#question mark because i don’t really think so but a logical part of my brain says it might be true

[leftmysoulbythesideoftheroad]

post-therapy rambling, tw for past suicidal thoughts, mentioned csa, mentioned child abuse, general trauma talk

i have a brother and a sister, and all three of us are queer. my mother changed her belief system to support us. my father did not. he doesn’t approve of just about anything we do or say, so none of us go to him for advice anymore. i’ve always felt like i needed to take care of the people around me, but now… we’re southern, you know? all of us born and raised in texas and in a baptist church three times a week, my parents included. my culture puts responsibility for the family first on the father and then on the eldest son if the father isn’t around/can’t or won’t do it. and that’s me. i’m the eldest son, even if my father doesn’t see me that way, and i’ve watched him abuse his children and our mother all our lives. there’s a deeply-ingrained belief in my head that taking care of them is my responsibility.

my mom has physical disabilities. she had several surgeries when i was young, and her back is essentially ruined. i’ve been her helper since i was a child, and i will always be there for her.

my sister went through csa and just generally a lot of horrific trauma when she was very young. when we were growing up, she relied on me as the only person she could trust, the only person she could believe would love her no matter what when she couldn’t turn to our own parents. when she had children and their father left, i became their other parent. i was, and am, her support.

my brother was six when my sister moved out and my parents were grieving their own sister. i spent time with him. i talked for him because he mumbled and adults couldn’t understand what he was saying. i made him hold my hand whenever we were in public alone. in a way, i raised him.

my nephew died when he was only three. i moved in with my sister for nearly a year, just trying to keep her alive and help care for her other son. i felt broken, like i would never be anything but jagged shards hastily taped back together, but all i cared about was them.

my brother’s partner was so suicidal they couldn’t be left alone. so who made the most logical sense to step in? their family isn’t close, and everyone in mine has a job and/or children. i’m disabled so i’m at home most of the time. i sat with them 5-6 days a week for months, retraumatizing myself in the process, until they went to a hospital.

that’s who i am. i’m a helper. is it good for me? i honestly don’t know. am i hurting myself? i try not to and my family has learned to check me on it over the years, but i know i value their feelings over my own. is that unhealthy? maybe it is, but i don’t know how to be any different. i don’t know how to exist if i’m not a helper, if i’m not taking care of someone. how could i live with myself if i left them to fend for themselves? how could i look any of them in the eye if i put myself first when they really, truly needed me? if i said ‘no’ and then something terrible happened to them? if i stepped back and merely watched as they got themselves hurt, knowing i could have stopped it or at least tried? how could i face any of them ever again?

i’ve understood for a while now that i don’t know who i am without them. the most important thing to me is to be a good brother, a good son, a good uncle. i want so much to be a good person, and i think a lot about my morals, but i would betray every one of them for the people i love. nothing, no one, could ever matter more. (which like… presents some issues for romantic relationships that i would like to have.) they’re everything to me.

really, a big part of this started because i said something to my sister that i thought was totally normal. “if everyone i love died, i would kill myself.” what would be the point of going on without them? but my sister said that isn’t okay. she wants to know that if something happens to her, i’ll be able to go on. i didn’t even know what to say. i can’t imagine living my life without them. would it even be living or just going through the motions out of obligation to them? i try to picture who i would be in that scenario and there’s just… nothing. i would be nothing. i would have no value, no affect on the world, no love to give and no ability to receive love back. i would be… nothing. that’s the only word for it. empty. alone. i can’t imagine it.

that’s probably not good, huh? not healthy? i really, truly have no idea.

[sherlollyandspoilers]

We're Worth It, Chapter 28, April 3rd

Chapters 1 through 27 of We’re worth it can be found here Here be Dragons is the original fic that this fic is a companion piece for - HBD timeline: Chapter 18, right before the epilogue

April 3rd

“Well, you’ve made it.” June smiled at them. “It’s been a year that we have been on this journey together and you guys have made so much progress.”

“You aren’t trying to get rid of us, are you?” There was panic etched on Molly’s face. “I know things have been going well since we went down to every other week, but I don’t think I am ready to stop meeting.”  

“Oh, no!” June laughed. “Just want to congratulate you two!” Molly relaxed in her chair. “You’ve done a lot of hard work to get to this point…I love when couples really commit to working together and I don’t think I have ever had clients be this committed before.”

“What I hear you saying,” Sherlock mocked in therapy speak, “is that we are getting top marks in the therapeutic process.”

Molly and June broke into laughter.

“Top marks indeed,” June smirked. “I think I shall I bring in a grading book and start tracking your marks!” Sherlock shook his head at the two women as they giggled. “Sooo, how have the last two weeks been with affirmations and continuing to be open with how you are feeling?”

Molly nodded. “Sherlock is really good about communicating where he is at and continues to use his real world checklist, which I appreciate…I am not the best with immediately sharing,” she admitted sheepishly.

“Any thoughts on why that is?” June asked.

Molly scrunched up her nose, thinking. “Not that I had a lot of experience with relationships prior to Sherlock, but I am starting to realize that he is the first to really care how I am feeling, not so he can navigate around me but because he genuinely wants to be helpful.”

June hummed in understanding. “It would make sense then if you felt like your emotions did not matter that you would have just kept them to yourself.” Molly nodded in agreement but didn’t say anything. “Sherlock?”

He frowned for a moment. “When I do ask how she is, which is not seven times in an hour,” Molly rolled her eyes, “She does answer.” He looked at her, “It seems that part is getting easier?”

“Yeah, it is,” she smiled.

“She has also been keeping us on track with our affirmations…which I still do not like but am coming to appreciate.”

“What part do you still not like?” June asked.

“The dissonance,” he said, brow furrowed. “I have two informational sources giving conflicting information – both of which I have put trust in.”

“That makes perfect sense…you trust Molly because she is your partner in many things, life, parenting, experiments and you trust your brain as it has gotten you where you are in your career. What I think – ”

“I brought this up in individual therapy last week…” he raised an eyebrow at June who motioned for him to continue. “I was reminded that the prefrontal cortex is used for logic and the amygdala manages emotions…and while I do trust Molly, its not the dissonance between her and my brain, it’s the dissonance within my brain.”

“Oh, I see,” June thought a moment, “was it helpful to break it down like that?” She held her hands up to one side as if she was holding a large ball. “Into logic processing over here” – she moved her hands to the other side – “and emotional processing over here.”

Sherlock nodded. “My therapist suggested that part of the reason I have not made much progress on improving my self-hatred is because I don’t want to question my overall thought processes as this could lead to questioning my judgements and deductions.”

“How uncomfortable were you with sitting with that realization?” she asked slowly.

“Very,” he said flatly. “But,” a small smile stretched his lips, “after I broke it down it was like a weight had been removed.”

“It was a visible change,” Molly said quietly, a look of pride on her face as she stared at Sherlock. “When we exchanged affirmations the next morning, I could tell he was still uncomfortable, but he was able to physically sit with my praise and not immediately move on to the next thing.”

June looked back at Sherlock. “I was able to hear what Molly said and challenge the negative things that sprang forward knowing my logical processes were still untouched.”

June smiled, “I am sure you discussed this at your session, but this will take some time and effort on your part to make this knowledge work for you, but Sherlock, this is a big breakthrough.”

He nodded, a wide-eyed expression on his face. “She is teaching me to be the man she already thinks I am.” Molly smiled at him, grabbing his hand and he looked up, meeting her gaze. “It’s not a pleasant thought, but I have this terrible feeling from time to time that we might all just be human,” he said, finally returning her smile.

They sat quietly for a moment, all processing the conversation that had just taken place.

“Anything else pressing prior to the walk down the aisle?” June asked. They both shook their heads no, their hands still intertwined. “Then I am hoping you will indulge me and tell me about the first time you met.”

“Oh god,” Molly sighed and covered her face with her free hand, her cheeks turning red.

“What?” June asked, her curiosity peaked even more. “I know it was through your work.”

Sherlock chuckled quietly. “Molly thinks this story is embarrassing.”

“Because it is embarrassing!” She pulled away from him, tossing her hands in the air.

“I disagree.” Sherlock continued to give his fiancé an amused expression.

June held up her hands, “You do not have to share if you don’t want to.”

Molly gave a dramatic sigh and rolled her head to the side. “Well, I haven’t told this story in a long time, so might as well…”

Molly was nervous. And excited! She was going to have the best day!! Or she was going to ruin it terribly and it was going to be a disaster, leaving her with no job…another wave of nausea hit her, and she was beginning to regret the big breakfast she had treated herself to. She had already been at Barts for a couple of weeks training and getting used to the facility, but today was the day she was scheduled for her first solo postmortem.

After reviewing her schedule for the morning, her boss left her alone in the morgue. Smiling to herself, Molly turned on her music and got to work. She was halfway through, doing her best to document as she went, when she was startled.

“Oi!” A voice shouted over her music making her almost drop the organ she was holding. “HEY!”

Returning the organ to its place, she hurriedly stripped off her gloves and smashed the mute button on her music. “Hi,” she squeaked after a moment of silence.

“Well, you’re gonna be a fun one to work with!” He smiled brightly at her, nodding to the speaker. Despite his already silver hair, the man had a young, pleasant looking face. She had seen him before but couldn’t place his name. “Oh – sorry!” He held out his hand. “Detective Inspector Greg Lestrade,” he said with a grin. “Not sure we’ve been officially introduced.”

But Molly didn’t hear him as her full attention had been drawn to the stranger behind him. His dark hair was a mess of curls that her fingers instinctively itched to run through as she tried and failed to place a name on the color of his piercing eyes. His high cheekbones, the distinct bridge of his nose, and his strong jawline perfectly complimented the Cupid’s bow of his lips. Molly wasn’t sure she had ever seen such a beautiful man in her life.

“Miss Hoop, I believe it was?” Lestrade said, upon her continued silence, his hand still outstretched.

“Hooper!” she practically shouted, finally blinking and drawing her gaze away from the other man. She swallowed hard and shook his hand. “Molly Hooper.”

“Well, Miss Hooper, as I said, Detective Inspector Lestrade,” he repeated before dropping her hand. “And this is Sherlock Holmes…consultant.”

Sherlock Holmes cleared his throat. “Consulting Detective,” he bit out. “I need to look at the body,” he said dryly, pushing past Lestrade and straight up to Molly. She tilted her head back to look at him but the height difference and his proximity was making her slightly dizzy.

“I…uhhh…I don’t….” she stammered, her ability to think straight completely gone with him now in her personal space.

“I can phone Mike, if you would prefer? I’ve got all the paperwork.” She heard Lestrade shuffling papers, but her eyes were still glued to Sherlock’s.

“Mike, ye-yes, that – ” she snapped her eyes closed, grasping at all of the information she had been told over the last couple weeks – “NO!” She jumped back from Sherlock and opened her eyes, looking at Lestrade. “No, umm, I, I was told that – that the police might come.” She walked over to him and took the paperwork, trying to ignore the invisible string that was tugging her back towards the consulting detective.

“Great! Sherlock, do your thing!” Lestrade hollered at him, but Sherlock was already examining the hands and feet. “Find anything interesting in your exam yet?” he said quietly to Molly.  

Molly shook her head. “No…what is he looking for?” she asked as she watched Sherlock inspect the body.

Lestrade laughed, “Not really sure! If I knew, I wouldn’t need him.” He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “So, you new to the area?”

“Uhh….no…” she attempted to answer him, but her attention was still on Sherlock and watching him work. “I mean…yes. Kind of.” She blinked several times, forcing herself to turn her back to him. “I grew up around here and when my dad died, I ended up following a couple of my mates, but now I’m back. It was hard because those mates were my best mates…you know, not boyfriends or anything…that would be silly, wouldn’t it, moving away from home for a boy to just break your heart…I guess that’s more sad than silly as people do it all the time…” Molly looked up and saw the confused looked on Lestrade’s face. “Sorry…” She blinked several times, wishing she could just turn back on her music and be left alone in an empty morgue.

“If you are done rambling, I need you to come hold your incision site together.” His words should have embarrassed her, but instead the deep timbre of his voice sent shivers over her skin.

“Sorry,” she mumbled again and rushed to put a new set of gloves on. She moved back to the body and stood across from him. “Which area specifically?” she asked, hesitating. He sighed and motioned to the body. She did her best to accommodate what he was asking for, but she could tell he was becoming frustrated, his directions getting more and more short and rude.

“Oi, Sherlock, don’t be a dick!” Lestrade snapped at him. “You can’t alienate all of the hospital workers…” he mumbled.

“Did you take any pictures before you started?” Sherlock snipped.

“Of – of course, yes,” Molly stammered. “Its, uhh, protocol.”

He stared at her with a blank expression that she could not read.

“Well?” he said after a moment, startling her.

“Well…?” She looked at him, confused.

“Show them to me,” he instructed.

“Oh!” She stepped back and started to take off her gloves but as she moved, her foot caught the cart she had been using for her tools and waste, and she went tumbling forward, bringing the tray and contents tumbling down onto her.

“Oh my god, are you okay?” Lestrade rushed forward, but Molly stuck out her hand.

“Don’t touch it.” She looked down at herself, covered with random bits of human blood and remains, and fought hard not to burst into tears. Brushing her hair out of her face with the back of her hand, she stood up, staring at the two men, and wanting to melt into the ground. “If you can just give me a moment to go and – ”

“All I need to see is that picture,” Sherlock interrupted her. “This camera?” he asked, but he was already moving towards it.

“STOP!” Molly shouted at him, her embarrassment replaced with anger. “There is a protocol for these things! Which I have followed!” She huffed and tossed her arms out, fluid hitting the floor. “I have to go clean myself up and get this area cleaned and THEN I will have your information to you!” She stomped over and stood between Sherlock and the camera. “You can leave now!”

He stared down at her, but she remained unmoved, hands on her hips. “Fine.” Sherlock turned on his heel and headed for the morgue doors. “Graham, when you get the pictures, you know where to send them.”

“ITS GREG!” Lestrade called after him. “Thank you and…sorry ‘bout him.”

Molly waited till both men had left and she could no longer hear their footsteps before she burst into tears.

After a quick cry, she found her boss and explained what happened. He waved it off, thanking her for trying to indulge the consultant detective’s requests. Attendants were sent to take care of the mess in the morgue, and she found herself stripping out of her soiled clothes in the locker room.

“Stupid Sherlock Holmes with his stupid hair and stupid cheek bones,” she muttered to herself as she deposited her clothes into a bio bag.

Stepping into the shower, she scrubbed and scrubbed at her skin, doing her best to feel like a human again. After what felt like a lifetime, she finally felt clean enough to redress and go back to work. Wrapping a towel around her, she hurried back to her locker and dug into her bag, finding her extra change of clothes. Drying off she began to dress.

“I took the liberty of adding my contact to your mobile.” His voice startled her, and she jumped back into the door of her locker. “We will be working together in the future, figured this would be simpler than expecting the police to get me anything on time.” He held out her phone to her, but she didn’t move.

“I’m in my undergarments,” she finally managed to say. He looked down at her, as if noticing for the first time that she was in any state of undress.

“Yes, and I am sure that the skull pattern makes it all the more comfortable for a long shift.” He reached around her and placed her phone back in her locker. “Miss Hooper.” He nodded before disappearing from the locker room.

“That’s quiet the story,” June laughed when Molly was done sharing. “Immediate attraction for you, then.”

“Oh, gosh, yes,” Molly shook her head, “If I wasn’t going to be marrying him in two weeks, I would be ashamed of how immediately attracted I was.”

“We’ve talked about the importance of the emotional and intellectual connection and how it plays into attraction for you, Sherlock,” June looked at him, “did your affection for Molly grow over time or did it start here as well?”

Sherlock smirked. “I could tell how attracted she was – I was used to it and most of the time a snide deduction shut it down but when Lestrade and I walked into the morgue she was singing and dancing while elbows deep inside a man’s chest cavity…you would think I had a million things to say to her…but nothing.” He held up his empty hands. “For the first time all of my observations led me to one conclusion…I wanted to know more - my brain was completely fascinated. But Sherlock Holmes didn’t do attraction, so I became an ass.” He sighed, “Then despite her lack of confidence and being covered in human remains, she stood up to me.” He gave a little shrug, “Her undergarments being covered in little cartoon skulls only added to the fact that meeting Molly was a very intense day for me.”

“I know as a therapist you’re not supposed to have favorites…but you two make that very difficult,” June laughed as Molly and Sherlock exchanged smiles. “Anything else for today?” Molly and Sherlock shook their heads. “Well then, I guess I will see you two when you get back from your holiday.”

The three stood and as they headed for the door, Molly abruptly turned around, halting June’s progress.

“I know Sherlock and I wouldn’t have made it through this last year as smoothly as we did if we had not had you, so thank you.” She hesitated a moment but then wrapped her arms around the woman.

June smiled and hugged her back. “Thank you both for putting in the work.”

[bookwyrminspiration]

I think with the moon being related to he is because we don’t really know that much about it, or the universe, just like we can’t fully understand gender. We can try but they’re both just very very vast.

To answer your question about why the kids started dream sharing so young, it is mainly because of the trauma the three of them had gone through. This might sound like some really bad reasoning, but it is the reasoning for it according to some of my paper notes.

To elaborate, all three of the kids had suffered through some form of trauma, specifically with their abilities (not sure if I ever mentioned this or no but Tam manifested shortly before the dream sharing began but didn’t really realize it and so did Keefe) and a thing that can happen between soulmates is that if all soulmates had trauma, then they could start sharing dreams earlier than usual. This is to help both soulmates out, and is a sort of coping mechanism with your soul.

So it does have some to with Sophie’s abilities, but not entirely just her. The reason the kids don’t understand this is because of the fact that it’s pretty taboo.

Also, should clarify: one’s soulmate will be close to your age. However, not everyone gets romantically involved with their soulmate in real life, or even in dreams. Ex Alden and Quinlin are soulmates, but due to the views of the lost cities, they deny that they are soulmates to everyone and spend most of their dreams in silence for a long time. Or Elwin and Livvy, who are soulmates but are simply best friends for life. However, you do not need to be soulmates to be cognates.

I feel like you would write a platonic soulmate au and make the main gang soulmates for some reason. Like you do like the matching marks one. Feels like a thing you would do.

Anyway, I hope this answers your question, and if you have anymore let me know!

I suppose so, I just wonder what it is about the moon and space more specifically, because it's not the only field or area we don't fully understand. Perhaps its because it's also very present and visible, we can look up and see the moon and stars easily, but not say, all the atoms and particles composing us.

Also that makes sense! Trauma changes how your brain works and therefore how your dreamsharing works, I can follow that logic. Although I don't know if I would've realized the thing about it being connected to abilities as well. I was about to ask if the trauma had to be connected to their abilities, but realized probably not since dreamsharing doesn't seem to be a uniquely elven thing and other species don't have abilities. So it's probably just how it worked out for the three of them. Poor kids

The age thing makes sense as well, matches with what you wrote. And I do appreciate soulmate aus that acknowledge non-romantic connections, it's always nice to have that as someone without romantic attraction. And complexity in relationships! Alden and Quinlin deny their connection while Elwin and Livvy embrace it and have fun with it, there's so many different ways to have people in your life and I find soulmate aus are greatly enriched when they lean into that.

You're right though, a platonic/queerplatonic/non-romantic soulmate au that focuses on family is definitely something I would write. I actually don't know if I've ever written something explicitly romantic, nothing immediately comes to mind. I'm not against doing so, it's just not what I default to because it's not part of my personal experiences.

But anyway! Thank you for answering my questions, I will definitely let you know if I have any more :)

[thistleandthorn-rpg]

Congrats and welcome back J with your application for Denver Evernever! Check out this page for what to do next and send us his blog within 48 hours! Welcome back!!

OOC INFO

Name/Alias: J Preferred pronoun: she/her Age: old Timezone/Country: cst RP Experience:  a lot Activity Level: meh 

IC INFORMATION:

Name: Denver Endeavor Evernever Designation: Switch Age: 21 Birthdate: February 23 Faceclaim: Colin Morgan Orientation: gay leaning bi Kinks: bondage, consensual slave/master, orgasm control Anti-Kinks: scat, vomit, impact play

Key Points: (

* Fiercely defensive of anyone he sees being bullied *broody and untrusting *Strong moral compass *No tolerance for hypocrisy

BIO:

Denver grew up in a compound where his father ran a religious cult. His entire life he watched his father "preach" about the importance of family and loving one another to his followers and then wring every ounce of dignity and independence from his mother behind closed doors. He vowed to never fall into the same trap. There was no saving his mother, as she'd fallen so completely into the manipulations of his father that she didn't even see she was being used. He couldn't wait to get out of his father's reach and the hypocrisy of his teachings. Academy didn't seem like it was going to be a drastic improvement but he hoped he would find like minded people to insulate himself against the pitfalls of the system. He was sure there was a way to do the system right, but time after time he witness people abuse their power and use each other in small ways, until he promised himself 'no more.'  No more standing by while people around him were used, manipulated and abused. He harbored no delusions that he could over throw the system and didn't really care to. The system was good, as long as the people in it were kept in line. No, a mutiny wasn't the way. Misinformation and ignorance were the enemy and he's not afraid to fight them...or anyone who perpetuates them.

For the most part, Denver keeps to himself. He'd rather be painting a water color or reading a good book, than playing any kind of team sport. He doesn't like relying on other people or opening himself up to heartache but he's a generally pleasant, funny person who enjoys conversation and learning how other people's brains work. He prefers science over anything. Facts, logic, efficiency and learning something new are prioritized over most anything including ego. He's not afraid to be wrong but doesn't always consider people's feelings as much as he should. He's the kind of guy you either love or hate.

BIO QUESTIONS:

What are your feelings about the mark you have received? 

Honestly, I'm kind of indifferent about it. In some ways I wish there was a clear path. In some ways I'm happy to have the choice.

How do your feelings on the system compare to your parents’ feelings on it?

God, where do I start? My parents views on everything are fucked. Well, my dad's views because my mom just mirrors anything he says. Dad thinks that manipulation is a way of life, I tend to think people should think for themselves. His "religion" and I use that word VERY loosely, "preached" the importance of reliance on other people and how you should look to others to guide you to moral correctness...of course he considered himself judge, jury and executioner with in his group. I don't disagree but you have to watch who you're letting mold your mind. He saw the system as flawed by a over bearing government and in some ways I don't disagree. But, we still could never see eye to eye. I don't think that a dom should control a sub's life or the reverse. I also have this radical idea that people shouldn't have to earn basic respect despite their mark. Wild, I know.

Where do you see yourself after you graduate?  

alone probably

How do you feel about authority? 

Necessary but  often abused.

[uwuwriting]

Incompatible ships w/ Todoroki, Kirishima, Bakugou and Midoiya

Request: hii! i love ur posts so i thought why not request ajbakaha,, can i ask for todoroki, kirishima, bakugou, izuku getting jealous bc their s/o is getting shipped with another student :D (it can be their relationship is still a secret or smth) btw i love your posts!! it's free serotonin!! 😽😽- anonymous

Secret relationships are my favorite trope. This and friends to lovers. I live for these types of fics. Random fact, my allergies are acting up bc I helped take down the Christmas decorations and now my hands are on fire. Love ya. 💖💖💖

masterlist II rules

warnings: fluff, minor suggestive themes not something major though

Todoroki Shouto

-Things like jealousy are a rare occurrence in your relationship. 

-Todoroki is the type of boyfriend who trusts you blindly and would put his own life in your hands without a single hesitation. 

-Sometimes it bothers him how other people effortlessly flirt with you but he knows that nothing will come out of it no matter how much they chat you up. 

-He knows you can handle yourself and get out of  a situation if things start getting out of hand. 

-And if you can’t, he will butt in glaring down at the person who wouldn’t take no for an answer.

-Everyone around you seem to believe that the two of you are really close friends; none of them have caught a whiff of your relationship and you are proud of yourselves. 

-I mean it is pretty hard keeping so many romantic milestones hidden from your friends. 

-But alas you both knew that keeping all of this to yourselves would be for the best. 

-Now, we all know that the girls of your class drool over any remotely romantic interaction you have. 

-Same goes for everyone actually. 

-Oh Kirishima held the door open for you the other day?? I can see a new ship sailing. 

-Sero helped you pick up your stuff when you bumped into a wall? Your knight in shining armor. 

-Really any sort of kind gesture was interpreted as romantic interest at this point. 

-The worst part of it all was the ship they had created and have been simping over for the past three months. 

-You had managed to create an unexpected friendship with Monoma from class 3-B. 

-The agency he interns in is right next to yours so you take the same train and then walk to almost the same building every single day. 

-You see him during patrol, the pro heroes you work under have paired up once or twice so a friendship was inevitable. 

-So imagine the surprise on your classmate’s faces when Monoma began waiting for you outside the 3-A dorm building.

-Mina wouldn’t shut up about how cute you two were together and what a perfect match you made. 

-Soon enough the other idiots joined the party and you were drowned in ‘awwww’s and ‘love story in the making’s. 

-You got tired of explaining that he was just a friend, that you weren’t interested in him. 

-The fact that you could feel Todoroki’s gaze burn through your back didn’t help at all. 

-Your boyfriend had asked you about Monoma because he too found it weird how he waited for you everyday. 

-The boy’s presence didn’t bother him at first. 

-He was lowkey grateful that you finally had company on your way to the agency considering he couldn’t walk with you since his building was in the opposite direction. 

-It started becoming a problem when all he could hear during the breaks was the stupid ship name the girls had created. 

-He could see how visibly uncomfortable it made you and how you would seek for his gaze during those moments. 

-Then they started talking about how cute your kids would be and that’s when Shoto had enough. 

-It’s one thing hearing about how cute your girlfriend would be with someone else and it’s completely different when you hear about their potential offspring. 

-Grabbing your wrist he basically dragged you out the classroom and into an empty hallway, pinning you to the nearest wall before connecting his lips with yours. 

-You let a surprised gasp which gave him the opportunity to slip his tongue into your mouth and deepen the kiss, making you grasp onto his shirt as your knees gave out. 

-After what felt like an eternity he let you go for air before attacking your jaw, neck and collarbones. 

-Soon those soft kisses turned into little love bites. 

- “Sho you’re gonna leave a mark.” 

-Releasing your skin from between his teeth, he admired the reddish hickey he had left at the base of your neck. 

-He was sure your shirt’s collar could cover it up just barely. 

- “That’s the point, love.” 

-Intertwining your fingers, he led you back to class, going to his seat with a proud smirk on his lips leaving a very flustered puffy-lips-messy-haired you in his wake. 

Kirishima Eijiro 

-Kiribaby is not the jealous type. 

-Like only if you give your undivided attention to a puppy and you smother it with all your love and affection then maybe, just maybe, he will pout a bit and ask for his own fair share of love. 

-He trusts you just like Todoroki does.

-Nothing has ever happened to suggest that he should worry about others stealing you from him so he doesn’t worry. 

-Plus you are always together no matter what. 

-Almost everyone from your class knows that you are together so the shipping doesn’t start from them. 

-Oh no.

-It starts from class 3-B who has seen you talk to Tetsutetsu quite a bit this past few weeks. 

-You might wait for him outside their classroom during lunch breaks. 

-They have caught you hanging out outside of the school grounds. 

-So the only logical explanation they can come up with is that you two are either A) dating or B) have a thing for each other and are getting there. 

-Soon enough rumors start circulating. 

- “Did you know that someone from the hero course is dating that metal guy from class 3-B?”

- “Yeah yeah I heard it’s that girl Y/N. They do look really cute together, not gonna lie.”

-Eventually these rumors reach Kiri’s ears and they kinda get to him.

-He knows that you haven’t been hanging out extra with Tetsutetsu since every time you guys go out he is always with you. 

-You are the type of couple who does everything together, literally. 

-Apart from being in different agencies ya’ll are holding hands almost 24/7.

-So he really doesn’t get what everyone is talking about. 

-Mineta doesn’t help. 

-He really doesn’t. 

-He starts making scenarios about what you do while Kirishima is out of the dorms; how you have wrapped both homies around your finger and toying with them. 

-Oh the very vivid scenes he creates with all three of you in a…. compromising position. 

-Kirishima hates that most of all. 

-The words coming out of Mineta’s mouth disgust him to no end and soon enough he is walking to your dorm ready to talk this through. 

-Opening the door you greet your boyfriend with a smile and a quick peck but you immediately know what is on his mind. 

- “Baby what are we gonna do?” 

-You basically whine at the question. 

-He spends the whole night at your dorm brainstorming ideas until you both pass out on your floor. 

-And your solution to the problem? 

-Ignore the whole thing and continue on with your lives. 

-He suggested maybe leaving a mark somewhere *like our boy Sho* but you shot him down saying that they would just think Tetsutetsu did it. 

-After Monoma catches you in your classroom making out on your desk though the rumors soon die out. 

Bakugou Katsuki

-Crazy boom boom boy. 

-Your relationship is a secret because he doesn’t want to deal with all the other idiots gushing over your relationship and getting all up in your business. 

-Your relationship is a sacred thing he has sworn to protect and he won’t let Mineta’s ugly ass hands get anywhere near it. 

-Gonna taint it even with his thoughts. 

-Guard dog Bakugou bark bark. 

-It’s fairly easy to maintain a secret relationship with him. 

-Sure he might be a tiny bit calmer with you and maybe just maybe his eyes linger on you during training but yeah he treats you just like he treats all the other extras he is surrounded by. 

-Now, Bakugou is kinda *read a lot* jealous in general. 

-He doesn’t like when people he doesn’t fully trust or like, talk to you or are close to you. 

-He has butted in on your conversations with Todoroki one too many times and the poor crispy baby is so confused like why are you like this? 

-I just want the chemistry notes please let me get them in peace for once.

-You have chastised him about that manier times but your resolve melts when he pouts *YES HE POUTS AT YOU RWIHPWIE* before wrapping his strong arms around you. 

- “I just don’t wanna lose you, dumbass.” 

-You can barely make out his words as his face is buried in your stomach but you heard him and now you are tearing up at the pure emotion he is showing at these moments. 

-At the end of the day though, he trusts you. 

-He may not trust the other horny extras around you but he fully trusts you. 

-There’s no doubt about that. 

-You can imagine ,though, the instant rage he felt when he heard the girls talking about you and Deku. 

- “They do make a great couple.” 

- “Have you seen how they look at each other?” 

- “Good for her, Deku is perfect boyfriend material.” 

-First of all, how dare you, second hold the fuck up…..when did this become a WhoRe hOuSe?!?!?!?!  

-Legit someone has to shake him out of his stupor after that one. 

-You look at Deku in a certain way? 

-Fucking DEKU?!?!?! 

-THoughts are swirling in his mind almost pouring out of his ears when he hears the voice. 

-That annoying ass voice that he has engraved in his brain since childhood. 

-And the moment his eyes land upon Deku and you speaking, he sees red. 

-He is pouncing on Deku in -5 seconds, the poor green haired boy completely unaware of what hit him, literally. 

-They are on the floor wrestling on another, you screaming at Katsuki to stop and get his shit together while your boyfriend is spewing curse after curse at the OFA user simultaneously asking what the hell he was doing with HIS girlfriend. 

-Aizawa had to break them up. 

-They both got detention even though Deku did literally nothing. 

-Katsuki was denied cuddles for a whole week and he was set on explaining duty now that the cat was out of the bag. 

Midoriya Izuku 

-Izuku is the best boyfriend anyone could ask for. 

-He is loyal, shows emotions, is good at communicating with you, has incredible date ideas although he is kinda forgetful at times and his packed schedule doesn’t leave enough time to spend with you, at least not as much as he wants, but he always tries to make up for it in other ways.

-You love how much trust he puts in you. 

-You couldn’t be more grateful. 

-But Izuku has his insecurities. 

-At times it becomes hard for him to understand why exactly you’ve chosen him to love when you could have anyone you wanted in this school. 

-He can’t wrap his pretty little head around the reason why you stay with him when the only thing you get out of all this is others saying you deserve better than some crybaby. 

-It has become his mission to prove to you that he isn’t what others say he is; he isn’t some crybaby, he is a hero in training who won’t hesitate to risk his life for you. 

-You have reassured him multiple times that you don’t care what others say.

-You fell in love with him, him and all of his flaws. 

-No one told you that you should fall for him and no you didn’t agree to date him out of pity. 

-Most of the time you manage to erase those thoughts from his mind replacing them with the warm feeling of your love.

-But there comes a time when no matter what you say, the words of other people will get the best of him and it will be a struggle to build himself back up. 

-He is thankful to have you by his side during those moments because then he truly feels weak, he feels helpless, he knows these things shouldn’t bother him. 

-He loves you and you love him end of story, but they do get to him. 

-One of the worst times he questioned if he was good enough was during your third year. 

-Being in the support department you couldn’t be by his side 24/7 but you did always manage to see him during breaks to the point the whole class knew you and slowly became your friends. 

-The thing is they thought you two were also friends; neither had ever mentioned your relationship and things felt so comfortable between you that they assumed that you were really close friends. 

-Izuku had suggested keeping your relationship on the down low; him being in the hero course and having created rather the reputation, he was afraid that you would be dragged into something dangerous. 

-Plus All Might advised you two to keep it a secret and All Might’s words are law. 

-Izuku loved how well you got along with his friends, it meant that when he revealed your relationship they would all welcome you with open arms. 

-What he didn’t expect though was for them to start shipping you with someone else. 

-For some weird reason the girls of his class started obsessing over your interactions with Bakugou and soon after that they started trying to get you two alone in the same room, much to your dismay. 

-In reality, Bakugou was the only person who knew about your relationship. 

-He had ran into you as you were leaving Izuku’s dorm room, catching you two kiss goodnight. 

-Bakugou, as much as he disliked Izuku, would never get in the way of your relationship and he hated this ship shit as much maybe even more than you did. 

-Izuku was ready to crawl into a whole and die. 

-You had to stay in his room for almost a whole month to calm him down completely, him flying you to your own building in the morning so you don’t get in trouble. 

-It was a difficult time aand his classmate’s comments didn’t help one bit. 

-The tipping point was when he overheard Mina devising a plan of setting you guys up. 

-He walked down to the common room the next day with you next to him, hands intertwined, a hickey barely visible under the hem of HIS shirt, shocking everyone in the vicinity. 

-A new ship was created *after they harassed you for answers*

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[kindness-ricochets]

I’ve been seeing a lot of thoughts and hc of autistic wylan lately and you seem to also be a fan of the concept. May I ask why? Exactly? I could definitely kinda see it but wanna hear you thoughts you’re always so eloquent

Hey there anon! Sorry for the delay—I’m guessing you already found an answer to this elsewhere while I was off Tumblr for a bit, but just in case, here are my thoughts. This will be heavily personal, but… well, you can’t very well ask an autistic person about autism and expect neutrality!

Autism is different for everyone and can be difficult to pin down, so while Wylan is arguably autistic, he misses several beats that for me would have made him definitively and undeniably autistic. For example, when the bells start to ring, triggering black protocol—I work in a place with a lot of bells and am frequently caught too close to one and normally press my hands over my ears until it’s over because that sound is like shrapnel raking across my insides. All of them. Not just the ear and brain parts. Wylan doesn’t have that sort of visceral reaction, but that may just mean he doesn’t have the same sensitivities that I do, or to the same level. He also never, that I recall, eats meat—as weird as that might sound, eating meat is incredibly complicated with heightened sensitivities to taste and texture. I’m not sure how old I was when I realized it was strange to get up from the table to spit out my food because it viscerally repulsed me. So it might be that Wylan is autistic and has different experiences than I do. Those are things I would include in a story as major indicators of a character being autistic. This might also mean that his father’s way of raising him taught him to hide unusual reactions and stimming behaviors. It’s not that much of a reach to assume a man who tried to abuse the dyslexia out of his son would take the same approach to autism. (More on autism and abuse later.)

So while I’m going to lay out why I read Wylan as autistic, that’s why I think it’s valid to read him as not being autistic as well. Both are valid.

A final caveat, I am well overdue for a reread of the books, so I likely left something out or could have found better examples. Take this as a few of my reasons for a personal headcanon. Anyone who feels differently, that's fine! We can each read things our own way :)

1 - Hyperfixation: The way Wylan loves music

Most of the Crows’ backgrounds color how they see the world: Kaz’s shrewdness, Matthias’s tactical thinking and superstition, Inej’s faith and Suli wisdom, etc. That’s a sign of good character writing. But very little of Wylan’s upbringing seems to have influenced how he sees the world. It comes closest when he thinks about how his father would scorn his new friends, but we never see that scorn from Wylan.

The way a hyperfixation feels, it’s like you’ve always lived in a close parallel world, never fully been a part of the other one where it seems like everyone else lives, but suddenly there’s this bright shining piece of your soul laced through the other world. It lets you connect, it lets you exist in their realm, and you can’t help but filter everything new through that lens because it’s the brightest, most wonderful thing. (I had been between hyperfixations for a while when I started a new job; six months into that work, I read Crooked Kingdom. One of my coworkers thought I had fallen in love, it was that marked a difference.)

So, combining these: Wylan never really acts like he was part of his father’s world, and indeed is in some ways separate from the other Crows, but he parses everything through music, his hyperfixation. He sets words to music to remember them, like he does with the contract. Even his own anxiety is made sense of through music, when in his first narrated chapter, he sets it to music: what am I doing here what am I doing here…. When he’s overwhelmed, his thoughts are “a jangle of misplayed chords”. The Crows have backgrounds that influence how they react to the world, but Wylan’s hyperfixation is his means of experiencing and understanding the world.

2 - Literal thinking: Wylan responds to exact words

In this post, I went into detail on the line where Wylan suggested waking up men to kill them. Wylan is generally unsupportive of killing people—Oomen, Smeet’s clerk, his father… he advocates not-murder in each of these situations. Accepting his aversion to murder, his suggestion to wake men up and kill them seems like a genuine reaction to Jesper saying he doesn’t want to kill unconscious men. Wylan takes things literally.

This happens the most with Jesper, probably because Jesper talks to Wylan the most. Nina and Matthias don’t really register him past how he might be useful, Inej is usually quite direct, and Kaz is very deliberate when he speaks with Wylan. This really interests me because Kaz tends to vary his speech more than the others do, he adapts more to being around other people. He jokes a little with Jesper, spars with Nina, speaks more openly and more sharply with Inej, and he’s precise with Wylan. Kaz may not know what autism is, but he recognizes what’s effective with Wylan.

Another example is when Wylan is sketching the Ice Court plans and Jesper says it looks like a cake. There are plenty of valid responses here: pointing out that concentric circles look like lots of things, that it’s just a sketch, telling Jesper to stop looking over his shoulder. Instead, Wylan says that the Ice Court is sort of like a cake. That… doesn’t sound like something Wylan would normally say. He’s not addressing the whole situation, he’s addressing the specific words Jesper said.

One of the most heartbreaking examples of this (to me, anyway) is with Marya. Wylan does the same thing with his mother, when she asks if he’s there for her money and says she hasn’t got any, and his response is, “I don’t either.” We understand as readers that what Marya is communicating here is that she is so accustomed to being utterly ignored unless she is being used, and if she told Wylan that no one visited but to take advantage and she assumed he was here for the same reason, he would say it wasn’t the case. But he just responds to the immediate statement.

There are a lot of examples of this.

3 — 0% perception, 100% creativity

Wylan can identify things that don’t make sense or that he doesn’t understand, but at the beginning of the series he can’t make leaps, only ask questions. On the Ferolind, he wonders about the source of water at the Ice Court; though Kaz doesn’t say as much, he was clearly wondering, too, because he eventually figured out the underground river. There’s an interesting parallel here where, in the beginning of Crooked Kingdom, Wylan asks a question about how they’ll break into Smeet’s and Kaz tells him to use his eyes instead of running his mouth—at which point Wylan is able to figure it out. I don’t think this is because he never tried before, though, but because no one ever bothered to teach him. Kaz can be harsh but he gives harsh corrections rather than harsh rejections and Wylan learns from him.

It’s hard to understand the world for people with autism. The world is designed and run by and for people whose minds are fundamentally different from ours, whose thoughts and experiences are unlike ours. Imagine trying to learn English or Spanish or Mandarin or any other spoken language if your first language was olfactory. That’s sort of what it’s like for someone with autism to just get dropped into the world and expected to figure this out.

This can be attributed to Wylan’s upbringing, but I disagree with that because none of the others were brought up in the Barrel, either, and Wylan doesn’t understand trade or politics with any special skill. Kaz wasn’t born in the Barrel, but he managed to go from “stealing is wrong” to “wrong isn’t my concern” real quick; Colm Fahey didn’t raise his son on gambling and firefights; the Ghafas never expected their daughter to be away from the family. Only Nina has relevant training—and even that’s precious little, she left school way too early. The others figured it out; Wylan needed a bit more help. He also seems surprised by the way his father conducts business. Wylan takes things on face value—like the time he’s surprised someone would do something, simply because it’s unlawful. This is something he expresses to a group of gangsters. He’s never been taught the way of any world and these things are not intuitive to him.

But Wylan isn’t stupid.

He doesn’t know how to understand the world, but he does understand how things go together. Given a pointy diamond, a handle, and a screw, he cut through Grisha glass. He carries flashbangs and magic napalm, he recreates military hardware—Wylan understands how to make things interact for a specific result. But to me the most telling thing isn’t just that he puts together chemical pieces, it’s that he figured out Jesper controlled bullets. He saw the pieces and put them together.

Wylan can understand when things don’t make sense, but he can’t make sense of them—yet when he understands things at their basic level, he understands them without preconception, for what they are. This is a very autistic way of thinking about things, it goes back to the literalism. He can’t make the leaps of logic other people can, but he also doesn’t make the assumptions they do—“I’ve never heard of a bullet Grisha, so that’s not a thing” vs “Well Jesper’s an almost impossibly good shot and he controls metal and bullets are metal, so why not?”

4 - Broken brain/body connection

Wylan’s great at chemistry and drawing and playing flute or piano—but he’s something of a disaster other times. This is in particular contrast to the other characters, all of whom are physically adept. Meanwhile it’s a challenge for Wylan to climb a rope ladder and he spends a full paragraph trying to figure out what to do with his hands. It’s easy to say, well, he’s used to a sedentary lifestyle, but at this point he’s not. He’s worked in the tannery for months. He’s just physically awkward.

I have less to say on this point only because it’s about something I don’t fully understand myself. I don’t really understand what it would be like to have a body that just… does things? Like normal stuff? Without tics and stims. No idea. Only that Wylan’s discomfort in and seeming lack of mastery of his own body feels very relatable to me.

5 - Abuse

One of the most familiar things about Wylan is how he has been so thoroughly abused and broken down that he’s afraid to do or say much of anything. Again, this is a place his background can be an obscuring factor. Of course Wylan didn’t think to blow up the walls when the first met the parem-juiced jurda and got trapped, he’s a spoiled rich kid! Except, he also startled when Jesper said his name later. Wylan didn’t hesitate because he was spoiled, he hesitated because he had no confidence.

He also thinks Kaz would laugh at him for playing music at his mother’s grave. Now, personally, I can’t see Kaz laughing at Wylan—being indifferent, thinking it’s pointless sentimentality, shaking his head, maybe commenting sharply that they need to go if they don’t have the time. But not laughing. Kaz is a snarky, sharp-edged jerk sometimes, but he doesn’t go out of his way to criticize, he just lets people know when they inconvenience him.

Wylan has been trained to identify attention as negative by an overbearing abusive father who literally saw him as less favorable than a demon. Now, that may have been hyperbole, but Jan criticized everything he could about Wylan—art, music, emotion—and made clear that he was worthless and competent to nothing. (Jan Van Eck can suck a rotten donkey dick but that’s neither here nor there.)

A lot of people with autism experience levels of bullying that have similar impacts. Or as the kids these days are calling it: we go to school. We go to school where we are weird. Where we look weird and move weird and talk about weird things and there’s a whole little bevy of asswipes to makes sure we know it. I got teased more for playing Pokemon and sitting alone reading than the kid who pissed himself onstage at assembly. (This was before Pokemon was cool. I’m old.) And that is not unusual for autistic kids. It’s also not unusual for this to be compounded by relatives or even parents who may be trying to help but don’t understand and can make things even harder.

So we can’t read social cues and we’re taught at a vicious age that everything that comes naturally to us is wrong. Imagine trying to interact in society with that background. There is no guide and most advice from neurotypical people isn’t actually what they mean. It breaks you down.

Wylan’s anxiety isn’t definitive of autism, but isn’t something that was incredibly familiar as someone whose neurodivergent experiences created a strong level of anxiety.

6 — High Compassion, Low Social Competence

Wylan isn’t very good at making friends. In fact, none of the Crows likes him much in the beginning, and only some of them soften toward him by the end. (Matthias and Nina come to respect his skills as a chemist but neither seems to particularly like him.) But you can see throughout the books that Wylan wants to connect with them and be one of them, he just… isn’t. He’s off-beat. He’s weird. He asks questions and mimics behaviors (trying to be cool and tough like Jesper, saying “mission” like Matthias does, imitating Kaz’s scheming face) but he doesn’t quite get how to adapt.

But he still cares about people. Not just them. Everyone. He cares about the people they leave in the ditch outside the prison wagon, he cares about Hanna Smeet, he cares about Alys. He cares about the people who’ll take a hit from Kaz’s sugar caper.

Wylan’s awkward social skills have undeniable big autism energy. I posit his compassion does as well. This is simply who Wylan is, and that means being someone who cares about everyone. I have nothing to back up that this is related to autism. I can say that it’s like me. (Not to brag.) I can’t turn off the part of my brain that says everyone matters. Individuals can opt out of that compassion, but they have it by default. There’s a certain agony in feeling a pull toward and love for just about everyone and yet an inability to develop meaningful connections with them, and that keen loneliness… it just burns.

Again, it’s not definitive of autism, but it’s very similar to an autistic experience.

I said in the beginning that I didn’t think Wylan certainly had autism and I stand by that, but he is a powerfully honest reflection of many people who do. So he can be understood to have autism, and that’s part of the reason some people have that headcanon.

[breakyeol]

— SQUIRM, BABY.

You don’t like Doh Kyungsoo. Especially not when he’s got his fingers buried knuckle deep inside of you and your seeing stars —goddamn stars!— but can’t make a sound unless you want the entire library to know exactly what he’s doing to you under the table.

┗ Pairing: Tutor!Kyungsoo x Reader

Genre: college au, tutor au, enemies w benefits au, smut

Words: 4.7k 

Rating: 18+

Warnings: strong language, sexual acts in a public setting, fingering

A/N; tomorrow is going to be my 1 year anniversary as an EXO-L!! oh my goodness that feels so crazy, time really flies. so here is a little present from me to you, enjoy lovelies!!

“These are all wrong,” Kyungsoo mutters blankly, “start over.”

A loud groan is ripped from your throat, the sound earning you more than a few sideways glares from the surrounding tables but you can’t really bring yourself to care. You’ve been here for two hours, studying one of the most intolerable subjects in the world: Calculus. The mere mention of its name made you shiver in disgust.

To be blunt, you’d always been shit at math. Numbers and equations were never your strong suit, not in high school and definitely not now with the added complexities of derivatives and differential equations (neither of which made even the slightest bit of sense to you). You much preferred the gentleness of literature and history to the strict logic and rules of mathematics and science. Unfortunately for you, the latter subjects were just as vital a part of your education, and opting out of them was not an option.

“Can’t we take a break?” You almost whine the question, pressing your fingers into your throbbing temples. “My brain feels like it’s going to explode.”

“No.”

You scowl at the bluntness of his rejection. “I’m paying you.” You point out, stabbing a finger into his bicep for emphasis. “Shouldn’t I have a say in when we take a break?”

He rolls his eyes, swatting your hand away and shoving the paper back in your direction. “I’m giving you your money’s worth. Do it again.”

You let out a noisy huff of air, slouching over dramatically in the stiff plastic chair until your chin is pressed against the cold table. “I hope you know I am deeply regretting some of my life decisions right about now.” You grumble, shooting him an icy glare that you hope conveys the absolute loathing you feel for both him and the set of problems laid before you.

“I thought that was a daily thing for you.”

Scoffing, you bury your mouth in the thick sleeve of your hoodie. “Your face is a daily thing for me.”

He doesn’t even bother to look at you, though you could almost feel the intensity of his deadpan. “I think that was the shittiest comeback I’ve ever heard.”

“Your face is the shittiest comeback I’ve ever heard.”

“You do realize that that makes absolutely no sense.”

“Your fa—”

“Shut up and do your work.”

He either doesn’t hear or consciously chooses to ignore the colorful array of curses you grumble spitefully in his direction, though simultaneously resigning yourself to the fact that you won’t be able to put off your work inevitably. Kyungsoo was a stickler for proper time management. If he had an agenda set in place for your tutoring session (which he always did), then you better believe he’d be checking off each item within its designated time frame. And if you don’t cooperate— well then, your best bet is to pray that there isn’t a mechanical pencil within his reach.

He might not always be able to reach the top shelf, but Kyungsoo had ways of getting what he wanted. Usually, that chilling glare was enough to get those around him to bend to his will. He could be a scary little shit when he wanted to be. You’ll admit, even you had been the tiniest bit intimidated when you first met him. He was quiet, reserved, strict in manner, but also the dangerous unpredictable type, you gathered that much quickly enough. Maybe that’s why the two of you didn’t get on too well.

Where he was cool and standoffish, “a man of few words” some might say, you were more vocal about your opinions, social by nature, always eager to meet new people and make new connections. You had a tendency to speak loudly when excited and talk with your hands when passionate about a subject. That was something most people learned about you very quickly. Unfortunately, upon your first official meeting at a party in your freshman year with your mutual friends, Kyungsoo had no idea just how emphatic you could be until you’d knocked his drink clean out of his hand and spilled it down the front of his brand new shirt.

It was an accident, of course. You’d apologized profusely and he’d accepted it (albeit somewhat begrudgingly), but that was probably the first of many missteps in your... unique relationship.

With such conflicting personalities, it was understandable that you got into frequent arguments about one thing or another. Petty disagreements would often grow into something larger than they really needed to be. Mostly because despite having such contrasting personalities, you shared the trait of innate stubbornness, neither of you willing to admit when you were wrong. It was easy to argue with him, and you liked when you proved him wrong. You liked the way his brows furrowed and his cheeks flushed. You liked the way he glared, the way his lips pouted. You like the challenge he presented you with every time he opened his mouth. Above, you loved to win. Especially when it was against him.

So you pushed, and he pushed right back. And before you knew it, you found yourself a proper ‘frenemy’, though you aren’t sure that that’s quite the right word to describe whatever it was you two were.

But that’s just how the two of you are, how you’d always been. If you were being honest, riling him, seeing that usually so stoic, so controlled expression crack when you pushed just the right buttons— it was fun. You thoroughly enjoyed fucking with him, discovering new and creative ways to get under his skin. And you knew he got just as much satisfaction from doing the same to you, rendering you speechless with witty comebacks, flustering you with his sharp tongue and impressive rebukes.

So really, was it such a terrible thing?

Not to mention, a number of not-so-terrible things occurred as a result of one of your many arguments, such as hiring him as your calculus tutor. One that started out with you claiming he would probably be the shittiest teacher to ever exist (which seemed a valid argument at the time considering how short tempered and impatient he could be *cough* with you *cough*) to which he rebutted with the claim that he could “teach a goldfish advanced calculus” if he set his mind to it, and considering that you “had an IQ equivalent to one”, he could without a doubt teach you. His words, obviously.

It just so happened that you had a calculus exam coming up that next week, so to prove his point, he tutored you for the three days preceding said test. Even though you loathe being proven wrong, you ended up getting one of the highest scores you’d ever gotten on a math test in your entire academic career.

Putting your pride aside, you made the suggestion that he continue to tutor you. He only agreed when you offered him green in exchange for his troubles and admitted that he was right (it took a few extra hours to convince yourself that your grades should be held above your ego before you could bring yourself to verbally admit defeat).

And now here you are, not flunking out of calculus. You’d consider that worthy of the bruise to your pride, even if only by a small margin.

“Kyungsoo, why’d you mark this one wrong?” You frown at the large red X marking problem two as incorrect. You’d been glaring at your scribbled work for almost two minutes, running over the problem in your head, but you couldn’t seem to figure out where he thought you’d gone wrong. It looks right enough to you.

Kyungsoo shifts over to get a better look, his arms pressing against yours in the process and you are briefly stunned by the sudden, unexpected closeness, wholly unable to stop yourself from noticing the faint, woody scent of his aftershave that caresses your senses. Fuck. You can’t tell if you hate or love the fact that he smelled so good. Partly love it because good hygiene is always something to admire in a man (even if that man was Doh Kyungsoo), partly hate it because dammit it’s Doh Kyungsoo and you loathe finding anything that has to do with him attractive. Plus, it’s distracting. You’re here trying to learn and he has the audacity to go around smelling like pine trees and fresh moss after a rainfall. Unfair.

“Right here.”

The scowl you don’t realize you’re wearing immediately drops away as the low baritone of his voice thrums through the cavity of your ribcage and you lean forward to see exactly what he’s pointing at.

“You multiplied straight through instead of distributing.” He explains further upon seeing the uncertainty on your face. A few seconds of further inspection and you finally see what he’s talking about.

“Fuck,” you hiss, “I’m so stupid.”

“It’s an easy mistake to make.” He reassures.

“Yeah, but I should know that by now, I should’ve—” you turn your head, only to nearly choke on air as you discover that any space that once existed between the two of you has virtually disappeared, “... seen it.”

He’s close, so close that you can feel the cool rush of his breath against your skin as he exhales, goosebumps bristling across your arms in response. He’s close. Too close. You can’t think straight, can’t even breathe. The moment that surrounds you feels fragile, like even the slightest disruption would rupture it completely.

Frozen, you can only swallow around the sudden dryness of your mouth as your treacherous eyes drop to trace the plush line of his lips. Who even has lips like that? They’re just so big and so pink, that dark, kissable kind of pink that every girl just wishes her lips could be. You, included. They look soft, and you can’t help but to wonder if they’d still taste like the strawberry bubblegum he’d been chewing on at the beginning of your tutoring session.

“Careful, ___.” The sound of Kyungsoo’s voice, raspier than you recall it being before and laced in a faintly taunting pitch, is enough to break you from your trance and, once freed, you whip your head around fast enough to give yourself whiplash.

“Fuck off.” You cough, jaw clenching as you attempt to drag your mind out from the gutter and back onto the calculus problems you have yet to correct. But for whatever reason your brain refuses to cooperate, instead filling your head with images of his pretty mouth and everything it could be doing instead of rambling on about something as uninteresting as calculus. Damnit.

No doubt seeing the distress written clearly across your face, Kyungsoo chuckles, the sound low and smooth where it drips from his lips, and a familiar heat blossoms in the pit of your stomach.

You can feel his eyes on you now, every cell of your being suddenly hyperaware of his presence beside you. The pressure of his knee where it nudges against yours, the teasing curl of his lips as he watches you struggle to focus, the warmth of his palm caressing up your thigh, the— wait what?

Your gaze whips down, breath hitching at the sight of Kyungsoo’s hand gently gripping the lagging clad flesh just above your knee. It’s another few seconds before you’re able to find your voice again.

“W– What’re you—?”

“Focus.” He cuts you off smoothly, fingers soothing over the inside of your leg, squeezing gently. When you don’t look away from him, he smirks, jerking his chin forward in a manner you can only interpret as challenging. There’s a familiar glint in his eye, a dangerous glint that doesn’t fail to provoke your competitive side. You know that look well. He’s challenging you.

And you don’t back down from a challenge.

Especially not from Doh Kyungsoo.

Determination flairs up inside of you, your jaw clenching as you strike him with a single, heated glare that read plain and simple ‘you. are. on.’ before honing all your attention onto the worksheet in front of you. It’s not too difficult to focus at first, to disregard the tingles that erupt across your skin where his hot touch sears into it. You manage to find and correct your error in one of the problems (impressive for you even if Kyungsoo wasn’t feeling your leg up under the table).

But whatever pride you find in doing so is quickly quelled when his hand suddenly shifts higher, and you feel the faintest pressure against your heat. It’s a sensation that robs you of your ability to breathe entirely for a handful of seconds, and you can’t stop the shiver that ripples down your spine.

This, you see, is one of the more recent developments in your oh-so complicated relationship with Doh Kyungsoo. Yet another that began with a disagreement at a party, over something you can’t even remember anymore thanks to the haze of alcohol that clouded both your minds at the time, that spiraled way out of proportion. You remember yelling at him, insulting him, stabbing your finger into his chest, feeling the sting of his lethal glare. God, he’d looked so pissed off, and you just fed off of it, fed off the rage and the frustration that festered like lava in those dark brown eyes. The angrier he got, the harder you pushed, until he finally snapped.

You’re still not sure what you expected to happen. What you expected him to do. But you sure as hell hadn’t anticipated him grabbing you by the throat and pulling you into one of the hottest, most mind numbing kisses you’d ever experienced.

Next thing you remember is being in a bed. Whose bed it was, isn’t important. What is important, however, is the fact that that night you had the best sex of your entire life with the man you thought you couldn’t stand.

Hate sex with Doh Kyungsoo opened your eyes to a whole new world of mind boggling pleasure that you’d never experienced before. Pleasure that no other person had ever been able to give you. God, the things he did to you. No one had ever touched you like that before. It was like he knew all the places on your body that made you unravel. He honestly ruined all other men for you that night because none have even come close to comparing. Which was beyond frustrating especially considering that, at the time, you thought it was a one time thing.

The morning after you both pretended that nothing happened. In the two weeks following as well, neither one of you mentioned it. You tried to erase the memory from your brain, tried to go back to normal, but it was hard considering every time you needed some sexual release (which was more often than you care to admit), it was his hands, his mouth, his cock that you imagined while you touched yourself. You replayed his moans in your head, his deep, rasping voice growling your name, and fuck, you never came harder.

But it was still nothing compared to the real thing.

As time passed you only grew more and more frustrated. Worst of all, you could tell he was feeling it too. It was obvious in the way he looked at you, with fire burning in eyes, in the way he spoke to you, with a pitch of something hot and wanting in his voice, in the way he lost his cool far quicker and far more often than he had in the past, your arguments fiercer and more frequent than they’d ever been. The tension between the two of you was palpable, thick enough to be cut with a knife. It got to the point where even your most oblivious of friends started noticing it as well, though they knew better than to voice their curiosity.

The second time it happened, you were both sober and, somehow, it was even better than you remembered. The pleasure was more intense, more overwhelming, a feeling you can’t even put into words. Then it kept happening. Late at night when he’d show up unannounced at your door. Early in the morning when you had an important exam later in the day and you needed some pre-test de-stressing. Between classes in the back seat of his car just because you could. At parties when your friends were too shit faced to notice the two of you slipping into an unoccupied bedroom.

Just sex. That’s what you both agreed to when it became blatantly obvious that your little ‘arrangement’ wouldn’t be coming to an end any time soon. No strings. Just sex. Just really, really good sex.

And that was perfectly fine by you.

Exhaling shakily through your nose, you try to block out the feeling of his thumb as it begins to caress gently up and down your clothed core, suddenly very grateful for the layers of fabric that separate you from his intoxicating touch. But it’s a gratitude that’s short lived. Just as you manage to adjust and scribble down a correction, he cups his hand over your mound and squeezes. A gasp escapes you, and you try to cover up the sound with a series of short coughs, the sting embarrassment intertwining with the warmth of pleasure as a few eyes briefly glance in your direction.

“You’re such an asshole.” You hiss under your breath, thighs tightening around his hand, locking it in place.

He throws you a lopsided grin, brows lifting and you don’t miss the glimmer of amusement in his eyes. “I’ve been called worse.” What he means is you’ve called him worse.

Your lips part, but any intelligible words die on the tip of your tongue as he grinds the heel of his palm down, directly against your clit. Your head drops, eyes squeezing shut, teeth locking down firmly on your lower lip in order to silence the soft moan that threatens to break free.

“F- fuck.”

You hear him coo tauntingly beside you at your slip, the tips of his skilled fingers easily locating your entrance and prodding experimentally. At this point, you don’t doubt he can feel the fabric of your leggings growing hot and wet with your arousal.

Despite being used to the quick effect he had on your body, you can help but to feel the slightest twinge of shame at how he was able to rile you up this much with little more than a few well-placed strokes of his fingers. But fuck, it felt so good. You’d already been feeling somewhat deprived since you’d both been so busy this past week with exams and projects and what not. This is the first time you’re spending time with him since almost a week ago.

And you are in need of a fix.

“You look like you’re having a bit of trouble on that problem. Do you need my help?” Kyungsoo leans into you, his face right up next to yours, and you have to resist the sudden urge to kiss him right then in there in front of everyone in the stupid library.

Instead, you grit out an unconvincing, “I’m fine,” and force yourself to stay focused on the dizzying mess of numbers and letters on the worksheet in front of you and not on the delicious warmth of his hand where it is applying just the right amount of pressure to keep you teetering between pleasure and the insatiable need for more.

“You sure?” There’s a certain lightness to his voice that tells you he is thoroughly enjoying watching you struggle. Sadistic bastard.

“Positive.”

And just like that, he’s gone. You almost gasp as a rush of cold air fills the places he had been, and you can’t help the frown that tugs at the corners of your lips, disappointment and irritation coloring your features before you can reel them in. From the corner of your eye, you chance a glance in his direction. The smug, knowing little smirk staining his lips sends a wave of heat pulsing into your cheeks, and you grit your teeth in frustration.

“So what, you’re just going to stop?” You whisper sharply, not making any attempt whatsoever to hide your annoyance.

A look of feigned innocence overcomes his features. “You said you didn’t need my help.”

You grit your teeth, glaring at him as hard as you can manage with how incredibly turned on you are. But he remains unfazed.

“If you want my help,” he continues, voice dropping an entire octave, “you’re going to have to ask for it... nicely.”

Nice wasn’t a word in your vocabulary when Kyungsoo was involved.

Seeing the resistance you are still putting up, he feathers his fingers over your thigh, tracing slow designs across the thin, black fabric. You swallow, unable to look away as they trail dangerously higher, teasing closer to where you both knew you wanted them most.

“You do want it, don’t you?”

Fuck, you want it so bad.

You know that he knows you want it. It’s just the getting yourself to actually say it out loud part that proves to be a challenge. But that’s exactly what he wants you to do, he wants to hear you say it, wants to see you cast aside your stubborn pride and beg for it. Beg for him.

Lifting your eyes, you glance unsurely around the library. It isn’t overly crowded anymore since most of the other students have begun to trickle out as late afternoon approaches. Plus, the table you were seated at was tucked into the far back corner of the room, secluded and out of the way. But still, your nerves buzzed at the thought of someone seeing. Though maybe — just maybe — there was a buzz of something else as well. Excitement, perhaps?

Grip tightening around your pencil, you chewed on the corner of your lip, refusing to meet Kyungsoo’s penetrating gaze as you let out a soft murmur. “...ease.”

He leans closer, mirth shimmering in his eyes. “What was that? I couldn’t quite hear you.”

Groaning, you shoot him a scowl, shoulders slumping in defeat. “Please help me, asshole.”

Laughter bubbles at his lips, the genuine kind that makes his cheeks lift and his nose wrinkle. You like it when he laughs like that. Makes him look a lot less like a serial killer.

Sinking his teeth into the pillowy flesh of his lower lip to stifle his laughter, he shoots you a lazy grin, “that’s all you had to say.”

Next thing you know, his hand is slipping beneath the elastic of your leggings and into the soft cotton confines of your underwear. Your mouth fell open, a sharp inhale filling your lungs with cold air as his fingers slid through your slick folds.

“I knew you were wet but shit.” He hisses, thick brows furrowing at the feeling of your heavy arousal coating the length of his digits. “I must say, I’m flattered.”

“Don’t be,” you breathe, eyes fluttering, “even Chanyeol can get me this— ngh!”

Without warning, he plunges his middle finger inside of you, and the remainder of your sentence pitches into a strangled moan. One look at his face, jaw clenched, nostrils flared, lips down turned, tells you he isn’t all too pleased at the mention of another man’s name, especially when he’s the one buried knuckle deep in your greedy cunt.

A hazy smirk curls onto your lips and you let out a low hum of pleasure, walls squeezing around him. “You’re sexy when you’re mad.”

“Is that why you enjoy pissing me off so much?” He questions, tone biting and low, and you shutter involuntarily as he rolls the pad of his thumb harshly over your aching clit.

“Partly.” You admit, somewhat breathless. ��But you’re also just a really fun person to piss off.”

He chuckles dryly in response, though the sound lacks any genuine amusement. “You are such a brat, you know that?” He emphasizes the word by stretching you around a second finger, and you have to drop your pencil in favor of clasping your hand over your mouth, unable to swallow down the soft whimpers that tremble up your throat.

“You love it.” You manage to get out before you’re forced to bite into the tender flesh of your palm to muffle a desperate cry when the slow thrusts of his digits suddenly picks up speed. Your thighs squeeze around his hand, hips jerking up to grind your throbbing clit against the heel of his palm. Electricity ricochets through your veins, and you feel that distinctive tightening in the pit of your stomach. Kyungsoo also feels the way you throb and clench around him, and makes sure to grind down hard against your swollen clit.

Heat immediately spreads through your core, the intensity of the pleasure becoming more than you can handle. “Oh god, Kyungsoo.” Your voice comes out louder than you intended, and you quickly duck your head, doing your best to make it seem like you’re focusing on your work and not the fingers drilling relentlessly into your g-spot, praying to god that no one had seen the blissed out expression on your face. Still, you can’t help the quiet whine that escapes you when his ministrations slow.

“Are you trying to get us caught?” He asks in less than a whisper, breath hot against the shell of your ear. “Ever hear of subtlety?”

“Ever hear of suck my dick?” You snap back without missing a beat, only to jolt as his fingers curl inside of you, pressing directly against that sensitive bundle of nerves. Every muscle in your body tenses, and fuck you’re so close you can almost taste it. Frantically, you thrust your hips, desperately trying to fuck yourself down on his digits.

“Sit still.” He growls, and you quiver when he sinks his teeth into the lobe of your ear, obeying only because you really don’t want to get banned from the campus library if someone happened to catch on.

“Soo— fuck,” the force with which you bite into your lip is nearly about to break the skin, but you can’t be bothered by the pain, not with how quickly your orgasm was approaching. Sensing as much, Kyungsoo goes the extra mile of drawing hard, fast figure eights over your clit with his thumb while simultaneously thrusting his fingers into you so fast that you swear you can almost hear it.

All at once fire roars through your veins, euphoria consuming you as your high crashes over you. Your walls spasm around his digits, painting them with your release.

He doesn’t withdraw from you until you go slack, thighs spreading, body slumping back in your chair, eyes fluttering as a hazy, blissed out smile touches your lips. You can only watch through hooded lids as he brings his glistening fingers to his mouth, sighing in amazement as he sucks them clean. There’s a twinge of arousal in your core as he moans softly at the taste of you on his tongue, a downright lethal sound that somehow manages to rouse your positively spent pussy.

This man is going to be the absolute death of you one of these days.

“Fuck.” You chuckle airily, heady gaze flickered over him lazily, only to do a double take when you notice something standing upright beneath the zipper of his jeans. The corners of your lips twirled into a mirthful grin, eyebrows raising slowly.

“Need some help with that?”

“Yes.” He answers shamelessly and without hesitation, grunting softly as he adjusts himself in the tight confines of his jeans to make the raging hard-on he’s sporting somewhat less obvious. “But not here.”

“I figured. So... your car or mine?”

“Didn’t you just get a new one with reclining seats?” He questions, running the tip of his tongue over the seam of his lip at the mere implication.

You strike him with a wicked grin, already beginning to shove your things into your bag. “I did indeed.”

“Then what are we— wait.”

“What?”

“You didn’t finish correcting the worksheet yet.” He points out, drumming his fingers across the paper that had completely slipped your mind.

You pull a face, pausing in the act of gathering your belongings long enough to cross your arms pointedly over your chest. “No offense, Kyungsoo, sweetheart, but I’d much rather suck your dick than do one more of those stupid fucking calc problems.”

His brows leap to his hairline, and he offers a single nod of acceptance, in no position to argue with such a valid point.

“Noted.”

[cryinginthebackseat]

you’ve got more poison than sugar - part i

AO3    part ii

Fandom: Call Of Duty 

Pairing: Russell Adler x Bell

Words: 4.009

Summary: Russell Adler should have known better that it wouldn’t take an entire nation or continent to bring him to his knees.

Warnings: just swearings, sexual tension, blood, mentions of past abuse and brainwashing. adler being that manipulative asswipe like usual. 

Author’s note: i don't know what i'm doing. one moment, i was watching the walkthrough of the new call of duty game, found myself curious, acutely curious by that guy with the scars and shades on- a younger, shadier (no pun intended) Robert Redford in Spy Game and oh my... fast forward to 2 weeks later, here we are.

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A house somewhere on foreign soil,

Where ageless lovers call,

Is this your goal, your final needs,

Where dogs and vultures eat,

Committed still I turn to go.

I put my trust in you.

A Means To An End - Joy Division (1980)

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It's mystifying how little she talks. Or when she does, it's always in fragments. Like a crossword puzzle in your local newspaper, but several letters are missing. He initially thought maybe MK-Ultra fucked her head or worse, if it hasn't worked at all, but the more he watches her, the more he realizes it's just the way she is. And it's ironic because he named her Bell. He expected her to chime like a goddamn goldfinch yet here they are. 

But he won't be fazed. Russell Adler is a man who's stopped at nothing in getting what he wanted before, he sure as hell won't stop now for a close-mouthed science project.

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“We've got a job to do, Bell."

It intrigues him, every time, the way the words trigger something deep within her psyche, the way her eyes change, her body stands a little straighter, like a machine ready to function at his disposal. It reminds Adler of one of those cartoons he watched when he was a kid about wizards and magic words, except there are no musical dance numbers playing in the background or a talking cricket perching on his shoulder. This is his power over her, over the USSR, over Perseus. That monstrous filth. It really does take a beast to tame another. 

Although he surmises calling Bell one would be superfluous. 

She barely looks like one, but Adler knows too well than to underestimate her. Just because Bell hasn’t shown her set of claws, that doesn’t mean she’s harmless, delicate, like a miniature China Doll in his breast pocket.

Bell never offered him her reply before, but now, now, she nods, head almost bows, obedient pretty thing, and says:

“Yes, Adler.”

So it goes.

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It takes West Berlin for Adler to realize she’s left-handed. 

She wears her watch on her right hand, smokes with that same said hand only when she’s writing or moving her pieces for an impromptu late-night game of chess against Lazar. And she always wears her gloves all the time- leather, black, lined with silk and pretty, small buttons on the cuffs, covering those striking red nails underneath. Whether it is for the theatrics or an old habit of hers, he can't really tell.

He doesn’t know why he begins to take notice of these mundane details about Bell, but rationalizes because he’s never been in the same room with this version of her, post-brainwash Bell, for more than 10 minutes. And for all intents and purposes, there’s still a lot of question marks surrounding her character; who is she? Where did she come from? What is her connection to Perseus? 

Are they in a possession of a walking, breathing bomb about to destroy them all or the West’s only salvation?

He supposes he’ll find out soon enough.

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Adler hears Bell from his table, typing busy on the computer- barely blinking- all soaked up in that caffeine-infused energy at 1 am. She's always like that, he learns, when it comes to working, always with that steel determination, pulling out all the stops as long as it gets the job done- that Soviet discipline at it's finest.

Reminds him a little of himself when he's young.

Adler walks up to her. 

“You done for the night?” A shake of her head is her only response. He sighs. “You should go home, Bell.” 

“You go. I’ll lock up behind you,” Bell replies, low and monotone; that youthful stubborn.

If she was any other person, he would probably commend her for such fierce willpower, but she is Bell, the walking conundrum, his ace in the hole. Call him paranoid, but the idea of her having the safehouse for herself does nothing but raises every alarm in his head.

“No, we’re going home,” he says instead, tone brooking no argument and she frowns at the screen, her fingers stop moving then looks up at him with those goddamn empty eyes. "Come on, it's late anyway."

She doesn't say anything. Adler wishes he could read her mind- or crack that lovely skull on the back of her head, dissect her brain, learn its secrets and answers. 

Adler has his gun with him. It wouldn’t take long. A quick, true shot to the heart to keep the brain intact. He’d have Hudson contact one of his people inside BND and he'd deliver the brain himself if he has to. They could do it. He heard they’ve been studying inmates' brains for decades now, anyway. 

Before he has a chance to entertain the idea further, though, Bell nods once and rises up from her seat. 

Bell walks past him. Her scent, like honeysuckle on ice, hits him like an uppercut in the face. Adler inhales, as if against his will. 

He thinks he could get drunk on it.

“Hop in. I’ll drive you back to the hotel,” he says once they’re outside, regretting the decision the moment the words left his lips, but he knows he can’t just leave her on her own at this late hour.

The irony isn’t lost on him, though, considering he just thought about unspooling her brain a few minutes ago.

Bell complies without a protest. Getting inside the passenger seat, wordless still, fingers toying with the radio. An angry, krautrock music comes blaring all over his car. Adler winces, but at least the riot is loud enough to muffle the one's brewing in his head. 

"How's your memory these days?" 

Bell shrugs. "Nihil novi sub sole." There's nothing new under the sun.

Good, he muses. The least she knows about herself the better.

Though that doesn't mean he's out of the woods yet.

"Listen, from now on, I want you to keep me informed if there's any new progress about your memory or if you've developed any new symptoms. I want to know everything." He steals a sidelong glance at her, making sure she is listening (she always does, but Adler needs an excuse)

(An excuse for what?)

"Alright, Bell?"

"Of course," replies the woman in question.

"Good." Adler shifts his attention back to the road. "Good." Taking a long drag, he considers trying to appeal to her sentimental side. It's not something you'd improvise last minute- at least not with someone you brainwashed to believe you are her mentor/confidant for the past decade, but he's itching to know where he stands with her.

"You know, I'm just tryin' to look out for you, kid."

Her lips twitch but the rest of her visage remains impassive and faraway, more like a flick knife than a woman. The correlation is uncanny.

That's when she inches closer. The space between them bridged. He freezes. Hyper-aware of just how dangerous this is, but can’t bring himself to pull back, to look the other way. Not when her hand reaches out to pluck the cigarette from his mouth, eyes still glued to his, and curls her lips around the filter. One heavy pull, and then she rolls down the window and tosses it out on the side of the road.

"Thought I'd reciprocate the sentiment."

And with that, she leans back in her seat before Adler could even process what has just transpired.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“Welcome back to the land of the living, kid,” Adler greeted her, about a month ago. 

Park had insisted that he had to be there for her when she woke up (naturally, Adler had balked at the idea, but at the English woman’s fact-of-the-matter explanation, also because it had somewhat dawned on him last minute the logic behind her machinations- “both of you are supposed to have known each other for years now. If she doesn't see you by her side, she’s going to wonder why”- thus, here he was)

“How are you feeling?” 

Bell blinked owlishly and stared at the older man with those bottomless, cat-like eyes that had haunted him since January.

Her gaze eventually softened as recognition flickered across her face.

“Like someone just hit me in the chest with a bulldozer,” she said hoarsely. “Where are we?”

“St. Dismas’ hospital, Pittsburgh.” Adler got up and fetched her a glass of water from the table. “Although not a bulldozer, but bullets did. That, and you hit your head really hard on your way down. Thought we’d lost you there, Bell.”

Bell drank in silence. She’s still watching him, thinking. This was the first time he realized that he couldn’t exactly read her expression and somehow that threw him off.

“What happened?” she asked, one hand mid-air, like she was deciding which to touch first, hesitating and abandoned the idea. 

“You don’t remember?” She shook her head. Adler pretended to look remotely distressed about it. “The doctors warned me about this. It must have been because of the fall- heck, I could even still hear that sickening crunch from here.” He dragged his chair closer towards her bed.

“We were in Amsterdam. Remember Fohler?” she shook her head again. “Well, we’d been tracking this son of a bitch for months, but we were chasing him in Amsterdam. He was running away and climbed up some scaffolding. You were about to go up after him,” he recited the fabricated story he, Park and Hudson had crafted. “He shot you and you fell and hit your head against the pavement.”

Bell looked away first, silent. Her hand gingerly touched the back of her head and winced, albeit only slightly. 

Adler was almost impressed, if not, disarmed by how calm and composed her reaction was to all of this. But then again, after having had witnessed first-hand how the woman barely flinched under any kind of interrogation technique they threw at her- a personality built for wrestling tigers- he really shouldn’t be surprised. 

“Bell, what is the last thing you remember?”

Bell frowned. “Not much. I remember ‘Nam, but-”

“Vietnam? Kid, that was thirteen years ago.” Adler watched the way her throat bopped, like she was swallowing her own blood and the color drained from her face, just like the first time he’d seen her, and proceeded to drop the bomb:

“Bell, the year is 1981.”

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"Bell dear, would you mind taking a look at this?" 

Park's voice sails from across the room. She says it like it's a compound word: Bell-dear. Like the two words belong together. Bell-dear. 2 syllables, 1 word, 9 characters and that just might be the weirdest thing he hears this year and he heard many things.

"Bell dear?" Adler asks much later, his gravel-and-smoke voice reduced to a whisper, when she delivers a document to his table.

Park shrugs as if that explains everything. "What? I like her." 

He's tempted to say you really can't put a term of endearment and someone you brainwashed into submission in the same sentence, but what else is new?

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They wind up in a bar. It’s called Die Stube and the place’s brimmed with artists and all sorts of leather-clad, Bowie-esque dramatic, chromatic blue eyelids young people chattering over a dirty cloud of smoke.

The two of them colonize a lone booth in the back. It’s dark and the quietest. She orders a beer and he, a scotch and they drink in silence. There are moments where her head would twist to the side, as subtle as a needle and survey the phantasmagorical scene before them, like studying something from a petri dish. 

While he’s watching her.

Only to tear his gaze away to the nearest object he can find.

It lands on his watch.

"It’s almost ten. Hudson's contact should be here soon," he announces, if anything to distract himself. She nods mutely in reply, as always, and runs a finger around the rim of her glass.

"The place ain't much of your scene?" 

She shrugs, like it's self-evident. "I didn't know this was a scene, though."

"Well, that’s West Berlin for you. A worry-free playground for the hedonists, hipsters and proto-electro NDW enthusiasts with drugs on tap," Adler says, sipping his drink in practiced nonchalance. "Always makes my head spin."

"I guess I remember it differently," Bell replies, tinged with something akin to begrudging. 

That warrants his full attention. "What do you remember?”

Bell shrugs again and lights a cigarette instead, menthol, one of those long, skinny cigarettes they only market for women; biding her time, making him wait. She lets the smoke flares from her nostrils so her eyes are veiled.

"It’s hard to explain, but I suppose it’s grittier?” she gesticulates, searching for the right word like she’s skim reading the entire Oxford dictionary in her head. “Bizarrely, infinitely grittier and dimmer? Like being in an underground tunnel and there's not much to see."

Interesting. Maybe she’s recalling one of her ops for Perseus or her mind is confusing her with the world on the other side of the wall.

“Maybe you’re remembering one of our clandestine ops here. It was a few years after Vietnam,” Adler supplies, passing over the tale like bait.

She falls for it, hook, line and sinker.

“Ah, I guess that also explains my fluency in German.”

“I taught you that.” It’s only logical, he decides, that she learned from him. She’s supposed to be his protégé after all. 

An elegant brow quirk. "You did?"

"Yeah, though you were already fluent in Latin, Russian, Vietnamese and Portuguese when we first met anyway. You have quite a natural ear, kid.”

She gives him a look. He really can’t categorize it, but it makes it a whole lot harder to fight against her stare.

 “What else did you teach me?” 

If they were anyone else, the lines could have a potential to entice, to seduce, that winsome, catty-eyelashes coquette, but they aren't anyone else and Bell does not voice it like that. Yet the implication behind the question stirs something in the pit of Adler’s stomach anyway, that tight knot of confusion as it is buried with something else and he finds himself, once again, uncharacteristically speechless.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

That particular question of her stays, even hours later, unbidden. Interspersed with her scent and face. 

His emotions are a minefield whenever she’s near now. It evokes that newfound rush of terror within him, like walking on a tightrope or being thrown into the pit to face hundreds of hungry lions, bare hands. It makes Adler questions his every decision, and he can’t have that in his line of work. 

Adler lights his sixth cigarette, contemplating everything, nothing. Anything to distract him from her. It's 4 am and he’s exhausted, but his mind won’t stop whirring. This isn’t like him at all- like he's lost somewhere in a Dali-style labyrinth that is his head and he wonders if this is a byproduct of his fear or fascination or confusion for the young woman.

He fears it is all of them.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

(They're only 10 minutes away from East Berlin when he senses it, something akin to burning on his peripheral vision, pulling him like weight.

Bell is staring at him from across the seat.

He cocks his head slightly to the side.

Adler catches the quick, telling quirk of her lips, like she's about to smile but lights a cigarette instead.)

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“Did you hear that?”

Krauss has just crossed the wall and their soles are slippery from the rain. She's panting. Her breath is white like a fog. Adler muses it must be from the running, until his iris trails down to where her hand is clutching his jacket sleeve, the leather creasing like a modulation signal.

“What is it?” Adler asks, hushed. There are no Stasis here, but even one can't be too careful.

“The TV.” She’s gaping at the broken TV next to them. Adler looks at the said object, frowning, then back to her. “Y-you didn’t hear it?”

"Heard what? Bell, the thing's dead."

Bell withdraws from him. Stepping back until her back meets the walls, her eyes seeing and unseeing, like a lens finding focus in the dark, then she closes them, as if trying to regulate her breathing. Adler has never seen her scared shitless of anything before. The sight confuses as it intrigues him. 

"Bell, what's going on?" Adler steps closer, but he dares not to touch her. 

She shakes her head, dismissive. In just a span of seconds, Bell dons that mask she likes to wear again; deadpan and frustratingly distant. A spike of annoyance drives through him. Just when he thinks he can get through her, there she goes again, retreating behind her palisades.

"Nothing." Bell turns away abruptly and she’s walking again."Let's just go. The others are waiting for us."

He doesn't pry about whatever she heard on the TV- Adler knows better than to beat a dead horse, thank you very much- not even after they save her from Volkov's clutches, after she bashes his head against the steel door and reeks his blood all the way home, it seems superficial at the time.

Until two days later.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The day starts, as it mostly does for the team, with a briefing. 

Fifteen minutes in and something like a gasp pulls his attention to her. 

That’s when he notices it; her hands are shaking, coffee spilling out of the mug over her hand. A shatter follows. Her mug smashes to smithereens at her feet. She’s swaying, near collapse, like a house of cards about to fall, a hand on her nose.

Adler catches her before she tumbles to the floor.

“Bell!” His arm around her waist tightens, trying to keep her steady. Lazar rushes to their side in a flash and helps him move her to a nearby chair. 

"Jesus Christ," he curses, more to himself than to her as he watches blood, a bead of angry red, trickling down her nose. "Sims, get me a washcloth from the bathroom."

He kneels before her once Sims returns with a damp cloth. Nicotine-stained gloved fingers tentatively grasp her chin, holding her still. 

“Kid, you alright?” Adler asks, worry bleeds into his voice without him realizing it. He firmly presses the cloth under her nose, his other thumb touches the pulse at her throat- it's almost sickly affectionate. “Bell, talk to me."

Bell looks at him, discombobulated, like he's a figment of her imagination, then blinks. Again and again until she heaves a deep breath.

"I-" she hisses. One hand flies up to her head. "Fuck. My head.”

Adler’s eyes immediately search for Park’s. A knowing look passes over her face and he knows without saying that she's thinking the same thing, like they're attached to the same brain-wire:

MK-Ultra.

There’s a fraction of pause, then Lazar asks, "Should we give her something?” 

Before Park can voice her answer, Bell beats her to it. "I already took an anticonvulsant this morning. It should have helped.”

“Wait, this has happened before?” Adler asks.

Bell looks away, a hesitating look shadowing her face. He fears the worst.

“Bell…” he tries again, a slight warning to his tone.

She sighs loudly, as if mentally preparing herself before walking into a storm. 

“Yes. Two days ago."

His mind instantly refers to East Berlin, the TV. Trying to connect the dots in his head. It seems far fetched, but now he wonders if she saw something that triggers this. Although he's never read about this on other subjects before, the correlation is just impossible to ignore.

Fuck. He heaves a breath, willing himself to calm down, to think. They can't afford complications at times like these. Not when there's so much at stake right now.

Adler snaps his attention back to Bell when she tries to scramble awkwardly to her feet, swatting his hand away. The hand on her neck immediately reaches for her waist again and pushes her back down onto the chair. His grip's tight enough to leave marks on her skin, but he doesn't care.

"Bell, for fuck's sake, stay still or so help me," he says, exasperated, not letting go of her waist. 

"I feel better now." Stubborn little shit.

He is tempted to scream at her face and grab both of her shoulders and shake. “The hell you’re not. Stop fighting it. You’ll only make things worse.”

Her face sours, if only for a millisecond before it morphs into guilt. “I’m sorry.”

Adler watches her for a long moment. It’s only now that he realizes that he’s still holding her waist and the cloth on her face. 

He backs away from her like he’s been burnt. 

“You should have told me. I thought I made it clear the other night to keep me informed regarding this,” he scolds. 

“I’m sorry,” she utters again and she looks so pliable like this, a blank canvas perfumed with obedience and lethal mind. It makes him almost feel sorry for what he has in plan for her once the shit show is over.

“Look, just go back to the hotel and take a day off.” Her mouth cracks open. He raises a silencing hand. “That’s an order, Bell.” But she merely scowls, looking more like jagged ice than a person. Hudson may have just met his match, after all.

“I told you I’m fine.”

“That’s not how it looks to me.”

“It is. It’s my body and I know what I’m feeling, and I’m telling you, I. Feel. Fine.”

His jaw clenches. “Are you disobeying a direct order, agent?”

Bell doesn’t answer, but her whole face remains challenging and hard. Undeterred.

Adler holds his breath. He feels the whole room collectively does the same. It’s like staring down the barrel of a gun and there’s an awful sort of danger to be found in that. 

Just when he thinks an imaginary bullet would dig itself into his skin, however, Bell utters, “Of course not.”

And so the woman resumes to her normal, docile self at a drop of a hat. Even when Park steps in and whisks her out of her seat, drives her back to her hotel with Lazar on shotgun. 

It doesn’t assuage his worry, though. He’s still restless throughout the day, like a roaring ocean inside a bell jar. She’s never done this before, openly rebels against him. Now, the situation is just bad. Not casually bad or almost-got-shot bad, this is the-entire-Europe-could-turn-into-a-nuclear-wasteland bad, an-armageddon-waiting-to-happen bad. 

What if this is the beginning of her old self trying to scratch her way out of the surface? Adler’s blood goes cold at the thought. He is going to have to keep a close eye on this development.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

West Berlin - 1 am, local time.

“How is she?”

“Stable. I’ve administered another dose of Propranolol before I left the hotel. She should be fit as a fiddle in the morning.”

“Tell me, what do you think happened to her?”

“My theory? Traumatic brain injury. A cumulative product of torture, trauma-based mind control and chronic stress. I've read reports about cases like these before in MI6. None of them is still alive to recount the tale, unfortunately."

Adler grips the phone. 

“How long do you think we have?”

“Theoretically, 2-3 weeks tops.”

“But?”

He hears Park sighs on the other line. “But then again, none of the subjects I’ve encountered before were like her. So, I suppose it’s still a little too premature to determine at this point."

Adler kneads his temple, feeling the start of that familiar Bell-induced headache forms in his head. Can things just be fucking simple for once? 

“We don’t have that much time anyway, Park. And if Hudson gets a wind of this, he’ll want her gone by morning. I can’t let that happen. Not…” he pauses. “Not when we are this close.”

"What are we going to do about her, then?" 

Adler sighs.

"Raise the dosages of her drugs,” he says. “And keep an extra eye on her. I think we may be heading into uncharted waters now.”

Tagging: @mvalentine cause you said to tag you with everything i write so  👁👄👁

[naralanis]

little bumps in the road (pt. 7)

(now properly capitalized, oh my!)

Previously on LBitR...

Lena’s driving for the first time as they turn south and make their way into Alabama through a maze of country back roads. She had shyly asked if she could take the wheel for a couple of hours after it became increasingly clear that there is absolutely no method to the madness of Kara’s made-up route.

“If not even we know where we’re going, neither can Lex,” is Kara’s reasoning when Lena finally asks, and frankly, she can’t really argue with that logic.

Lena wants to use her time wisely, now that she has ostensibly something useful to do. Driving is a mindless enough activity, allowing her to ground herself--it helps her slow down her brain so she can think more clearly and deliberately, instead of wasting her time freaking out about all the unanswered questions still plaguing her mind.

So maybe she’s compartmentalizing again, but it’s a relief to have all her little imaginary boxes back--it’s not exactly comfortable, but it’s familiar, so Lena will gladly take it.

Kara huffs unhappily at her side, looking at the map Lena had been diligently marking with their stops.

“Disney World is only like, ten hours away, can you believe that?” she says with a pout.

It’s such a Kara Danvers thing to say, Lena can’t help but laugh. “Sadly, I don’t think Orlando is the best place for a fugitive and a dead superhero to lay low.”

Kara nods, but now she’s grinning, waggling her eyebrows. “You know... Disney World is probably the last place they’d ever...”

“We are not going to Disney World, darling, I’m sorry.”

For whatever reason, Kara’s still smiling like an idiot after Lena’s quip. Her sigh is deliberately dramatic this time, and she flops on the passenger seat with a monumental fake-pout to boot.

“Ah, well. It was worth a try.”

Lena doesn’t know what possesses her, but before she can’t stop herself she’s reaching across the console and taking Kara’s hand, giving it a little squeeze.

“One day,” she finds herself saying, “when all of this is over, I’ll take you.”

The assumption--the sheer hope--that such a day would ever come, that any of this would ever be over and done with neatly enough for them to go to Disney World together... absolutely ludicrous.

Lena squashes the hope down immediately, puts it in one of her little boxes under lock and key before it has a chance to grow and turn into something more unmanageable. She moves to take her hand away, and nearly swerves right off the road when Kara grasps it back and squeezes in return.

“I’d like that,” she says, and doesn’t let go.

Lena catches a glimpse of Kara’s expression from the corner of her eye--there’s a hint of happiness in her gaze that has been absent for quite some time, all because of her.

The fact that a fraction of that happiness makes an earnest appearance, right here and now, with Lena? It’s inconceivable, and Lena doesn’t deserve it.

So into a box it goes.

“There’s a small town about fifty miles east from here,” Kara says as she frowns at the map, interrupting Lena’s compartmentalizing. “Maybe we can stop and resupply?”

“Is the town too small for a laundromat?” Lena asks, because the situation has become a little dire on that front. She doesn’t really want to mention it, but their clothes stink.

“Wouldn’t you know it, there’s a small bed-and-breakfast featured--laundry room available, it says.”

Lena ponders for a moment. She’s been thinking about it since Kara mentioned there might still be some Kryptonite in her system, and maybe, now that they seem to be talking again, it’s the right time to ask.

“Is the town big enough for a hotel, maybe? One with Internet, perhaps?”

Kara frowns, putting the map down on her lap. “We can’t risk it, Lena.”

“Hear me out--do you still... do you feel any Kryptonite in your system?”

Kara’s brows furrow even further--the crinkle appears full force--and her confusion is evident. “What does that have to do with a hotel with Internet?” Lena shoots her a look, and thankfully Kara seems to understand that it means I’ll explain, just humour me. She sighs. “Maybe. I’m not sure. Sometimes it feels like... traces of it, I guess? A twinge here, a little burning there. It doesn’t feel like anything I’ve ever dealt with before.”

“Probably something to do with the way it was synthesized,” Lena mutters, mostly to herself. Lena’s sole consolation lies in the fact that she is pretty certain she was not the one to do it--though her memory is still infuriatingly blurry, Lena figures that if she had been the one to synthesize this Kryptonite strain, she’d at least have some answers as to why it is still affecting Kara.

And she has absolutely none.

“We need to analyse your blood, somehow, but we don’t have the facilities to do it.”

“Facilities? Alex will analyse my blood,” Kara retorts, lips settling into an adamant line. “Once she’s able to reach out to us, she’ll help.”

“I’m sure she will, but Kara--it’s been over two weeks with zero contact, and we have no idea when she’ll be able to respond. We don’t know what kind of havoc that thing is still wreaking in your body -- we need to at least take a look.”

Kara’s little huff tells Lena her point has been accepted, albeit reluctantly. “Alright, fine. I still don’t understand what a hotel with Internet brings to the table.”

“Since we don’t have the facilities, I need to research places that do--medical facilities, hell, I’d even take a place with good veterinary equipment. Atlanta is closest, at the moment, but we could go further if we need to.”

Kara’s eyes widen in clear incredulity. “Medical facilities? Lena, what are you going to do--research some place and then what, break in and use their equipment? That’s your plan?”

“Do you have a better one, besides waiting for Alex?” Lena retorts, eyes narrowing. “The sooner we know what’s wrong with you, the sooner we can fix it.”

Kara opens her mouth, closes it again. The crinkle shows no signs of disappearing, and she’s silent for several moments before releasing an almighty huff.

“S’too risky. No way.”

Lena nods, because she expected this--thought about it ever since their little pizza night at that motel in Tennessee. She has to throw in that option as... security, really, because her real plan is quite a bit more complicated--bordering on insane, really, not to mention completely irresponsible.

“There’s another option,” she says evenly, trying to keep her eyes on the road. “Further north--and breaking in would be, uh. Simpler. Still dangerous, but simpler.”

Kara raises a suspicious brow. “And that would be?”

Lena swallows. “LuthorCorp HQ in Metropolis.”

Parts 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6

<< Previous || Next >>

[bigskydreaming]

Okay, long time followers will probably remember having read this, but I can’t find the original post and I’m trying to like.....force-reboot/jumpstart me working on my ‘Kings of the Sky’ AU again because I haven’t touched it in awhile and I have like literally eight different installments in various stages of completion and that’s ridiculous even for me. So here’s a repost of the first part of “Teachable Moments” the canon-divergence point of that AU series, where Jason calls Dick for advice after the Garzonas case and everything changes from there.

******

The way Jason Todd warily eyed the device in his hand, one might think it was an instrument of great and terrible destructive power, rather than just…his own personal cell-phone.

To be fair, he was Robin, and pretty used to the idea that even the most unlikely of things could be used for evil in Gotham. It could’ve been stolen and replaced at some point by a henchperson of Mr. Freeze, and using it could unleash some kind of cryogenic freeze ray that would turn him into a Robinsicle. Mad Hatter could be up to shit again, and dialing the phone at this very minute might mean syncing it up with a remote radio signal that would override his natural brainwaves and turn him into Tetch’s mindless minion of like…doom and stuff. Or…or…

Or sometimes, even in Gotham a phone is just a phone, and Freud is still a dumbass. And neither of the above possibilities had anything to do with why Jason was being a giant freaking pansy about entering the last digit of the phone number he would never ever admit to having had memorized for months now.

Nightwing had said to call if he ever needed to talk. He wouldn’t have done that if he didn’t actually want Jason to call, right? Like, its not as if Jason had remotely been expecting him to do that, so its not the sort of thing someone did just because it was ‘expected’ or shit. He was pretty sure. Rich people manners were weird though. Had to factor that in.

But Nightwing had also even made a point to say not talking to people about stuff was Bruce’s problem and that Jason shouldn’t let it be his problem too, and even though months ago Jason had been a starry-eyed dumbass who was totally drunk on the Bruce is the Bestest Kool-Aid or whatever, ‘Wing had definitely known what he was talking about there. So maybe he’d get it, and having this conversation with him wouldn’t be. Like. The actual worst idea in the history of ever.

Deductive logic said that Jason was getting worked up over nothing and there was no rational reason for him to be this nervous about dialing a fucking phone number. And he’d gotten pretty good at the whole deduction shit, given all the work he and Bruce had put into training his mind to view the world through entirely new paradigms, so Jason was pretty sure his math on that checked out. But on the other hand, Bruce was a hypocritical asshat that Jason was currently not speaking to, so what the fuck did he know about anything?

Aaaaand he was back to square one. Well damn. This was excellent. Very productive. Good hustle out there, Jay.

Sighing gustily, Jason flopped back on his bed, staring up at the ceiling and trying to pretend he hadn’t gotten used to how luxurious and cushion-y his ridiculously expensive mattress was. He’d gotten soft, he told himself. Then he scoffed at the idea that the past year and a half of rigorous Robin training and patrols had made him less tough than the pipsqueak he’d been back when living on the street, getting his ass kicked by bigger and badder on the regular. That hadn’t been hardness, that had been bravado.

But it had gotten him this far in life, so maybe there was something to be said for it after all?

Ugh. Decisions were hard. He objected on principle. He also really wanted to understand why he was this nervous…if he could literally fill the guy’s shoes and kick supervillain ass as Robin, what freaking sense did it make that he couldn’t even call him up on the phone?

Maybe you just know better than to ask him questions you don’t really want to hear his answer to, a smug voice said in the back of his mind. It sounded suspiciously like Willis Todd, which was all kinds of weird and fucked up, cuz Jason was damn sure his abusive a-hole of a deadbeat dad had never said anything that insightful in his life.

Which meant it was his own screwed up subconscious - presenting in the voice of his not so dearly departed douchebag dad, no less - that had Jason reacting out of spite, entering the last number and hitting Talk, all while totally on autopilot. Because apparently we’re all making healthy life choices in this Chili’s tonight, Jason snickered somewhat hysterically while his phone rang once, twice, three times.

Ugh. Was he always this fucked up in the head and he just never noticed, or was it a side effect of running around rooftops in a cape. Inquiring minds wanted to know.

“Hello?” Someone said then, answering on the fourth ring. Jason sat bolt upright, his nervous humor vanishing as quickly and unexpectedly as it’d hijacked him in the first place. For all that he’d only actually interacted with the older man a few times, his voice was instantly recognizable. As was his slight confusion.

Right. Because why would Nightwing have the untraceable number of the latest burner phone Bruce had given Jason, when the ever paranoid Bat had him swapping out phones every freaking week? Duh, Jay.

“Uh, its me,” Jason said hastily, as if he could somehow catch up to and overtake the epically long ten second silence he let lapse before his mouth started making words again. “Jason?”

“Jaybird! Hey! What’s going on?” The older vigilante’s tone instantly morphed into one of surprised delight, so apparent even across the phone that Jason actually pulled it away from his ear and stared at it, as if that could explain Nightwing’s inexplicable giddiness. He’d literally only met the dude three times. Give or take a concussion he was forgetting about maybe? Weird.

Then again, the older man was a circus performer from birth. Might just be good at faking being super excited to hear from people? Whatever. Still weird.

“Uh, you said to call if I was ever having, I dunno, issues with Bruce I guess? So I kinda had a question? I mean, if you’re not busy or anything.”

Just one question? Willis’ voice asked snidely, echoing in time with the rapid tripartite beat of Jason’s heart. Since apparently everything Jason said was trying to come out with a question mark attached to the end of it at the moment. Ugh, fuck you, subconscious, Jason thought forcefully, even as he ransacked the recesses of his mind for that bravado he was thinking about earlier. It had to be in here somewhere…

“No worries dude, I’ve got time. Hit me!” Nightwing said cheerfully. His lighthearted cadences were so at odds with the sweat suddenly breaking out on Jason’s forehead, the younger teen couldn’t help but wince in anticipation of its inevitable change once he got his actual question out. This was a bad idea, he decided, way too fucking late for it to make a difference. He had a hunch Nightwing wouldn’t be content to ‘just forget it’ or whatever even if Jason chickened out now.

So he took a deep breath, shrugged and did what Jason Todd did best. Said fuck it, put pedal to the metal, and drove at full speed for the metaphorical police barricade that was his way of picturing all the things telling him He Should Definitely Just Not.

“Do you think I’m someone who could kill somebody in like, cold blood?”

Aaaaand there went the lightheartedness. Well, he’d definitely stone cold killed that, Jason thought grimly into the silence that followed.

“Huh,” Nightwing said at last. “You’re gonna have to give me a second to switch gears here, Jay. I was kinda expecting something along the lines of ‘how do I avoid Bruce giving me the safe sex talk.’”

Jason flushed and nodded jerkily, not that the older man could see it. Still, it’d been enough of a workout just getting to this point. He didn’t trust what might come out of his mouth next if he kept trying to force it. Thankfully Nightwing didn’t make him wait too long before continuing.

“I think anyone’s capable of killing somebody in the right circumstances,” Jason’s predecessor began carefully. Except that was not remotely what he wanted to hear. Or helpful.

“I’m not looking for platitudes,” Jason grit out, not angry at the other vigilante so much as the whole fucked up mess and his inability to think about anything else at this point. “It’s just a simple fucking question. You’ve met me, do you think like, I’d be capable of just killing somebody or not.”

“I’m not offering platitudes,” Nightwing continued calmly, as if he wasn’t phased by the younger boy’s interruption or sudden aggression at all. “And its not a simple question at all. Speaking from experience, most people wouldn’t think of an eight year old as a cold-blooded killer, but that’s what I could have been if Bruce hadn’t stopped me from killing my parents’ murderer when I first tracked him down. And yet that’s still totally different from when I held a gun on Two-Face barely a couple years later, about to shoot him because somebody else told me to, and because I wanted to hurt him like he’d hurt me. Wouldn’t you agree those are two different situations and two different ‘kinds’ of cold-blooded killer? Context is kinda a big deal here.”

Huh. First off…what the fuck? Jason stared blankly up at the ceiling, trying to hurry up the processing functions of his brain because, again, what the fuck? He was like ninety nine percent positive none of that had been in the Dick Grayson Is The Greatest and Here Are All The Reasons Why brochure he’d had read to him every time someone new found out he was Wayne’s newest stray, and like. Uh. Yeah, that part would have definitely stood out. Because once more, with feeling:

“What the fuck?”

Oops. That hadn’t been supposed to be out loud. Bad mouth. Bad.

Nightwing just did a weird kinda half laugh half sigh combo. Rueful, Jason would describe it, if he were describing it to someone else, which it kind of felt like he was, relaying the conversation to himself now that it’d taken a hard right turn into the surreal.

“Blindsided you with that, huh? Sorry, should’ve figured neither of those are the kinda stories Bruce would want to share with you. Then again, I don’t really have any idea what Bruce has told you about me.”

“Not much,” Jason admitted. Which was a major source of irritation, if he was being honest. The much sung praises of Dick Grayson came from literally everyone he met except for Bruce. Who usually just got a pinched expression whenever Jason brought him up, and a rapid subject change that was not nearly as subtle as Bruce seemed to think it was.

“Yeah, that sounds about right,” Nightwing sighed. “I hope you haven’t put too much stock in anything else you’ve heard about me then. I’ll admit to a bad habit of enjoying my mystique, so secondhand hearsay tends to lose my best nuances.”

Despite himself, Jason’s lips curved up and he let out a rueful huff of his own. “I mean, this definitely isn’t where I saw this conversation going.”

The older man chuckled. “Thought I was going to just assume the worst and chuck the book at you?”

“Well. Yeah.” Jason shrugged, even though he knew it wouldn’t come across. “Bruce did.”

Nightwing heaved an exasperated breath. “Yeah, that’s kinda the thing about B. Sometimes, he’s great. Other times, he’s an ass. Its kinda an either or thing. He’s never really mastered the art of finding a midpoint between two extremes. Mostly because he’s never seen the point of aiming for middle ground.”

“Well its not like he’s ever really had to,” Jason griped. It just slipped out before he could stop it, leaving him feeling guilty for bad-mouthing B when he wasn’t around to defend himself. Especially since he knew Nightwing wasn’t the guy’s biggest fan these days. But he couldn’t deny it also felt good, in a way.

To his surprise, Nightwing just laughed. And not even in a malicious, spiteful kind of way, but almost relieved.

“God, thank you. You’d think that ‘hey, so my billionaire guardian kinda has entitlement issues’ would be a water is wet kind of revelation, but try saying something like that to pretty much anyone else…”

“And they look at you like you’re an ungrateful asshole?” Jason finished for him. Not that he’d ever actually tried saying that to anyone before, though he’d definitely thought it a time or two. But he could all too easily imagine the reactions he’d get, which was pretty much why he’d never gone so far as to speak the words.

“Yup,” Nightwing drawled, dragging out the p and popping it with emphasis. “And its not about being grateful or not, its just…there are some parts of everyone that just aren’t up for grabs, for other people to weigh in on or take charge of, you know? And a lot of people just don’t get that…because nobody’s ever tried it with them, or had to deal with expectations that…overstep, let’s call it?”

“Is that why you left?”

Jason winced the second it left his mouth. Too far. Definitely way too far, but he’d just gotten unexpectedly comfortable with the back and forth, and now he’d done the overstepping thing himself and was left with just dead air.

But ten seconds of heavy silence stretched into twenty, and went no further, as Nightwing sighed into his side of the phone again.

“The spiteful part of me wants to say it was more of a push than me just up and leaving,” he laughed again, but this time with unmistakable bitterness. “But even while that’s true, its not really the right answer to your question, because no matter how much of a clusterfuck that was at the time, its not…I mean, I knew at the time how to fix it. Where and how I needed to cave in order to make up with him and let things get back not quite to normal, but at least close enough.”

The pause wasn’t as heavy or tense this time, as Jason could almost sense the older man gathering his thoughts, trying to put them into words. He bit his lip rather than risk any more unexpected utterances escaping. This might not have been where he’d thought his phone call would lead, but now that he was here, hearing the answers to questions he’d wanted to ask for over a year and finding them almost comfortably familiar, he wasn’t going to risk distracting Nightwing or shutting him up for well. Anything.

“But it would have meant me caving. Settling in ways that I just…couldn’t. So in a way, yeah, I did leave, it was still my choice. And all of that was definitely a big part of it. I love Bruce, I do. I just couldn’t live with him anymore. Not without feeling like I had to give up my own autonomy and just be what he wanted. Or what he’d expected me to grow up to be, back when he first took me in. And as grateful as I am to him for that, I can’t honestly say I would have stuck around back then if I knew that was the price tag attached. I’m not…I don’t do well with people trying to force me to stick to one place, one thing. I was born on the road, you know? When I was a kid, I expected to spend the rest of my life living like that. Home was people. Not places. And so Gotham…its never fit me quite right, the way it does him, or even Barbara. Its not like I was miserable there, its just.”

“It wouldn’t have been your first choice,” Jason finished again, quietly. There was silence again for awhile.

“No. No, it wouldn’t have been. Not then.”

[schrijverr]

Surprise Hit

On a con Eliot is recognized by someone who has a hit on him and has to run.

On AO3.

Ships: none

Warnings: mentions of some mafia dealings

~~~~~~~~~~~

The con went to shit.

This happened often enough with a mark not making the expected choice, a firewall taking longer to crack than anticipated or someone showing up that was not supposed to. It was normal, however the way it went to shit this time was unique. “Nate, I got a problem,” Eliot announced.

“What is it?” Nate asked over the coms. It was an integral part of the plan that Eliot talked to their mark, John Fernsby, and convinced him to meet with Sophie. Nate would have done it, but he had already been the one to go in and convince the billionaire that thebusiness was worth investing in and Hardison was needed to help Parker into the safe. It had to be Eliot.

But Eliot said there was a problem, which was bad. However, it was about to get worse when Eliot answered: “He’s talking with a foreign dignitary, but I know he isn’t. That’s Mikhail Volkov, Russian mob. He has a hit out on me.”

“The fuck, man,” Hardison replied.

“I didn’t pick it either, okay,” Eliot hissed back. “But if he sees me, we’re fucked. Well, I’m fucked and someone has to take my part in the con.”

Hardison had pulled up the camera feed of the gala and watched how Eliot turned away from the mark and tried to leave them room without pulling any attention to himself. He almost managed too, were it not for a serenade band coming in right as he was near the exit.

It was such a stupid little thing that they couldn't have predicted and it was so incredibly ill-timed that Eliot had no room to come up with something. Mikhail turned to the band and saw Eliot, his brow furrowed and he yelled: “Stop that man!” as Eliot started to sprint, multiple people now on his trail.

He pushed over furniture behind him and swerved while a few bullets started to fly around his head, dangerously close. In his ear Hardison was giving him directions to Lucille, but he knew he could not return to the team. Not right now.

The Russian mob was not known for their leniency and if they thought he had people he worked with, then they would only target them as well. No, he had to go into hiding on his own and return to them later, when he could shake off his pursuers. In his ear he heard Hardison rant at him as he took the wrong turn, but Eliot didn’t care. He had a plan.

On the street it was easier to disappear, though he got many looks from people as they cleared the way for him while he ran like a madman. There were a few screams when the Russians appeared behind him with guns.

If it were a normal day and he was on his own, he would have stayed to fight them, but he was wearing a suit he couldn't easily fight in and Sophie and Parker had still been in the building, he couldn't risk them for something stupid he’d done in the past. And when he was outside, he didn’t have the surprise advantage or the closeness to take on that many guys with guns.

So, he ran.

His lungs were burning in his chest and his legs would be jelly were it not for the fact that he regularly ran long tracks in case he got in this exact situation.

It took a while, but the bullets stopped flying around his head and he couldn't hear any footsteps behind him anymore. He took a moment to focus on the chatter over the coms. His brain hadn’t heardany of the key words to get his attention in the background, so he assumed it was all fine.

“Eliot, Eliot, are you listening to me?” That was Nate.

“I’m here,” he grunted, checking in the alley if there was anyone still following, before starting to climb the fire escape.

“What are you doing? Hardison’s GPS says you’re nowhere near the hotel. We need to regroup and figure out our next move,” Nate said as Sophie asked: “Are you okay, Eliot?”

He replied: “I’m fine, Sophie. Just didn’t want to lead a group of armed mobster to our hotel room when their goal is to kill me and all my associates.”

“They’re coming to kill us?” Hardison’s squeaky voice came through the speaker.

“Not if they don’t know I’m with you,” Eliot assured him, “which is why I’m not at the hotel right now. I think I’ve shaken them off, but just in case I’m taking a long way round. Probably won’t come through the doors.”

Thenhe tuned them out again. It might be rude and he heard they were still asking him all sorts of questions, but he wasn’t in the mood to answer. He had other things to focus on and the last thing he wanted was to tell them why there was a hit on his head from this particular mobster.

Going through the city over the roof, he saw a few familiar stances and haircuts stationed at public places where he would hide, as well as at the hotels and he knew he had made the right decision to take this route.

Mentally he was trying to figure out why Mikhail was here of all places talking with their mark. It could be that he was laundering money and their mark having a connection with the mob could both help and be an issue. He could get into witness protection in turn for information, but it was also proof that his business wasn’t clean, even if they had wanted to get him for the stealing of company funds that screwed over his employees’ safety.

But that was not his business to think about, but Nate’s. He would wait for what the man had to say about this development, but in order to do that, he needed to get back to the hotel.

There were also “guards” at the entrance of their hotel, but the team was only on the fourth floor and while they weren’t close to the fire escape, Eliot could get up high and then go side wards over the ridge to their window.

He gave Hardison a heart attack when he got at the window. They hadn’t left it open, much to his chagrin, but were luckily there to open it for him and it was better not to have a weakness in the defense, so he couldn't blame them.

“What the hell, man,” Hardison said. “Give someone a warning before you go around showing up in front of the window. Did you even have safety or something? We’re up high. You could have fallen to your death, Eliot.”

“Yeah and if I had gone through the front door, I would have been shot,” he pointed out tiredly from where he was lying on the floor.

Parker was looking out the window and smiled: “Oeh, that’s a good climbing ridge indeed.”

“Woman!” Hardison exclaimed, while Eliot said: “We could do without the attention to our room, Parker, maybe next time.” She looked sad and glanced over one more time, before closing the window with a pout.

“Care to explain what happened?” Nate asked as he leaned over him. He did that face where he attempted innocence, but failed.

“Got recognized by someone who’s sort of actively trying to kill me,” Eliot replied with what they already knew.

“Sort of actively?” Sophie asked and Eliot was glad he could explain something not that bad to them instead of the other stuff. “Yeah, there’s a difference between saying, ‘hey if you manage to kill this person and prove it you get money,’ and ‘I am hiring you to kill this person within a time frame.’ Mikhail is the former. If I die, he would be happy, but he’s not putting extra resources in finding me and eliminating me.”

“And why would be be happy if you’re dead?” Fucking Nate always sticking his nose everywhere.

“I met him once,” Eliot wasn’t giving him shit.

“Would I be correct in assuming that the meeting ended in a loss on his end?” Nate replied.

“Maybe.” He was neither confirming or denying, not if there was no explicit reason. He hadn’t felt bad about the blow to Mikhail’s organization. It hadn’t been the worst he’d done and Mikhail had a smuggling ring of sex workers and that had been awful to find.

“Okay, so we know Fernsby has connections to the Russian mob,” Nate thought out loud. “So, he’s not only stealing money from his employees, but laundering dirty money as well. If we can tie those together then we’re set.”

“Mikhail has a weakness for brunettes,” Eliot informed him, not telling him how he got that tidbit of knowledge. “He also likes gambling.”

Nate got a glint in his eye as he looked to Sophie, who smiled back. Of course those two would have a plan without needing to communicate.

“You’re out for the rest of the con,” Nate told him. “Can’t have you risk the entire thing if you’re recognized.”

“What? No!” Eliot sat up. “I need to be there to have your back. With the Russians it’s only going to get more dangerous. I’m not leaving you to your fate with those people, they’re dangerous, Nate. This isn’t just some cushy billionaire anymore.”

“And what if he gets suspicious of Sophie because of you, what will you do then, Eliot?” Nate shot back. “I’m not saying you need to stay here, but I am saying you need to keep out of sight. You’re with Hardison in Lucille.”

Eliot wanted to protest, wanted to be closer to the danger in case it went to shit, he wanted to be there when a mistake from his past came back, but he couldn't argue with Nate’s logic and sometimes he hated that about the man.

So, he found himself watching the screens in Lucille as Sophie tried to get Mikhail to make a gamble on her company, to ditch Fernsby, because he was doing it without him and leaving him out of the profits.

He was filled with jittery energy, but so far so good.

“Hey, Eliot,” Hardison opened. “What’s it like, you know, to have a hit on your head? I mean, I’m wanted in some countries, but that’s just boring government stuff, not actual people, like persons, wanting me dead personally, you know.”

“Are you really asking me what it’s like when someone wants you killed?” Eliot asked him.

“I guess,” Hardison shrugged, trying not to look like he wanted to know the answer and failing miserably.

“It’s not that different from being wanted by the government, I suppose,” Eliot finally answered, surprising Hardison. “You just gotta watch out for different things and hope no one is desperate enough for cash to go after you. I have a good enough reputation that hardly anyone tries, but I’ve had periods where I had multiple people on my trail across a dozen countries. It was exhausting, but I get it. Kill me and you can make a lot of people with a lot of money happy.”

“Wait, hold on, reverse and repeat,” Hardison said. “A lot of people?”

“Yeah,” Eliot replied, didn’t Hardison know this? “I got more than one hit on my head. I think it’s five. Used to be six, but one of them died and the bounty fell through. Though I never knew if that one English guy put one on my head as well. And of course, the countries, but those are always lazy about it, so I don’t worrry too much about those.”

“What the fuck, man.”

Eliot didn’t see the big deal. He had done a lot to deserve it and he had learned to live with it. He hadalways kept one eye open anyway.

He focused back on the screen, despite the hiccup earlier with him, the con ran smoothly on its new course and Sophie was phenomenal as he pitted the two guys against one another, making them sell each other out in the end.

Nate was there with the police and both were arrested with illegal cash on their hands and a lot of bank records detailing their dirty schemes as well as showing the abysmal circumstances of the workers that had gone unaddressed in favor of laundering money.

Later when they were sitting in the bar, Nate turned to him and asked: “Any more of that we should be worried about?”

Before Eliot could answer, Hardison had jumped in: “Apparently between five and six more times.”

“No, between four and five,” Eliot corrected. “Mikhail is no longer on the list, but honestly we couldn't have predicted this and there are too many bad guys I’ve known, double crossed, worked for or left that are still out there. We can’t account for all of them. I’ll try to be aware of which marks could have ties to other’s I’ve known, but you don’t get to be good in my line of work without enemies.”

Nate wanted to say something else, but Sophie was quicker. “I’m not keeping track of all the people I have grifted either, Nate,” she said. “We all have a past and you’re not harping me about that or Parker on all she’s stolen. Just because Eliot’s past is a bit different, doesn’t mean we can treat it differently in our team.”

Eliot didn’t fully agree with the comparison. His enemies we’re not the same and one of them coming back would be worse than it was for others.

Still, he couldn't bring himself to disagree with her. Not right now.

He thought of all the people he killed, all the families he’d left behind with one member less. He thought of Moreau and the horrible things he’d done for that man. He thought of the US Army that had turned him into a killer and set him loose on foreign soil for the first time.

And he thought of his team. Of how glad he was he knew them and how they made him better and didn’t force him to be a person he hated. How much they meant to him and how badly he didn’t want to loose that.

So he stayed quiet and let Sophie defend him, hoping his past would not come back like that again.

~~

A/N:

Sorry that the con is kinda vague, I only had the ‘the mark/someone there has a hit on Eliot and he needs to run’ and no clear plan on running the con in the background. Hope it was still enjoyable :D

[funkymbtifiction]

Fi / Attachment Types

I just want to talk a little bit about being an ENFP and an attachment type (6). I was listening to the Big Hormone Podcast last night talk about attachment types and their struggle to decide anything, because there’s a “yes/no/maybe” internal reaction going on, and I have to say that’s true. It’s like simultaneously wanting to say yes, and be attached, and say no, and remain free of attachment. I’m not really sure how I feel most of the time, which makes my Fi kind of hazy.

Since I get asked this over and over (what is Fi? Am I an ENTP or an ENFP?), let’s talk about Fi. It’s a self-referencing system, where you go away from everyone else to decide how you feel about something and measure it against your inner self. It’s the need to live in accordance to your conscience, and it’s a thing inside you that tells you if this is okay, not okay, or “I don’t care.” With me, some things are automatic. I knew when I saw the trailer that I hated the Robert Downey Jr. version of Sherlock Holmes. I didn’t need to see the film, I just hated it. When I did see the film, Ne didn’t change my mind. I still hated it. I even got offended when my friends likened me to Irene Adler. I’m not sure if they meant temperament or vibes, but that annoyed me, to be “likened” to something I hate.

This reaction was instinctive and irreversible. It’s not rational; it’s a value judgment with me as the standing judge and jury: I. Hate. This. I have the same visceral reaction whenever I see a historical figure being maligned, because they can’t defend their reputation. I hate it. This is what Fi is like. It’s an unconscious NOPE that you cannot explain, that makes sense to nobody else, and that is immediate and abstract and you don’t know how to put it into words except NO. I won’t stand for this!!

(Including a gif, because I have a sense of humor about it now.)

This happens to me on and off, here and there. It’s not all the time, and I don’t let my inner responses override my intuition. In other words, I can give someone a fair trial in my mind (seeing their point of view) instead of dismissing them, even if I disapprove of their behavior. Superficial Fi judgments are immediate and fixed, if I can just see or hear something and respond to it… but when it comes to REAL emotions, everything is up in the air. They’re not a Yes/No. This whole argument about Dean being ISFJ or ISFP has sparked some stuff in my past, because I identify with Rory at times in terms of the “I don’t know what I want” aspect of her behavior. I’d never cheat on a boyfriend with someone else, but I’ve been in that place where I don’t know what I want, really, or if I want this friend in my life, and if not, how do I get out of it? I can’t even decide if I want to ask a friend to go somewhere this weekend with me, because I don’t know if I want to go to that place in the first place, or if I’m just being nostalgic. It has become this whole debate in my mind, because I don’t know how I feel, or if it matters, or if the drive would be worth it. And that is how I live my entire life. Of not being sure what I want most of the time or how I feel.

I know this can be incredibly annoying to other people, and that’s one reason I haven’t sought any close friendships in person for a long time, because I know I do the “yes/no/maybe” with them. They’re never quite sure how I feel about them or where I stand or if I’m in this friendship for the long haul or not. Because I’m a reliable person, I stick around, but there’s often giant question marks over my head about how I feel about them. Being a 6, I keep them at a slight distance while also needing them around. I wish I were a gut type, because then I’d just know by how people make me react to them if I like them or not, but instead, it all goes through my head. It sparks endless questions. I don’t listen to my heart because it doesn’t scream at me very loud. My brain is much louder.

Most of the time, I don’t know how I feel about something. I’m going through a slump right now and I’m not sure why, but nothing is holding my interest. I don’t want to do anything. And figuring out what the cause of this is hard, because Fi can’t tell me through the haze of being an attachment type. All I can do as a 6 is ask questions about it – over-think it, like usual. Does my loss of interest in this mean I am tired of it, doesn’t want to do it, or is this just a temporary slump and will I feel differently next week? Would I be happier if I dumped this? Is that what I want? I’m trying to figure out, from a logical place what my emotions are doing, which is impossible, because Fi isn’t rational, it’s subjective and based in the moment. Things happen, and it reacts. All I know today is, “I don’t care about this.” Being a responsible person, an attachment type, I will do it if it needs done anyway, because I am not a quitter. But a very large part of me wishes I could just be “irresponsible” (to my own mind) and slack off on everything. Just dump people and walk away. Just delete things when I’m bored with them. But I can’t, because Fi says “that isn’t who you are. That would make you feel miserable and unhappy, to be someone who just abandons things/people like that.”

So it’s a catch 22 most of the time. How do I feel? Does it matter? Should it factor into this? Am I just being sentimental here? Do I want this person in my life? Do I care about this hobby? Can I understand that point of view? What would I do in their shoes? Can I relate? It’s a life of never-ending questions, combined with a very real need to always be growing and moving forward and when I’m not feeling like that is happening, I get restless and frustrated. Determining Fi isn’t a case of “am I emotional or rational?” It’s very much a sense of, “Am I being the best possible person I can be, in order to live with and LIKE myself? Can I live with myself if I make this decision? Is this who I am?”

Sometimes you can’t, and that’s more difficult than you can imagine. Every place I have let myself down is like this huge, glaring sign of regret hanging up in my mind. You didn’t live up to yourself, you caused pain, you knew you couldn’t live with it and you did it anyway… Fi is about looking at the past, identifying what you did wrong in that situation (whatever makes you feel the worst or like you failed yourself), and then trying to use it as a guideline going forward. AKA, this made me feel like crap, so I never want to do it again. I’ll never just stand there and listen to someone insult my friend… I’ll never not defend what I think; next time I know I have to do something about this…

So I guess, just cut the attachment types in your life a break. They don’t always know what they want, and it’s as confusing and annoying for them as it is for you if you’re not one. And don’t vilify Fi as being selfish or idolize it as being more moral than Fe, because it isn’t. It’s subjective, abstract, hard to understand even for the Fi user (hence the needing to go away and think deeply about how this is making you feel in order to figure it out), and doesn’t make any sense half the time, because it’s just based on “yeah, nope, and I don’t care.”

One time a friend found out I’m not close to my sisters and said she was sorry, because she loves her sisters. I honestly said, “I don’t care.” I didn’t. I don’t. I don’t know them, so why would I care about not being close to them? But that surprised her, and in turn, it made me ask Ne/Fi-related questions: is a lack of caring an implication that I should care? Am I missing out on something? I can’t force myself to care, can I? Should I try to care? Why??

Fi isn’t “do I make emotional choices,” it’s “Do I care and is this me?” and it’s continuous, a sort of “self-focused” determination in all things, through all questions, to find out Who I Truly Am. And it’s much easier for IFPs to do this than EFPs, because IFPs ask this all the time, instantly. EFPs think, well, I need to either find out who I am through direct action and experiences (do things and react to them - Se) or through intellectual debate (ask myself philosophical questions and react to them - Ne). ENFPs have an extremely difficult time self-typing because they are so “heady” in terms of Ne that they often don’t realize how many of their choices are determined subjectively according to their internal reactions. It’s not a logical Ti process in terms of “how does this work,” it’s more about “how do I work?” Who am I??

I should also add that being a 6, I don’t take on too many hobbies or interests that I take seriously, because the double-thinking that Ne and 6-9 do together is emotionally exhausting. I don’t have the mental energy to double-think 900 things, so it’s easier for me just to say no to things that I know automatically will be an energy suck. This is problematic in the long run, however, because without a variety of interests and new information, Ne gets bored. So I need to keep my Ne fed with enough new information and hobbies that it’s satisfied in thinking about things, without introducing the need to make “decisions” with that information, which would cause me to over-think and stall out.

[my-writings-and-musings]

hello! if you are taking requests, can you please do the oxygen loss prompt with megatron and whirl?

I did Whirl in part two, so I have Megatron here with a ridiculously long one and I hope that's okay! I added Thunderclash as well so I can keep my pattern of two because... I like patterns. I might be getting super into this prompt...

Part One: Here!

Part Two: Here!

Part Three: You're Here!

Part Four: Here!

Part Five: Here!

Part Six: Here!

Part Seven: Here!

Part Eight: Here!

Part Nine: Here!

Part Ten: Here!

Part Eleven: Here!

Part Twelve: Here!

Megatron

·You're in the ship's recently finished classroom organizing lesson plans on your own, having been working with Megatron to try and set up more structured class schedules on the growing list of topics he's begun to cover. You're thrilled he's found a kind of calling on the ship, especially one that seems to be allowing bots to see the side of him you know best. He's made it quite clear in his own way that your assistance in this endeavor means the world to him.

·He's on the bridge, scouting out potential locations for refueling on the next leg of the journey with the rest of the commanding officers. For once there's mostly cohesion in their efforts, and his insistence on choosing planets hospitable to humans is met with agreement, if not surprise. They're on schedule to finish early for a quiet afternoon off when everything turns to a level of chaos even the experienced crewmembers have to call extreme. The rumble that shakes the entire ship is one Megatron and experienced space travelers know well; they've been ambushed.

·You're nearly knocked off the desk you're standing on by the unexpected tremors. While you're trying to figure out what could possibly have caused the disturbance, a message is appearing up on the bridge, where alerts of failing systems and corrupted codes almost make it impossible to hear an alien captain decree an intent to storm the ship. Megatron attempts diplomacy before lives are lost, but the enemy makes it clear; this ship and its contents are more valuable than anything they could offer. While the captain notes their species has heard of the famed Lost Light and its crew, their hack of the security systems proved embarrassingly simple, and they look forward to the easy payoff from selling the scraps of the Cybertronians onboard!

·With communications down and systems struggling through an ongoing sabotage, Megatron still prepares to coordinate a defense, but is stopped before he can begin by a final taunt from their enemy. Their hack of the security cameras showed his fondness for his new pet, a homo sapien of all things, and thus his current concern should be for the atmospheric regulation instead of battle plans. But considering how many dead organics he's left in his wake, surely one more shouldn't perturb him too deeply, yes?

·The line goes dead just as the ship's alarm attempts to sound, signaling an impending attack before it too crashes with everything else. His fellow officers are moving to get defenses up however they can, preparing to get the resident tech experts on the job of restoring key systems while trying to plan a counterattack with no way to reach anyone. He's near to frozen as he tries to message you to no avail, the cruel mockery of the enemy cutting deep in ways words rarely do for him, if only because the implication terrifies him like nothing ever has; he's all but helpless to save you.

·Only experience and an undying determination allow him to break through the fog. Without asking for guidance or permission, he states his one intent; to rescue you however he can. If there are any objections, he does not hear them, and soon his pedes are tearing down the hallway to where he last saw you and prays he'll find you; the classroom. Oblivious to his rush, the only thing you're aware of is the fact that something is amiss, but you don't have a clue as to what. Between the tremor, the brief blare of the alarm and your inability to get your communicator running, you only know there's danger inbound.

·Not having much information to work with, you surmise that the classroom is probably not the safest place to hunker down, and recall that the medical and scientific wings aren't far. As the doctors on the ship have added human medicine to their repertoire, and are hardly defenseless, trying to get to them seems your greatest hope for securing yourself. Not wanting to panic, you push your supplies into a somewhat neat pile and climb down the small ladder that's been added to the desk for your sake. Somehow you don't find yourself at the top of your worries at all. Your thoughts center almost entirely on Megatron, who will undoubtedly be forced into whatever conflict might erupt, and even an unexpected staleness in the air around you hardly registers amidst your anxiety.

·Megatron is still too logical of a bot not to stop every crewmember he sees to give them a brief list of orders. He knows that, without a united defense and victory, there won't be any way you can be saved at all. So he takes the hindrance, though bots hardly take long to move when he issues a command. But his growing fear gnaws at him with a simple truth; without communication, he can't even be sure of your location, let alone your condition. Perhaps he's going the wrong way. Perhaps you're already beyond help. Perhaps you've already been discovered by the enemy. All he can do in the face of blinding terror is keep moving, keep coordinating, and keep hoping beyond reason that he'll be fortunate for once.

·You can't remember the classroom ever taking so long to cross, but that's hardly important, especially with your communicator still failing to function. Reaching Megatron would give you incredible comfort right now, if only to hear he's alright, yet that's obviously not going to happen. Honestly, it sounds silly to really think about it, the human worrying for the Cybertronian... But your anxiety isn't comforted merely to remember he's a gigantic combat veteran, not knowing anything about his current status is all it needs to wander to scary places...

·Closing in on your position, the mech in question echoes your worry, but his knowledge of the current danger puts his feelings closer to panic. All he knows is that he's coordinated a not insignificant number of bots for a better defense on his way through the ship. With better resistance on their side, he knows they can win, because they must. The alternative won't come to pass while his spark still flickers within him. That promise comes to an early test when he overhears enemies moving on the path ahead, and he takes the charge without hesitation, his terror converting quite easily to rage for extra assistance.

·By the time you're at the door you know something is wrong with you. Each step comes with a wobble you can't explain, and soon the dizziness you thought was worry has grown to almost debilitating levels. Why is the room spinning? Why does your body feel so heavy? It doesn't worry you as much as it probably should, but you know it needs to be fixed, especially with the ship potentially in jeopardy. Faint activity from the hallway outside spurs you to finally trigger the door to open, which thankfully appears to be one of the few systems still working. Heavy footsteps not too far away register in your ears just as you're forced to lean against a wall for support.

·The aliens that come into view before you quite unexpectedly are large, tough, and well armed. Most races would have found them an insurmountable challenge, and even an experienced Cybertronian combatant couldn't expect an easy victory against a single fighter, leaving you quite hopeless as you stare upwards in confusion. Megatron is not the norm, and his drive to win is fuelled by far more than just survival, so he feels little more than irritation when he finally arrives to the hallway you're pinned within. More than a dozen mark his path to you, their forms clustered around the helpless human in sick curiosity, and as a result they're heedless to his appearance.

·Hulking forms most definitely not of Cybertronian make tower over your body as it struggles to keep upright, the ceiling spinning overhead as you try to connect thoughts and move your legs to flee. A language you don't understand precedes a slow swipe in your direction, one that you stumble away from more than dodge, resulting in you roughly collapsing to the floor. Something like cruel laughter greets your painful tumble. You should be angry, being mocked like a bug skittering from its inevitable squishing, but God you're so exhausted. It's not even in you to be afraid when the barrel of an alien gun is pointed at your head and the scent of ozone fills your nose while the barrel fills with light.

·A second tremor shakes the ship, but this one proves to be far more deadly than the last. Your would be killers are obliterated by a blur of gunmetal gray that pummels them into the floor, and before you can blink the carnage begins and seems to escalate to unimaginable levels of ferocity. Only your familiarity with Megatron allows you to discern him amidst the flurry of quickly diminishing combatants, but he's nothing like the mech you know in this instant, going for sheer brute force over strategy as he tears aliens apart with his bare servos. In the bloody chaos you can't tell if he's taking damage or not despite the sheer numbers he was initially facing.

·The end of it all is somehow more startling than the beggining. In one final attack he ends the last soldier, quieting the cacophony of battle to leave only the steady drip of alien blood down the wall and his own haggard ventilations. There's a dash of bright energon amongst the mess, glowing in rivulets down his side, and somehow that's what gets your cloudy brain moving again. Pushing exhausted legs against the floor, you try to rise as you cry out in concern, reaching for him before you collapse right back against the solid ground.

·Heedless to his own injuries, Megatron is over you in a single instant, no longer blinded by the fury he'd experienced at the sight of you in peril. All he'd known was that your attackers had needed to die, no hesitation, and tearing them apart had come easily from there. Now things are once again far from simple. The blood on his hands doesn't stop him from picking you up as gingerly as he can, though your impossibly tiny body appears more delicate than ever in his massive palms. Though it makes him sick to realize, he does indeed know a struggling organic when he sees one, making the captain's words burn in his audials once more.

·Guilt is forced down to a minimum so he can focus on what matters; you. He needs to get you somewhere safe but with access to oxygen, and the only place that can happen is the medical bay or the laboratory, and he knows both are quite close. He couldn't care less about his own gashed side, so even if the medics and scientists are elsewhere he should likely be able to rig something up before energon loss impacts him. Holding you close, in a way that will permit him to shield you with his body, he starts moving while he speaks to you. It's obvious even to him his words aren't motivating, but at least they seem to get your attention.

·Looking up at him, feeling like you're tiny beyond belief thanks to his incredible size, you wonder how much of this could be real. Megatron had just hurled himself into battle for you, enduring agonizing wounds in the process, and beaten back what should have been impossible odds... If he wasn't so close you could touch him, you'd certainly think he was just a figment of your imagination emerging from the spinning hallways around you. His deep baritone rumbles reassurances to you as your eyes slowly drift shut, your perception fading around the edges until he's all you can see, and you can feel sleep beckoning like never before.

·He truly has seen enough organics dying to recognize that you're fading in his arms, and seeing the connection between such atrocities and you is slowly starting to tear into him with guilt that refuses to be ignored. How many lives just like yours has he snuffed out? How recently was it that he could have ended your life amongst the billions of others, unaware of what a gift you are to the universe? More specifically, because of this, what right does he have to so much as look at you? The thoughts are a dark and unmanageable tangle by the time he arrives at his destination, where an already overwhelmed medical crew is tending to the injured from an apparently victorious battle. He's near to shock when he hands you over to a frantically rushing Ratchet and simply explains you need oxygen, his hand gingerly cupping his injury before he firmly insists on being the last to be repaired. If he's spoken to afterwards, he doesn't remember any of what is said.

·The medical bay is dim when you awaken, and you see that you've been placed in your own private room when you look about, oxygen mask holding secure to your face as you do so. A massive shape against the wall would have startled you if you didn't immediately recognize Megatron. He smiles almost sadly when you awaken, and while you initially attribute his uncharacteristic weariness to the welded injury on his side, he quickly makes it clear that isn't the case. Whispering a simple wish for your recovery, he excuses himself and makes to leave, and you know that something is amiss m

·When you merely call for him to stop, he breaks, confessing that his relief to see you alive is equal only to his certainty that he's not worthy of you and can no longer pretend otherwise. It takes all of your strength to sit up and demand he stay; you refuse to let the bot who just saved you walk out, especially when you've made it abundantly clear his past is something you've accepted, and your firm reminder is cut short only by dizziness forcing you to lay back. The sight stirs him to return to your side, concern in his optics, and you lay a hand on the tip of his digit in a breathless and wordless reminder; he's more than his past to you, and you made that decision knowing the struggles ahead. He smiles as his digit gently strokes your forehead, recalling that he too had made a decision that day; to trust you meant yours.

Thunderclash

·The two of you are in the hangar practicing sparring, which for your benefit mostly consists of him holding up a training dummy against his palm while you whack at it, and as is often the case you've become sidetracked by conversation over actual work. He's laying on his front to keep the two of you closer to eye level, leaning his chin against his spare hand for comfort, talking about all the little things that come to mind as opposed to the grand topics he's used to being asked about. Frankly, this freedom a big part of what he likes about these moments with you. He gets to just be a bot with interests like any other.

·Your casual chat is interrupted by a communication from the command team on the bridge, who summon him for assistance tracing where a series of small anomalies across the ship might be coming from. Systems are glitching in ways that can't be explained, the defensive radar can't seem to decide if there's something in the apparently empty space around them, and in an ironic twist the message goes dead just as communication problems are mentioned. It's quickly apparent something needs to be done.

·Apologizing for having to cut things short, the massive bot offers to give you a ride to the heart of the ship, which he'll have to pass on his way to the bridge. Always eager to spend more time together, you happily oblige, taking the place of the training dummy in his palm as he lifts you to rest beside his spark. While his shoulder is arguably a more dignified location, you take more than a little comfort feeling the hum of his energy at your back, and thus have chosen this as your travel spot. Between his wound and the many setbacks it's taken to get him back in shape, it's just nice to feel his spark going strong.

·Not long after setting off, he gets the sense there's more to these troubles than technical error, and that something less than desirable may be the culprit. It's not something he can explain, but being more attuned to the subtler things in his environment just gives him a feeling. When he voices this to you, along with the thought you should probably be left somewhere safe, you ask what he believes might be coming. Not because you don't believe him, but you know he only drops his smile when he is preparing for something bad, and you haven't seen proof of any concrete threat.

·With almost comedic timing, the ship lurches at that very moment, nearly knocking the big bot off balance. Only his firm but careful hold saves you from a twenty foot fall. The rumble fades off with something like a great dragging sensation through the ship, which you'd compare to a Manhattan sized car grinding to a halt. Now cupping you in both hands, Thunderclash asks earnestly if you're alright, to which you reassuringly reply that a little turbulence isn't enough to do any damage.

·Smiling at the fortitude of your tiny body, he begins walking straight away, shifting to strategy as his red optics narrow in contemplation. He explains that the particular nature of that shake confirmed his suspicions something is planning an attack. Rather, they're initiating an attack. The sensation of a ship being locked to another and anchored is a particular one, and combined with their systems crashing it's obvious an enemy has come prepared to strike for a well planned ambush.

·You see that he's worrying, but you say nothing of it, taking hold of his thumb to communicate support. Being with him in private has made it clear his existence as a perpetual source of strength for others exhausts him, so you've since committed to acting as his well of certainty in difficult times. Not letting your fear bleed in to your words, you instead ask what the two of you should do, confirming your own communicator is uselessly jammed as you do so.

·Moving through the ship at considerable speed with his long legs, he decides that you'll still need to be secured rather quickly, as enemy combatants are probably already storming the ship or preparing to do so. You'd debate him if you weren't well aware of the logic in his plan. No matter what the enemy is, you won't stand much of a chance in a full on brawl, as anything confident enough to attack a Cybertronian starship is likely to have the firepower to back itself up. Still, it's impossible not to be dissapointed by your inability to offer aid, though it's probably for the best as you're rather exhausted from sparring anyway.

·It happens in a blur, but that's partly because of the shocking reaction time of the bot carrying you, something few would expect due to his size. Thunderclash registers the threat as soon as he turns the corner, a feat aided by the very much not Cybertronian appearance of the figures he sees, and then made far easier by the multiple clicks of weapons preparing to fire. Your presence in his hands became his central point of focus in that instant. Turning on the spot, he allowed the first hail of bullets to strike his armored back, keeping you well out of the line of fire before ducking behind an opposite corner for cover. The sting of the gunfire matters little when he sees you safe in his hands, and less when he instructs you to stay low after setting you down and charging in to fight.

·In the heat of it all, you're embarrassed to be caught so frazzled, as this is hardly your first exposure to alien combat. But there's little time to admonish yourself when chaos unfolds just around the corner, and your tiny size permits a small peek... Thunderclash is the gentlest giant in the world to you, but in just a few blinks the hulking aliens are on the losing front, and while his fighting style is far from gratuitous it is effective. You're still trembling from the rush of the initial shock when the last enemy of the group is on the floor, but even with your shaky vision you can see your bot is unharmed. For a moment that little burst of relief supersedes everything else.

·In usual fashion though, he expresses worry for you when he returns to pick you up from where he left you, drawing an affectionate chuckle from you at how impossibly selfless this mech can be. But he doesn't back down from the question like he usually does. His expression of concern intensifies as he starts moving again, and his sharp optics find ample to worry about on your seemingly unharmed body, with particular attention being paid to your face. Those brilliant eyes of yours are well known to him, and so he can tell something is... off in their beautiful depths. Even if his medical studies focus very little on organics, he's able to recognize the signs of a body struggling, and your paleness combined with the way you labor for each breath tells him something is very wrong.

·Now in a race against time, he has no choice but to move, gunning it towards the ship's tech wing where the laboratories and medical bay are located. He doesn't yet know what's wrong with you for certain, but aid will be there if it's anywhere to be found. There's no time to be wasted in securing you somewhere either, he's going to have to face any threats as they come in the moment whilst ensuring your protection in the process. It's a set of circumstances he's encountered before in his long and eventful time as a soldier, but there's an entirely new variable this time around; you. He adores you, like no one he's ever met before, and perhaps it's selfish but the very thought of losing you... he's not sure his spark could take it.

·The soothing tone of his voice and the rhythmic thumping of his footsteps make it surprisingly difficult for you to heed his requests to stay as awake as possible. Even though your breaths are coming in with difficulty, it seems like sleep would be a fantastic idea at the moment, even if only to rest your eyes. His cupped hands just support your body so nicely, and are so warm, and his voice is so delightfully melodic. Why does he seem so intent on keeping you conscious? Why does he look so incredibly upset to see you struggling to keep your eyes open?

·The pathway he chooses is mercifully free of conflict at first, but that matters little due to your rate of deterioration, as you may not make it even at his full speed. Driving isn't an option due to his need to be combat ready, and the lack of options and hope is absolutely tearing him apart. He hasn't had someone like you in his life before, and the desperation in his voice begins to show that, cracking as he loses his steadfast control of his usually impervious wall of confidence. The selfishness of his desire kills him; how dare he put his own feelings on you due to his weakness? Begging you to survive for his sake?

·No amount of haze can prevent you from startling at his pain. There are tears in his optics, though he doesn't even seem to notice them, letting them fall down his face as he pleads. In the warm fog clouding your brain, you feel a surge of worry, and your hand instinctively grabs at his nearest digit to give it a squeeze. Before you can even offer a breathless reasurance, he ceases running and dives from gunfire that seems to erupt from nowhere, laying you in a tiny maintenance crevice before hurling himself at the second delay he knows you don't have time for. The last thing you see before drifting off is the grief in his optics that you wish you'd been able to comfort...

·While his combat skills always make things quick, in this blur of pain and rage he's downright brutal, ending each foe swiftly but with absolute contempt for their existence clear in every torn limb. Hits to his own frame don't register at all. Bullets and blades mean nothing in the face of what he's about to lose, and the vengeance fueling his strength turns foes into scattered body parts more effectively than any grenade ever could. By the end of it all he's likely set a record for the swiftness of his takedown, but it matters as little as his multitude of bleeding wounds. All he can see is your now limp body as he pulls it from the hiding spot, and his vision narrows to only your faintly moving chest and his pedes moving one past the other through the carnage.

·There's a mass of activity in the technology wing, likely due to injuries as well as the many bots ordered to stand guard in the event of battle, but he doesn't hear the reaction his arrival triggers in the slightest. His sharp processor is reduced to one goal, and anything unrelated doesn't exist. At the sight of the crowded medical bay he starts to strategize. Ratchet appears in his vision, first focusing only on his obvious injuries and the alien blood he didn't know was spattered across his frame, before well trained optics catch sight of the tiny human limp in his hands.

·There's a rush of an explanation; they think one of the systems downed was the atmospheric generators, resulting in a loss of the oxygen the ship maintains for your needs. It's all the information Thunderclash needs to act. Brushing off any help for himself and encouraging the more egregiously wounded to be tended first, he requests only to be provided what you need. Busy tending the injured, medics still assist him getting a supply of oxygen going where they can, with Ratchet using his particular knowledge of human anatomy to ensure the ratio is correct for your biology while Thunderclash prepares it all. Dexterous hands set you on a medical slab where an oxygen mask and scanner are used to return your blood oxygen to normal, and just like that, he knows you'll eventually be okay...

·By the time you wake up your tiny frame has been moved to a private room, both to keep you from the chaos of crammed in bots and to give the two of you privacy from adoring admirers. He's beside you, his wounds patched but his frame still dirtied with blood, a sight that shocks you enough to force a gasp into your mask. Perking up the instant he hears you, the hulking mech is as close as the berth allows in a flash. A stream of questions about your wellbeing passes his lips before you can get a word in. Between the dried blood, the patched wounds, and the faint discoloration of his optics that suggests recent weeping... It's hard to know what to ask him, so you vaguely request a rundown of what happened.

·His face falls, and in between recounts of alien attacks and near death experiences there's overwhelming self depreciation. To hear him tell it the entire affair might as well be his fault. You've always known him to be humble, even critical of his actions, but this borders on self destructive. Worse, the crux of his crisis seems to be that he was motivated to save you not just by duty, but by his selfish desire to protect the one he loved so dearly and can't bare to lose. His own desires are inexcusable in these things, as he puts it, and could have hindered him at your expense. Shaky arms rise so that you can grab the nearest part of him, a digit once again, as you encourage him to stop tormenting himself. You owed him your life, several times over just for today alone, and there wasn't a bot in existence less selfish than he. The kindness of his spark was what you'd fallen in love with, and what you still loved now, because he was more than a legend to you. You loved Thunderclash the bot, not the expectation everyone else had built around him, and thus he'd always be enough just by being himself. Finally relaxing after everything, and his spark singing at your ability to become his rock when he needs one, he allows himself to just rest and exist as he is. Laying his helm on the berth beside you, he nuzzles close, allowing himself to feel simple gratitude to have and love you as you do him.

[bonsaiiiiiii-fics]

FabFiveFeb 2021 - Virgil week (3)

prompts: a question, “I don’t understand”

Part 1 | Part 2

oooooookokokokokkkkk i know a looot of time had passed and probably everyone forgot about this, but with the hiatus and co i couldn’t post earlier, soooo, yeah, there you go. i highly recommend you reread part 1 and 2 again so you get the idea of what i wrote here. that said, enjoy this finale!

tagging: the host of the amazing challenge, @gumnut-logic (high-key sorry i’m so late hope you don’t squish me too much), and whoever showed interest in the last 2 parts, such as @nourelle-tracy @louthestarspeaker @weirdburketeer @janetm74 @lenna-z @cg29 @psychoticalienjackie @godsliltippy @melmac78 @plushiecuddler @dragonoffantasyandreality @brinalm @vegetacide @katblu42 @rachfielden-xo (yes i’m tagging everyone who liked the precedent parts what about it, fighT ME)

Scott sat for the umpteenth time in the umpteenth hospital chair, heartbroken. His mind was full of thoughts and if he even thought he had to express them out loud he would almost certainly scream.

Virgil was just standing there, sleeping like nothing happened, except for his bandaged right shoulder and some superficial bruising from the climb, which he shouldn’t have done, by the way.

His father was very angry with Virgil, but he had hidden it behind a quite thick veil of concern, which hit him too when the surgeon who removed the bullet embedded in his shoulder announced that the patient had also entered into fibrillation. Also, as if getting shot wasn’t enough. Now he was in a forced coma, to allow his body to heal without complications; he did not risk his life, however, so even if life support was taken away there was no high risk.

Jeff had gone down to the cafeteria to get some coffee, Alan along with him, probably to binge eat as usual; Scott had never understood why Alan could eat so much in situations like these, as if his stomach didn’t care that his older brother was in the hospital.

Scott, on the other hand, remained there, by his side, brooding as usual, starving as usual, worrying as usual.

Although their father had finally returned and immediately took over the reins of the International Rescue, it was still difficult for Scott to let himself go altogether, and return to the role of operator within IR. He often thought about it, how could he abandon a role he had become accustomed to and had made his own for 8 years? The commanding role, which had fallen on his head the day after his father disappeared, along with the various responsibilities that followed.

He thought about it, yeah, and he kept thinking about it, and there was always an answer in his mind, even if it wasn’t the right one. I can’t. His brain always told him that, like a mantra. You can’t.

Jeff somehow understood that, from the day he was rescued, the moment Scott girded his hips with his arm to get him back on the road home. Scott also noticed it, because every time Jeff spoke to him, he looked at him. He looked at him with a gentle, but also a bit authoritarian look. Don’t worry anymore, my son, you don’t need to take on responsibilities that aren’t yours anymore. And he told him without the need to open his mouth, so powerful was a look.

Scott at that moment opened his eyes, and in front of him was Virgil, who was asleep. He was asleep, but it was wrong. He couldn’t sleep now.

"Hey Virg." He tried whispering, like it was a crime to talk to a coma patient out loud. He didn’t get an answer.

"You know? I understand why you disobeyed orders. I don’t think it’s my own reason; it’s just that you care about everyone, unconditionally. You’ve always been the most empathetic of us, like...." he took a little breath. "... mom."

A slight sigh. Jeff would be back any minute. "Who knows how Mom is, eh, Virg? I don’t even want to think that you might be with her right now, because if you are, it means that everything is not good for you. And I...I need you. You must have noticed this, as empathetic as you are." He smiled involuntarily.

He heard a faint noise of footsteps coming from the hallway. "Now I must leave you, Virg. If I don’t get a coffee, I might pass out for a few weeks." He hated leaving his brother alone, but he really needed coffee or a good night’s sleep. The couple of times he left his younger brother alone was to go to a short shower. Of course, International Rescue was off-duty, and it would stay like that until Thunderbird 2 was back on line. None of the brothers worked well when one of them wasn’t there. And Jeff understood that. He understood them.

Scott slowly rose from the uncomfortable chair on which he had also spent many nights, putting a hand on his forehead in the process. He took one last look at Virgil, then left the room, John taking over.

The redhead put his left hand on his brother's shoulder, the other arm leaning against the wall, not yet fully accustomed to Earth’s gravity, and Scott smiled feebly back, then went to the cafeteria. Now it was John’s turn to observe his brother.

~

Virgil glanced at the snow, occasionally touching it with a finger or moving it with the tip of his shoe. They were both back out, and the air, although it was cold from the snow, did not seem to freeze him at all. "Mom...I have a feeling there’s something I desperately need to know."

Lucille looked at him, smiling. Her skin was very white, like snow. "How is that saying? If you don’t remember it, it means it wasn’t important."

"It is! It’s a person..." Virgil placed his hand on his forehead, closing his eyes and trying to remember.

She looked at him, her hands clenched on her chin and her elbows on her thighs. She had always liked to watch her son think. He had this habit of ruffling his eyebrows and bending a corner of his mouth down as he thought. All of them were different when they were thinking. Scott narrowed his eyes and pulled out his deadly dimples, unwittingly bending an angle of the mouth upwards, John always kept a neutral face, while Gordon had the habit of covering his mouth with the fist of his hand. And Alan...she never had time to find it out.

Usually Lucille could not possibly interfere with the natural course of things, but now it was essential for Virgil to return to his family. Get back to life. This would have been just...a shortcut to get to the final path. A path to which Virgil would have to come on his own, and fight for himself.

"Do you miss your father?" By now she had thrown the stone. Now it was up to Virgil to take it, retrieve the last piece of the puzzle to make it complete, and to ensure himself a way out. And of life.

"Yes..." Virgil replied, with a sad but strong voice. "Sometimes I feel like he’s back...I feel like I hear him..." The piece was slowly getting stuck. "I feel..." The last memory fell on him, like an avalanche. An avalanche that he could feel.

Lucille smiled at him, aware of what his son was about to reveal to her.

"He’s alive! He’s back..." Virgil began to stutter, the memory of his father, sitting at his desk, with gray hair and wrinkles marked by the age, but he did not remember the emotion felt in taking him back, in bringing him home from space.

His heart started beating too fast. So fast that even the Virgil who fought on the hospital bed had the heart that galloped too hard for the tastes of the multiparametric monitor, which began to beep hastily, alarming his doctors, who entered the room en masse.

Virgil took a few short breaths, calming down, but this was not enough because, as he had heard, he was in 'critical conditions’ caused by a 'seizure'. Or at least that’s what he heard.

"Virgil," his mother’s voice took him away from his thoughts, a voice as sweet as the face looking at him.

"I have to go back, Mom." He was quick to answer.

She nodded and smiled. "Don’t you want to be here with me anymore?"

He smiled too. "Now not anymore, I understood what I wanted and I solved what I had to solve." He took a short breath, while she nodded. "Thank you, Mom, for taking care of me one last time..." He was ready to say goodbye.

Almost as if she had intercepted his thoughts, she was immediately ready to answer. "Always remember...that I will never leave, child. I will always be here when you want to talk to me." She put her hand on his chest, right where his heart was beating. "I will always listen to you, even if I cannot answer you."

His big hand covered her hand, holding it tightly. "Thank you." He looked at her. "How do I get back?"

Her face immediately became serious, and her hand moved away from her heart. "You must fight...your fear."

"What...?" That’s when he realized he could feel something. Almost afraid, he turned slowly towards the avalanche behind him...that moved quickly towards his direction.

He suddenly felt nauseous, and he quickly turned to his mother, expecting a smiling face and maybe hearing her say that all this was a joke, because she had the habit of always joking, the same habit that Gordon too had. At that moment, however, he did not know what was scarier, whether the avalanche that threatened to overwhelm him at any moment or his mother’s frightened face.

"There is no other way...?" His voice was very weak.

"No, I’m sorry...and you don’t have much time left..."

"So you expect me to run into an avalanche?"

"I expect you to overcome your fear, to save yourself."

Words so simple, but at the same time incredibly powerful, that they had the effect of a slap in the face. He had tried to save his mother, but all this time he had been under the avalanche. Overwhelmed by fear.

He looked seriously at his mother, who understood, kissing him quickly on the cheek, then he got up and took a running start, charging it with all the fear that, he was certain, will never go away completely. Then he ran, ran to fight his monster, screaming with all his voice in his body, his battle cry.

He entered the avalanche.

Then...

All white.

~

“Thank you, I was really hungry.” Virgil replied, looking happily at the pizza that Gordon had smuggled to him.

“Heh, don’t get caught.” His copilot winked back at him.

“By the doctors?”

“That too, but by Scott! God know we’ll both get a good piece of talk if he finds out!”

“His favorite man needs carbohydrates.”

“‘His favorite man’ my ass!” Scott entered the room, showing his killer dimples and his pearly white smile. “Did you think you’d eat pizza without me?” The eldest took a slice of pizza, handed it to Virgil, then took another one for himself.

“That was the intent.” Gordon replied, earning a smack in the back of his neck from Scott.

“Have a nice meal too, guys.” Virgil responded with a laugh.

He was about to bite into his beloved pizza, when a black and white butterfly came in through the open window, resting on Virgil’s fingers.

Mom…

-END-

[demonslayedher]

Your content on Kny is interesting, being a Kny fan I would like to share a cusiority. During the final battle did you notice that the Hashira were passive about the death of some? When Shinobu died only Tanjiro had a reaction because of how busy he was; Mitsuri didn't seem sad and when Iguro remembered who died in the middle of the final battle he didn't even mention her. What did you think? It would have been nice if Gotouge had shown us what the Hashira's thought when the others died

[cont.] I'm the anonymous person who asked you the question about the Hashira who fell in the fight, Tumblr makes people write very little. Apart from Tanjiro they seemed cold to me, even for Tokito; the only one affected was Himejima; when always Iguro mentioned him during the clash with Muzan it was like he was thinking normally. There wasn't time to mourn for the dead but I was expecting a slightly deeper reaction. Anyway for Shinobu yes there was Inosuke and Kanao but the pillars are important too

  Thank you for the Ask, time to get into it! This served as a good excuse to flip back through of a lot of the later volumes... or rather, a huge chunk of the series. Short Answer: I don’t think Mitsuri knew about Shinobu’s death.  Longer Answer: A walk-through of the Pillars’ situations in the final showdown and a partial analysis of Kimetsu-style story pacing. 

Disclaimer: I finished this around 2am. I chose to leave it rambling and unedited and typo-ridden. HAVE MY FEELS, I’M DISHING THEM.

(Disclaimer: This isn’t meant to be a plug for my own fics, but since they are born out of my emotional experience of canon, mentions will make their way in. U fu fu.) First, absolutely yes on there being no time to mourn. From the moment the Ubuyashiki Mansion blows up in volume 16 to the actual end of the fighting in volume 23, that is one hell of a night; this final arc(s) had NO CHILL. Like, wow. It’s been a long time since I followed another battle-driven manga, but that seems like a lot, especially for a relatively short series.  And I was initially happy to dismiss all the lack of satisfying sadness as being due to the fact that they are in *PANIC MODE* and entirely focused on fighting, but that is also not necessarily the case; they do come off slightly cold.  I want to touch a bit on what we want to see the characters mourn each other, but also why I think it works out a bit better that we didn’t; from a purely narrative standpoint.  LET THEM BE SAD: Parasocial Needs Science says we form bonds with fictional characters that affect our brains in very similar and impactful ways, so our feelings are legit when they get killed off. It affects us like a breakup or other goodbye and makes us crave closure.  As for my own assumptions, we look for proxy characters in-universe to give those characters we love the attention we wish to; their sadness validates our sadness, watching them get emotional can be super cathartic, and a good mourning arc can provide satisfying closure.  This is something we got with Rengoku, canonically loved by like, everyone. Hell, even the guy who killed him was sad. Just to rub salt into it, the most recent fanbook that includes a section about how the Pillars see each other, and it drives home that even if we never saw much or any canon interaction between him and any other given character, they’re all like, “Oh yeah, Rengoku, he’s a great guy.”  And, he’s the only character we really get space to mourn, pacing-wise. First, because of when it happens in the plot, this gives the story time to show us each and everyone one of the Pillars hearing the news; it gives them times to process it (which Tokitou clearly needed), and most of us, it takes us in depth through how it affects Tanjirou, our main character whose emotions that we, the readers, are most in touch with. Rengoku got star treatment in the way he was mourned, and we readers get to lap that up.  So then when we don’t get that in-universe star mourning treatment, it does feel a bit jarring by comparison. Gotouge did say she was sorry to hurt everyone, but these are the conditions the little humans were up against all along and a point driven home again and again; even with power on par with demons through the attainment of a mark; even Pillars are just breakable humans who will never be able to regenerate like demons can, hence why their stakes are so much higher in every battle they go into. Furthermore, the Pillars are more ready for this than anyone else, they of all the characters would be the best at keeping their emotions in check in the heat of a battle.  Which means they had to keep them in check for seven volumes of near constant battle, love it or hate it.  KIMETSU LOGIC: The Writing Sins That Make This Manga What It Is I could go on and on and on and on about the writing sins this manga commits and how it shows that it’s Gotouge’s first time writing something of this length. In manga not all of it can be blamed on the author alone because the editors have a very significant influence, but yeah, this is not the most amazingly crafted story out there, by a long shot.  Would I change any of it, though? Well, a few things, yes, of course, out of personal preference. But on the whole, no. It’s the collective errors that stamp KnY with its style and make it what it is, and I find it as endearing as all the randomly super goofy art.  Now, when it comes to the lack of Pillars reacting to new of each others’ deaths, I wouldn’t necessarily classify that itself as a fault, and if I were Gotouge’s editor, I probably would have encouraged her to keep it to a minimum too. After all, I would be considered with selling a new shot of tension with every week’s installment to keep any readers from getting bored with the constant battle. And dang it, THAT TENSION WAS HIGH, those battles were remarkably emotional and tense through and through.  The breaks in tension that we got were necessarily and not distracting, with the notable exception of Iguro’s past. That was clumsy placement. I’ll be honest, I didn’t bond with Iguro as much as a character because he lost his earlier chances to be appealing to me, and by the time the chapter with his flashback came out, I DIDN’T CARE, I waited anxiously all week to see what was happening to Tanjiro and was invested enough to have an appetite for the additional Sumiyoshi and Yoriichi bits, but dang it, Snake Pillar was getting in the way of what my emotions were primed for at that point.  But, such is the way of fickle weekly readers; with THAT MUCH tension going on, readers crave a little breather here and there with a look at who else might taking in a breather in a flashback. We got bits and pieces of that mostly through flashback, like Tamayo’s memories of conversation with Shinobu experienced in real time through Muzan, as well as in-real-time moments with the characters having very slight chances to catch their breath (no pun intended).  But, how well those breaths worked depending on each character, and how the readers’ emotions were getting slammed week to week. Just like how I as a weekly reader (by that point) had no appetite for an Iguro flashback while eager to move forward, there likewise would have been limited appetite for mourning, and we’re stuck with who we got as proxy characters to react through.  ACTION, REACTION: The Rhythm of Basic Writing Advice It has often been said that in writing, something should happen in a scene, and the next scene should be a reaction to it. In the next scene something new happens, and likewise, there is a reaction. We could also thing of this as stages within the same scene, like the part when the music changes or the moment the battle has ended but we’re still on the battlefield.  In Rengoku’s case, we got one big happening, and then a whole lot of reaction drizzled through the story after that.  In the Infinity Fortress case, we get a big happening with the Ubuyashiki Mansion blowing up and then--a big happening!--a big happening!--a big happening--! A--uh oh, there’s a reactio---NEVERMIND, THINGS ARE STILL HAPPENING, GOTOUGE, PLEASE, THIS HURTS, OW, OW, HOW ARE YOU SO CRUEL, WE GET IT, THIS SITUATION IS AWFUL, PLEASE STOP HURTING THEM---

The reactions are there, scattered throughout. They’re short, but they sure make themselves count.  While Tanjirou is our Empathy Personified hero, it’s natural that we get more of his reactions, but the lack of them in other characters is, I would say, a natural fault of having a huge cast to work with it. Once you start dragging too many other characters into the reactions, the actions have trouble moving forward, and with the level of seven volumes worth of tension it’s the actions that keep readers hooked and buying magazines.  THEY’RE ONLY CORVIDS, OK: Now We’re Actually Looking At Canon Details Now that all being said, although it’s easy to dismiss a lot of Kimetsu Logic as amateurish at first, on further reflection, the little worldbuilding logic does excuse itself for not plunging each of the characters into a period of reaction to actions happening elsewhere.  Not all the birds had Yushiro’s papers. Not all birds were created equal. It’s really hard to navigate that place. Ergo, communication was probably highly imperfect; not all the crows knew everything going on. We don’t feel that as readers because we’re seeing Kiriya and his sisters get all the available communications.  In Iguro and Mitsuri’s case in particular, I suspect that might not even had been Mitsuri’s crow (as that one has a distinct personality and accessory) giving her orders to gather where Muzan is. It was probably any old down-to-business crow working with the information it had as clearly as it could in the battle that was most difficult to physically navigate. If Mitsuri’s crow (named Urara in the most recent fanbook) had been there, I imagine she’d have been having difficulty that whole time to even stay within a close range of that battle. Furthermore, a crow like that with a strong bond with Mitsuri might had also judged that telling her about Shinobu’s death was a dangerous distraction, and chosen to withhold information.  The fanbook specifies that Iguro’s crow Yuuan was the one who told him about how Tokitou got a red blade (in fact, this is basically the only thing said of this crow besides its name and gender). To able to report in such detail that Iguro could analyze that Tokitou attained the red blade by the strength of his grip, that probably quite an accomplishment to have either witnessed that much, or to pass on crucial information that detailed and quickly. At that time, Iguro and Mitsuri were physically separated and she was distracted by the crow giving her orders to gather where Muzan was, so she might not even have overheard that Tokitou had died. As for Iguro, the second fanbook tells us that because Tokitou was young he had hoped he wouldn’t die. There was no opportunity to mourn him, and they weren’t close enough for that to throw him off much from battle, but on a Pillar to Pillar level, I think the amount of thought Iguro did dedicated to Tokitou showed a certain level of esteem for him and regret at this passing.  What would have been nice? Maybe a little look over his shoulder to Mitsuri like “I hope she didn’t hear that.” That would have revealed a tender side of Iguro in a very short use of panels.  I want to come back to analyzing Mitsuri’s reaction later, so let’s keep focusing on the loss of Tokitou. Once he attained more of his sense of self back, it seems he preferred the company of Corp Members closed to him in age (if we go by his little flashbacks, which in true Kimetsu Logic, are things we didn’t know about until they come up in flashbacks). Most of the Pillars weren’t especially close with him, even if they did care about his wellbeing, as they seemed particular aware of how young he was. Sanemi probably had never interacted much with Tokitou until that battle, and *OKAY, HERE IT IS, THE UPCOMING FANFIC SELF-PLUG* one of the things I really liked working with in my post-canon fic is that there’s a point at which thinking about Tokitou forces Sanemi to deal with all the trauma he’s buried from that battle. I figure it would hit him later; he had a good excuse of a distraction. Ugh. Man. My heart hurts again thinking of that chapter.  Let’s also not forget, after Himejima showed his respects for Tokitou both quickly and sincerely, he couldn’t allow Sanemi to deal with Genya’s death until after everything was over. All the Pillars had to think like this.  What would had been nice? I liked this reaction scene to two simultaneous and horrific deaths exactly as it was. Ow. Ahhhh. Owwwwww, it’s hurting again. This is catharsis exactly the way I like it.  Let’s keep going with Himejima, the only one to have known to expect all this, and who stayed ready and likely hoped to bring down Muzan all by himself without any other sacrifices (welp, so much for that). There’s a scene in the novels that implies he had some idea that Shinobu wasn’t intending to make it out of the upcoming battle(s) alive, and I imagine he felt the same regret and bitter acceptance in advance that he also felt with Ubuyashiki. If we heard the news about Shinobu like Tanjirou and Giyuu did, I imagine he was hurt but it wouldn’t have been noticeable, and he probably would not be surprised even at how quickly it happened.  What would had been nice? Anything. Just a “How pitiful” and some tears as he runs through the halls woulda’ been great.  So since Giyuu did hear it loud and clear with Tanjirou, I first want to point out that whether that was Tanjirou’s crow or not (might not had been, because his crow was busy with a letter delivery from Senjurou at the time too), that crow must had loved to shared details; maybe even details that were not necessary. Like, would telling the lower level Corp members everything really help? Wouldn’t the loss of each Pillar make them lose their nerve? Was it because that crow was wearing one of Yushiro’s papers that it had to report extra detail for Ubuyashiki HQ? Whatever the case, Giyuu is initially shocked about Shinobu and then is like, “what is that paper the crow has? It sure is reporting things fast.”  What would have been nice? ANYTHING MORE THAN ONE PANEL OF SHOCK. Come on, Giyuu, give the GiyuuShino shippers S O M E T H I N G. Granted, if Tanjirou had been killed in battle with Akaza, I believe Giyuu would have had an initial outburst of emotion, but then gotten himself under control real quick and stayed that way until it was safe to break down (which he did immediately later on, since the threat was gone--but he was just as soon picking up a sword and stabbing him, so again, Pillar-mode must come before experiencing emotions). I interpret canon as that even though Giyuu might had found it easily to address Shinobu in conversation due to frequency in how much they had conversed and the fact that she would usually talk to him first, he would never had considered himself especially close with her (since he never saw himself close with any of the Pillars). I feel their relationship had potential to grow closer if Giyuu had actually gone out of his way to communicate more with her, and he probably would had if they both survived, but at the time she died he probably still felt a distance, which is why it did him harder when Tanjirou--someone who Giyuu did actually get to a point of enjoying conversation with--was dead right in front of him.  (Side not, oh man, OH MAN, being a weekly reader was so tough then. I still have so many emotions from that week. Oh man. Oof. Ouch.)

Of note, Giyuu had the best opportunity for reflection on a comrade’s death since he had enough recovery time once he woke up to build a fire and treat wounds, and Tanjirou took that chance to read a letter. 

What would have been nice? AGAIN, GIYUU, ANYTHING, but after that battle I think he deserved to disassociate a bit.  Also of note, I don’t know that they had complete information either, because NO ONE (by “no one” I mean Tanjirou and Inosuke) seemed to hear anything about Zenitsu single-handedly killing Upper Moon Six and surviving it. What would had been nice: “Good for you, Zenitsu, I hope you’re okay” or “Six? Again? Didn’t we already do that? There was a third??” or “well I got Upper Moon Two SO THERE” or “..........are you sure?” or even way, way after all is said and done, off in epilogue times, “you fought WHO by YOURSELF???” but I digress. Now back to Shinobu, losing her so early on in this marathon of high-stakes battles made her death seem forever ago by the time we got to another Pillar death. It would had been nice for more of them to react both with “no, not Shinobu!” and “we are in deep trouble” sort of ways. That made the glimpses we got of her in flashback feel way, way more nostalgic, since for our experiences as readers, she had already been gone a very long time. I like that the battle with Douma got stretched over so long a span of the manga, they really showed the stakes in how difficult of a foe he was, even if that battle was itself was relatively shorter than others. And as stand-ins for the readers to mourn Shinobu, I love how we got that both through Kanao and through Inosuke.  But yes, it sure would had been nice to get something from... Mitsuri.  Now, if I had only read the events of canon, manga chapter to manga chapter, and even the Taisho Secrets, I still never would have guessed that Shinobu and Mitsuri had such a warm friendship. I know this purely from the fanbooks and novels, and that is something I find a writing error that detracts a lot from the work. Some of the most apt criticism I’ve heard of the Kimetsu pacing is that it could have stood to give us one of more arc to bond with the characters at least a little more, so we could really, really be emotional over loosing them. We get all our spare Pillar interactions in works outside of canon and after Tanjirou initially gets to know Shinobu, he has no more on-screen interactions with her; she mostly appears in Taisho Secrets.  Pillar Training was fun and all, but maybe another arc with stakes in it that occurs closer to home and brings out some different sides of the Pillars in Tanjirou’s presence, instead of each of them getting one dance each with our protagonist. That would had been a chance to show Shinobu and Mitsuri’s friendship, in which case, we would had really, really wanted to see Mitsuri’s reaction.  But, Mitsuri had a job to do in the very, very, very heavy tension and battles that ran in weekly magazines for months on end. She carried the very heavy weight of needing to provide brevity. Her silliness contrasted against all that tension was fresh air for readers who had been holding their breath (no pun intended! kinda) through so much. And man, our reliance on her for that made it hurt all the more when things suddenly got very serious for her.  But, that means she was also unable to play a heavy emotional role too early on. There wasn’t room to give her a satisfyingly emotional reaction to Shinobu or Tokitou; when after all, this is the girl who was fretting about dearly beloved Oyakata-sama, was horrified to see the explosion, angirly attacked Muzan, but was saved from certain doom almost immediately after she was taken by surprise in the Infinity Fortress, and then she’s BACK TO 100% FANGIRL MODE. Like, giiiiiiiiiirl, Oyakata-sama just diiiiiiied, tone it down a notch.  I feel like I had more to say.  OH YEAH.  WHERE DO WE GO FROM HERE?: To fanfic, duh.  Going back to reaction and action and producing something with sellable pacing, again, I wouldn’t risk bogging down the tension-heavy final arc with too much open sadness (less is more definitely applies when the reaction scenes were often SO GOOD), but it clearly set up the desire for it. And, the length and intensity with which a work of fiction can live rent-free in audiences’ minds is a measure of its success.  If we MUST turn to fanfiction to get that emotional closure (or force the Pillars to get theirs), then this is proof of a job well done in making us care.   Herein lies the freedom with fanfiction: It doesn’t have to be good. It doesn’t have to sell. It doesn’t have to fit a regular serialized format. Fanfic is whatever it wants, all it has to do is indulgently scratch an itch.  I have way more stomach for sappiness in fanfic than in original canon, because I have higher expectations of canon to honor writing conventions, and to make decisions that will serve the overall story, not necessarily cater to my tastes.  But fanfic? Fanfic, you are here to serve me. Dive into those characters’ dry eyes with a jackhammer and gives me their tears. I don’t care how much you have to fry their brains to do it, give it to me.  I mean, I don’t write fanfic like that, noooo. At least, not that I post publicly. Ssh. No one needs to know aaaaaall my particular canon itches I wish to have picked raw. But all the more power to people who DO post that publicly and provide a great service to all the other people with that same need.  But, in the spirit of writing fic that tries to honor the spirit of canon, I try to sprinkle the juicy emotional potential canon could have had around as needed, to draw out what I feel canon just didn’t have the opportunity to give us. It’s ultimately self-servicing for what I wish canon would had done, but my style of published fic does try to stay widely appealing as a gen fic. Everybody’s got their own balances and tastes, and that’s cool.  And that is freedom canon authors don’t have.  I’ll conclude by saying that, although we as readers collectively earned it, the ending of Kimetsu no Yaiba was too bright and happy and specifically chose bittersweet moments that would be easy to swallow (pretty smart for a quick ending), but entirely skipped all the really heavy stuff in the immediate aftermath.

And yes, as difficult (and even dull) as it would be to slog through, there’s a part of me that wants to see all that, for the sake of closure. 

And now I sleep byyyyezzzzzzzzz

[tarotinapinch]

Pile One: Green Fluorite Tower

1. Soul Gift: What you came here to express and share with the world.

*Portal: Doors are opening. You decide. Rewards. Wild Card.

*Share Your Voice: Come out of the cave. Persecution. Expression.

*Death

*Joy

You came here to share your own unique voice, one that is different than anyone else in this world. You may have been raised a certain way, but you are meant to break the mold and transform yourself into someone who is so vibrant and full of joy. You are meant to make your own decisions, unaffected by other people's opinions. Sharing your voice with the world could mean so many different things, whether it be singing, writing, becoming a licensed therapist, doing private readings for people or sharing public readings for the collective, being an influencer on social media, or even making YouTube videos ranting about your personal experiences. The possibilities are quite endless. But you have a specific calling that feels right to you. Go after it, that is your life purpose and you are meant to share these gifts to help raise the collective consciousness.

2. Karmic Wound: What you came here to heal.

*You Got The Love: Hadarian Energy. Codependency. Boundaries

*Keepers of the Earth: You are not alone. Ancient Ancestors stand beside you.

*Take Risk

*Authentic Truth

You have a major karmic wound within your blood family ancestry and that wound is named codependency. I could probably write an entire book on my own experience with this subject, but the main focus for you right now is how to set healthy boundaries. You very well could have grown up with a lack of boundaries as a kid and even into adulthood. Your immediate family could struggle with boundaries with themselves, therefore cross yours more often than you'd like to realize. Boundaries aren't hard to learn, but they can definitely be hard to practice, especially when those around you do not know how to set healthy ones. Here's some good news, though: you are the one who is meant to break and heal this family curse of unhealthy boundaries and codependency. Does this feel like a huge undertaking? I'd be lying if I said that it wasn't. But here's some more good news: although this may be quite the quest to take on, the solution is super simple. All you have to do is take the risk to live your most authentic life, to do what you want to do and be who you want to be at a soul level. These ancestral patterns will break and the healing will start, all just by you being unapologetically you and living only within your truth. Setting boundaries with yourself and with your family to uphold your promise to yourself about living authentically won't exactly be easy, but it will get easier with time and practice. Remember that it's normal to feel guilty when you first start setting boundaries, but also know that feeling guilty does not mean that it's the wrong thing to do. Start small, take it one step at a time. Before you know it, you'll be in such a better place and ready to take the next, even bigger step for spiritual journey.

If you would like to do some self-help research of your own, I highly recommend that you get your hands on a copy of Set Boundaries, Find Peace by Nedra Tawwab. Her book is the how-to manual on learning everything about boundaries. The way that she writes is so easy to understand and absorb. No psychobabble, just real talk and experiences.

3. Life Lessons: What you came here to learn.

*All Paths Lead Home: Inner authority. Intuition. Turn your gaze within.

*Deep Replenishment: Retreat. Rest. Be held.

*The Wildling

*Divine Animals

You came here to learn that no matter what path you choose to go down, no matter how crazy it may seem, you will always find yourself going the right way. In fact, the "crazier" your choice may seem to others, the more likely it's what is meant for you. You will never make the wrong choice, you will always end up home, whatever that word may mean for you. Your intuition is always on point and you're here to learn how to follow that inner voice with confidence, even if you may not be able to see the path forward at certain points in your life. You are also here to learn when to give yourself a break. You're a hard worker, perhaps brought up and taught that "there's no free handouts” and that you need to work hard in order to achieve anything in life. As much as we hear this "advice" from society, it's quite the toxic mindset. You should /never/ have to overwork yourself to the point of burnout just to be comfortable. You need passion and focus, of course, but those things do not have the same definition as "hard work". If you really enjoy what you do, then the "work" should be easy and fun for you. The more easy and fun the "work" is, the more time you can spend doing it without burning out and the more money you can earn. The more money you can earn, the more time you can take away to rest, rejuvenate, take a vacation, and care for yourself it whatever other means you feel necessary. Animals may also play a major role in your life whether they just be family pets that you have a close bond with, part of how you wind down and destress, or they could even be a part of your career. Whatever the case may be, you definitely have some important animal friends in your life that were sent by your guides to be a spiritual companion.

4. Current Obstacle: The thing that's challenging you the most.

*Star Ancestors: Hidden secrets. Lost Wisdom. Look a little deeper.

*Dance With Life: Do something to change your energy.

*The Outlaw

*Let Go

The hardest thing for you right now could very well just being able to feel like you can be yourself and do what you want to do without the fear of judgement from others. You may be feeling a bit stuck in a rut, our energy becoming a bit too stagnant for your liking and only adding to the stuck feeling. Know this: no one is holding you back or keeping you stuck. The only person in the entire Universe that can do that is your own self. So you can move and change your energies any time that you wish to. But you may be having a hard time letting go of the way things are because the logical part of your brain tells you "but this worked in the past, so why can't it continue to work now? Why shake things up when everything seems to be running okay?" True, it may have worked in the past, and it may be running okay now. But that doesn't mean that you are okay with how things are, nor does it mean that you have to accept things as they are if the energies don't vibe with you anymore. We are constantly evolving and therefore what we are comfortable with and what we are no longer comfortable with also fluctuate many times during the course of our existence. Do not fear what others may think, or the judgements they may make. This will only hold you back. The only opinion that you need be worried about is your own. As long as you are doing things for you that make you feel good about yourself and you are not intentionally harming others, then you're doing the right thing! Take a minute to meditate, clear your mind of anyone else's thoughts or opinions and ask yourself directly, "What do I want to do? What is it that would make me happy?" Whatever answer you come to that is not tainted with your family's, friends', or even society's opinions, is the true answer that you are seeking to follow.

5. Soul Calling: What your soul is calling you toward.

*Wait: It's not yet time. Things are being woven. 

*Don't Dim to Fit In: How are you dimming your light in order to fit in?

*The Observer

*Focus

Right now is a time for some observance. Hold on a minute. Take a step back and really focus on your life and where you are currently heading. Are you doing the things that you truly want to do? Or are you doing things because you feel the need to fit in with others or with society as whole? Are you dimming down your true, vibrant personality because you feel like you need to fit a certain mold to get by or to be successful? If any of these questions ring true for you, spirit is telling you it is not time to move forward quite yet. Only move forward when you know that you are moving towards what /you/ want for you, not what others want for you. Stop dimming that beautiful personality down. Let it shine brightly like the stunning star that you are. Once you start living within this energy, really focused on your personal wants and needs, that's when it will be time to move forward with the next stage of your life.

6. Guidance Message from your Spiritual Team

*Seeker of Coins

*Become Aware: Create Space today to connect with your body. Find a comfortable place and close your eyes, bringing your awareness to your physical form. How does it feel? What does it speak to you? Do hidden emotions reside within? After you have connected with your body, ask yourself what your body needs in this moment

*Forgiveness

*Following the path of another. Your path is being redirected to where it should be.

Your guides want you to know that what you are meant to do for "work" in this life is quite different than what those around you do. I put "work" in quotation marks because I believe that if we are aligned with the right career path, "work" will never feel like work, it will just feel like a fulfilling and fun life that provides you with all that you need and more. These cards suggest that perhaps there is a family business or perhaps a career path that almost everyone in your family follows that you feel you are expected to follow as well. Just because your family follows this path doesn't mean that you have to as well. And you don't need your family's or anyone else's approval to go after the career choice that you truly long for. Maybe you've felt a pull to this path for a long time somewhere deep in your bones, but have kept putting it off to appease others, or for the fact that it seemed easier to follow an already paved road rather than to clear a path of your own. Whatever the case may be, forgive yourself for the time that you spent dwelling on this. You did not waste time, this time only made you realize what you did not want, and that is very important. Also forgive those around you who seemed to be persuading or pushing you in a different direction than what you really wanted. At the end of the day, they were most likely just trying to help you achieve the goal that they think you wanted. Don't be afraid to speak up for yourself and your needs. Express how you truly feel about things and start to go after the choices that feel right for you. Your true family and friends will respect and support your decisions and you will always be supported by the universe when you go after your dreams to make them a reality.