), probably contain inaccuracy and grammatical mistakes so please forgive me. Violence, and usual supernatural shit. I hope you guys will enjoy this, plus this is my first time writing fanfics, please tell me if you guys would like to see something eles. <3

Jeannie, a Hindu demigoddess but is known well as a hunter. She is well aware of who these two lovely men are. The Winchester brothers and one of the few hunters she knows will not hesitate to slice her head off if she confesses of what runs through her veins.

Jeannie flinches slightly at the guns pointed to her but remains calm and raises her hands in mock surrender. "Relax, I am.. human." She says (lies), casually, a little too casually.

The both of them lower their guns a bit but remain cautious, having encountered enough paranormal threats to never let their guards down entirely. Dean notices something off about her demeanor.

"Human, huh? That's convenient" He says, brows furrowed in thought as he eyes her.

Sam studies her more intently. "You know who we are, don't you?" He asks her, taking a careful step forward.

She nods, narrowing her eyes at Sam before replying. "Yes, I do, I'm a hunter too" Her voice, soft and steady.

Dean raises an skeptical brow. "A hunter? You don't look like any hunter we've seen before." He glances at Sam, who seems to be assessing her carefully.

"Name, what's your name?" Sam asks, his voice low and cautious.

Jeannie looks at Dean and says, "That's because I hunt alone," Her eyes flicker between the brothers. "And my name's Jeannie" She says, folding her arms under chest.

The brothers exchange another glance, communication silent and well - practiced between them. "There's something about you... you're not telling us everything." Dean says, his gaze calculating.

Sam steps forward slightly. "We've dealt with all kinds of monsters, seen enough to know when someone's keeping secrets."

Jeannie takes a shape intake of breath before looking up at the two. "I'm not a monster, I swear." She murmurs nervously, her arms tightening around her slightly.

Sam's expression softens a little bit but remains alert. "We're not saying you are," He says gently "But we've been hunting for a long time and we can tell when something's off."

Dean's gaze sharpens, piercing right through her. Her nervousness is making him a little suspicious of her, but he can't put his finger on it.

"That's what I'm doing here too, I'm here to hunt down a demon." Jeannie says, her voice is low and - now, alert.

Their stances ease a bit as they both sense the genuine threat she's referring to. "What kind of demon? This' your first time?" Dean asks.

Sam studies her lack of obvious hunting gear. "Look, you're not exactly dressed for demon hunting."

[Jeannie doesn't actually need demon hunting gear because her blood is enough, demigod blood is stronger than holy water and cannot just exorcise a demon but fully kill them. But she decides on pretending to not know anything about demon hunting.]

"No shit Sherlock." She mutters dryly with a hint of mischief.

Both Winchester's eyes widen slightly at her sarcastic remark. Dean can't help but crack a smirk. "Feisty, I like that."

Sam shakes his head, hiding a smile. "Listen, we've tangled with demons that would eat you for lunch." He says, with a quick glance at Jeannie's physic.

"Yeah, okay... Anyways, here's the deal, the demon is in the body of a blonde woman. She won't be hard to spot, since I made a pretty deep cut on her arm." She says casually and pulls out a knife from her jacket, still slick from the demon blood.

The brothers exchanged a look, impressed and slightly taken aback by her casual demeanor and the knife covered with demon blood. "You got close enough to cut her?" Dean asks, his tone a mix of respect and concern.

Jeannie shrugs with a tiny smirk, putting the knife back in her jacket. "So, how does this work?" She asks, acting oblivious to the process of demon hunting when its actually few of the simplest creatures she's hunted with her demigoddess blood.

"First, let's go somewhere that's safer, our motel. We'll explain the rest there." Sam says, turning on his heels and nodding for Jeannie to follow.

Jeannie follows them to their motel room, which wasn't far from the forest they were in earlier.

Sam spreads a map of the town on a table. "So, here's what we do, we first find where the demon is holed up, we salt and burn the body once we exorcise it."

Dean grins mischievously. "And we make sure it's dead - dead."

Jeannie looks down at the map spread on the table, swallowing the uncomfortable thought of having to burn an innocent body when it was literally the demon who possessed it, that's why she prefers using her blood since it makes things so much easier, after the demon gets killed - the victim is alive and well. Although in this case, with two very serious and stubborn hunters - Jeannie's innocent job becomes difficult and the fact that she hasn't told them yet makes things even more difficult.

As Jeannie studies the map, Dean pulls out a file with information on the woman who's possessed. He flips it open and shows her a picture of the woman, her blonde hair and blue eyes staring back at her. "Her name's Lisa Henderson,"

Jeannie narrows her eyes at the picture, remembering the way she saw Lisa when she was possessed. She looks so much alive and happy in the picture. But when I saw her earlier she looked so dark and sadistic. Jeannie thinks to herself with pity for this poor lady.

"She looked a lot different when I saw her," She murmurs, almost to herself.

Their expressions become serious, knowing that likely something's to affect this woman's personality. Sam asks, "What do you mean by 'different'?"

Dean crosses his arms. "Like what? Darker? Meaner?"

"Well, yeah, but the thing is... I saw her exorcising other demons in this place. And I can't figure out why." Jeannie says, sighing heavily, not taking her eyes off the map. "Here, she likes to visit this bar a lot." She says, pointing at the map.

The brothers share a look, the information Jeannie shared is both interesting and concerning. 'Cause this isn't the usual demon behavior.

Dean's eyes narrow, his voice low and calculating, "You're sure about this?"

Sam pulls his phone out making a note.

Jeannie looks up at the two in confusion and underlying shock. "What's wrong? Can't you guys hunt this demon down or something?" She asks, keeping her voice calm. "I know you guys have hunted far worse and dangerous demons before."

Sam looks up from his phone, his expression serious. "Jeannie, if this possessed person is exorcising other demons, it means they're not acting like a typical possession. It's almost like the demon has a specific purpose or agenda."

Dean rolls his eyes at Sam's analysis, but he knows he's right. "Alright, let's assume this demon has a plan. What's our next move?" He asks,

Sam thinks for a moment tapping his pen against his notebook. "We need to find out more about this demon and its goals."

Jeannie watches intently as they plan a way to understand this demon - which she doesn't do often and considers to do since it would make her hunts a little more fun or interesting than just making demons drink her special blood.

"Why not check out the bar I mentioned?" She suggests, marking it on the map. "She goes there pretty often at night."

Dean grows a wide grin on his face and slams his hand on Sam's back. "Date Night!" He exclaims with a mischievous cackle.

Sam grunts softly, shooting Dean a look but not able to hide the small smile on his lips. "Dean," He murmurs and looks back at Jeannie. "You should come too, if you want. Fresh eyes might help."

Jeannie chuckles softly and almost sarcastically. "No, I don't think I can, not after I cut her arm, I'll check out the other places she goes, maybe her apartment?" She says softly.

Dean looks at her, then back at Sam, before sighing. "Fine, we'll do it your way, and Sam's going with you." He says firmly, not asking for any arguments.

Sam's head snaps to Dean in surprise and confusion, his gaze flickering between him and Jeannie. "Uh, why?" He whispers to him, but Dean just shoots him a 'Just do as I say' type of look, and walks over to the bed where his gun lays. "Fine," Sam says reluctantly and looks back at Jeannie who has a small knowing smirk on her lips. "Uh, yeah, I'll be coming with you." He says awkwardly, avoiding her gaze.

[Let's be honest, who wouldn't become shy at such a beautiful woman? Jeannie is Lord Indra's daughter. Indra, who is a breath taking God. A god for whom mortal women would instantly fall for, and to which he took immense pride, despite having a wife (Indrani). Jeannie, his (half blood) daughter, is also very... breath taking. Despite having her mother's features, being part divine makes her, well... divine. Her features are innocent, yet very fox-like, with black kajal under her big, dark eyes, which has every man and woman under her spell, her lips look soft and pink, wondering what else they would be good at? Her long, black, silky hair tied neatly in a braid that hangs down to her back with a purple hair tie, and has thick bangs In front, making her look more like a doll. Her skin is fair, and looks as if it would taste like honey or nectar, her face has three moles, one on the right side of her cheek, second on the corner of her lips and last on her forehead, covered by her bangs. She is well aware of all of these things about her and - like her father, takes pride in that. Plus, she's also a hunter, making her even hotter.]

Jeannie nods, pressing her lips together to back a laugh, her down turned smile, showing off a dimple on her right cheek. "Yeah, sure, you can come with me." She says, her amusement is clear in her quiet voice.

He's probably still suspicious of me, I mean, I did meet them only a few minutes ago. But I hope he doesn't catch up too early on - who and what - I really am. She thinks to herself with a short and quiet sigh.

Sam can't help but observe and mentally take notes on her little features that make his heart flutter slightly.

[But who can truly explain to poor Sammy, why he's feeling that way? Or maybe, that just might be his heart speaking or Jeannie's goddess aura doing funny things to his brain?.]

Dean, on the edge of the bed, casually checking on his gun and watching Sam and Jeannie's interaction with keen amusement at Sam's slightly flustered look and Jeannie's soft curious and warm smile.

{Hi, just made some little changes, here and there, I think it looks more like a ch.ai chat than fan fiction.}

And here's an illustration of Jeannie:

Don't mind her being pissed off, I was just practicing expressions on her :P

#supernatural #dean winchester #sam winchester #self insert oc #Supernatural Fan fictions #Sam x OC

2 notes · View notes