#reason he resigned despite the fact that it cost him so much to get there in the first place. and i feel that janeway must have completely | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

illwynd · 7 months ago

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See, this is why media literacy matters.

Thor had made very clear where he stood in their relationship. That Loki was dead to him in every way that mattered …

If you pay attention to the movie, you will see that this is what Thor says. It isn't actually reflected in his actions. When a movie shows you someone behaving in a way that is different from what they claim, that is (in the case of any well-told story, at least) an intentional thing that is meant to reveal something to you. Thor tells himself that he doesn't have any hope for his relationship with Loki. But the moment he has an excuse to break Loki out, he starts actually talking to him, treating him like his brother again---their confrontation on the skiff is not reflective of him not caring. Thor cares deeply about Loki, and his claims to the contrary are a classic, obvious "doth protest too much." It's the movie lampshading the fact that he's tormented by the schism between them.

Sure, working together layed the foundation for a potential reconciliation in the future, … Loki seemed willing to forgive if not forget … because to me … again MY impression … he seems resigned to it more then anything else … He doesn‘t even negotiate with Thor.

No. Working together, as the movie actually showed it, was already part of a process of reconciliation, as I discussed in detail in the original post above. It wasn't complete, of course, and likely would have been a long process. But it wasn't some distant thing, and where on earth are you getting the idea that Loki was "resigned"? Resigned to what? Why the fuck would he try to negotiate with Thor for better terms while he's still in a prison cell? There is no scenario where he would be better off standing around bargaining than just getting the fuck out and figuring out how to not end up back there later when the chance arrives. After Frigga's death, it's pretty clear that he would be OK with dying to avenge her, in which case the question is moot. And if he survives, there would be so many chances for him to find some other escape route, by changing Thor's mind or otherwise, especially since he is very skilled at thinking on his feet. Loki obviously would not reveal any of that during that interaction; he's keeping his cards close to the vest. But his circumstances can only change if he takes a chance.

Point is that MY impression is, that he is all in, in that relationship and Thor isn‘t and Loki is aware of that … and willing to accept it. For what ever reason …

That isn't supported by what we actually see in the movie, though. I see this a lot with people who are projecting Ragnarok characterization backwards onto the previous movies, but it really doesn't apply. Loki is quite clearly not willing to accept a shoddy relationship anymore. The sentencing scene in the beginning shows how much he is not willing to go back to how things were, even if it costs him dearly to hold onto that determination. But even despite the shitty parts of their old relationship, there was enough love there on both sides that all it takes is Thor reaching out, treating him fairly, treating his grievances as real and valid, opening up that conversation between them, for Loki to decide to make the effort as well. It's true, he really wanted that from the start. But he wasn't going to without some sign that the effort would be mutual. That was the whole damn point about trust.

A dick move is defined as: a contemptibly cruel or selfish action.

No, YOU define it that way. But that isn't what I said, that isn't a generally agreed-upon definition, and it isn't my problem if you decide I mean apples when I say oranges.

You can call it selfish and/or self serving, but I feel like contempt and cruelness would involve a certain level of intention on the „causing pain“ part and I doubt that Thor was part of that particular thought process, since again, he had left that relationship from the get go … so why would or should Loki expect him to care about his death?

Serious question, do you have a carbon monoxide detector?

Again, the actual content of the movie does not support your interpretation. Loki's goddamn death scene makes it pretty clear that Thor does care and Loki damn well knows it. And yes, in fact, there was some intention to cause pain there. Loki gloating when the Odin guise drops? He damn well knows Thor is gonna be Upset when he finds out.

I didn‘t get the impression Thor was suffering. He wasn‘t exactly happy but he seemed content. The problem called Loki had take care of itself in the best way possible. He had died saving Thor, sacrificing himself, thereby redeeming himself and restoring his honor. Perfect. Everything is as it ought to be. In a way Thor got his brother back the moment he died.

Reiterating the carbon monoxide detector question.

Thor's suffering is intentionally understated, kept to himself. We see that many, many times across Thor 1, Avengers 1, and TDW. Anger and pleasure are emotions he goes big on expressing, but sadness, grief, suffering? He's supposed to be Strong. He can't let people know when he's hurting. The fact that Thor doesn't even want to stay in Asgard and refuses the throne are clear signs of how distressed he is. Instead of being in a place laden with so many memories of his brother, he wants to be on Midgard where he can keep busy and feel useful and distract himself from his loss.

Which is possibly the reason Thor is so pissed wen ever Loki comes back from the dead. Because in comparison to the brother he morns, the living Loki always comes short … worse, he shits all over the perfectly curated Loki, Thor is morning …

Siiiigh. Sure, it's true that the way people think about loved ones who have died is complex, and the memory is never exactly like the living person, and it can be pretty fucked up, depending what the relationship was like. And I'm not saying that Thor's reactions when he is faced with an alive Loki again were good. But I think you're deliberately choosing the worst interpretation there. Again, recall that anger is the emotion that Thor is most readily allowed to express. And also recall that in both instances, there was more to the situation than just finding out that Loki was alive. It was: Loki was alive and leading an alien army to attack Midgard, or Loki was alive, had done something to Odin, and was secretly ruling Asgard while letting Thor believe he was dead. There are a lot of questions that Thor should have been asking in both situations, and he should have done a lot of things better. But it's also not entirely surprising that he would not handle it perfectly in the heat of the moment and might instead default to dealing with the most straightforward parts of the situation and getting pissed off about it. That reaction does not mean he was actually angry Loki was alive. Jesus fucking christ.

(It also smacks oddly of relief. Have you ever pulled someone back from the edge of a fall and been overwhelmed with anger, because the alternative is to fucking break down with fear and panic? There's so much emotion coursing through you, and just "happiness" cannot possibly contain it. And rage is... right there.)

I mean he was extremely business like wen he got Loki back in Avengers … why should that have changed now?

Really? I think you might need to rewatch it. :)

Unless you mean when he was literally bringing Loki back to Asgard, like after all the emotional pleading, fighting, and tormented looks? Because when he was walking with a chained Loki to go home, he was dealing with how badly that had gone, knowing that things were likely to get worse when they got home, and knowing that there wasn't going to be much he could do about it. How exactly do you expect someone to behave in those circumstances? I think "holding it together" is about all most people could manage.

The only thing that seems to be able to change Thor is one Jane Foster and Loki has burned that bridge very thoroughly once and for all

Incorrect. Yeah, Loki thinks Jane is what changed Thor, but he's wrong about that. Again, you have to actually pay attention to what the movie shows us, not just what the characters say. What seems to really affect Thor in the first movie is not being cast out, it's not meeting Jane or the budding relationship with her, it's when he hits rock bottom. Which happens when he's failed to regain Mjolnir under his own power and Loki shows up and tells him that he's truly lost everything. That's what really makes him rethink everything and start to change. And that change continues because of Loki at just about every turn. Confronting the Destroyer, knowing that it's Loki sending it and knowing that his brother has turned against him for reasons he isn't even aware of? The sheer shock of that, of realizing that he's made some HUGE mistakes in his relationship with his brother and doesn't even know what the fuck they are but knowing they were bad enough to cause that. That he's been that blind, that unaware. And being willing to sacrifice himself to soothe Loki's anger, even though he doesn't understand. And then going home and being forced to fight Loki, trying to talk him down and failing. At every damn turn, Thor's eyes are opened and he's forced to confront his own mistakes and failings because of Loki.

And yeah, Jane helped Thor when he needed a friend, and she made him reassess what he thought of Midgardians, and she was his distraction romance, but the real heart of Thor's arc was about his relationship with Loki and how he responded when it ruptured.

but that is just my personal opinion …

OK, you do you. But I'm curious why you reblogged my post with "just two nitpicks" when you clearly don't agree with any of it. I mean, I can keep refuting all your baseless interpretations all day, but... seems like a weird choice to me.

foundlingmother replied to your post: sorry, wdym by their breakup in Ragnarok?

Yes, more power to them. I just wish they wouldn’t imply we’re crazy and stupid (and flat out say we’re wrong) for not seeing it as positive… Like, I’m sorry I don’t see Thor leaving Loki with a device meant to keep slaves in line active on him as this sweet moment of brotherly acceptance. (Sorry, lots of posts getting on my nerves lately. Couldn’t help but vent.)

OK guess i lied about not going into any more detail in a public post.

See, a lot of the complaints I have seen about it, and a lot of the derisive responses to those complaints, have been about whether the device itself was cruel. But to me, that’s… missing the point a bit, at least with the way I see it, because I am completely not complaining about the physical pain Thor inflicted on Loki. They can bash the shit out of each other, that’s fine; I’m sure if you tallied up who had hurt who when, they’d both have a long list. I do think it was… reckless, to say the least… for Thor to leave him there helpless without any certainty of who would find him, but I would be able to overlook that as a lapse in judgment under other circumstances.

What bothers me is why. Telling someone who has known trauma around identity and belonging “who you are is as a person is inadequate and I will disown you unless you change to suit my standards” is…

I mean, I know some folks reading this are not gonna hear what I’m saying but are going to hear what they think I’m saying. So let me clarify. I am not saying how horrible Thor is for saying it. I don’t care whether it’s right or wrong, an acceptable or unacceptable action. That is entirely irrelevant. It could be 100% justified… but it would not have achieved the end that the movie claims. What I’m saying is that regardless of whether Loki got out and followed him back to Asgard, and regardless of whether they hugged and made nice with each other, that conversation did the opposite of what needed to happen to heal their relationship, and it may have effectively destroyed any chance of future healing between them.

The fracture in their relationship was around trust—not just Thor’s trust in Loki but also Loki’s trust in Thor. That was something that TDW got very right, for all its other flaws, because it showed that Loki started to come back from the edge when Thor chose to extend trust to him, treated him like his brother, took him seriously, and generally allowed Loki to believe that their relationship was not permanently stained. What Loki needed was to be able to trust in Thor’s love for him: that it wasn’t just circumstantial. That he, as a person, mattered to Thor, and that Thor would be able to re-accept him after his transgressions and would continue to value him. And Thor showing him so through his actions was working to fix their relationship and give them the space to talk things through with some kind of honesty and work their shit out. It was working, to the extent that Loki fully intended to die to save Thor. (The fact that Loki took advantage of circumstances when he woke up alive doesn’t change that and is, to my thinking, wholly in line with his character and his need to not let his feelings be used against him. Just died for your brother in a blatant display of love and loyalty? whoop better go and be a dick to fuck that right up!).

But the above scene from Ragnarok, Thor’s ultimatum, would utterly shatter Loki’s trust in all of those things. And, importantly, it would do absolutely nothing to heal Thor’s trust in his brother, either, because… I mean, it was compliance under threat of abandonment. That really doesn’t prove anything about someone’s trustworthiness or whether they have “changed.” All it proves is that you know where their buttons are located.

And that is exactly where the movie leaves it, with trust thoroughly shattered on both sides. Which is the end of any relationship if serious action isn’t taken to repair that trust. But no such action is shown or even suggested. Loki coming to save the day wouldn’t do it; he’d rushed to Thor’s rescue as recently as the previous movie, so that’s hardly new. Them fighting side by side wouldn’t do it; they’d done that thousands of times before. Hugs likewise. And if the issues were deep and serious enough to cause the breaking of a centuries-long brotherly bond, how could they possibly be resolved off-screen, without so much as a hint of how it happened? They couldn’t. It just doesn’t work, narratively speaking.

So to me, that movie ends with their relationship completely broken. They are inhabiting the same space and they are ostensibly on peaceful terms, but any basis for trust has been destroyed. By any meaningful definition, their relationship is deader than a doornail.

And to me it is fitting, under those circumstances, that Loki would go and get himself killed kinda-sorta on purpose at the first opportunity as well. I mean, last time he was in a similar situation of having been rejected by those he cared about, he threw himself into an abyss. And this time he even got to continue to try to prove himself to Thor while doing it, just like one might feel compelled to do after such an ultimatum.

So yeah that’s why I call it a breakup. Because I don’t see any other way I can interpret it.

#long post #long post is long #grand unified theory of loki #theories of thunder #marvel salt

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hurricanes-art · 4 years ago

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i am interested in your hades au, would you mind giving some details about it? 👁 it looks really interesting

[This AU is from these drawings!]

*cracks knuckles* Ok! I actually got enough sleep last night so I'm finally feeling up to explaining this au lmao

Also I hope that by “some details” you meant “way way too many” because I am nothing if not long winded. Also @hades-hellsite asked for context too, here you go

The central premise is that, after he dies, Achilles manages to make an arrangement with Hades that allows both him and Patroclus to stay in Elysium together. He's not employed to work at the house and he never becomes Zagreus's combat trainer.

Hades makes a few attempts to find Zagreus a different teacher among the shades of great warriors, but being skilled does not make someone able to teach. And being able to teach one way doesn't mean someone will be good for every student. When Zagreus doesn't learn well with the few mentors Hades tries, which he barely gives a chance to breathe anyway, he's quick to decide that he must have no martial ability and declares Zagreus a failure in that as he has about so many things.

This has two major effects on Zagreus before his escape attempts begin. One, without any chance to actually grow into aptitude in combat, he's left without anything substantial to put his energy into and, more importantly, he's left without anything he feels good at and that gives value to his efforts. Two is that, in Achilles' absence, very few people in the house give him any care and support untwisted by the politics of the house and the judgment of his father. There is Orpheus, kind to him before Hades locks him away for refusing to sing, Hypnos, willing to put the house to sleep so he can find the truth though jumbled up in his own problems, and Nyx.

Nyx is the only one to aid Zagreus when he decides to try to escape. She contacts Olympus and weaves careful lies to win their support and blesses his departure. She's also the only one who believes that Zagreus has the slightest chance of escaping. Already in canon, most everyone tells him there no way he'll make it out, but here, it's so much worse. He doesn't know how to fight, his initial attempts are pitiful and his progress negligible, and near everyone lashes out at him to get back in line and stop making things worse.

He doesn't even have the Infernal Arms. Achilles is the one who brings them to him in canon; here Zagreus takes a simple bronze sword from one of the house's many displays of weapons from wars long past. He thanks the Fates that the Styx restores it the same way it does his body when he dies because he nicks and dulls the edges every time.

Despite all the disadvantages, Zagreus throws himself into escaping with unshakable determination, bone deep stubbornness. He picks up his sword and will figure out how to use it himself. Experience will be his teacher. He dies over and over and he watches his enemies and learns how they move and how he must react, mimicking their attacks for his own use and adjusting and adjusting after each failure. And contrary to Hades' adamant belief, Zagreus is very intelligent and learns brilliantly when allowed to and he grows stronger and stronger.

There's no teacher more savage than experience in something like this, though. The pursuit is agonizing and the cost is enormous and adjusting to this ceaseless violence feels impossible.

Much of my interest in this idea is how the added strain on his circumstances and relationships affects Zagreus and his mental state. At his best, Zag looks a lot like he does in canon, with his laurels unfurled and vibrant, and his feet glowing hot, but he rarely feels his best here. His laurel leaves curl in dry and crisp, muted like the leaves of autumn. Flakes of ash and soot build up over his legs and encase more and more as he suffers. So deep is his feeling of failure and being trapped that it affects him physically.

Not always, though. His flames respond to his emotions, burn brighter in his passion. Enthusiasm, love, fervor, bliss, anger set him glowing.

After a brutally drawn out span of time, Zagreus meets Achilles and Patroclus in Elysium and tbh, the rest of my interest is really in how the altered circumstances change the evolution of their relationships with each other. The pair of warriors were never separated for an extended time and Achilles is less downtrodden and resigned and Patroclus is less bitter and abrasive when Zagreus stumbles upon them.

They don't fight him, which Zagreus counts among his greatest blessings, although Achilles still seems to have an interest. It makes him twitchy and he jumps when Achilles finally lifts his spear and swings it around in his third time in their little glade only to bump the flat of the blade against elbow and tell him to keep it in more towards his body. Zagreus blinks rapidly at him before adjusting his arm.

Achilles helps him here and there, tips and tricks and valuable advice, but he never gives anything near the thorough instruction he did in canon. On one hand, he doesn't need to. Zagreus is a self made fighter and it leaves him with weaknesses but it is also a powerful thing. He is unpredictable and incredibly adaptable and he only continues to improve.

On the other hand, there's no room for it. Achilles is gentle with his guidance, but Zagreus is rubbed raw by all the fighting he's done and all that still depends on it. He doesn't want to always focus on the weapon in his hands. Patroclus notices and curbs Achilles' input when it exceeds its bounds. He sits aside and observers carefully when they spar. Zagreus doesn't need another's direction which is fine by him, who's lost all desire for combat. He gives his aid through his assortment of trinkets that carry Zagreus further to the surface.

Zagreus barely knows what to do with himself in the face of their care. He's so unaccustomed to such generous and genuine support, interest devoid of expectation or blame. As familiarity between the three of them grows, their interactions grow warmer, more tender and comfortable. Their care lays on a foundation, not a hinge, and Zagreus grapples with understanding that he really can lean on it. It all leaves him so uncertain yet so desperate because he wants more than anything to have joy and conversation and company with others where he doesn't shoulder heavy guilt from unspoken accusations over his escaping the house and to have a place he feels he belongs without being an intrusion.

He does at first believe he's intruding, though. Intruding on their time together in the peace of Elysium. It takes them time to convince him that they value his presence immeasurably. The opportunity to stay together in the Underworld has been invaluable for Achilles and Patroclus, but the peace of Elysium is a deceptive thing. It wears away and prickles at them, pressing down in odd warping ways. Patroclus is beyond pleased to have the war behind him and that it can never force him to fight again, and despite Achilles retaining an interest in competition and combat, he does feel the same way. Having a cause though, something to believe in and worth devoting their efforts towards... They didn't realize how deeply they missed it until Zagreus. It is revitalizing. They thrive in his genuine, boundless kindness and long to support him.

The drawings of Orpheus arguing with Hades and Zagreus fighting with Nyx is from one of my plot point ideas. Later down the line, together, Hades, Persephone, and Nyx agree to forbid Zagreus from seeing Achilles and Patroclus at Nyx's behest. Similarly to how she talks about Dusa in canon, she sees mortal shades as beneath his station and that it's highly unbecoming for the prince to be consorting with them. Zagreus fights against the idea ferociously and is only smothered by the threat that, if he seeks them out anyway, Hades will void Achilles' agreement and have Patroclus moved to the proper plane of the Underworld.

It crushes Zagreus. He loves them and cares about them so much and being torn apart from them is a wound that cuts so deep. But even more than that, what breaks him open most, is the fact that it came from someone he cared for and trusted most. Nyx was the one person in the House he could depend on most and this betrayal at her hand is devastating. And for such a worthless reason as propriety and godly vanity. It's not her place to force those upon him. It hurts Zagreus to the core.

Orpheus is the only one willing to stick up for him in this, deeply empathetic to the grief of being separated from loved ones and well acquainted with the fact that such punishments will only damage, never correct. After all, his stint of punishment in Erebus didn't revive his desire to sing, it was Zagreus's dedication and vibrancy that did that. One of the many invaluable gifts Zagreus gave him, including reuniting him with Eurydice, making him happier than he'd been since her death. Orpheus can't keep biting his tongue when all these gods refuse to see any of this.

It all comes to a head dramatically and painfully and I've thought of a few variations on how it would play out. I'll leave it for now though, I might draw it or write it later >:3c Also this got really long lol. Hopefully the idea is at least somewhat interesting!

And here, have the lines from these two drawings because I like the way they look

#hades game #hades supergiant #zagreus #achilles #patroclus #nyx #orpheus #god of ash au #which is a tag i might not use again lol #my art #my writing #i guess #this is so long please forgive me #i had one thought of achilles not working at the house and it drove me to madness #apparently

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cooliogirl101 · 3 years ago

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so what happened with nana and shamal? are they a less intense version of gin and hisana? 🤔

The first time Shamal sets eyes on Nana Fujiwara, he is convinced he’s seen an angel. He takes in the warmth of her eyes, the silkiness of her hair, the way she smells like white tea and jasmine, and he leaps at her with welcoming arms, ready to embrace her and press himself against those soft, inviting curves.

He’s promptly enveloped in an enormous cloud of pepper spray. That basically sets the tone for the next two years of their relationship.

In general, Nana likes to think of herself as someone who gets along pretty well with people. She knows she has a bit of a temper, but she tries her best to keep it under control and to remain patient, calm, and understanding.

That all goes out the window when it comes to Trident Shamal.

There are a lot of things about Shamal that she hates. She hates the way he leers at and chases after every girl he finds attractive. She hates his stupid, perverted grin and she hates the stupid, dopey look he gets on his face every time she sees him, and she hates his stupid, fucking ridiculous rule about ‘not treating men.’

Most of all though, she hates how he gets away with it. How every single member of the administration simply laughs it off, telling her it’s “just some harmless flirting, don’t worry about it.” One professor tells her she should be flattered and she almost commits homicide right then and there.

Then to top everything off, she can’t even avoid him because as the top two members of their class, they always end up getting paired together for projects, which was...just typical.

Honestly, Nana thinks the fact that she hasn’t killed him yet is an enormous testament to her self control. She could probably put that on her resume under ‘special skills’-- has refrained from murdering classmate (was there a word for that? Classmate-cide? Peer-tricide?) despite being given literally hundreds of reasons to do so.

Not to say she hasn’t imagined doing so. Vividly. She ended up doodling so many scenarios that she had to get a second notebook.

Any other day, and Shamal would have been thrilled to have Nana Fujiwara, the loveliest, prettiest, most adorable girl in his class, knocking on his door. Any other day and he would��ve been more than happy to wax poetic about her beautiful smile, her fiery personality, her large, doe-like eyes, the soft curve to those plump, inviting lips, the-- well, the list goes on.

Right now however, he hadn’t showered in three (or was it four?) days, he was drenched in his own sweat, he was running a fever of 39.5 C, his head was throbbing painfully, everything hurt, and to top everything off, the room smelled strongly of vomit.

“Shamal, I know you’re in there! Open up!” Shamal groaned miserably, covering his eyes with one arm as the pounding at the door caused his headache to go from ‘someone trying to drive an iron spike through my head’ to ‘iron spike is now on fire and accompanied by a hundred tiny hammers, please kill me now.’

“Goddammit Shamal, you were supposed to send me the draft of your half of the project three days ago! Open the door!” Nana continued to shout through the door. “I swear to god, if you don’t open up, I will kick your door down, don’t think I won’t--oh.”

Nana blinked, irritated scowl melting away at the sight of his appearance. She frowned, a touch of concern creeping into her expression.

“Are you...okay?” She asked hesitantly. It was the first time he’d heard Nana Fujiwara sound hesitant and Shamal hated it.

Summoning up whatever last reserves of strength he had left, Shamal put on his best flirtatious grin, eyes curving up into crescents.

“Aww, you don’t have to be worried about me, beautiful!” He cooed, then clenched his teeth as he felt his stomach swoop nauseatingly. “I’ll be fine, just had a lil’ too much to drink last night.” He leaned casually against the doorframe, which had the added benefit of keeping him mostly upright. “I just need to sleep it off and then--”

“Yeah no, you’re clearly not okay. Stupid question,” Nana murmured, clearly ignoring everything he’d just said. She stepped closer, placing a hand against his forehead. “Jesus, you’re burning up. Come on, I’m taking you to the hospital.”

“No!” He shouted. Nana flinched, startled, and Shamal cursed under his breath. He hadn’t meant to do that.

“No,” he repeated, calmer this time. “No hospitals. I’ll be fine.”

“Shamal--” Nana began.

“They won’t be able to do anything,” he interrupted. “I’ve been through this before, I know how it goes. I just need to wait it out.” He swallowed. “Going to a hospital won’t help. Please, Nana, I--”

He suddenly doubled over, retching violently the rest of his words disappearing under a river of vomit. Shamal had just enough time to see Nana’s eyes widen before he slipped into blissful unconsciousness.

Shamal woke up to gentle hands dabbing at his face with a cool washcloth, the pleasant scent of white tea and jasmine, a familiar voice murmuring soft reassurances in his ear.

“Shhh, you’re okay. It’s just me,” the voice whispered. “Go back to sleep.”

“Nana?” Shamal asked, fighting to stay awake. “You stayed.”

There was a pause.

“Yeah,” she said finally. “Yeah. I stayed.”

Honestly, Nana had no idea what possessed her to actually listen to her obviously sick, half-delirious, idiot classmate instead of doing the reasonable thing, which would’ve been to dump him at the nearest hospital.

Maybe it was the fact that he’d actually called her by her name for once, instead of some stupid pet name. Maybe it was the fact that she knew firsthand how miserable hospitals could be and could sympathize with his desire to avoid them at all cost. Or maybe it was the fact that she recognized the tone of voice he’d used when he’d told her that there was nothing the doctors could do to help him-- the kind of resigned certainty that could only come from experience, of having your hopes dashed over and over. It was a tone of voice she was well acquainted with.

(“I’m sorry Christina, there’s nothing more we can do.”)

It could have been any one of those reasons, or all three of them. She tried not to think too much about it.

It took another two days before Shamal’s fever started coming down and three before he started sounding halfway coherent again. On the fourth, she found him sitting in bed with his breakfast untouched on the nightstand next to him.

“Is something wrong?” Nana asked, frowning. “Are you feeling nauseous again?” When he shook his head, she continued, “I can make something else if you don’t like--”

“Why?” Shamal interrupted.

“Why what?” Nana asked, puzzled. “Why did I make eggs? I was looking up things that are good to eat when you’re sick and I came across a recipe for Chinese steamed eggs. I wish I knew about this before, I mean like it provides protein but it’s soft like a custard so you don’t have to chew much and--”

“No, why-- why do all this? Why go to this much trouble for me?” Shamal demanded, gesturing wildly with his hands. “The cooking, and the-- the washing, and you even cleaned up my apartment, and I don’t-- I don’t understand why--”

“Well, what was I supposed to do, just leave your unconscious body lying there on Death’s front doorstep?” Nana asked uncomprehendingly.

“I threw up on you!” Shamal snapped, sounding mortified.

“Yeah, you aren’t the first person to throw up on me, and you won’t be the last,” she responded dryly. “I’d be in the wrong line of work if I let a little vomit get to me.”

When he still refused to meet her eyes, she sighed.

“Look Shamal, I may not like you-- actually, I can’t stand you-- but that doesn’t mean I want you to suffer like this. You don’t deserve that, no one deserves that.”

No one deserved to feel like their body was failing them. Nana swallowed, forcing her voice to remain steady.

“I was in a position to help, and so I did,” she said quietly. “It’s as simple as that.”

“...as simple as that,” Shamal echoed. “You truly mean that, don’t you? No favors, no debts, just--” He laughed, a little disbelievingly. “You’d go above and beyond the call of duty even for those you hate, just because it was the right thing to do.” He shook his head, a faint smile on his lips. “You really are something else, Nana Fujiwara.”

Nana glanced away, suddenly unable to meet his eyes. She wasn’t sure if he was just acting weird due to the lingering fever, or-- or dizziness from missing breakfast, but something about the way he was looking at her in that moment--

“I should take your temperature again, it’s been over eight hours since I last checked it,” she said abruptly. “I think I left the thermometer in the other room, wait here.” She marched off and tried to ignore how it felt like running away. “Eat your eggs.”

#would really love to hear what you guys think of this relationship dynamic!#solar flame au #wtl!au

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thinkingisadangerouspastime · 3 years ago

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Love of My Life

It was then Katara’s turn to stare up at the fiery sky, the multitude of clouds glowing in red and orange glory. “Aang,” she murmured, his name falling from her lips like a prayer. “Please.”

After the final battle, Katara and Aang reunite.

(Written for Day 3 of Kataang Week 2021: Missing Scenes/Post-Canon, hosted by @kataang-week. Read here on AO3, or continue reading below.)

Azula was taken away at some point, maybe by the Fire Sages, but her bloodcurdling screams and broken sobs were hardly a pinprick at the back of Katara’s mind as she kept her attention trained to the lightning wound blasted across Zuko’s solar plexus. Her hands glowed with the water she was continuously pulling from the now-burst piping system in the courtyard around them. She had no enhanced spirit water as with Aang, but fortunately Zuko’s injury was less severe and—thanks to her quick defeat of Azula—no longer life-threatening.

Zuko winced, and guilt flashed through Katara’s stomach for silently dismissing his pain. “Sorry.” She moved the water further upward on his chest, over a spot where the skin was more blistered. “Better?”

A low hiss escaped Zuko’s lips as the cool liquid skimmed the wound, and he managed a weak nod. “Thanks.” His voice was raspier than usual. To be expected. “For this, and for… and for stopping Azula.”

The urge to laugh rose in Katara’s throat, which she immediately suppressed because Tui and La, what was wrong with her? How was now an appropriate time for laughter? “Well, you’re welcome,” she said instead, giving him a weary smile, “but next time, how about you don’t taunt her about the lack of lightning, hmm?”

Zuko grimaced, and Katara knew that particular reaction had nothing to do with the wound across his chest. “Let’s just hope there will never be a next time.”

Katara couldn’t argue with that.

The following minutes were quiet as Katara slowly moved the water up, down, and around Zuko’s injury, her hands themselves hovering less than an inch above his chest. While she knew it was only a figment of her imagination, Katara could’ve sworn there was still blue lightning—Azula’s lightning—flickering across the wound, sparking at her fingertips and prickling across her skin.

Maybe, then, it was this lingering remnant of the Avatar’s slayer that had Katara so on edge. Maybe that was the reason why tension still thrummed through her body despite that she and Zuko were safe now, despite that they’d won.

“He’s going to come back.”

Zuko’s words broke the heavy silence, startling Katara so badly her concentration flew out the figurative window. The water around her hands lost its glow and splattered across Zuko’s chest like she’d emptied a full bucket on top of him. Frantic apologies spilled from her lips as she bent the water off his upper body with similar haste, but Zuko—wincing—pushed himself into a sitting position before she could begin the healing process again.

“Zuko, what are you—”

“Aang is going to come back,” he repeated, staring at Katara with an intensity that probably shouldn’t have been possible for someone in his grievously injured state. A testament to her healing skills, truly, and also to Zuko’s general stubbornness.

“I know he will,” Katara said after a pause, bending the water she’d again collected around her hands into the leather waterskin that hung at her hip. “If memory serves, I was the one telling you that on our way here.”

Zuko chuckled. “I know. Sorry. You just seemed like…” His eyes flickered across her face, searching for vulnerability Katara refused to bare. “Like you needed the reminder.”

Katara sighed, not meeting his gaze. “Look. I know Aang will come back. I know he’ll win.” Spirits, maybe he had won already. “I mean, he’s the only one who can. But I guess I’m still—” Katara cut herself off with another sigh, blinking back exhausted tears. “Fine, you’re right. I guess I’m still worried.”

Aang would return victorious, yes, there was no doubt in her mind. But at what cost? What price would he have been forced to pay? Sacrificing his body through the loss of a limb? Sacrificing his soul through the loss of that which his people valued above all else? Katara knew, she knew that if anyone could stop Ozai without killing him, it was Aang. But what she didn’t know was—was how.

Spirits, Katara wouldn’t be able to handle it if Aang returned to her broken in a way she couldn’t heal. She’d already witnessed him die once, watched his body go limp as life left it. She wasn’t ready to watch his spirit disappear, wasn’t ready to watch hope leave his heart, too.

Zuko opened his mouth, presumably to offer more words of comfort to her, but he was interrupted by Appa’s body stiffening—the sky bison was so large it was impossible not to notice the reaction. He’d originally been standing guard, for all intents and purposes, while Katara healed Zuko, but now his eyes were glued to the sky as he released a bellow that shook the stone of the courtyard beneath them.

Katara grabbed Zuko’s arm to keep him from toppling over, but instead of resettling himself, Zuko tried to stand up, as if the giant wound on his chest was nothing more than a mere papercut.

“It’s Aang!” was the only explanation he gave as Katara relented with a huff and helped him to his feet. “It has to be. What else would get Appa acting like this?”

Privately, Katara agreed with him. Hope beat in her heart so rapidly it ached. But since Zuko had wildly, unexpectedly, completely out of the blue transformed into an optimist—seriously, had the lightning gone through his brain?—well, that meant she had to be the one to temper his optimism with a little realism.

“It could be a threat,” she responded honestly, not releasing Zuko’s arm until she was certain he’d gathered his balance.

Zuko shot her a doubtful look. “You sure?” He pointed at Appa, whose tail had started shaking—okay, yes, probably with excitement, Katara would admit that much.

It was then her turn to stare up at the fiery sky, the multitude of clouds glowing in red and orange glory. “Aang,” she murmured, his name falling from her lips like a prayer. “Please.”

Seconds later, those otherworldly clouds split open to reveal a Fire Nation airship, and on the exterior Katara could see flashes of blue and green fabric—Sokka and Toph, it had to be. Spirits knew she probably should have been concerned about who was steering the balloon, but once it was clear the ship was heading steadily towards the ground and wouldn’t face a disastrous crash, Katara’s mind returned to its previous mantra.

Aang. Aang. Aang.

“Remember to breathe, Katara.”

Katara shot Zuko a mild glare at his wry tone, but exhaled, because he was right—she’d been holding her breath. In fact, she was still holding far more tension in her body than could be considered healthy, but Katara knew that overwhelming stiffness wasn’t going to ease until she saw her friends alive and well, until she felt Aang’s heartbeat in sync against her own.

Katara’s breath hitched as the airship came to a stop far from herself and Zuko, hovering above the stone ground of the courtyard. It was much larger up close—no wonder it couldn’t land properly. There was a deep rattle as a metal plank, of sorts, some kind of steel pathway lowered from the ship and scraped across the ground with an earsplitting screech. Onto it stepped—

“They’re alive!” Katara gasped, blinking back elated tears as Sokka, Aang, Toph, and Suki—and Momo atop Suki’s left shoulder—stepped out onto the platform. One of Sokka’s legs was in a splint and he had to lean onto Suki’s side for support as he hobbled along, but— “They’re all alive!”

Aang was alive.

They’d done it. A little bruised, a little broken, maybe all around worse for wear, but—

They’d done it.

“Come on,” Zuko urged, taking an unsteady step forward and immediately wincing. He didn’t let the pain stop him, though, powering another foot ahead. “Let’s meet them halfway.”

Katara rolled her eyes, ducking under Zuko’s arm to brace him against her side, careful to avoid his injury. “Idiot.” Standing on his own was one thing, but walking by himself was an entirely different matter. She could already tell Zuko was the kind of person who made a terrible patient.

But Katara walked with him all the same, slow and steady. As they got closer, she could better see the physical state her friends were in. Toph had only a few scrapes across her arms and face. Same for Suki. Sokka had clearly done a number on his leg, as he was hardly putting any weight on it despite the well-made split, and not to mention that Suki continued to brace him while he walked. Aang was—

“Appa!”

Well, Aang was getting smothered by Appa, Katara noted with silent amusement as the sky bison practically tackled Aang to the ground, nuzzling and licking him with unabashed eagerness.

“Buddy, I’m okay!” Aang managed to wheeze out amidst his laughter, giving Appa a tight hug. “I’m okay, I promise.”

He seemed to be telling the truth, at least based on what Katara could discern from afar. His orange robes were torn to oblivion, with only his Fire Nation pants remaining. She could see minor burns across his chest and one area on the left side of his ribs that looked to her like it would become a painful bruise, but overall—

“If you guys are here with no Azula,” Sokka joked as they all came to a stop, snapping Katara’s attention away from Aang, “does that mean Zuko finally gets to rule the Fire Nation?”

Katara allowed Zuko to keep some of his weight on her even as they stood still. He laughed at her brother’s comment. “Katara’s the one who technically defeated her in the Agni Kai. Maybe that makes her the Fire Lord.”

Katara groaned and rolled her eyes, ignoring the amused snickers of her friends. “Tui and La, no. I refuse. I resign. I—I abdicate. The throne is all yours, Zuko.”

She turned her attention to her brother’s injured leg as Suki began recounting the details of their battle in the air, including how they’d managed to pilfer an airship of their own. Up close, Katara was relieved to see that no bone had broken through the skin in Sokka’s shin or thigh—that would have made it much harder for her to heal. She made sure Zuko was stable on his feet before stepping away to study the injury further. But as she crouched at Sokka’s side and went to bend water out her flask for the preliminary healing process—

“Hey. That can wait.”

Katara blinked, staring up at Sokka in utter confusion. “Excuse me?” His leg was broken, she couldn’t just—

Sokka jerked his head towards Aang, who was busy freeing himself from beneath Appa’s weight. “Go greet the hero of the hour. My leg will still be here when you get back.”

Toph snorted. “Of the hour?” She shook her head. “Give him credit, Sokka—Twinkle Toes is the hero of the century.” Momo chirped before jumping from Suki’s shoulder onto Toph’s, as if agreeing with her.

Katara turned to look at Aang, her mind tuning out the rest of her friend’s teasing banter that followed. He was—Aang was more than the hero of the century, at least to her. More than the Avatar, more than an airbender, more than—

Aang must have felt her eyes on him, because he paused in petting Appa to turn around and give her a shy grin. “Hi, Katara.”

With those two words, the dam burst, and Katara sprinted over to Aang with all the speed of a roaring wave. Her arms crashed around his bare shoulders like water beating against the shore, and Aang wrapped his arms around her waist in return. Katara could only squeeze him tighter, his face pressing into her shoulder.

“You stopped him,” Katara whispered. Her words were shaky, or—spirits, maybe it was her entire body that was quivering. “Ozai. You stopped him.”

Aang nodded into her shoulder, and Katara slackened her grip just enough so he could lean back and reply. “Yep.”

Katara’s right hand instinctively rose to cup his face. She could see it in his eyes—tired, yes, but still so full of hope, the warm gray as rich as the shimmering moon. “You found another way, didn’t you?”

Aang smiled at her, laugh lines crinkling at the corners of his eyes, and spirits if that wasn’t an image Katara wanted traced into her memory for the rest of time. “Ozai is alive. But he can’t hurt anyone ever again.”

Katara had a million questions, the first being the obvious How? How did you do it? But no query fell from her lips despite her overwhelming curiosity. Instead, all she could do was stare at Aang, tears of relief sliding down her cheeks as she smiled and smiled and smiled and—

“I am so proud of you,” Katara said, the words halfway to a sob as she pulled Aang into another crushing hug, marvelling at how perfectly his body fit against hers. “I knew you would do it, Aang, I knew it. Only you could.”

Aang laughed. “Must’ve been your belief that got me through it.” His arms tightened around her, as if he, too, needed the unspoken reassurance that Katara was there, that she was real, that they had won, the same way she needed such comfort from him. “At one point, I’m not even sure I believed I’d succeed.”

“It’s a good thing I never doubted you, then,” Katara whispered, and Aang laughed again.

“Yes. Thank you.”

Katara wasn’t quite sure what Aang was thanking her for—her faith then, her presence now?—and in truth, she had a feeling Aang didn’t precisely know, either. But what did precision matter? They were here, together, alive. Beaten and bruised but not broken beyond all repair. Neither of them had lost what they couldn’t live without.

For Aang, the vestiges of his peaceful people. And for her…

Aang.

Katara hadn’t lost Aang. Not like she had before, not like she couldn’t bear to ever lose him again.

“Alright, lovebirds! That’s enough time spent hugging the life out of each other. Come tend to the wounded, please.”

Katara rolled her eyes at her brother’s obnoxious interruption, but she released Aang after a final tight squeeze. She really did want to take a look at Sokka’s leg. Besides—she and Aang now had all the time in the world. All the time in a peaceful world, at that.

Aang followed her back to the rest of their friends, and Katara had just knelt down to examine Sokka’s injury when Aang burst out into loud, unprovoked laughter. The sudden sound made her jump, and it was only thanks to some quick thinking—and inelegant bending—that she avoided spilling the water from her waterskin all over the stone courtyard for the second time in the past ten minutes.

“What’s so funny?” Zuko asked, the apparent reason for Aang’s laughter. “What did I do?”

“No—you didn’t—” Aang cut himself off with a wheeze, and Katara couldn’t stop herself from glancing behind her to see what on Earth had him in stitches.

Aang pointed at Zuko’s chest, biting down hard on his bottom lip in a clear attempt to withhold further laughter. “That. Azula shot you with lightning, right?” When Zuko nodded, he said, “And Katara healed you?”

“I did,” Katara confirmed. Sokka gave her a disapproving look, probably because she was yet to begin healing his leg, but—well, this time Katara had no real excuse beyond her own intrigue. Whoops. But it wasn’t as if his splint wasn’t holding up perfectly. The expertise with which it was secured suggested Suki had been the one to fashion it, and that meant Sokka would be fine for a quick moment longer.

Aang’s laughter returned in full force, one arm wrapped around his stomach while his free hand gestured wildly behind him. “We—We match!” He turned around, and—

“Oh, for Agni’s sake,” Zuko groaned, and Katara found herself unable to contain her laughter. In a matter of seconds, they were all laughing at Aang’s revelation. Even Zuko, once he’d gotten over himself.

Tui and La. Katara loved her friends, she loved her life, she loved being alive with her friends by her side and—

Aang.

She loved Aang.

Oh, spirits.

#kataang #kataangtag #kataang week #katara #aang #atla #avatar the last airbender #zuko #atla fanfic #the gaang #amy writes

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makoodlesarchive · 5 years ago

Text

you wear them well

you know what this is, my friends? pure indulgence. 7.1k words of total, pure indulgence. enjoy xx

pairing: bakugou katsuki x reader word count: 7.1k warnings: NSFW, unsafe sex, panty theft, bakugou in panties tag list: @allywritesimagines @tobiodel-ay-ee-hoo

Tip Jar!

»»————-　♡　————-««

You’re in somewhat of an embarrassing predicament.

The boxer briefs lie on your bed, looking painfully innocuous. There are at least eight pairs. You have no idea where they’ve come from.

Well, that’s not entirely true. You know that you picked them up accidentally in the laundry room when you were collecting your own load of clean laundry, and brought them back to your dorm only to finally notice them when you were putting your stuff away. The problem is, you don’t know whose they are.

Whoever owns the underwear must have taken yours by mistake -- the boxers had been in a generic mesh laundry bag that was the exact same as yours, so it’s easy to see how the mix up had happened. Still though. You’re in an awkward situation. Because your bag had contained all of your fanciest, most delicate underwear, and you’re mortified at the thought of whoever owns these boxers opening the bag up to find all that lace and silk. All that fancy underwear had cost so much money though, and you really wanted them back. How the hell were you supposed to find whoever had them now?

Your dilemma preoccupies your thoughts for the rest of the day. It’s all you can think about as you lie in bed trying to go to sleep.

By the time the next morning rolls around, you resign yourself to just having to ask the guys in the dorm if they may have taken your underwear by accident. You try to work yourself up to it when everyone is clamouring over breakfast, feeling like you might be able to play it off casually enough that it’s not a big deal. But everyone is yelling and laughing and super hyper despite the early hour, and you chicken out. Maybe over breakfast isn’t the best time to ask, anyway.

During class, you can’t stop your eyes roving over the guys. None of them look as though they’re preoccupied with the thought of the stolen ladies underwear they procured as of yesterday, but then again, how would you know?

By the end of the day, you’re reasonably certain that you can cross Mineta off your suspect list -- there’s no way the little pervert would ever be able to keep his damn mouth shut if he had found a laundry bag full of fancy panties, and he’s been quiet all day. You cross Kaminari off the list for the same reason, although with a little less certainty. Other than that, you have absolutely no idea. No one had mentioned missing laundry at all today.

That night you lie in bed and frown at the ceiling. This was ridiculous. You wanted your fancy panties back now! Besides, you had accidentally taken eight pairs of boxers from someone. The Calvin Klein waistband told you that they weren’t cheap, either. Surely they needed those back by now?

The next morning, you’re antsy. You know that your classmates have noticed by the concerned looks that Uraraka keeps shooting you, but you just can’t get your mind off the underwear situation. The day passes in much the same way as the one before it had; not a mention of underwear to be had anywhere. You’re starting to get annoyed. You plan to mention the situation to the girls the morning after, but end up chickening out when the time comes. You can’t help but overthink everything; it’s been three days since the underwear mix-up, which is surely too long for you to have waited to tell anyone. Why didn’t you just tell them when it had first happened? You could kick yourself.

Nearly a week passes like this. For a few days, at least, schoolwork is the priority in your head. It’s nice while it lasts, to not have your every waking moment filled with thoughts of your missing panties. Unfortunately, as soon as the weekend hits and you find yourself with free time on your hands, those thoughts come back with a vengeance. It’s literally driving you insane, so you do what you always do when you’re frustrated since you started in UA -- you head to the training room to work out your frustrations.

It’s a Saturday evening, so you’re not alone in the training room, which is to be expected. Kirishima and Bakugou are having what looks like a sit up competition by the mats, and Midoriya and Uraraka are spotting each other by the bench press machine. Usually in the evenings the training room would be a little busier, but you guess everyone else is taking the opportunity to rest and relax. You wish you could do that yourself, but you desperately need to expel all of your frustrated energy before you can even think about trying to unwind. Uraraka gives you a wave and a smile, but seems to understand that you’re hoping to be left alone as you make a beeline for the treadmill. You smile back as you pop your earphones in and set up your workout playlist, before setting the treadmill to your ideal settings.

The run you set off on is a little harder and faster than what you would usually do, but your main aim is to tire yourself out. You lose yourself to the steady rhythm of your feet pounding against the rapidly moving surface of the treadmill. You completely lose track of time as your breaths start to come faster and your chest starts to heave with exertion.

After an indeterminable amount of time, a shrieking laugh sounds over the sound of the upbeat music blaring in your ears, cutting through the hazy focus that’s settled over your mind. You look up to see that Bakugou has Kirishima in a headlock and appears to be swearing loudly and rapidly at him. Despite the fact that his face is rapidly turning red from the arm wrapped around his throat, Kirishima is still giggling. A quick glance around shows that Midoriya and Uraraka have disappeared, and you wonder how long you’ve been running for.

Kirishima is saying something, but his words are drowned out by your music. Whatever he’s said seems to appease Bakugou to some extent, because he reluctantly lets him go. As soon as he’s free of his friend’s grip, Kirishima bounces backwards and throws his hands up in the air in a conciliatory gesture, though his grin is still wickedly mischievous. You watch his mouth move again as he speaks, but this time his eyes cut towards you.

You blink in surprise, and turn the treadmill off as you remove one of your earbuds. “What’s up?” you ask curiously. As the treadmill slows to a stop and you step off, the fatigue catches up to you and your legs go a little wobbly. You grab a hold of the handlebars of the machine and hope they didn’t notice.

Kirishima looks like he’s still smothering back laughs, and Bakugou has gone a curious shade of red -- you guess he must be close to an imminent explosion. Kirishima is really poking at a bear, here. He seems to know that though, because his next move is to shrug exaggeratedly and say, “Oh, nothing! I’m gonna head out, I’ll see you guys tomorrow!”

“Uh,” you return his wave as he heads out the door, a little bewildered by the jaunty bounce in his step, “Bye, Kirishima.”

Bakugou just grunts and turns back to the weights he was lifting. Your eyes linger on him for a moment, partly because you’re trying to work out that interaction and partly because when he squats with the barbell over his head his back muscles flex and ripple in a way that’s damn near mesmerising. You’ve harboured an embarrassing crush on him ever since your very first year in UA, and every time you think you’re over it you see him sweaty and perfect and you’re proven very, very wrong. Bakugou is obnoxiously attractive, a realisation that feels like a punch in the head every goddamn time you see him.

You should definitely just go, because you’re tired now and there’s no reason for you to stay. But your movements are stupidly slow as you gather up your things and watch Bakugou out of the corner of your eye. You wonder if you should say hi or something to him, but he seems pretty focused on his workout and you figure that you’ll just annoy him. Bakugou’s got a better hold on his temper than he had back in first year, but it’s probably better to just leave it.

Bakugou squats low, weight lifted high over his head. Your gaze trails over his biceps, his muscled shoulders, his thick thighs. His ass. Damn.

You look away, cursing yourself for being a pervert. Then you pause. Your eyes slowly trail back to him. It takes several long seconds of staring before you realise that you’re really not imagining it.

Bakugou’s sweatpants have pulled tight over his round ass as he sinks down further into his squat, and his waistband has been pulled down. Not much, only a little, but enough to see the waistband of his underwear poking out.

Except they aren’t his underwear. They’re yours.

You’d recognise that lace anywhere -- you had bought that pair a few months ago, when you were having a bad day and just wanted to feel pretty. They were your favourite! The front was all white silk embroidered with delicate blue cornflowers, turning to elaborate lace over the hips and the back. And now Bakugou was wearing them.

Bakugou was wearing your favourite panties.

You turn away quickly, staring stupidly into space as your mind struggles to work through this particular revelation. The underwear you had taken belonged to Bakugou. Bakugou had accidentally taken yours. Bakugou is currently wearing yours. What the fuck? What are you supposed to do now? You bite your lip hard as you think. You could leave now, pretend you didn’t see anything, and then ask Bakugou as casually as possible tomorrow whether your underwear had gotten mixed up with his in the laundry. That would surely be the best way to avoid a scene.

But then again… your gaze drifts back to Bakugou. He’s already hitched his sweatpants back into place; he must be paranoid of being caught wearing panties, but for some reason that hasn’t stopped him from wearing them to workout.

Your mouth has apparently made its mind up before your brain has, because you’re calling out “Bakugou?” before you can even finish the thought.

“What?” he grunts without turning around. He’s finished with his weights for now, apparently, and is studiously putting them back where they belong. You drop your stuff back on the ground, phone clattering loudly, and begin to approach him. He doesn’t seem to notice until you’re right beside him, and then he pauses in what he’s doing and squints at you suspiciously. “What d’you want?”

“I have a question.” you say stupidly. He looks so good this close, and the knowledge that he’s wearing your underwear is making you feel… oddly warm.

“A question.” Bakugou repeats, standing tall and rolling his shoulders. His tone makes it clear that he’s humouring you, though he looks a little amused. “Alright, ask.”

The problem is, now that you’ve been given permission to speak, you can’t think of what to say. You bite your lip hard, and your gaze moves slowly over his chest and shoulders as you think. Bakugou is surprisingly patient, and stays quiet despite his shifting feet, which reveal his restlessness. Your eyes land on his bicep, and once again your mouth moves without conscious thought. “Can I touch you?”

“Hah?” Bakugou’s exclamation is jarringly loud in the quiet that had fallen over the two of you. “What the fuck kinda question is that?”

Now would be the ideal time to backtrack to save yourself from total humiliation, but instead you blurt “Please?” even as you feel your face flush hard.

He’s staring at you in mild disbelief, but it’s slowly being taken over by something else. “You wanna… touch me.” he repeats, his own gaze mimicking yours as it begins to rove over your body. Whatever he sees has him raising an eyebrow -- you can’t work out whether it’s a positive reaction or not. “Alright. Go ahead.”

Your hand twitches. Your instinct is to reach straight for his sweatpants, but you don’t want to scare him off. Instead you do what you’ve been wanting to do for ages anyway, and run your hand over his chest. His pectoral muscles are stupidly big, and you can’t help but be absolutely enraptured by them. He’s wearing a baggy tank top with long cut outs at the arms, and when you run your hands over his chest the tank top shifts to reveal one of his nipples.

You look away quickly, worried that you’ll do something stupid and make him mad at you, but when you look up at him you see that he’s watching you. His eyes are so intense that it feels like his gaze alone is about to light you on fire. He doesn’t look mad at all.

‘Fuck it’, you think, and reach up to run your thumb over the soft pink skin of his nipple. It pebbles under your touch, and his body jerks.

“Oi, where the fuck do you think you’re touching?” he snaps at you. His voice is as harsh as ever, but you don’t miss the way he leans into your hand.

“Tell me to stop, and I will.” you say. Your voice is a little breathier than you expected, and you see Bakugou’s eyes narrow when he notices too.

“You gettin’ off on this, you little pervert?” he growls, and you gasp a little as his hand lands right on your ass. He pulls you into him, and your hips meet his. You can feel his hardness through his sweatpants, and you lick your lips as your thumb circles his nipple.

“Bakugou,” you say softly, and watch enraptured as he leans down closer to your face, “How can you call me a pervert when you’re the one wearing ladies’ underwear?”

Bakugou freezes inches from your lips. You watch his throat bob as he swallows. “What,” he says, voice rough and frighteningly quiet, “did you just fuckin’ say?”

“Did you think I wouldn’t recognise my own panties?” your voice is nearly a whisper, but in the end it doesn’t matter how softly you say it because Bakugou is already pulling back, a blank look settling over his face.

“What the fuck are you trying to say, huh?” His lips pull up in a snarl, but his cheeks are flushing red and you realise that you’re going to have to be very careful about how you approach this.

Your hand is still resting on his chest, and you allow it to trace carefully down to his stomach, coming to a stop at his navel. “I bet you look real good in them.” That’s not really what you had been planning to say, but you’ve said it now and you meant it, so what can you do? Throwing caution to the wind, you continue with, “Can I see?”

Bakugou is breathing hard through his nose, and his gaze flickers from your face to the door of the training room. When your gaze drops, you see that his hands are clenched into fists at his side. Suddenly worried that you’ve misread the situation, you hurry to say “Ah, if it makes you uncomfortable, we can forget about this. You don’t have to-” you break off as Bakugou shoves past you and makes a beeline for the door. “Oh.”

Oh god. You totally overstepped his boundaries. You turn away, mortified and unable to watch him actually leave. Shit. How were you ever going to look at him again?

“Oi. Come the fuck over here.”

You startle as you turn around; you thought he had left. “What?” you say stupidly.

Bakugou scowls at you. He looks… a little constipated, honestly, as though he has to force the words out. “Come. Over. Here.” He over enunciates the words, his lips pulling up enough that you can see the pink of his gums even from this distance.

Your eyes dart from Bakugou to the door, confused, before it clicks. He was locking the door. “Oh.” you breathe at the realisation, “Okay.” you move over to him quickly, then chew on your lip as you watch him expectantly.

He stares back at you, nostrils flared, and you realise that he doesn’t know how to proceed. Does he need instructions? You have to bite down hard on your bottom lip to stifle your nervous giggles, because you’re pretty certain that they won’t be very well received. He just needs a little guidance. “Take off your shirt.” You coach, reaching out to pull at the hem of his tank top.

“Hah? Don’t tell me what to fuckin’ do.” he snaps, even as he tugs the shirt over his head and lets it drop to the floor. The muscles of his chest are mouth-wateringly perfect, and your hands gravitate to his pecs almost mindlessly. You keep expecting him to snarl or snap at you, but he’s being… almost suspiciously quiet. Your eyes dart continuously up to his face, searching for any sign that this has gone too far, but he just stares back at you with that intimidatingly intense gaze. Your hands trail delicately down his stomach, over his bellybutton, until your fingers are brushing against a fuzzy blond happy trail. You pause and glance up to his face again, but this time you’re met with a scowl. “Where’s all your fuckin’ confidence from a few minutes ago, huh? You think I’m gonna break if you touch me?”

You’re not an idiot; for all of Bakugou’s harshness and his brash attitude, he wasn’t very good at hiding his nervousness. You smile at him, but don’t move your hands to where he obviously wants them. “Maybe I don’t want to touch you until you take your pants off.”

Bakugou’s nostrils flare and his jaw clenches, and it looks for a moment like he’s about to start yelling. Instead though, he steps back and shucks his sweatpants so quickly he nearly overbalances. The glare he shoots you lets you know that he will probably try to kill you if you laugh at his eagerness, but laughing is the furthest thing from your mind as you take in the sight of him.

“Oh, shit.” you breathe. You thought that you were prepared for how he’d look, but you were so, so wrong.

“If you fuckin’ dare to laugh-”

You hush him reflexively, barely aware of what you’re doing. “Just let me look.”

Bakugou is built like a Greek god, and even on his worst days he looks like a professional model. But right now? Covered in a thin layer of sweat from his workout, smelling like burnt sugar, his cheeks flushed red from insecurity and his grey sweatpants pooling around his ankles? He’s never looked more attractive. And that’s not even taking into account the panties. They’re hitched high on his hips, the pale lace laying stark against his tanned muscles. The white satin and little blue embroidered flowers look so dainty, incongruous with the hard cock that’s straining so hard against the fabric that the elastic waistband is pulling away from his skin. They fit a little strangely, because the two of you are definitely not the same underwear size, but the fact that he was apparently so determined to wear them under his clothes despite the ill fit just makes it so much hotter.

“Will you stop fucking staring-” he cuts himself off abruptly, because you’ve just fallen to your knees in front of him, still staring at the sight of his reddened cock leaking all over your pretty satin panties.

“Hush.” you say, and grin up at the furious scowl growing on his face, “I’m enjoying the view.” Before he starts mouthing off again, you reach out and drag your finger slowly along the length of his cock through the silky material of the panties. He makes a noise that sounds like it’s been punched out of him, and his cock visibly twitches at your touch. You stroke your hand down the front of the panties, relishing the feel of his hardness through the soft material. There’s a wet patch right at the top of his cock where he must have been leaking precum, and you can feel yourself cream in your own panties a little bit.

“You gonna just look, or are you gonna do something about it?” Bakugou snarls, as if that will distract you from the way his hips just humped into the air looking for some kind of friction.

“I want to suck you off.” you admit, nosing your face along the bulge distending the front of the panties.

“Yes.” Bakugou says. His voice is a little strained, but his hand is firm as it grips the back of your neck and tries to pull you closer.

“But first,” you place your hands firmly on his thighs to stop him from pulling your face straight into his dick, but then you have to fight not to get totally distracted because shit, did he shave for this? “I have a question.”

“Hah?” the pure irritation in his voice is practically palpable, but he stops pushing at your head. “What do you fuckin-”

“Is this the first time you’ve done this?” you ask, fingers dancing over the shape of his cock and drawing featherlight shapes over him, “Or have you been wearing my panties every day since you found them?”

“I didn’t know they were yours.” he snaps at you as he presses his hips forward into your hand, trying to force you to increase the pressure. Your face lights up at that, because that was basically just a confession that he in fact had been wearing your panties, and he seems to realise it because his face flushes and he starts snarling again. “What kind of fucking dumbass leaves their underwear behind like that anyway, huh? It’s not like it’s my fault my underwear bag was fucking taken, and your stupid bag was the only thing left. You literally took all my underwear, you asshole, what else was I supposed to wear-”

He’s still making excuses as though he thinks you mind, or like he thinks that you’re going to make fun of him. “Bakugou,” you say quietly, slipping his cock out of the confines of the panties, “It’s fine. You look better in them than I do.”

That, at least, seems to silence him temporarily. Or maybe it’s your hands on his dick, and the way that you’re mouthing along the bottom of it. His breaths are coming in little puffs, and you would never have believed that Bakugou Katsuki could be cute if you hadn’t seen him like this. Well, maybe cute is the wrong word. It doesn’t quite encompass the outright sexiness of his half-lidded eyes, his tensed stomach muscles, the way his balls poke out from behind the lace. He’s getting impatient though, you can tell by the aggrieved sighs he’s letting out above you. You decide to be kind and to put him out of his misery, so you lick a stripe from root to tip and then take him into your mouth and give two gentle sucks.

Bakugou makes another one of those punched out sounds, his hips rocking a little further into your mouth. If your mouth wasn’t full, you would have smiled at his reaction. But then his hand comes down and lands in your hair, and he’s pushing his dick further into your mouth with a groan. His cock hits the back of your throat and you just about manage to swallow back a gag, but then you pull back, chest heaving, and scowl at him. “Hey, no pulling my hair. You’ll get it all tangled, and I am not in the mood to deal with that.”

The little shit has the nerve to laugh at that. “Who the fuck cares about a few tangles?”

Your scowl turns into a glare, and you pull back even further away from his dick, which is standing extremely hard and shiny from your spit. “That’s easy for you to say, you don’t have to untangle -!”

“Fine, fine, fine!” Bakugou snaps quickly, apparently realising that you’re actually going to stop if he doesn’t start listening. He removes his hand from your hair and awkwardly tries to pat it back into place, before giving up and settling it at the back of your neck instead. “Better?”

You hum noncommittally as you take him into your mouth again, but honestly, the weight of his guiding hand against the nape of your neck feels real good. You bob your head and take him to the back of your throat, then pull back before you gag, laving your tongue along the underside of his dick. You suckle at the tip like it’s a lollipop, and look up to watch him throw his head back and groan. You breathe hard through your nose as his hand guides you back down on his cock, until it’s pressing into the back of your throat once more.

Bakugou moans like a goddamn pornstar everytime you suck on him, and it has your thighs clenching together hard. You can feel your own panties getting progressively wetter and stickier as you rock your own hips into thin air and moan a little around Bakugou’s length. Seriously, you don’t think he even realises what he’s doing -- his eyes are closed and his head is tipped back as he ruts into your mouth, panting and groaning and utterly unaware of how fucking hot he looks right now. You don’t think you’ve ever been so turned on in your life, and you can’t stop the whimper that bubbles out of your throat as you slip your hand into your own sweatpants to rub at yourself, desperate for some kind of relief.

“What are you doing?” Bakugou’s voice sounds like he’s been gargling gravel -- it’s gone sinfully deep, and the sound of it shoots liquid heat straight to your core.

“Huh?” you say as you pull off his dick, thoughts a little hazy in your arousal. A strand of saliva stretches from your mouth to his cock, but you don’t notice it until it snaps and dribbles down your chin. “What d’you mean?”

You’re not expecting Bakugou to kneel down with you so you’re both facing each other, and it’s even more of a surprise when he sticks his hand down your pants and shoves your own hand aside so that he’s got unrestricted access to your pussy. “Unhh.” you moan out, dropping your head forward against his chest as he runs his fingers experimentally along your slit. You’re so damn horny that even the slightest touch has you rutting your hips forward into his hand, desperate for him to touch you more, harder.

“Shit,” he says, and that gravelly voice and hot breath right in your ear sends a shudder all the way down your body. “You’re so fuckin’ wet, what the fuck? You’re soaked. What got you like this, huh? Was it me in the panties? Or was it sucking my cock?”

You gasp and let out a strangled moan as he finds your clit and begins to rub messy circles around it with his thumb as his middle and ring finger dips inside you. “Bakugou-” you gasp, clenching around his fingers with a choked hiccup as he presses on your clit.

“Why are you so shy all of a sudden?” his voice is taunting, mocking, as though his own cock isn’t flexing and leaking precome all over the panties.

“Both,” you gasp out, humping your pussy into his hand as he alternates between rolling your clit between his fingers and pushing inside you to feel up your internal walls. “It was- it was both.”

“Fuck.” Bakugou hisses, and then he’s tearing his hand out of your pants and pulling at the hem of your joggers. He’s too aggressive at trying to tear them off though, and they get stuck around your knees. You bite your lip as he snarls at them, torn between helping him and laughing at him. You decide on the former, seeing as how laughing at him will probably result in him trying to fight you, and you really just want to get laid, like, now. So you help him out and wiggle out of your pants, kicking them aside and then shucking your own panties and throwing them in the same direction.

Bakugou is staring avidly at the place between your legs, and if you weren’t so turned on you might be embarrassed. As it was, you could barely think straight, so when Bakugou sits back on his ass and spreads his legs, your heart nearly fucking stops and all shame flies out the goddamned window. The panties are pretty much ruined, covered in precum and stretched out of place in the front where his cock has been distending them all day. His balls are too big to be contained by the flimsy silk, and they’re lolling out by his thigh. His cock is reddened with arousal and leaking from where it’s standing straight up on it’s own, the panties shoved down to give it space. His hair is sweat-damp and stuck to his forehead in places, his eyes burning as his own gaze gives you the same stare-down treatment that you’re giving him.

Then he raises his hand, and gestures to his lap. “Hop on.” he says, and you don’t think you’ve ever moved so fast in your life as you scramble up on him.

Once you’re in his lap his hands clamp down on your waist and guide you to grind your bare pussy against his exposed dick. “Ugh, fuck,” you gasp, grabbing his shoulders for balance as the tip of his dick presses against your clit. “Come on, just-”

“Yeah, yeah.” Bakugou shrugs off your impatient prompting, grinning into the bare skin of your shoulder where your shirt has slipped. He pulls back when your grinding starts to get desperate and starts to push the panties down.

“No!” you blurt, stilling his hands. He freezes, his eyes searching your face urgently. The flicker of panic in his eyes makes you realise that he thinks you’re trying to stop him from going any further and that he’s trying to figure out what he’s done wrong. You hurry to elaborate, growing hot from embarrassment as you murmur out, “Leave them on.”

His eyes widen, and you swear you can feel his dick pulse against you. “Okay.” he says roughly, his voice strained. He pushes the elastic waistband down and tucks it under his balls, but otherwise leaves them on. “You gonna take a seat or what?”

You laugh a little breathlessly at his attitude, because it seems like some things never change, but shuffle forward and raise yourself up on your knees until you feel the tip of his length brushing against the lips of your pussy. You sigh softly at the feeling, and reach down to steady his dick as you rock your entrance back and forth a few times, nice and slowly.

“Fuck, you’re dripping all over me.” Bakugou grunts, his hips thrusting shallowly in his attempts to coax himself inside of you despite your hand holding him steady.

You have a feeling that he’s exaggerating, but it’s true that you’re ridiculously aroused right now. You dip your hips down and close your eyes at the feeling of the tip of his cock pushing inside you. You had planned to go slow, but before you know it Bakugou’s hands are clamping down on your hips and he’s pulling you down his dick until he’s fully seated inside of you and you’re sat flush against his thighs. You’re gasping at the stretch, the feeling of fullness, barely conscious of the rocking movements of your hips.

Bakugou lets out a long, low moan right in your ear as his hips grind up to match your little movements. “Fuck,” he hisses, his hands so tight on your hips you’re certain they’re leaving bruises, “Fuck, you’re so hot inside, so wet-”

You feel yourself tighten up and clench around him at his words, and the two of you moan at the same time. “Shit.” you breathe, and lift yourself up a few inches so you can drop back down. A few more times, and you’ve established a steady pace of fucking yourself on his cock.

Even as you’re riding him though, you can’t help but look down to admire the view. The panties highlight the way the muscles in his ass ripple when he strains his hips forwards to meet yours. “Fucking hell,” he says suddenly, and you look away from the view to meet his gaze. He’s frowning at you, looking confused even as his forehead creases in pleasure. “Are you still fuckin’ looking at them?”

“Sorry,” you whine, sounding totally pathetic as you grind desperately against him, trying to get his cock to hit just right, “You just look so- so-” you gasp as he hits the spot inside you that has your legs going weak, and you lose track of the thought.

“So what?” Bakugou growls out. He’s obviously clued into the fact that he’s hitting a sweet spot inside you, because his thrusts become so precise that he just about has you squealing on his dick.

“So- so pretty!” you blurt. It’s not the word you had been planning on saying, and judging by the look on Bakugou’s face it’s not the word he had been expecting either.

“What?”

Fuck. Looks like damage control is definitely necessary. “In a manly way! Pretty in a- fuck - in a manly way!” you groan out, internally cursing yourself -- you fucking sound like Kirishima.

“Yeah?” Bakugou asks, and the fucker is laughing at you! “So pretty that you can’t even tear your damn eyes away while I’m fucking you?”

You groan, partly from arousal and partly from embarrassment. “Shut up,” you say, and then his eyes are flashing and he’s surging up. A yelp is driven out of you as you land on your back, Bakugou’s hands slamming down on either side of your head as he looms over you. He’s grinning down at you, sharp and wild as his gaze tracks steadily over your face, chest, and down your body.

For the first time since this has started, you’re self-conscious enough to start getting a little insecure. One arm comes up to cross over your chest as you start to get embarrassed under his wandering eyes. It was intimidating being naked under him when he was pretty much physically flawless, and the sudden fear that he’s disappointed by how you look is crushing. Your other arm goes down to try and block his view of your stomach and pussy, but you’ve barely done so before Bakugou has grabbed both your arms and pulled them away.

“Bakugou-” you start to protest, squirming a little on his dick as he presses your arms over your head and holds them there by your wrists.

“Hush,” he says in a low growl as his eyes track over your squirming body, his hips rocking deeper into you even as he holds you still, “I’m enjoying the view.”

Having your own words repeated back to you in that low, mocking tone seems to really do it for you, because you find yourself moaning helplessly as he kisses and nips his way along your neck and shoulders. “Can you- will you just-” you push your hips mindlessly into his, hoping he’ll get the message and start moving. “Come on, come on-”

“Fuck, you’re desperate, aren’t you?” Bakugou says, grinning at the way you buck into him, “Look at you. You really want to get fucked that bad?”

“Obviously!” you snarl back, wiggling your hips determinedly.

Bakugou actually has the nerve to laugh at that, but it doesn’t last too long before he’s finally pulling out and driving his hips home. “Oh, yeah,” he grunts, thrusting his hips a few times experimentally before settling into a rhythm.

He fucks you hard and fast, and all you can do is gasp against him and clutch at his shoulders. You shouldn’t have expected anything less of him, really. Every time he drives his hips into you knocks the breath right out of you, and you have to shut your eyes tight because it feels so stupidly good. Every time his thighs slap into yours you can feel the lace of the panties rubbing against your skin.

It doesn’t take long to realise that neither of you are going to last -- you were half-way to coming from the first moment you saw his cock straining against the silk of those panties, and having him pounding you into the ground like this is like the fulfillment of every wet dream you’ve had over the three years of knowing him. And judging by the mindless grunts and sloppy snapping of his hips into yours, Bakugou’s just as close.

You lock your ankles behind his back, trying to urge him deeper as you sneak your hand down between you to rub frantically at your clit. Your breathing is interspersed with gasping moans as you feel your stomach tightening, the muscles in your legs beginning to clench up.

Then, just as you’re about to tip over the edge, your hand is knocked aside. “What the fuck!” you complain instantly, scowling at Bakugou.

He scowls back at you, though most of his focus is still going into keeping his rhythm of fucking you. “What are you doing? Am I not- unh- enough for you, huh?”

“Stop being so mouthy and make me come.” you complain, reaching your hand back down. It’s knocked aside yet again, this time to be replaced by Bakugou’s own. His fingers fumble a little at first as he tries to lean his weight on one hand and balance the thrusting of his hips with the rhythm of stroking your clit. “Fuck-” you start to moan, but then his lips descend on yours and he’s kissing you. It’s messy, drool going everywhere in a way that is decidedly not sexy, but you’re apparently so far gone that you couldn’t care less.

“Come.” he mumbles into your mouth, pulling at your lower lips with his teeth before kissing you hard again, “You need to come, you need to come right now-”

You were so close anyway, but the way he’s kissing you combined with him actually telling you to come and the way he’s rutting into you so sloppily and his fingers massaging those hard, fast little circles in your clit has your whole body heaving and locking up. Your back arches and you let out the softest, most breathless little gasp as the build up of your orgasm finally snaps and you come.

You strain against your orgasm so hard that you damn near pull a muscle, chest heaving with the force of your breathing as you try to calm down. Your thoughts are a mess as your muscles start to relax, aching after the way they had tensed up so hard. Your body has barely loosened up after your orgasm before Bakugou is cursing colourfully and pulling out of you, knocking your legs away as his hand grabs at his cock and pumps it viciously fast.

You push up onto your elbows, eyes wide as you watch him fist his cock so hard it looks painful. The sight he makes is absolutely sinful -- his cheeks are flushed red at the highpoints of his cheekbones, his eyes fever-bright as he watches you watching him. His mouth lolls open, his brow scrunched as he fucks his fist, desperately humping into his own grip, panties shoved carelessly down around his thighs.

“You look so gorgeous.” you tell him, your voice hoarse and absolutely wrecked.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck,” Bakugou snarls, and then he’s coming, cum erupting in spurts all over his hand and dripping down onto your stomach and still throbbing pussy. He keeps stroking himself all the way through, shuddering hard. His eyes are still open, flicking from your face to the places where his cum is streaking your skin.

You fall back to the floor, exhausted, as though Bakugou’s orgasm had sapped the last of your strength. “That,” you say, with no small amount of satisfaction, “was very nice.”

To your surprise, Bakugou drops down on you and shoves his face into your neck, ignorant (or uncaring) about his weight on top of you. “I knew you were a weird little pervert.” he murmurs into your skin, nipping at the same place.

“Excuse me?” you protest immediately, fruitlessly pushing at his stupidly broad shoulders. “Wait until you’re wearing your own underwear before accusing me of being a pervert, please.”

That makes him snicker, but he still makes no move to get up from where he’s pretty much crushing you. “Yeah, yeah, whatever. You want these back?” he plucks at the stretched out waistband of the panties slung around his thighs. Apparently one good fuck was enough to knock all the insecurity about the panties right out of him, because he just looks smug and cocky as he watches your eyes drop down to them.

You scowl in an attempt to hide how flustered the sight of him laying on top of you, spent and sweaty with the dirty panties halfway down his thighs, makes you. “You stretched the front of them all out of shape.” you complain halfheartedly.

“It ain’t my fault I got a fat cock,” he says lazily, snorting a laugh when you turn to glare properly at him. “Whatever, quit moaning. I’ll buy you new ones.”

“Yeah?” you brighten at the thought. Going from thinking all your panties were lost to this point was quite the jump, but you couldn’t say you were disappointed with the result.

“Mm.” he hums, stretching his neck before baring his teeth at you, bending his head to press a kiss to one of your breasts. “Only if you promise to show them off for me.”

“I think I can manage that,” you grin, stomach fluttering pleasantly at the implications that this wasn’t just gonna be a one time thing. “Maybe we should get you your own pair, too, so you won’t have to steal mine.”

He delivers a lazy but stinging smack to your ass for that remark, “Don’t be cute.”

“Can’t help it, it’s my default setting,” you say before flicking your gaze back down his body and grinning at him, “Besides,” you lean in and kiss the lobe of his ear, delighting in the near imperceptible shiver that travels down his spine as you whisper, “You wear them well.”

#bakugou katsuki x reader #bakugou x reader #bakugou imagine #bnha bakugo katsuki #mha bakugou #mha x reader #bnha x reader #mine

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anntoldst0ries · 4 years ago

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None shall sleep (Ethan x MC)

Book: Open Heart 3, post Chapter 5 Pairing: Dr Ethan Ramsey x F!MC (Dr Noelle Valentine) Word Count/Rating: ~1.8k, T Summary: In the privacy of the diagnostic's office, Ethan & Noelle reflect on recent changes around them. Category/Warnings: Fluff, None Trope: And there was a bit of Hurt/Comfort

A/N: This chapter reminded me of things that have never been addressed... so this is a story of how things left unsaid all collided in my head. Hope you enjoy.

Also - yes, Ethan Ramsey can sing arias. Is anyone still truly surprised by the fact that this guy can do anything?

There is something mesmerizing about watching the lights of day go out, overpowered by darkness, ablaze with colours - from the depths of blue, through indigo, navy and all the way to pitch-black.

About how, in a sense, it washes away all the bothers and allows you to start anew with the next rise of the almighty sun.

Ethan Ramsey was hoping for this exactly, maybe more than ever, but all the signs showed it wasn’t in the cards for him.

Or at least not today.

He stared into the void, interwoven by occasional human figures passing by through the front lobby. No voices of the day were able to reach him on the 7th floor of his kingdom. Behind the glass wall, he was almost in a different world.

It had been yet another day that brought him more gritted teeth, holding himself back and resigned sighs, than actual satisfaction from helping those who counted on him. All these ‘activities’ were not only annoying but also highly energy-consuming.

Bringing the index and middle fingertips to his pulsating temples, he started to compress and massage them in small circles, trying to soothe the pounding inside his skull. He could hear the blood rushing through the highways of his veins, the sound almost drowning out all external stimuli.

But there were certain sounds his expert ear was trained on, the ones he would’ve recognized even in his sleep.

Like the one reaching his ears right now, the sound of the door handle being pressed.

With his back facing the door, he couldn’t see who was trying to impose on his much-needed solitude. But since the unexpected guest did not precede their ministrations by knocking, the possibilities narrowed down significantly. There were only two people on the premises of Edenbrook who could invade his personal space without a modicum of manners.

“Can I help you?” He modulated his voice to ensure the tone was expressing two things: annoyance and irony in the otherwise polite question.

“I’m sorry.” From all the voices, this one he did not expect to hear now. A melodic tone was joined by a scuffle of retreating steps. “Do you want me to go?”

Ethan curled his lips in a tiny smile. They both knew she wasn’t apologetic and that he wanted anything but her to leave.

“No, it’s just that there are only two people in this hospital that wouldn’t bother knocking and I thought it was one of them paying me a visit.”

“Let me guess… Zaid and Baz?”

“No, but in terms of concept, you were actually close…just another type of evil ‘twins’."

“Oh, you mean his majesty King Bloom & his annoyance Dr Carrick?”

“Even as a joke, it sounds creepy and horrible.”

“Well, count me as a third now. Heads up though, I will only stop knocking after twilight.”

It was clear as crystal Ethan’s already specific sense of humor had less than ever space for amusement.

“I brought you this.” She put a brown paper bag on his desk, which immediately revealed the aroma of something delicious. “I figured you’re probably gonna stay here all night, so I thought I’ll pop over and check on you.”

He didn’t say anything, staring into the darkness. Not because he didn’t want to - he simply didn’t know what. This simple gesture was very touching and filled him with gratitude. But he was lacking the right words.

Then, for the first time since she’s interrupted his train of thought, he turned around to look at her. Tired and with puffy eyes, she’d still put everyone else to shame. Even on the worst of days, the light radiating from her turned heads and made the room brighter.

She extended a hand and when their fingers touched, he felt this weird, tingly feeling that has traveled from his palm, through his arm and neck, and then straight to his core.

Pressing him gently against the edge of the desk, she took his glasses off. Then loosened his tie and nonchalantly disheveled his hair. Ethan wouldn’t let anyone else in the world touch them, let alone put them in a state of such disarray.

With her, all the rules existed only to be broken.

“Do you want to tell me what’s going on in this big brain of yours?”

“Smart move, Valentine. You’ve pacified me so that now I will have no choice but to tell you whatever you want to know.”

“You always have a choice, let’s just hope you’re gonna make the right one.”

Ethan nodded, no sound escaping his lips. She knew she’d have to take it upon herself to get any information out of her stubborn converser.

“So, how are you holding up? I want an honest answer."

“I’ve been better.”

“I thought so.”

“It’s just that… Tobias is driving me crazy. His presence really tests my patience… I don’t know if I would’ve stopped myself from punching him had it not been for you.”

“Why thank you, I didn’t know my therapeutic services were that good.”

“They are.” Ethan cleared his throat. “But it’s… not just that.”

Dead silence lingered between them and he knew he had no other choice but to continue.

“The only reason why I haven’t wiped this ridiculous smirk off his face yet is that whenever I look at him, I… I see you in that room with Travis. I’m trying to remind myself that, as much as I hate to admit it, he was crucial to finding the cure on such short notice.”

“Ethan…”

“I already told you” - he interrupted her as if not to stop the words from flowing, afraid they may be trapped forever otherwise - “that there was so much more at stake last time Tobias set foot in Edenbrook.”

She took a deep breath, her eyes going slightly wider.

“The truth is, for me… everything was at stake. I would’ve done anything he’d asked me to, I’d have forgiven him if it meant saving you.”

Elle turned still, all her body movements, her breathing and even her blinking ceased.

It was one of those moments that mean so much but leave you with so little to say.

Using the power of non-verbal communication and their deep affinity, she bestowed on him the most gentle, loving and grateful expression her face could muster after yet another exhausting shift.

Ethan extended his arm and before she realized it, her back was gently pressed to the older doctor’s chest. Having wrapped her slender frame with his broad shoulders, Elle inhaled his familiar aroma. He smelled of comfort and felt like a safe harbor. He nudged her hair with his nose and placed a featherlight kiss on the crook of her neck. She smelled of calmness and felt like coming back home from a long journey.

“So,” - he murmured directly into her ear - “whether you like it or not, I am using you to soften the blow every time I look at Tobias’ face.”

“I think I can live with that.”

“But I can’t guarantee it will always be enough, he is a cocky son of a bitch.”

“Let's make a deal then. I see how much it costs you and I’m not telling you to trust Leland or forgive Tobias, I still believe you should be cautious. Let’s just wait and see where this goes, I think we’ll know sooner rather than later. In the meantime, we should focus on what matters the most, our patients.”

“Where is the deal part?”

“If it turns out you were right, I will hold Tobias and you will punch him. Deal?”

“I believe it should be the other way round. Declan Nash’s face told me your right hook is exquisite, Rookie.”

They both laughed at the memory which seemed so distant now, almost as if it's happened in another lifetime.

But Ethan went quiet again and she felt his body tense up, his arms tightening gently around her. It wasn’t very obvious, but she knew. It still came as a shock how well she actually knew him.

“Ethan? What is it?”

“Nothing.”

“Ethan.”

“I’m sorry, I am not the most cheery companion today. You’re probably better off not spending too much time with me before you turn into a cynic.”

“Dr Ramsey, what a pathetic attempt of trying to get rid of me. You’ve never been the most cheerful type and I’ve survived your gloomy companionship, hell, I think it grew on me over time. So I should be ok today, too.”

It looked like silence was very much their third companion today.

“I’m thinking about Francis.”

“Yeah, me too.”

“I’m thinking about how hard it would be not to see. So many beautiful things, colors, all turning into nothingness.”

“I take it you mean the opera?”

“That too, but let’s just say I’ve learned to appreciate things that are right in front of my nose… literally and figuratively.”

The butterflies started somersaulting in her stomach.

“I didn’t want to add more to your plate at the time, but I’ve already felt this way… when we diagnosed Caroline and Leland.”

It was funny that, despite his obvious animosity towards Bloom, whenever his wife was in the picture, he spoke about both in an almost affectionate way. His doctor’s instincts were kicking in, because first and foremost he was a doctor who had his patients’ best interest at heart.

“The thought of not being able to touch you…it reminded me of touching you through the layer of hazmat suit. And now with everything Francis has been through, I just can’t be bothered to think about anything else but you. This is my true personal connection to this case.”

It was her turn to be speechless.

Ethan tightened his grip over her once again, this time protectively rather than out of stress. Slow hum started filling the air, the melody soon joined by lyrics, which he sang in fluent Italian; a private concert, performed for her and her only.

Tu pure, oh Principessa

Nella tua fredda stanza

Guardi le stelle

Che tremano d'amore

E di speranza**

She remembered their patient’s face, which seemed calmer once Ethan started singing the aria before the depths of illness contorted it with pain.

Francis' husband's words echoed throughout her head.

Even though the man holding her in his arms didn’t say it, there was no need.

She knew.

He will always be here.

And she will always be here, too.

-----

** Lyrics - aria "Nessun Dorma" (‘None shall sleep’) from the opera "Turandot".

Translation:

Even you, oh Princess,

In your cold room,

Watch the stars,

That tremble with love

And with hope.

Tag 🔖 list: @starrystarrytrouble @genevievemd @sophxwithers @maurine07 @lovingramsey @iemcpbchoices @oldminniemcg @schnitzelbutterfingers @archxxronrookie @jamespotterthefirst @the-pale-goddess @queencarb @fireycookie @qrkowna @coffeeheartaddict @utterlyinevitable @gryffindordaughterofathena @xxsugarplumfluffsxx @wingedhairstylemusicweasel @mrs-ramsey @tsrookie @fayeswiftie @mercury84choices @lisha1valecha @lucy-268 @stateofgracious @danijimenezv @alina-yol-ramsey

@choicesficwriterscreations @openheartfanfics

#ethan ramsey x mc #open heart #open heart fanfiction #ethan ramsey #playchoices #ethan x noelle

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lazarettta · 3 years ago

Text

Misthios IV

Characters (Spartan!Reader x Mother Miranda)

Rating (T)

Word Count (3.4k)

Warnings (none I don't think)

You're up roaming around the castle and run into Miranda and Alcina.

It's been an exhausting but thrilling six months since you've gained the eye of this region's reigning ruler. Their Queen was ruthless as she was beautiful and you were quickly learning that she had a particular taste for blood that you haven't seen since your days in Sparta. Creative and cunning as she was, especially when it came to acts of revenge, but she took care of her kingdom and her people so long as they were loyal to her and her alone.

It was that last rule that forced you to discover just how cruel and destructive the mountains of Norway could be because you were tasked with chasing down a group of runaway slaves—as a punishment. This was different from your 'normal' punishments.

There was nothing special about these fucking slaves, they were just stupid enough to think it wise to steal from their Queen and then dare escape. It angered you so much that she'd send you on this quest when a small squadron of low ranked knights would've done fine.

It had taken you a week and two villages to finally catch up with them into the mountains. The conditions were harsher than what you were prepared for and you had to abandon half your gear and continue on foot. The cold was too much for your horse to handle, but he was old and you were sure to put him out of his misery before continuing on your hunt.

You'd caught them asleep in a cave a few miles away from a village that was tucked away into the mountain side. You purchased food and another horse, costing you all the silver you carried but it made your hunt easier and quicker. You hadn't been looking for the cave but a small fire through the thick of the trees caught your attention. Tying your new mare a distance away, you crept towards them, sticking to the tall grass and the shadows.

They'd all been sleeping so peacefully, even their so-called 'watcher'. It was almost too easy to just go and kill them quietly one by one...but Miranda had specific instructions for you to follow if you wanted her forgiveness. She wanted to hear them scream while she slept and that was exactly what you intended to deliver. You unsheathed one of your twin blades and with practiced ease, you swung right as the watcher’s eyes snapped open.

You were startled awake by a scream that you weren't sure if it was from your dream or if it was a real one. You sat up half way in the bed of the guest room you were put up in, leaning on your elbow ready to spring from beneath the sheets but nothing ever came. After another full five minutes of sitting and waiting with no result, you let yourself fall back onto the soft pillows and threw an arm over your eyes as they began to leak tears.

Nothing of sadness or the sort, you were simply exhausted—you were still in your clothing with your parka not too far away just in case you had to use the window for a quick escape. You even kept your boots on, even though it was too warm for you but you'd deal with it as you've been through more uncomfortable situations that couldn't even compare to simply being hot. Of course if you take off a few layers you'd be fine, but paranoia hasn't exactly been very kind to you in the past years...with good reason too. You hadn't died in over ten years and you planned to keep that streak going.

But even as those thoughts comforted you a bit, sleep evaded you—no longer finding you worthy of its pleasures and you just laid there sprawled out and tangled within the soft white linen sheets that were probably now dirty thanks to you. You didn't care. They probably had more somewhere.

Resigned to the fact that you'd probably never be able to go back to sleep, at least not any time soon, so pushed aside the heavy duvet and slipped out of the bed quietly. You moved towards the window but the only thing you could see was the few trees below and a land covered in blankets of undisturbed snow. A little further beyond the tree line, you saw smoke coming from the chimneys of the factory before you turned away from the view and left your room. You looked left and right of the hallway but there wasn't a sign of life to be found, not even that little maiden Alcina practically made your shadow. It was probably later than it actually felt and she was probably asleep...everyone probably was.

Checking your watch— ah, right. Miranda even took that. She took everything you could use as a weapon and it tickled you more than it annoyed you. Unsupervised, you can now take your time to feel your way around. You didn't get a chance to get a good look at everything before but now you did, and it was an opportunity to get to know the Lady of the castle. You'd long dismissed the thought that anything in this village was normal, it had more secrets and shadows than a horror book you guessed.

Walking through the halls of the second floor felt like a trip down memory lane—no particular region as most all castles were the same. Large and filled with fancy portraits and trinkets that could house and feed five families at a time. Carpet so plush and soft that you could feel it through your boots with each step. It absorbed your weight like a welcome home hug. Clearly Lady Alcina was a woman of finer things in life and that extended far outside of her wardrobe and preferred wines.

It just unnerved you how quiet everything was, a castle thing large and prosperous had to have staff minding it twenty four seven. Nonetheless, you finally came to the door that you recognized during your brief tour as the 'wine room'. Like everything else you'd come across, the door was finely made from dark red oak with gold trimmings—just like Alcina's stagecoach.

Without a second thought about it, you opened the door—simply with the intent of getting a better look at the wine collection the maiden mentioned during your tour. But that thought was cut short because the room wasn't as empty as the silence in the hallway led you to believe as you'd walked into a full conversation by two people; one you were hoping to avoid for a few days and the other you thought was asleep...or well away from your location. You were wrong on both accounts.

“Heisenberg is a blundering fool leading a pack of fleabags, Miranda. He is going to fail again!”

“And we don't have time to stress other options, especially that one! We're out of time already and—”

“Exactly we're out of time so just ask her—” you pushed the door open a little more and it creaked quietly.

They both turned to you and you stood frozen in the doorway, unsure of what to make of the scene in front of you or what you just overheard. Miranda and Alcina were sitting at the small table, well Miranda was, Alcina was sitting in one of her custom chairs a little further away and both women had two glasses filled with dark red wine. Alcina wasn't in her white dress anymore, instead she'd changed into a pair of dark slacks and deep red turtle neck and she was barefoot. A far cry from the regal dress she wore earlier but she still carried herself in the same manner.

You did your best not to think about how good Miranda looked without that damn mask on her face...even in those robes she still wore, Miranda was beautiful. Beautiful as the day you first met. You forced yourself to keep your attention on Alcina and not Miranda, who was now staring a hole into the side of your face like she was trying to will you into looking at her.

“Oh. Shit, I didn't know this room was occupied.”

Alcina glanced at Miranda briefly from behind her wine glass, her expression unreadable when she settled her eyes on you again, “Of course not, dear. Is everything alright?”

You cleared your throat, fighting the urge to look at Miranda because you could feel her trying to will your eyes in her direction, “No, actually I—”

You were interrupted by an ear piercing scream and high pitched laughter right behind her, on the verge of being hysterical. Lady Dimitrescu sighed heavily behind you and finished her wine before setting her glass down and rising to her full height.

“Please excuse me, it seems that my daughters are teasing the poor maids again.”

You started to comment that it didn't sound like it was teasing but you kept your mouth shut, knowing better than to stick your nose in the wrong place too soon—it never really turned out very well for you the first time. It would never cease to amaze you how fast and quiet Alcina moved despite her size, but it still baffled you that she hasn't ever gotten the doors to her own castle fixed to fit for her . But those thoughts were pushed to the far corners of your mind when the door clicked shut—leaving you alone in the room with Miranda, forcing you to acknowledge her now. You shoved your hands in your pockets and sighed, you weren't expecting to see her again so soon.

You still hadn't had time to get your shit together after the last time you two spoke, or more like argued back and forth. Easily falling into a pattern as if you hadn't been centuries apart. You still weren't sure how you were supposed to feel about that.

“Take a seat, (Y/n). Would you like a glass of wine?” Miranda broke the silence but she didn't break eye contact with you once she caught you eye, holding you as if she physically had her hands on your face. “We don't have to talk if you don't want to, (Y/n).”

“Oh, so now we're suddenly interested in what I want to do?”

“Yes, of course. Wine?”

You scoffed, rolling her eyes at her typical answer and you wanted to say no, you opened your mouth to do so but instead you were getting closer to the table she was sitting at. She poured you a glass of wine, and handed it to you. You raised an eyebrow, she couldn't have set it down for you? She insisted on handing it to you and the way Miranda was holding the glass left you no choice to place your hands over hers to take it from her. Those gold claw rings were ice cold against your skin and the edge of one nicked your skin but not deep enough to draw blood.

You had no idea what you wanted to say to Miranda, you weren't ready to talk about what you two needed to talk about but you weren't sure if you could sit here and do small talk with her over wine. It was so easy for you to get up and leave, maybe go back to your guest room and lock the door. So what was stopping you? Why was it difficult?

Miranda, who had been watching you intently, interrupted your rapid thoughts, “You always were a loud thinker, (Y/n).”

“Nothing interesting, trust me.”

“Oh I beg to differ,” Miranda chuckled, shifting in her chair slightly to angle herself towards you a little more. You sort of hated yourself for thinking how well she was pulling off the priestess look, “I could always tell what you were thinking even from a mile away. You were always quite the unique distraction.”

“You never complained before.”

“No,” she agreed, her voice dropping an octave or two lower, “though I doubt I ever will.”

You looked up, she didn't look away and you didn't know what to think. And for once, even if it was just for a moment, you saw a hint of uncertainty in her eyes.

“Miranda, what do you want? Why are you keeping me here?”

“Because we need to talk, (Y/n), to...clear the air as they say, I guess.”

“Yeah, okay, I got that part earlier,” you licked your suddenly dry lips, your nerves starting to buzz a little, “But that's not a good enough reason anymore.”

Miranda scoffed, actually rolling her eyes at you, “Why not? Closure heals the past. Doesn't it?”

“But what do you expect after that?”

“What do you?” she threw the ball back in your court as she refilled her own wine glass from a different bottle than what she used for your own, the wine she was using was a little darker and thicker. It didn't surprise you that the question was thrown back at you, she always did that when she was trying to keep the upper hand or get it.

But it didn't mean that the question wasn't a good one because what did you want after this? Would it even matter after all of this time? Have you ever forgiven her, really and truly moved on? Did she even care back then, did she care for you...or what you could do for her?

Miranda was watching you the entire time become lost in your thoughts, a trait you still carried with you. She picked up her wine glass and took a sip, her clear eyes taking you in while you were distracted enough to not notice her doing it so blatantly. You still looked the same as the last time she saw you, minus the murderous rage that had twisted your beautiful features that evening.

The modern world has touched many parts of you but your eyes still hold so much more than they did centuries ago. Being a warrior was now outdated and something of an historical myth but you still carried yourself as one, and Miranda could see new scars on your brown skin on the exposed skin she saw earlier on your neck and arms.

She'd been watching you for days before finally making herself known to you after going back and forth with herself during those agonizing days. Being far more irritable than she normally was and Miranda was positive that Lords Heisenberg and Moreau were quite sore with her at the moment. Well, Karl certainly would be. Seeing you made her angry...at first. Angry for the grief you left her with, the shatters you left her to pick up on her own.

Years of pent up thoughts and plans of revenge she'd enact when she got her hands on you came down to a single moment when she finally did get her hands on you and she couldn't do it. Miranda eyed your neck, where you should've still been bruised. She had you right where she needed you with one hand wrapped around your neck because you were so unsuspecting. It would've been so easy but she couldn't...so she knocked you out and threw you in a cell where she could keep a better eye on you. And perhaps no longer be so distracted from her work.

“Look who's thinking loud now.” you mumbled around the edge of your wine glass, finally taking a sip of the damn thing. Miranda wouldn't hesitate to bet that you assumed it was somehow poisoned even though you watched her open the bottle. “Good thoughts, I hope.”

Miranda hummed softly, “Do you really wish to know?”

You chuckled, and Miranda's eyes were drawn to the way your jaw clenched and unclenched when the wine hit your taste buds again, “With the way you were staring at my neck...it's not that hard to guess, Miranda.”

“You're only half right, my dear.” At your raised eyebrows, Miranda's smirk only widened, “My hands were wrapped around that strong neck again, but breaking it is far from my mind now .”

Your snort turned into a chuckle that was clearly infectious as Miranda joined you. Nothing was remotely that funny, if it was funny at all, but you were tired and the situation brought forth too many emotions for you, either of you to really process, and all you could was just...laugh.

Miranda was the first to sober up a bit though the smile never completely left her features. “Ah, and well... you know, it wouldn't do to try and kill the only other person on this wretched rock who knows me. Will it?”

You're very well the only person in this wretched world that will ever know the real me and still love me for it. Quite a miserable thought, isn't it?

You jumped when the door opened behind you and Alcina stepped into the room—you'd almost forgot where you were for a moment. Almost. Alcina took one look at the two of you, curious to find you actually still in the room much less sitting at the table sharing a glass of wine with Miranda. Especially with what she overheard earlier and how much tension you two create together.

Alcina knew that she interrupted something, probably something she had no business to but that did not stop her from sitting back down in her chair in her goddamn castle. And whatever drama that was happening within her territory was now her drama and she was going to get a front row seat. Alcina lit up another one of her cigarillos and pulled heavy before she released it in your direction.

“Running a business is quite the headache when no one else understands your vision, I swear. Don't have kids, (Y/n). They're messy and nothing but trouble.”

“Noted.” you forced a chuckle, not taking her bait but now you were trying to finish your wine as quickly as possible without seeming like you were trying to run.

“Well, how about it then, (Y/n)? Tell us a story, you couldn't have been a mercenary your entire life. Or have you?” You glanced at Miranda and saw that she was glaring at Alcina but the taller woman wasn't paying her any mind. And really, the only reason Miranda hasn't verbally intervened is because she was interested in your answer as well. Even if Alcina was asking just to poke at the situation for her own amusement.

“I've put away my shield and sword a long time ago,” you didn't bother to mention that you did keep them both in pristine condition just in case, “I've been enjoying the little things life has to offer.” lame. And a lie.

“Oh come now,” Alcina scoffed, not accepting your answer—it wasn't a very good one anyway, “That's—”

“Actually,” When it was clear that Miranda wasn't going to save you from this woman's nosiness (why would she?) You quickly drank the rest of the wine, it was really too sour for you, and rose from the chair. “I think I'll try to get some more sleep. Thanks for the wine and...yeah.” Could you be any more awkward?

Alcina was howling by the time the door slammed shut behind you and she took another pull from her cigarette stick, still paying no heed to Miranda's heated glare. “Oh, you're going to have to tie that one down if you want her to talk to you.”

“I will have your head if you stick your nose in my business again, Dimitrescu.”

“Then don't store your business in my castle.” Alcina shot back, meeting Miranda's glare head on but immediately conceded when she felt Miranda's growling through the vibrations of her glass in her hand that was still resting on the table. “Alright, alright...but you're always welcome to use my dungeons. Use chains though those biceps of hers could probably break through the ropes.”

“Alcina, that is enough!”

The Lady of the castle just laughed lightly until it tapered off into a pleasant hum around her famous Sanguis Virginis wine while watching Miranda readjust her face mask. Her eyes brighter than they have been the last few hours., Alcina pushed for one more question—deciding to risk Miranda's wrath, “How'd you ever let such a handsome creature slip between your fingers?”

Miranda sighed heavily, no pause in her strut to the door, “Egos and misunderstandings.” she was gone before the lock clicked into place.

I'm so sorry for being hella lazy, lol, I'll add the other chapters of this story today 😭😭😭😭

#resident evil 8 #mother miranda x reader #mother miranda #resident evil #resident evil village #lady alcina x reader #lady alcina #alcina dimitrescu #dis tew much #assassin's creed odyssey #simpin for these bishes

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animegenork · 3 years ago

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Feel free to ignore this, but I'm noticing a pattern.

In both Young Justice and Teen Titans, Dick Grayson, a.k.a. Robin or Nightwing, does something which requires pulling off an elaborate lie or ruse, even with his good friends.

Robin became Red X to try and get to Slade (unsuccessfully), all while lying to his friends about his whereabouts and his doings. Understandably, they became mad at him about this, even though he reasoned that they couldn't know he was behind that mask because they wouldn't treat him the same as another enemy. Starfire directly told him that he didn't trust his friends--she wasn't upset about his lies, but about his trust.

Nightwing also does this in Young Justice, on two separate occasions, in fact, and his lies last entire seasons, rather than episodes. In season 2, he, as well as the rest of his friends aside from Miss Martian and Superboy, lied about Artemis's death and Aqualad's betrayal in order to infiltrate the Light and get the Reach the heck away from Earth. This lie seemed to go over a little better than Robin's, at least from my memory (I rewatched Young Justice some months ago but sometimes they all blur together thanks to my fangirling). Wally obviously didn't like pretending his girlfriend was dead, but he went along with it because Dick is his best bud and, well, sometimes the hero life demands more than your personal one.

Season 3 was the real doozy, because it involved much more elaborate lies and had a lot more people involved. The Artemis lie had all of 4 people involved, later 5 because of Miss Martian being kidnapped to fix Kaldur. Batman himself was involved. Wonder Woman was pissed about all the elaborate lies and schemes, including the fake resignations of some of the Justice League members. Everyone was pretty much pissed about it--Superboy and Miss Martian had a huge fight over it, and Jefferson felt understandably betrayed, despite the rather weak reasoning given him. Yes, everything was more complex and needed some clever tactics to beat Luthor and everyone involved with him, but at what cost? Friendships and romantic relationships nearly tore apart from all the lies, even though, at least in Batman and Nightwing's mind, they were protecting those they cared about. (Although of course they would think so, as pretty much the entire Batfamily was involved, SO YEAH. Anyway.)

In all three of these instances, Dick told a lie. It involved elaborate misdirection. Friends got hurt in some fashion. And why? Because he thought he was protecting them. He thought he was doing what was best, not only for his friends, but also for the world (especially in the Young Justice cases). I don't personally think it was selfish of him to do these things, although the Slade case involved some selfish reasons for sure (it's pretty much his entire arc, so). But Dick did what he really thought was best, even though the execution was not the best.

To be perfectly honest, I'm not too sure how Batman's teachings factor into this. In Young Justice, he says quite often that the mission is the most important, but Dick even said in season one that he wasn't too sure how much of that he had in him. When recovering from the trauma of the all-too-real training simulation, Dick admitted that he doesn't know if he has that thing that Batman has that drives him to give up everything for the sake of his mission. He nearly does give up everything multiple times in subsequent seasons, but then, he probably had a lot more faith in his plans then, being a young adult.

Does his protective streak (or what he perceives as his being protective) have to do with his family? I wouldn't put it past Dick to blame himself for the deaths of his family. I'm sure Batman went through some similar grieving in that way, hence why he took Dick under his wing. He directly says in Season 1 of Young Justice that he trained Dick to have the skills to fight criminals precisely so he wouldn't turn out like Batman himself did. (Honestly, that's one of the most impactful lines of the first season: "So he wouldn't.")

Anyway, what I'm trying to say is, Dick/Robin/Nightwing has very good intentions. I truly believe that. While not an entirely pure cinnamon roll like some (FORAGER, FOR INSTANCE), I'd like to think he's really quite vulnerable. In many ways, he's still navigating this new superhero world when before he was just an acrobat minding his own business. He probably wants to preserve as much goodness as he can, considering how many dark situations he encounters and goes through. To do that, he pulls off schemes and lies to try and protect those he loves as well as fulfill his duty as a hero. While his lies hurt those he loves, and he knows that they will be hurt, he does it anyway. Not because he's selfish or mean, but because he truly thinks this is the best way.

He's flawed, but he's learning. He apologizes to everyone in Season 3 of Young Justice when things really go south. (At least, I'm pretty sure it was Season 3. It might have been 2.) In Teen Titans, he really takes Starfire's words to heart, because she didn't yell at him but told him straight up what he did wrong. He knows he's not doing things in the best way, but frankly, this is the only way he knows how.

I'm not about to blame Batman for him being this flawed, although I'm sure there is some influence there. Both Bruce and Dick have a lot of deep set scars that are hard to recover from. Some of them they might never recover from. Dick is trying his damnedest to become better, and really, that's what I like to see. Even if he repeats his mistakes again in Season 4 (probably likely), I can't really be mad at him.

He's only human. Not meta-human, but human. And humans are flawed creatures. I think part of what these series are trying to show us is that it's okay. Making a mistake in the name of protecting those you love is okay, so long as you own up to it.

...And this turned into a long ass essay. I'm so sorry a;lsdjkfalksjdf

#gen rambling again #teen titans #young justice #nightwing #robin #dick grayson #what i mean to say is: i love dick grayson #favorite robin because i'm a simp #nightwing my beloved

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adenei · 3 years ago

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Summer of Jily Week 4

It's week 4 for @efkgirldetective's Summer of Jily challenge! You sure did send me for a loop with this one, but I've managed to keep the one-shots turned multi chap story going!

This week's prompts: Picking Berries and "I know I kissed you before, but I didn't do it right."

Read on AO3

************

James didn’t sleep at all that night. He couldn’t stop thinking about the carnival. His thoughts shifted between being mad at Sirius for winning that damn prize and presenting it to Lily—that was his stupid, cheesy plan that his best mate had hijacked—and the Ferris wheel ride.

About saving your letters or waiting for you to ask me out?

How could he have been so thick? And how is it that he keeps royally mucking things up? He’d had the perfect opportunity to kiss Lily right there on the ride, but then it had to move again, and he’d gotten sidetracked at the feeling of flying on a muggle contraption.

Hadn’t he come along with the boys to crash the girls trip so he could spend more time with Lily? He’d devised the perfect opportunity to sweep her off her feet, and he swore to himself he would only ask her out if she made it blatantly obvious that she wanted him to. As much as it killed him, he’d rather not lose her friendship over pressing her one too many times.

But now, she had made it clear that she was waiting for him to make a move, and what does he do instead? Lets her walk away after the sunrise, hits her with a ball by the lake, and then avoids her throughout the entire carnival until their friends force them to share a compartment on that bloody ride.

He’d had the perfect opportunity to kiss her right there, to ask her to be his girlfriend, and what does he do instead? Freezes. James Potter, master of smooth pick-up lines, carefree, easy-going Gryffindor heartthrob (says the Hogwarts gossip circle, not that he pays attention to any of that—why would he when he’s got his heart set on one girl?) freezes.

Well, he didn’t totally freeze. After they’d apparated back to the cabin, he and Lily were the last two in the sitting area before they went to bed. He walked her to the door of the girl’s room and kissed her on the cheek before bidding her goodnight.

It had taken all of his willpower to not pull her into his arms and snog her senseless after her confession earlier that evening. Yet, after seeing her disappointed face before she shut the door to the bedroom, he wished he had. She’d thrown his entire game off, and he needed to fix it before he lost his chance with Lily for good.

Resigning himself to the fact that he was awake to see another sunrise, James dragged himself out of bed and picked up his glasses on the nightstand before stepping around the mattress on the floor where Peter currently snored away. He grabbed the nearest shirt he could find and threw it on before slipping out of the bedroom.

It was lighter out than he was expecting, meaning he’d probably missed the sunrise. The boys preferred to sleep in pitch black, but the spell they cast on the window the night before was fading, allowing the daybreak to sift through and consequently throwing off his sense of time. He started the coffee pot and leaned against the counter while he waited for the pot to brew.

Caffeine would be necessary to stay awake today, or maybe he could sneak a nap in at some point. Hell, maybe he’d be able to convince Lily to join him for said nap. He could think of plenty of things they could get up to whilst they were in bed together. James let his mind wander to thoughts of getting to know her in a more intimate setting. The kind that he’d often wank to when he needed a release.

The rich smell of dark roast wafted through the living area. James forced his thoughts away from images of Lily writhing beneath him as he reached for a mug. He only barely heard the click of a door as he pulled the pot off to pour himself a cup.

“Another early morning?”

James looked up to see Lily standing there, her hair messy from sleep. She ran her fingers through it in an attempt to comb it out. The green of her eyes were barely visible under still somewhat droopy eyelids. Something stirred within him, and despite the fact that he was only seventeen, it was a view he knew he could get used to.

“That would imply I slept. I hope I didn’t wake you.”

“No, but I couldn’t resist the smell of coffee. Why couldn’t you sleep?”

“Peter’s snoring reached new levels last night.”

The lie slipped off his lips with ease, although it wasn’t altogether convincing. A simple Muffliato charm would have allowed him the peace and quiet he needed to fall asleep. Her skeptical look wasn’t lost on him as he absent-mindedly began fixing the cup he’d poured with the amount of milk and sugar Lily preferred. He wasn’t aware he was doing it until he handed it to her.

“Thanks,” she said. “Since when do you know how I take my coffee?”

“Come on, Evans, you don’t think I’ve noticed? Some things stick after eating breakfast with someone over the last year.” James smirked.

He grabbed another mug from the cabinet and poured his own cup without adding anything to it. James blew over the dark brown liquid to help cool it off as he watched Lily take a minuscule sip of her own.

“That’s fair. I still don’t know how you can drink yours black.”

“Some say I’m sweet enough on my own.” The quip was automatic as Lily laughed at his humor.

Merlin, her laugh is infectious. James swore the reason he said half of the stuff he did was so he could hear her laugh.

“Do you want to go for a walk?”

The question came from nowhere, but the early morning was so peaceful that he wanted to experience it with her, preferably hand in hand.

“Sure.”

They left their coffee mugs abandoned on the Formica as they headed to the door and slid on their shoes. Lily grabbed a jacket off the coat rack and zipped it up halfway. James closed the door quietly behind him then led her over to the trail he and the boys explored yesterday. The path wasn’t terribly long, but it ended up in a quiet and secluded area where the lake met pebbled terrain.

“So, was the dolphin a good sleeping partner?” James’s voice cut through the light layer of morning fog.

Lily chuckled. “I don’t know, I let Marly sleep with him instead.”

“Ah, Sirius will be heartbroken if he learns of your betrayal.” His words were meant to be a joke, yet they didn’t come across as lighthearted as he’d hoped.

“Well, good thing you won’t tell him. Right?” Lily’s questioning eyes made James’s heart skip a beat.

“I suppose I can keep your secret, Evans, but it’ll cost you.”

“Oh? And what might that price be, Potter?”

The green of the trees and shrubbery only enhanced the sparkle that glinted in her eyes. James wondered if she was testing him. Shouldn’t she know by now that he never backed down from a challenge?

“Ditch your friends and spend the day with me instead.”

“Like a date?”

“Yes, Evans, like a date.”

“Well, good thing we’re getting an early start. Now we can make the most of the day.”

James grinned at Lily’s acceptance as they continued down the trail.

They were nearly at the clearing by the water when Lily stopped, causing James to turn around. “Is this the path you and the boys were on yesterday afternoon?”

“Yeah, why?”

“Well, when Mary asked if you found anything interesting, you said no.”

“Because there isn’t…”

“That’s not true! Look at the blackberry bushes over there!”

James’s head turned to the direction Lily was pointing at, and sure enough, there were several bushes, low to the ground and full of clumps of blackberries. Lily bent down to pick a few off the branches.

“How do you know they’re blackberries and not nightshade or something?”

“Honestly, Potter, did you not pay attention when Sprout taught that unit on edible plants and where to find them in the wilderness?”

“No? Guess I was a bit distracted.”

“Nightshade grows off the stem in one circle. They look more like blueberries, except they’re shinier and darker. Blackberries have all the little bumps on them like this. Almost like a raspberry, but a different color.”

Lily picked a handful of berries during her explanation and stood when she was finished. James saw her holding them delicately in an effort to stop them staining her hands. Using her forefinger and thumb, she picked one up and held it to James’s mouth.

“Try it.”

James opened his mouth and let her place the berry on his tongue. He locked eyes with her as his lips closed around her fingers. An explosion of flavor bursts on his tongue as he bit down on the fruit. The tartness caused him to squint and pucker his lips slightly. Lily smiled at his reaction as she popped a couple berries in her mouth.

She was right—they tasted way better when picked fresh. He held out his hand for more, and she gave him a couple to munch on as they continued walking through the woods. James’s brain was fixated on the way she fed him as his feet moved him forward. Their hands grazed against each other, and James held on after the third bump. He felt her fingers intertwine with his as their steps aligned on the dirt path. As they inched their way toward the rocky clearing of the lake, a plan formed in his mind, and he knew exactly what he needed to do to match Lily’s brazenness of the night before and kick off their day-long date properly.

“Oh, wow,” she whispered as the trail gave way to the stunning view of the calm water ahead of them. The fog had settled across the still water, preventing them from seeing the other side of the lake.

“Lily—”

“Okay, the berries were one thing, but hiding this view from us? How—” Lily froze mid-sentence as comprehension dawned on her. “Did you just call me Lily?”

“Yeah, I did, but please go on about how we didn’t tell you about this.”

“No, I think I’d rather hear what you have to say instead.”

“You sure? I know how much you love being able to prove us wrong.”

James paused, waiting for Lily’s reaction. He loved riling her up like this. The way he alluded to something but then held it just out of her grasp to ensure that she truly wanted to know what he had to say. Shoving his hands in his pockets, he waited.

“What do you mean, am I sure? Would I have asked you to tell me if I wasn’t?”

He thought about keeping up with the banter, but he was tired of waiting.

“That’s fair. Look, I know I kissed you before—y’know, last night—but I didn’t do it right, and I’d like to make up for that right now if you’ll let me.”

There was a sharp intake of air, and if James could pat himself on the back for catching Lily off-guard, he would. But she regained her composure before shooting a challenging look in his direction.

“Since when does James Potter ask permission before kissing a girl? I thought he—how did Sirius put it? Sets his eyes on what he wants and goes for it?”

James chuckled and cringed at the same time, remembering how Sirius explained James’s intentions during fifth year.

“Well, as true as that may be, I still try to be a gentleman about it. I’d never make an unwanted advance if that’s what you’re implying.”

“Interesting, considering I thought I made it clear what I wanted last night.”

Were his eyes playing tricks on him, or did Lily just take a tiny step forward?

“Is that so?”

“It is. And it sounds like you’re stalling.”

“Please, Evans, you’d know when I’d be stalling.”

“What are you waiting for, then?”

The words barely escaped her mouth, James didn’t waste any more time as his hands lifted to cup Lily’s face. He leaned in and captured her lips with his, the tangy taste of the berries still lingering on her mouth. Everything about Lily’s lips were soft and inviting as her hands found a home on his lower back. He felt her mouth open slightly as her teeth grazed his bottom lip, eliciting a small moan from his mouth.

James deepened the kiss as his tongue swiped across her lips. Her hands pushed him closer as her mouth widened, inviting him to explore. A quack in the distance was the only thing that reminded them where they were, as James slowly broke away. She was more beautiful than he remembered, with her lips swollen from his kiss and the dazed look of bliss on her face.

“Well, I’m used to ending the date with a kiss, not starting it,” her words were breathless.

James chuckled at Lily’s words. “Am I to take that as a good or bad thing?”

“Good. Very good.”

“And just imagine, we’ve got the whole day ahead of us now.”

“This is true. Should we head back and get ready for the rest of the day?”

“Sounds brilliant.”

James had no idea what they were going to do for the day, but he planned on making the most of their time spent together. Nothing could go wrong.

#summerofjily #jily #jily fic #james potter #lily evans #james x lily

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ourladylennon · 3 years ago

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this is a stress rant and also I absolutely have to get these thoughts out of my head and onto something so that I can understand how I'm feeling. so pardon me.

I have some very mixed feelings about my latest tattoo experience and it has been incredibly, astoundingly stressful. For anyone who was interested in how it went.

and after typing out this whole rant and reading it back my advice is: ALWAYS make sure it is exactly what you want. ALWAYS speak up if you don’t.

I have a specific style, as everyone, but the style of tattoo I have is a bit of a niche that can be hard to find: geometric design with dotwork/pointillism/stippling techniques to create shading rather then standard fill in shading. This shading style is incredibly time consuming and taxing for the artist and I've had a lot of trouble finding people who specialize in this (and within my area).

I started with an artist about 3 years ago, whom was new to me but known to be good. Got my appt set up, he drew me an entire sleeve- it was absolutely gorgeous. Went through two sessions and his work is genuinely amazing. Clean. Precise. Detailed. Unique. I didn't vibe with him too great but it was something I kind of put aside. But without explaining the whole fucking mess that became, just know that our artist-client relationship fell through. This left me with only the beginning of my tattoo. The whole ordeal was really stressful and upsetting so I put down the goal of getting it finished to try and recoup. And I just continually hit roadblocks trying to find artists who are good at dotwork and willing to do it. Often times they live in other cities/states/etc. Obviously this involves meeting a new artist, trying to figure out if it's a good fit, driving out for consultations/redoing all that process- s t r e s s. Now with covid, it's even more difficult because almost every artist I've come across that I've considered has closed books. All of them being out of town which is fine because it would be worth it. It's expected.

But after three years of this go around of trying to find someone, I was getting really put out by the process and just wanting to get this thing going. (Mistake #1- or #2 technically cause fucking up w the first artist is where it all started and I do regret it to this day).

A new shop opened IN my town- a miracle!!! I started following an artist whose work I found to be particularly amazing. Clean lines, clean shading, artistic seeming. Didn't see any pointillism, but I just like kept seeing her work and thinking damn that's good. So I decided to reach out and told her this is what I'm looking for, a dotwork sleeve and here are some examples of the style I like. I specifically mentioned this and asked if they'd be interested in working on it because I know that dotwork is not everyone's thing. The artist replied and said they've been wanting to get into and would like to do that (we'll call this mistake #3. Do not assume the artist, even if very good at other things will be good at all things. Do not go to an artist wanting a specific style without having seen their work for THAT style).

At this point I sent over pictures of my current tattoo that we'd be adding onto for reference. In my mind this is what I thought would mean: "I am looking at what you have to see how to incorporate it into a new sleeve design and see how I can create a collaborative piece and mesh the two together." (Mistake #4: that was not the case. Do not assume. Anything. Ever.)

The appt date was relatively quick despite the fact that I figured she'd be booked out for quite some time (red flag #1: not because she wasn't busy. But because this was not a whole lot of time to come up with a design but I figured "Well she knows her capabilities better than I do and she wouldn't suggest it that soon if she weren't sure). In my previous experiences, the artist will send you a proof or have a separate appt to review the design. I never received an email with said design (red flag #2, in my personal opinion. But I thought I was just being...extra? Also just thought, okay I'll see it at the appt and it will be OK, right? <- mistake #5).

I show up, there is no sleeve design. (RED FLAG #3) There are two single mandala tattoos. Outlines only. No shading. I'd also like to say my style is much more geometric fractals than it is mandala. A lot of people find these interchangeable but...they're really much different. (RED. FLAG. #4). I genuinely did not see that coming. Maybe I'm wrong to say, but this was negligent in my opinion and experience. A sleeve design ensures that your finished piece flows, that it works together, you can see the whole picture, modify, etc. Especially with it being an addition to my existing work. Cannot stress how much of a red flag.

I'm wigging out at this point. I don't love them but I want this tattoo. I'm going back and forth thinking, "maybe it's just because the shading isn't filled in I can't picture it." (MISTAKE #6: trust your gut!!!). I tell her OK well I like this about this one and that about that one. She only nods and listens, where I was expecting feedback; perhaps an "OK well we can draw it on" or "I can rework it" etc. She didn't and I am too paralyzed to speak up. (Red flag #4)

Mistake #7: I accept it at this point. I pick between the two. She has to go resize it. I'm having a literal internal freak out and battle. I am someone who DOES NOT know how to speak up for themselves. In any way. EVER. For any reason. At any time. I am a fear based individual, in fact, I am nearly certain I have APD (avoidant personality disorder) and it effects me severely and deeply. To the point that simply speaking to someone can be hard for me.

But my brain was screaming you cannot do this! You aren't sure! This is for life! It's your body!! You HAVE to say something! (RED fucking alert)

She came back with the one design resized and my heart is thumping, my chest is constricting, the throat feels like it's closing. I make myself say it. I tell her I don't think this is what I'm looking for. I literally almost busted into tears trying to say it because I was so fucking terrified and overwhelmed. I've never been in a position where I genuinely wasn't sure whether I liked what I was looking at. She says you don't need to be sorry you should speak up this is your body. So immediately, I lost a lot of tension because of her kindness. I thought she would be angry or rude or upset, just because I'm fearful. She proceeded to kind of go in and shade in with a pencil on the stencil to give me a better idea and apologized that she should have had that prepared. I continue asking questions to assuage my concerns and feel....better....ish. she offers to redraw and reschedule but I went against my gut, gave into my desperacy to continue my sleeve, dismissed my feelings as being just my typical overexertion of fear and did something I NEVER do: turn my back on my instincts. (Mistake. Mistake #8)

She was pleasant and I genuinely enjoyed her, felt comfortable with her which is not something I can say about previous artists and that's a good chunk of why I decided to continue. I liked her, I liked her other work I've seen, I just thought that once the stippling was in that I'd see it was really nice. However, I am laying there and I'm like I do not feel poking, which is literally how dotwork is done. Dot by dot. I'd feel her do the tiniest bit of dot-dot-dot and I'm like OK OK I'm just not paying full attention and missing it. But then I'd hear and feel her shading- standard shading. I'm like why is she using a shading tip? I'm just confused honestly. I'm like I have no idea what the could be for, just assume it's necessary for something I didn't realize. But I can see because I'm laying and my arms at a weird angle.

I finally get a peek while she's pausing and its....not dotwork. It's not dotwork at all, in fact. It's too late at this point in my eyes. It was only partially done but what am I gonna do? Stop her in the middle and have an unfinished tattoo? And then what? (Try to) go to someone else to have them do dotwork and have a half unmatching tattoo? There was nothing I could do. So I resigned and accepted this as the consequences of my actions and ill choices. And that's honestly been the hardest part to deal with: I let this happen to myself because I could not speak up. The only person who could have stopped this was ME. And I could not do it. That's how deeply my issues of fear run. And that is terrifying, pathetic, sad.

I'm not saying I got the world's ugliest tattoo. It's okay. Just okay. In the words of RuPaul, meh. I don't want meh. I want astounding. And I didn't do what I needed to to make that happen or not happen.

I just have been in awe over the fact that I asked for dotwork and the artist expressed no concern over this, literally had my existing tattoo right above where they were working and continued to not emulate that style of shading at all. Most of this is my fault, 90% of it. But there was negligence on the artists side and I genuinely don't think they meant it to be. I just don't think they had enough experience, but they too should have spoke up if they didn't feel they could carry it out. They gave me no inclination that they could not or would not be doing dotwork. At any point. And I do feel upset that I don't think they put in the effort or care to work off my existing tattoo in their design, and in looking back, their design also does not look nearly anything like the designs I gave for example. It was my job to walk away and request a redesign or to cancel and I didn't. So in the end this is on me. And it has been very taxing on my mental state.

To end this shit show: the tattoo I just got costed half of what my first one did, while only having taking the fraction of time as my first and being less then half the size of my first. It is not nearly as clean, it certainly reflects their level of experience. The shop environment was not fantastic: it felt a bit like as if I had walked into a chain restaurant...but a tattoo shop. There were no private rooms, there were no tattoo chairs. They were literal stools and that's not...not professional or normal. And I chose to continue.

I'm faced with some really tough decisions moving forward. I am at least thankful it is relatively small ish and wraps towards my inner arm which makes it less visible. But I'm at a crossroads of whether I go through the whole mess of trying to find a FOURTH artist to try and finish my sleeve the way it was meant to be finished (dotwork, whole sleeve design etc) and make the best of it at the risk of having a fucking patchwork arm. Or I continue to work with this artist and see the design through myself (literally design it myself which I didn't want to do but it doesn't appear that I should leave this to them), so that at least the remainder of my arm is consistent shading and work.

And because I've made it sound like the tattoo is atrocious, be assured it's not trash by any means. It's just not what I wanted. Big sis learned a big lesson.

(the immediate center is bothering me the most. But I think it can be altered. Nonetheless. The skill/experience level shows, unfortunately. And you can certainly see the difference between the stipple shading on my first tattoo and the regular shading on the new one.)

I am trying to be positive and that's all I can do. I accept the results and I think it can be fixed to a certain extent, and I can only hope as I move forward that I make the right decision and that the end product is something I enjoy.

#aye aye aye children #it was a big lesson is all i can say #genuinely helped to get all this out #i was able to identify my biggest stressor of this whole experience which is a disappointment in myself first and foremost #but i have hope #and it will be okay #as my dear anon reminded me tis but a bump in the road #sorry for the huge ass rant but i have been having the worst anxiety over it and i do feel a lot better #and i am glad to get this off my chest and move on #it's like a resolution to move forward now #deep breath! :-)

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queenk00k · 4 years ago

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but what if we were pure gold all along? jj maybank (chapter 2)

Summary: After the assumed death of their best friend, the Pogues are falling apart at the seams. With Pope and Kiara getting closer and JJ left with nowhere to go, he finds himself left to his own devices. Feeling lost and rejected, his luck seems to turn when he meets Scarlett - a Kook who doesn’t treat him like shit and has an affinity for partying. JJ gets sucked into her world as she promises to help him forget.

How much longer can he keep running from his demons? And what happens when he starts sharing a bed with one?

Warnings: graphic depictions of violence, child abuse, angst, sexual content, drug use, underage drinking.

Author’s note: Hi all, this is my multi-chapter fic I’ve been working on. My oneshots & Rafe series have taken off so I thought it was time to share this one too. Let me know what you think!

Word count: 1.9K

PROLOGUE

CHAPTER 1

the one where those damn kooks are charming when they want to be

JJ had never really gotten used to a beating. He knew when to expect one, based off Luke’s mood when he got home, the glint in his eye, the way his tone changed when he spoke to him. Thanks to being scared shitless of his dad for the majority of his childhood, JJ was well attuned to the subtleties of other people’s emotions. Silver lining, he figured. Means he always knew when the other Pogues were pissed at him without them saying anything, always knew when Rafe was looking for a fight.

Didn’t make having the crap kicked out of him any more enjoyable.

“You think I wasn’t going to find out you stole from me, you stupid boy?” Luke spits his words as if they were venom, standing over JJ who’s clutching his stomach in pain on the floor.

JJ looks up at his father, jaw clenched. “I was helping John B, Dad! I thought you’d be happy I was screwing over the cops! We didn’t know about the storm!”

JJ quickly comes to realise that was the wrong thing to say.

Luke’s eyes are aflame with rage, his stare boring holes into JJ as his dad hoists him up by the front of his shirt and slams him into the wall, fists clenched around the cheap cotton.

“Happy?! Boy, nothing about you makes me happy.”

A punch to JJ’s gut.

“You cost me thousands –“

Another blow, this time to his jaw.

“- spend your life doing fuck all except smoking weed-“

JJ attempts to throw Luke off him but the older man is stronger, despite clearly being drunk out of his mind, and he slams JJ back against the wall, knocking a picture onto the hardwood floor in the process.

“And now you’ve stolen from me, you ungrateful, worthless piece of shit!”

Luke slams his fist into the side of JJ’s head and his father’s red face, contorted with rage, is the last thing JJ sees before he falls, unconscious, onto the floorboards.

When JJ comes to, head pounding, he blinks his eyes open slowly and raises his hand to the side of his face. He brings his fingers away from his cheek shakily, notices they’re sticky with blood, touches his lip gingerly and realises that’s split and swollen too.

JJ grunts and moves to roll onto his back before attempting to get up.

Attempting the operative word, as a searing pain in his side forces him to lay back down briefly, hissing at the pain.

Great, he thinks. He’s really done a number on me this time.

JJ lays there for a few moments, staring up at the slightly dilapidated ceiling of the Chateau, listening for any telltale signs Luke was still in the vicinity. He wouldn’t be surprised if Luke stuck around to lay down another beating but he’s grateful for the silence that confirms he’s been left alone once again.

After a few shaky breaths, JJ finally finds the courage to stand to his feet, wincing at the soreness in his body and making a mental note to find an icepack somewhere in the kitchen. Kiara used to be the one to look after him when he showed up at the Chateau after disappearing for days, her gentle touch calming him more than he liked to admit, soothing his bruises and making him feel like someone gave a shit about him.

JJ swallows thickly. He wishes Kiara was here now.

JJ scoffs at the thought and the feeling of tenderness dissipates as quickly as it appears, replaced by the more familiar feeling of bitterness that rises up like bile.

Resigning to the fact that he won’t see Kiara for a very long time because she doesn’t want to see him (conveniently forgetting that it’s not like she has that much choice in the matter), JJ sighs heavily and makes his way down the hall.

JJ ignores the feeling of complete desperation and confusion as he enters his old, dead friend’s kitchen and opens the fridge, silently praying the cops at least had the decency to leave their beer alone.

For the first time in a few weeks, something’s gone his way and JJ cracks open a Budweiser, letting himself smile ever so slightly.

He’s surprised he remembers how.

Drinking alone is never as fun as you think it is.

JJ’s sprawled out on the steps of the porch at 1am, beer bottles surrounding him like a shrine, his Zippo the only form of light in an otherwise unusually dark night.

Suddenly, JJ gets the overwhelming urge to take his bike and ride it across the island to Figure 8.

Never mind that he’s drunk, never mind that he knows he’ll find his way back to places that painfully remind him of his friends, and never mind that by taking the risk of going to the other side of the island he could run into a Kook.

Maybe JJ was looking for a fight tonight.

Before he’s had a chance to think rationally (but when does he ever?), JJ is speeding through the streets of Figure 8, past big Kook houses and Kook golf courses, struggling to keep his bike straight as his vision blurs.

He’s doing reasonably well at staying on the road for someone of his inebriated state, and he’s honestly pretty impressed with himself, enjoying the feeling of the warm wind whipping through his hair.

That is, until he realises he’s going past the Crain house and he sees Rose Cameron’s face on a placard and he’s filled with overwhelming rage and he’s distracted and all of a sudden the bike swerves off the road.

JJ panics and makes a futile attempt to straighten up again, but its too late and he skids off the road and is catapulted into a thicket of trees.

JJ groans and pats himself down, checking that he still has all of his necessary limbs. He breathes deeply and squeezes his eyes shut.

Typical, he thinks.

JJ plans to stay lying on the side of the road for the rest of the night, if he’s honest with himself, before a girl’s voice snaps him out of his reverie.

“You know you’re supposed to keep the bike upright, don’t you?”

JJ opens one eye to see someone, a Kook, standing over him. She’s slender and dressed in a white sundress, the contrast stark against her tanned skin, her dark hair tied back in a braid.

JJ huffs. “What do you care, Kook?”

The girl crouches down and looks at his battered face, wincing. It’s not the usual disdain JJ is used to – he thinks he can actually see some pity reflected in her features.

“You look like shit, what happened?”

“Leave me – wait, do I know you from somewhere?”

JJ knows he’s a good friend, but sometimes it feels like he’s loyal to a fault.

That’s how he finds himself in the middle of a Kook nightmare, pressed against rich assholes dressed in designer clothes, all for the annual Midsummers party.

JJ’s walking around the perimeter of the country club, looking over his shoulder for Rafe and his henchmen and cursing John B under his breath for putting himself in this situation in the first place.

He’s needing to pretend to be a waiter, so JJ is absentmindedly picking up empty glasses as he goes, feeling grateful he hasn’t had to speak to someone yet.

That is, of course, until he almost trips over a figure crouched down on the patio.

“Woah, you trying to kill me?”

JJ looks down and sees a girl in a black dress, bending down, her fingers wrapped around the neck of a vodka bottle.

“Can I point out that you’re the one in my way? This is a tripping hazard.”

The brunette girl rolls her eyes and gives JJ the finger, but he can tell its not malicious.

“I’ll make you a deal, Pogue.”

JJ widens his eyes in panic. Cover blown.

The girl chuckles. “I know you’re a Pogue. I’m drunk, not stupid. Plus, don’t think I haven’t seen you around at the boneyard.”

JJ hates that he wants to flirt with her, and he clears his throat. “What’s your deal?”

“I won’t tell the Camerons you’re here, practically committing fraud, and you won’t snitch to the country club that I stole their top shelf vodka to spice up my evening.”

JJ’s mildly impressed. “I guess we’re both criminals,” he replies and moves to walk away, before turning back briefly. “I didn’t catch your name.”

The girl smiled mysteriously. “Unimportant.”

“Yeah. You nearly tripped over me at Midsummers,” the girl replies, holding her hand out for JJ to take, which he does, and helps him onto his feet.

JJ attempts to dust himself off. “Do I get to know your name now?”

She smiles. “I’m Scarlett. You’re JJ, right?”

JJ nods. “How’d you know?”

“I know some people that know you, but it’s unimportant. I’m sorry about your friend.”

JJ doesn’t want to talk about John B, least of all with a Kook. “Right, well, I best get going,” he says as he turns towards his bike, dreading the ride back to the Chateau.

Scarlett looks at him incredulously. “You look nasty as fuck.”

“Thanks,” JJ responds bitterly.

Scarlett rolls her eyes. “You didn’t let me finish. Let me take you back to mine, help you clean up a bit.”

Then, sensing the hesitation in JJ, she adds “At least let me give you bandaid or something, and you can do it yourself if you’re so tough.”

JJ figures there’s no harm in using someone’s supplies, especially a Kook’s, and it’s not like he can go home to anyone else.

He shrugs. “Sure, whatever, thanks.”

After Scarlett convinces JJ his bike will be just fine hidden at the Crain property (the Camerons have more pressing issues at the moment, Scarlett tells him, her voice catching), they make their way to Scarlett’s house.

It’s the biggest and most impressive house he’s ever been in, and JJ can’t help but feel extremely uncomfortable at the thought of stepping into a Kook’s home.

“Where are your parents?” He asks, as Scarlett rummages around in her drawers for first aid supplies, his arms folded over his chest.

“They’re out,” she replies simply, and brandishes cream and bandaids at him. “Are you going to let me do this for you?”

JJ furrows his brow and snatches the supplies from her outstretched hand.

“I’m good, thanks. I can do it myself.”

Scarlett nods and sits down at the edge of her bed in silence, as JJ clumsily cleans his cuts, face scrunched in pain as it stings. He successfully places the last bandaid and looks at Scarlett, who hasn’t said another word.

“I, uh – thanks, I guess,” JJ says awkwardly, placing his hands in his pockets. “I should go.”

Scarlett looks at her phone at the time, 3:30am, and shakes her head.

“You can stay here, it’s late and I have a feeling you’re not quite up to the ride home.”

JJ panics, eyes wide, and resorts back to guarded defensiveness. “I’m not sleeping here. I don’t even know you.”

Scarlett sighs. “You didn’t seem to have an issue with that when you came home with me. Look, you can sleep on my couch,” she says as she gestures towards the plush couch in the corner of her large bedroom.

JJ huffs. Kooks, he thinks, but he nods reluctantly.

It’s the feeling of overwhelming loneliness, coupled with the fact that someone actually cared about him, that leads JJ to spend the night sleeping on a Kook’s couch.

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guigz1-coldwar · 3 years ago

Text

'Overlord: Cold War' new chapter is out!

Chapter Summary: Feeling obliged to follow Adler in his mission, Zasha enlisted Yirina's help and now, both are preparing what they need...

To read it on AO3, click here!

Taglist: @snowgoldwaylon , @clxudtea , @efingart

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3rd June 1984, at the end of the afternoon

Zasha Smirnov, once known as 'Bell, MI6

Zasha's apartment in London, England

We didn't take too much time to left Century House and to go prepare the necessary at our respective places for the mission I was now obliged to participate with Adler but strangely, Grigoriev insisted to accompany me to my apartment instead of going to hers first, saying that she wanted to see how my place was looking by curiosity and not wanting to separate ourselves for the time being and obviously, I accepted to let her follow me before we could head to her place.

I was now walking all around my apartment to gather what I wanted to take with me for the mission: clothes, a bit of food, and some useful equipment that I was allowed to keep in my apartment including my pistol and a knife. All of that while Grigoriev was staying at the front door of the apartment, leaned against its frame, arms crossed as she was looking at me, doing my things.

"You know, you can enter instead of staying over there to look at me," I offered to her again that after doing it 5 minutes as I was starting to put everything inside a single black bag and as before, she shook her head to me.

"No, I prefer to stay here," She stated, her eyes wandering around the living room.

"Says the one who wanted to see how my place was looking," I scoffed in a fake positive voice, putting my hands on the few clothes that I was going to take with me. "It was you that said that you wanted to have a closer look," I added.

"I can take a look inside without having to step in further," She said before a little silence moved in between us, her staying at the door while I was filling up the bag with my things. "Is that an urn?" She asked, getting my attention on her as she was pointing out something that was posted on the dresser of the living room.

"Yeah...Dedov," I whispered, looking at it and stopping to walk to it. "Been 3 years now, I'm planning soon to return it to Russia," I explained to her my goal with it but even with the mission Adler asked me to come with and that Kastovia was one of the numerous Soviet Republic until last year, I couldn't take it with me. "I hate myself for what I did that day,"

"Why that?" She demanded, sounding curious.

"Because I'm the one who pulled the trigger," I replied in a low voice, moving away from the urn to leave it be and going back to make my bag. "It was stopping him or letting him kill everyone, I couldn't let that happen," I continued, holding my things harshly in an urge to not break down in front of her, just to think of that day. "And I was stupid enough to let someone else die by my fault," I whispered, my voice rising.

"I'm sorry, Zasha," She apologized to me, thinking that she shouldn't have asked that...yeah, she shouldn't have.

"Let's not talk about this now," I ordered, closing my bag after I was done with my things before taking it with me in my hands. "Now, we can go," I exclaimed with a normal face, passing my hand through my eyes to clean the few tears that came.

I walked towards the front door where Grigoriev let me pass by going in the big hallway outside, giving me the space to take a last look inside my apartment before I closed the door, and then, locked it with my keys, still getting watched by her in my moves. Then, we walked out of the building to get to her own car as she was the one who was driving. I installed it on the front left passenger seat and her in the driving seat before we headed off the place.

"I'm curious to see how is your apartment," I spoke up to her as the car was stopped at a red light under the heavy rain of London but she didn't respond to me. "Grigoriev, did you hear me?" I asked her as she was looking outside, a blank stare on her face.

"Yes, I did," She simply replied before she could drive, the redlight becoming a green one.

"So, why aren't you...saying something about it?" I demanded to her, looking at her with curiosity.

"Because I don't have an apartment," She responded to me, making my eyes go wide at her, surprised to hear that, and with her using a normal voice, it was more troubling. "This car...this is my home," She added, shocking me as if my blood was frozen in place.

"You...you're sleeping in your car...what...why?" My voice was really following my state right now, my eyes looking in front of me.

"It's been 2 months now...since Park left," She answered, her right hand on the steering wheel, the other on her lap while the car was heading towards the airport direction. "I'm sleeping on the backseat under Century House, I ain't enjoying the comfort of a good place," She continued, sounding harsh & sad about it. "It's not because I became an MI6 agent that my paycheck isn't helping at all, life is really a piece of shit, right?"

"I...I didn't know that, I could have let you live with me, you know," I suggested, meaning it for real.

"No, I don't want it, that couldn't have helped me at all," She refused it, shaking her head and slowly tapping on the steering wheel with her right fingers in her fingerless gloves. "As you see now, life isn't really peaceful as I thought, I did also went through shit and I still am," She clarified as she was looking to not cry at all costs.

"Listen, Grigo-..."

"You ain't the only one who's suffering here," She cut me in my words, staying focused on the road after she turned off the radio with her left hand. "I thought that I would be free but not a goddamn second, I'm feeling actually free,"

"And you think that I'm not feeling the same thing?" I asked her, seeming offended by her words. "Our own lives went to shit after something bad happened, that's why we're here...still suffering," I told her, watching outside my window, holding my head with my hands.

"Each other, we want to know what happened to the other one but I don't want to talk about it and you don't want to talk about it, ain't helping," She implored, referring to the fact that we never actually talked about the reasons we defected. "Let's start with you: why did you defect?"

"I don't want to talk about it," I mumbled, not wanting to put on the line what happened to me, I already suffered enough.

"See? We're staying silent about it...After all, maybe we should shut our mouths about it," She proposed and by my instincts, I nodded to that, at least agreeing to not talk about it anymore. "The CIA guy...you seem to know him well by what I heard from him, how?"

"He's an old friend," I lied to her, fainting a good voice. "I...let's just say that he needed me for a service and I couldn't let him down," I put myself deeper into a lie.

"About the mission? And by that, why aren't you letting me see the file?" She asked me that as she was also curious about it.

"Adler said that the file wasn't filled up with everything, said that he would talk about it when we are at our destination," I continued to lie about it, unable to talk about it without mentioning Park as she could freak out if she sees that name in the file. "Everyone would be put aware of it, don't worry," I reassured her.

"Yeah, we'll see about that," She stuttered, giving me a look with her eyes before she went back on the road, letting the silence come back between us.

The rest of the drive stayed very silent, no one willing to open their mouths to make a new conversation in fear of getting ourselves talking about something that we don't want to talk about and get angry about it, I was still completely shocked that this car...was where she was now used to live, not having an apartment despite she was here longer than me in England, a year prior me but damn...she was living in that car...

That troubling thought stayed in me for the rest of the drive until we arrived at the airport, Grigoriev parking the car in an isolated place before we left the car, taking my bag on the backseat as Grigoriev was going to open the car trunk, taking what she needed as she let me go join Adler that was waiting for us and to say, he was easy to find under the rain of London, staying near a private plane without any umbrella to cover himself, the plane ready to take off near one of the main runways, the door opened for us.

"Zasha," He was the first one to speak as I was arriving under the rain, my hair getting wet pretty quick, with my bag in my hands. "I'm glad that you came,"

"I didn't have many choices," I stated as he was offering his hand to me but...no, I wasn't going to do it for him.

"Come on, kid," He insisted, still handing over his hand but I stayed normal, not breaking to shake his hand and it took him several seconds to resign himself, removing his hand. "Well, if you don't want to, I'll not insist,"

"Yeah, ain't something that you did years ago," I proclaimed, a deadly glare taking over my face at him.

"No, don't start about it, it was the past," He ordered, using a very serious voice towards me, even raising his finger at me.

"People don't forget, nothing is forgiven," I claimed to him, still having a hatred for him for what he did, sometimes still seeing myself on that cliffside, unable to stop it to happen.

"Is that one of your friends?" He demanded, his finger pointing at something behind me and I turned around to see Grigoriev with a simple bag in her hands, a hood over her head as she was arriving near us. "Hi, I'm Russell Adler," He presented himself to her, offering his hand for a shake.

"Yirina Grigoriev, Grigoriev for you," She mumbled in annoyance, not even paying attention at him and she passed through us, already getting inside the plane with my eyes all wide and Adler, looking pissed off as she was disappearing inside.

"Who is this?" He asked me.

"Someone whose life isn't easy like me," I replied to him before I decided to go inside, walking on the little stairs before stopping myself to look at Adler who was confused at hearing this. "Welcome to the normal world, Adler," I told him in a clear voice, stating that our life couldn't be in color every day unlike him and his 'success' in the CIA.

I walked inside the plane where I could see Grigoriev, sit down away from the others as it was only her, I & Adler in the plane along with the pilots, and I decided to not bother her for the moment, installing myself in a seat that wasn't too close to her, near the door I just used to enter the plane and putting my bag under my seat.

Adler, looking like he wanted to talk, got sit in front of me but I wasn't in the mood anymore to talk with him, wanting only now to take a little rest and I even had to show him that I didn't want to be bothered any further: not looking at him, outside the porthole of the plane, crossing my arms and leaning myself comfy in my seat and thankfully for me, he was convinced to go away from me, leaving me finally alone with my thoughts, now trying to stay silent and close my eyes....

He would never leave me to live a normal life for once...

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

29th July 1981

Zasha Smirnov, once known as Bell, MI6

Saint-Paul Cathedral, London, England

"Hands up, Dedov!" I took out the gun of my jacket to point it at him, a pain in the chest to see him hereafter having watched all over the cathedral for the morning to search for Stitch or Dedov. His reaction was to spin around and look at me, his face going down.

"You shouldn't be here, Zasha," He said, staying very calm in his voice and gestures.

"You know I have to be, I can't let you do this," I told him, my fingers getting near the trigger without touching it. "Please, Dede, you can stop..."

"Don't call me like that," He cut me in, sending chills inside my body at the voice he used. "I'm not your Dede anymore," He added before he revealed in his hands a small detonator.

"Drop it," I ordered, taking a step forwards but he holds the device up, giving me a clear sight of it.

"No, after what you did but we can go home," He snapped, trying to stay calm at me, seeing his face in anger. "Come back home with me,"

"I'm not following you, you're the one following me, you need to stay here, Dedov, it's my only chance," I stated as inside of me, it was painful to point that gun at my own brother, the only person I couldn't lose and I was aiming a gun at him.

"How could you? Perseus was taking care of us, building a new world but you threw us away, threw me away!" He almost shouted in the room we were, starting to aim my gun down slightly as his hands were shaking

"I tried to get you back but you kept running, you can't say that," I insisted, remembering the time I saw him fleeing away from me like that, without any remorse.

"Maybe but you were too late for that," Dedov sighed before he flips the cap of the detonator open "Your consciousness is maybe back but is your mind has followed or was it stolen by the Americans or the British?"

"Zasha, I'm coming," I heard a voice in my ear before it went off, not taking care of it.

"You were blinded, getting corrupted by their system," Dedov tried to convince me of it, giving me a deadly glare.

"And by unleashing Nova-6, it will fix it?" I raised my voice against him as the sounds of people down there were getting heard loudly. "Innocents are going to die, that's what you want?"

"That doesn't matter," He answered, shaking his head again as his finger was near the red button of the detonator.

"Don't do this, Dedov, please," I ordered, my hands almost starting to tremble as the impossible was surely going to happen now. "Don't make me do this, please," I continued in my pleas, feeling tears in my eyes as he wasn't stopping as a loud voice was echoing in the cathedral, the priest's one.

"This is the only way!" Dedov said in a low voice, making me close my eyes, not wanting to see it.

"Zed!" I heard someone shout my name before I heard 3 gunshots in the room in rapid succession.

I couldn't know what happened but...I pulled the trigger of my gun in fear, filled with sadness inside of me. The sounds that I heard was covered by the sounds of the crowd below us, roaring & cheering for the royal couple as my eyes didn't want to get opened again, not wanting to see what I have done before I resigned to do so, seeing the detonator sliding on the floor...Dedov..on the ground...

"Zasha?" His voice was sounding calm as his left hand was holding his bloodied chest, the other one releasing on the ground a pistol, seeing the smoke out of it but I wasn't wounded...

"Hey, hey...it's okay," I quickly moved to get to him, put him slightly on my lap. "You're going to be okay," I affirmed, starting to hold pressure with him on his wound, his head in my arms.

"I'm sorry, Zasha," He breathed in pain, looking at me with eyes that were crying.

"It's...it's my fault..." I chuckled, my eyes crying with him.

"No, don't...don't blame yourself, it's okay," He wanted to reassure me as the blood couldn't stop even with what I was doing, his moves getting slower. "I'm sorry, Zeze...I love you..." His voice was getting lower and lower at each word before his eyes went away, slowly shutting down. "I'm a monster...I love you..." He snorted before...his eyes were closed, his body going limp in my arms.

"I'm sorry, I love you too," I closed my eyes in shame for what I did, putting Dedov's head on the ground gently as the pain in my chest was going high, impossible for me to be normal.

"Hey...Zed..." A voice got up behind me before I could see Lazar himself in his suit...holding the left side of his neck...and traces of blood on his suit.

"No!" I panicked when I saw the blood on him, realizing quickly that Dedov shot at him & not me, Lazar came...but as I was starting to move to get to Lazar that he fell on his knees, looking at the ground.

"You...you're a good person, Zasha..." Lazar chuckled as I was moving my hands on his neck wound, seeing the blood coming out despite the pressure he was putting on it with his hands. "Truly...one of ours...as always..." He told me.

"You're going to get help, Lazar, don't give up," I tried to reassure him too before his body went back, making me move quickly to not let him down. "Stay with me, Laz'" I almost shouted like the roaring & cheering below was continuing.

"Tell Park...no...keep...a eye on her...she..." He breathed before his eyes went to look up at the ceiling, taking a deep breath as the blood was getting on his suit, too much to be stopped, getting around us. "I'm sorry...Park..." He said with a little smile on his face before his eyes went back on me...keeping his smile. "Keep an eye on her...please...Zasha..." He took a deep breath again before his eyes closed, his hands not doing anything, his whole body going limp.

"Laz...LAZAR!" I shouted in the room, in pain, all the tears of my body were coming out, having lost today...2 persons that I couldn't lose in the same room.

I stayed like this, unable to move my body when I saw Park arriving in the room, running and when she saw me...Dedov...Lazar, she was...unable to speak, her eyes seeing the darkness of what happened before she fell on her knees too, in shock, looking at me, at Lazar & Dedov, tears on her face...unable to speak and starting to cry with me, looking down at the ground as I was looking at my both hands, both bloodied....both...having Lazar's & Dedov's blood on them...

I couldn't be the same again...I lost my friend & my brother...their blood on my hands...

#cod bocw #cod cold war #cod black ops cold war #cod cw #call of duty cold war #cod #call of duty #cod bell #black ops cold war #zasha smirnov #yirina grigoriev #russell adler

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chimswae · 4 years ago

Text

BTS Caretaker CH33

Summary: She may think she has Bangtan Sonyeondan wrapped around her fingers. She may think it is easy to love the members equally without hurting any soul. She may think the boys wont fall head over heels for her. She assumes it is okay to show a little love and affection towards the boys, what if she gets it all wrong? What if it only brings more complication to her already complicated life? Can she survive their charms? Will she be able to resist them? What if they just wont let her go?

- Pairing: BTS x Oc ( Yoongi x OC, Jungkook x OC)

- Genre: Fluff, Slight Angst, Romance, Idol!au

- Word Count: 3,595

- Author Note: There is a small text exchange between Seul and Jin in this chapter, so i put the text up.

Previous | Next

Chapter 33

“Seul, what is the matter? Why with the sudden notice?” Wongeun placed the letter down on his lap, expelling a long sigh. Once again hesitation ripped off the confidence that she had earlier. She had given this into a thought, even Jin would give her a call without fail despite not being there physically by her side. Ever since her encounter with Mr Kwon, she had never seen him lingered around the shop. God knows, when he decided to make his appearance again.

Wongeun snapped his fingers to bring back her attention to him “Am I talking to wall? Is there something that I must know? You are a little off these days” Seul smiled meekly adding to his suspicion.

“It is nothing. I think mother needs me by her side. Her health is deteriorating, it is best to pay more attention on her” she lied. It was an established fact that she quit after finding out the truth about Mr Kwon.

She needed to- no, she must stay away from him as far as possible.

“Seul.. if this is about your mother, you know we can help you. You don’t have to resign” he reasoned.

“Oppa, I think it is about time to focus on something that is more important in my life. I have nothing against this place, hell I have been working for two years with you. It is not easy for me too, but I hope you understand” her cold lips emitted a heavy sigh. She looked at him sadly “Please?” Wongeun leaned back in his seat.

He was morose and kept his mouth shut making her anxious for no reason. “It is hard to let you go Seul. You are a good employee and a good friend of mine. Just so you know, the door is opened for you anytime. Hit me up, and you can get that apron of yours back” he lightens up the mood earning a small chuckle from the girl.

“Thank you oppa, I know I can trust you with this. Don’t worry I will come to visit once in awhile to check on you guys” Wongeun said quickly “And to buy a box brownies” she laughed softly.

“Yes, a box of brownies. I will never forget you, for all the things that you did for me. So, thank you again” Wongeun shook his head and eyed the girl closely. “Don’t sound like we are not meeting each other anymore. Seul just don’t-“ a voice spread across the room, pausing the conversation that they had.

“It is stated in the contract; all employee must give two months’ notice before resigning”

That voice again. Seul’s breath hitched when his eyes laid on her, scrutinizing her from head to toes.

Why is he here? She mentally groaned in dissatisfaction.

Surprised by their manager sudden appearance, Wongeun stood up almost immediately and bowed politely “ Sir, I didn’t know you will be coming today” he murmured while giving an eye signal to Seul demanding her to greet the important person in front of them.

She rose from her feet with so much reluctance didn’t want to appear suspicious, so she gave the old man a little bow without sparing any look at him.

Dressed in navy blue suit, he had round dark shades to cover that two pair of evil eyes which she hated the most. Not long after, he took off his shades, keeping it inside his pocket with an unreadable expression “ Miss Ji, your resignation letter is invalid. I will not accept it. Draft a new one as an advance notice, you may leave the job in two months” his voice was mocking her, to flaunt his power that he had on her.

Seul’s jaw tightened, letting the anger sipping in “I don’t remember having that kind of terms in the contract?” she snapped.

A mischievous smirk spread across his face “ Keep the job for two more months or pay the penalty, your call” Wongeun blinked confusedly sensing the tension in the air as though these two were playing with fire, getting ready to throw it at each other.

“I will pay the penalty fees” said Seul confidently.

“I reckon you can afford those fees. It may cost you fortune. I suggest the first option anyway” the tone of his voice was so snobbish making her fuming in anger. She pondered upon this matter again. If she insists on quitting the job and pay the penalties, where to find the money?

As much as she wanted to seek help from Jin, that sounded impossible. This would only make her to appear like a gold digger. She was not that desperate.

She couldn’t believe it with her ears that after so many years, he still had the audacity to pull such threat on her. This simply means she had to put up with him for two more months before freed herself from this evil lair. How was it possible to survive that?

“Miss Ji, I am waiting” he tapped his finger on his branded wrist watch.

“Fine, I will hand in the new notice tomorrow” Wongeun sent her an apologetic glance considering he didn’t have much say in this. He too didn’t understand why Mr Kwon seemed so interested in this business recently. All these years, he never showed up and would contact Wongeun occasionally through phone call.

Something is fishy, he thought.

“Good. Enjoy your last two months here, you never know what awaits you” those last sentences sent chill down her spin. You never know what awaits you, it rung inside her head in loop. She couldn’t simply forget it just because it came from the nastiest human being alive, Evil Kwon.

Without wasting any more seconds to breathe the same dirty air as his, Seul excused herself to tend her job. Wongeun watched her back leaving the scene with a heavy heart. There were unanswered questions inside his head that need to be answered soon.

Satisfied with his successful plan in keeping the girl under his radar, he was ready to leave. “I want her letter by hand and she must submit it to me personally. Tell her to come to my house tomorrow, I will be working from home” he ordered.

Wongeun nodded, trying to be optimist since the older man made Seul to submit her notice all way to his house without any solid reason. How odd was that?

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

Two more days till home. Just two freaking days, then he could recharge back the energy in him. He already missed his odeng and eomuk though, for the time being Seul would be keeping those two cuties with her during his absence.

Jin decided to laze around a bit considering the practice for their concert tomorrow had taken almost 13 hours of his time straight without break. He plopped himself on the comfy king-sized hotel bed and expelling a tired sigh. Massaging his aching shoulder, he released another loud grunt not liking the pain that took over his body.

His roommates, Jungkook and Namjoon were out to get food with Jimin. As soon as they reached their hotel, he went straight to his room without wasting more time outside. Jin prioritized his sleeps more than anything. He fished out his phone from his pocket and decided to text Seul again.

He bit his lower lips muffling the small chuckle from his mouth. Nowadays, the mere thought of Seul became the source of strength in him. Even though this feeling that he had for her started way back then, but he’s too afraid to admit it.

Someone needs a love counselling session.

Joyfully, his fingers moved swiftly against the screen and typed a quick hi to Seul.

Damn, why is he like this?

Seul was reading his last message and her eyes flew open in surprised to see his name appeared on the screen. Jin’s quick reflex was no joke, he acted as if Seul was at the brink of death. Giving Seul no time to process, Jin bombarded her with questions which almost knocked her sense out from her body.

“Where are you meeting him? With who??

“Are you by any chance alone?”

“Don’t tell me your best friend refuse to follow you there!”

“Seul don’t go! It is dangerous! The last time you’re breathing in the same room as his, he almost ripped your dress apart. Goodness woman!”

“Geez Kim Seokjin. One at a time. Your words fly faster than bullets. I am alone, no, Hwasa is working. She can’t ditch her job because there’s only her and Sera working this shift. And, about the first question, I am heading to his home” Seul swore to god Jin’s high pitch yell could be heard miles away. This was the exact reason she didn’t want to tell him about her plan meeting the old man alone. Jin would react this way.

“YAH ARE YOU INSANE? DID YOU JUST OFFER YOURSELF TO THE EVIL MAN VOLUNTARILY? ABORT MISSION. RETURN. HOME. NOW!” he yelled angrily through the speaker earning a soft hiss from the latter.

“Are you mad?”

“No. I am so happy that you are now on your way meeting Mr Kwon, what a beautiful reunion!” his sarcastic remark sounded so Min Suga. When she thought about it again, they must be spending too much times together as a roommate.

Seul snorted “I know but like I have a choice. I just need to submit this and once this reach him, I will leave immediately. I will take care of myself Jin” her voice softened at the end. Her heart skipped weirdly at the attention that he showed to her, like when he sounded so protective over her it drove her wild heart to edge.

“I know you can take care of yourself, but I don’t trust him Seul. Think about this again? His threat is empty, about the penalty fees I can help-“ she blurted quickly before Jin could say more.

“I don’t want you to help me. This is an issue that I can solve by my own. I only need your morale support and I don’t need your money. Jin, I can handle him. I will contact you as soon as I am out from his house alright?” for some reason her assurance did not sound tempting to him at all. Jin didn’t feel good about this.

The end of the line fell into dead silence worrying the timid girl. Angry Jin was not pretty, and she knew it would lead to more harm than good. “Jin..” she called him out softly meting his heart.

Aish, how can I stay mad at you, woman. Jin rolled his eyes in annoyance.

“Under one condition, don’t hang up on me until I make sure he won’t do something inappropriate to you” she frowned and stopped in front of the beautiful bungalow house. For a second, the size of the house took her breath away but realizing who’s the owner of this property, she cringed in disgust.

“That is impossible. International call is expensive Kim Seokjin, are you mad?”

“I can afford that, just listen to me, will you?! Stop being so stubborn!” Seul sighed and glanced at her phone screen before pressing it back near her ears.

“Look, my battery barely survives this phone call Jin. I will call you as soon as I am done, it wont take long. If I didn’t get back in 15 minutes, you can reach Hoon and tell him my whereabouts” she suggested to ensure Jin wouldn’t make fuss over this again.

Jin paused for a second before responded “15 minutes is too long! Why do you need 15 minutes when you can just leave the letter at his doorstep and leave immediately?” as expected from Jin, he wouldn’t take things lightly.

“Every step that I take is more than one second you moron. To add to those delay is my hesitation, can you just spare my life for 15 minutes and reconsider my offer. Gosh, you are impossible!” she exclaimed.

“Ji Seul, I don’t like what you are doing” he scowled.

Seul rubbed her head, with a small sigh “Do you trust me?”

“I always trust you but not now. It is not a good idea, you still have time to change your mind and take off from there. I..just that- I am not there for you Seul. I don’t want anything happen to you” low murmurs could be heard clearly and Seul found herself smiling shyly. This different side of Jin always make her looking forward to spend more time with him in the future.

“I promise, I will be back in 15 minutes without scratch, can you wait for me till then?” she bit her lower lips nervously. Did she sound like she’s flirting with him? Why was she worried over her choices of words and tone of voice? This is sickening.

Jin finally gave in and nodded “15 minutes not more. If you don’t give me a call within that time, I am calling cops”

“Hoon” she corrected.

“Hoon has no gun, cops have one”

Seul whined “You are not calling the cops! I forbid you in doing so, just call Hoon” he chuckled softly picturing Seul’s pout in his head.

“Fine, Hoon”

“I have to go, I will be back in 15 minutes max alright?” she hung up without bidding a goodbye and annoyed the hell out of him. He glanced at the clock in fear, 15 minutes from now Seul must be out safely from that home.

Or else, Jin..

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

Entering the luxurious lavish home, her eyes scanned the interior admiring it along her way. The maid brought her to another wing of the house which she assumed where his office would be. Taking a deep breath, she dragged her heavy legs entering the office and not to forget thanking the maid before the woman disappeared from her sight.

“You made it” the old man tore his gaze from the pile of document in front of him to Seul. She wished how earth could just swallow her right now rather than being in the same room as his. Seul mustered her courage and approached the wooden table slowly, “I am here to submit my letter as you requested” placing the letter on the table, she took a step back.

“I will get going now” she mentally screamed to quickly exit the suffocating room and normalize her breathing. Mr Kwon smug, taking his time to say this one thing that could stop her from walking away through that door.

She reached for the door knob and before she could open the door, Seul heard him chucked lowly “I know what you are looking for. It is your biological father, right? What if…” he stood up from his leather swivel chair, walking stealthily towards Seul.

Her brows flinched as he continued “What if, I know who your real father is?” he minimized the gap between them.

Seul’s eyes shot open realizing what this man tried to offer her, “Wh-at… nonsense is that…” her eyes threw daggers as she backed away, pressing her back against the cold door. The older man cackled in delight watching how much power he had on Seul.

“Not nonsense, but I do know where to find your real father”

“I don’t trust you”

“Really? Did your mother ever tell you about your real father?” he brought his face closer to her, teasing the girl in process. Her lower lips quivered in fear “I know… he is one my father’s best friend” she held back her tears from hitting the ground.

He nodded “True, but have you seen any photo of him?”

“Why does it matter?!” she snapped.

“You have such a loud mouth, it could be used for better thing in the future” he rubbed his thumb over her lips only to be slapped away by Seul harshly. “Don’t touch me” she gritted her teeth in anger, feeling offended by his sexual remarks.

“Alright, I won’t touch you. But that won’t change the fact that I know where to find your real father” he tilted his head studying her expression. It was a mixture of pain and anger. “Your dad is closer than you think” he whispered in her ears.

Seul shook her head frantically “I will never listen to a bastard like you, stay the hell away from me” Mr Kwon let out a sarcastic laugh.

“Stay the hell away from you? Even blood can’t tear us apart Seul” he snorted. “I will spare you for now but remember, my arms always open for you in case you need me” he twisted the door knob, opening the door for her.

With one final glance, she scurried off the room using the last ounce of strength in her body afraid that the bipolar man might change his mind in the middle and decided to lock her up or kidnap her. Once she felt the cold wind hit her skin, she was relieved to survive the battle with demon inside.

Thinking about his words earlier, could it be true that he knew who’s his father. Hence, there was a chance for her to find him. She realized it was too early to put a trust on his word especially it came from Mr Kwon.

Seul still had her mother, she is the key to every questionable thing in her life.

If she could dig it from her mother, then she didn’t need Mr Kwon’s help. He wouldn’t do it for free, there’s always be an exchange of something every time people seal a deal with him.

Her loud ringtone brought her out of her trance, and she answered without even bother to look at the caller id “Seul! Thank god you are alive. Have you met him? Did he do something? Are you okay?” his panic voice rose from one octave to another.

“Nothing happen so can you calm down? Save your voice for tomorrow’s concert. I delivered the letter and leave before he could say anything” it was not the perfect time to tell Jin about the things in relation to her father. She would tell him when she’s sure Kwon’s words were not a mere bluff.

Jin disagreed “I can’t stay calm knowing you are with him! Don’t do that again. You are scaring me woman. Are you on your way home?” she hummed a soft yes and started walking.

“Then I will give you a company until you reach home” his crazy ideas made her smile.

“Don’t be silly, I am perfectly fine. Go to sleep Jin”

“This woman.. It is 9PM and you are sending me to bed already?”

Her nose scrunched up in annoyance “You have to wake up early tomorrow nevertheless, it is not a bad idea to sleep at this time” she defended her earlier statement.

“I am walking you home, that is my final decision! Now, how’s your day?” her eyes were rolled back digesting his cliché side, though deep down inside she could say this was a romantic gesture. With Jin’s soft voice rang in her ears along her journey back home, she feared nothing in this world.

His voice was gentle and soothing enough that it drove a part of the fear away.

With his voice, it shortens the distance to her home. Not to mention, every time she laughed at Jin’s silly dad jokes, half of her burdened were being lifted from her shoulder. Entering her building, she climbed the stairs tiredly unlocking the door. Kicking her shoes at the corner, she promised to clean it up the first thing when she woke up tomorrow. Seul hurried inside her room with Jin voice nagged in the background urging her to head to bed as soon as she reached home.

“Are you in your room?”

“Yes, Mr Kim. I am in my room” she threw her exhausted body on the bed, throwing arm over her head.

“Good, now get changed and rest. Text me a good night when you are done” Jin let out a soft chuckle.

“You are so demanding. Not even my boyfriend but you are acting like one” murmuring with eyes closed, she stretched a little.

He argued “I just walked you back home so appreciate me” Seul’s soft giggle tickled his heart. He sunk on his bed, laying on the cold mattress with a foolish smile across his face.

“So full of yourself, why I am not surprised”

“Consider this as our first date” he muttered.

“What?” bewildered, Seul sat up trying to brain the meaning behind those shady words. She heard his heavy breathing at the end of the line, as he continued “About, me walking you back home, consider it a date” out of a sudden his voice turned fifty shades darker and romantic, enticing every part of her body.

What the hell Kim Seokjin? That is cringy! Jin facepalmed.

“Don’t say anything, pretend that you misheard that. Oh gosh, I must go. Don’t forget to text me a good night! Bye Seul!” he spat the words out like flying bullets without giving the girl a chance to say anything and hung up.

Jin rolled on his bed, screaming in the pillow blaming his sloppy and foolish action. He was worried if that scare the girl away. Grunting in frustration, he felt like he just screwed up his blooming relationship with Seul.

Just what is wrong with me, Jin was frustrated and feeling a little remorseful over his action.

#btscaretaker #bts fic #bts series #bts fanfic #bts fanfiction #yoongi x oc #yoongi fic #jungkook fic #jungkook x oc #jungkook fluff #jin x oc #jin fic #kim seokjin x oc #bts fluff #kpop fanfiction

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hawkinsschoolcounselor · 4 years ago

Note

Could you possibly do an analysis of the Byers Family as a whole?

I’m honestly surprised it took this long for this to be requested. The Byers family is really at the heart of the entire story. I’m going to try and limit this analysis to the on-screen portrayal of the family. If you want more of a deep-dive that includes predictions and suppositions that draw on the writers’ background material and references, I would point you to @kaypeace21. There’s some real next level stuff going on with her work, but I’m going to try and stick to what I know best. I will not be including El in this, though she may come up in passing, as we have yet to see any significant portrayal of her as a member of the family. The Byers are a family of unexpected strength and love. There’s a lot there that would suggest a family in shambles, but outward appearances can be misleading. I intend here to go through the family one-by-one and then go into some conceptualizations of the family dynamic based on my understanding of psychological theory and human development. My memory on some of the details of the show may be off, so feel free to correct any errors I may stumble into. Lonnie I’ll start with Lonnie, though it’s difficult to really refer to him as a part of the family. Still, for at least a portion of this family’s development, he was there and active in the others’ lives to some extent.There is much we simply don’t know about the family dynamic when he was still an active member of it. What we do know, however, is that he was involved in Jonathan’s life until he was at least 10, due to the story of Lonnie taking him hunting on his birthday, but that he was out of the house prior to the start of Stranger Things. Jonathan would have turned 10 around 1977, so the Lonnie would have left his family for up to 5 years prior to the first season. Lonnie’s actions, as portrayed in the first season, depict him as a selfish and callous man with very rigid ideas of masculinity. He would routinely try to force his sons to conform to these ideals. We can see this through the aforementioned hunting trip, which brought Jonathan to tears, and through his overall treatment of Will. The fact that a man would call his own prepubescent son a “queer” or “fag” is harsh even by 80s standards. He would also attempt to get Will to enjoy baseball, though even then it’s implied that he often fails to deliver on his promises to spend time with his youngest. Lonnie showed up in the first season upon learning of Will’s apparent death. He would seem to be a concerned father at first, but Joyce would later learn that Lonnie was prepared to file a wrongful death case against the owner of the quarry that Will was believed to have drowned in. Money has seemingly always been a concern for the family, but Lonnie is the only one who even considers financial compensation. All of this says a lot about where his priorities lie and what his values are. Joyce Joyce Byers is, by all on-screen depictions, a loving mother and open-minded, friendly woman. It is curious as to what she would have seen in Lonnie (we will not assume Murray’s theories to be accurate), but conservative, small-town culture at the time certainly would have led many a woman to see a macho guy as ideal. Joyce has been portrayed in making many sacrifices for her loved ones, and she has a fiery temper that has come out whenever someone would seemingly try to get in the way of her taking care of said loved ones. By the time we are introduced to Joyce, her priorities seem to be her children. She works as a clerk at a local general store, presumably not making much money. It is assumed that after Lonnie left she had no significant romantic relationships until Bob Newby in 1984. While Joyce seems to love both of her sons a great deal, it is suggested in season 1 that she felt closer to Will. Despite this, there was no apparent favoritism. Joyce did however, albeit unintentionally, trigger some issues with Jonathan during the events of Will’s disappearance in 1983. Despite the lack of financial resources (we do not know if Lonnie pays any financial support), Joyce tries her best to support her children. She even managed to get an Atari 2600 for Will, which, even after the video game crash of the early 80s, would have cost her the equivalent of over $100 of today’s money. At first, Joyce welcomes Lonnie back into her life when he showed up after learning of Will’s “death.” She seemed exhausted and initially leaned on him for support. This changed when Joyce learned of his planned lawsuit against the owners of the quarry. She proceeded to lash out at him angrily, accusing him of never caring about his sons, perhaps giving us a look into what ultimately led to their separation (were they ever actually said to be divorced?). When Lonnie couldn’t even come up with what college Jonathan wanted to go to, Joyce viciously spat out that he has wanted to go to NYU since he was a child. To Joyce, not knowing something like that about your own child is reprehensible. When she brings up to Chief Hopper that Lonnie would refer to Will with gay slurs, the discomfort it brings to her is clearly visible. It’s purely speculation, but not out of the question based on what we know about her, that Joyce isn’t so much disturbed by the idea, but rather that she ostensibly allowed Lonnie to say such things. As the series moves on, Joyce is shown seeking out stability and security for herself and her family. Her relationship with Bob was an attempt to rebuild a sense of normality. Bob took a genuine interest in the boys and clearly loved her a great deal. His traumatic loss affects her greatly. She develops an understandable sense of paranoia about Hawkins and the agency behind the lab which ultimately leads to her deciding to uproot her family and leave town to parts yet known. While her decision to do so is certainly understandable and well-intentioned, it could have unintended adverse consequences that I intend to explore further below. Jonathan When we meet him, Jonathan Byers is an intelligent young man and a talented photographer. On the other hand, he is also well aware of the family’s struggles, perhaps more so than Will, and is somewhat parentified. Jonathan is not social, and is shown to be something of an outcast at school. We do not know how far back this goes, but it is possibly a result of Jonathan needing to go to work to help support the family. Jonathan is more like his mother than his father, as seen in his unconditional support for Will and his generally sensitive and protective nature. While in many cases a parentified child is a cause for concern, in Jonathan’s case it may well have given him a sense of purpose that allowed him to weather the rough family life he’s experienced. Indeed, Jonathan initially seems to derive little satisfaction in life outside of photograph and his family. He apparently had already resigned himself to a life of sacrifice, at least until he can try to make a life for himself through photography. While he would go on to develop a relationship with Nancy Wheeler, he never lost his fraternal/borderline paternal bond with his little brother. He literally fought monsters to save and protect Will on multiple occasions. It is quite possible that Jonathan fosters a continuing sense of guilt, as the only reason he was not home the night Will vanished was because he took an extra work shift. With Joyce, Jonathan seems to almost see himself as a co-parent rather than a son. While he clearly loves his mother, he is not above calling her out and butting heads with her as seen in the first season. When Jonathan sees what he thinks is Joyce losing her mind, his reaction is an angry outburst. While there is not enough evidence, this could be a result of abandonment issues as a result of his father leaving.Despite his maturity, Jonathan is still just a teenager at this point, and one who is already blaming himself for his brother vanishing. He needs his mother but sees her as abandoning him. Joyce is going around and publicly making herself seem crazy. While the viewers know that Joyce is right, Jonathan reacts like any of us may. He comes around once he realizes the truth, but it is clear that he is holding in a lot of his own pain and he may hold some resentment towards Joyce, even if he is unaware of it himself. Jonathan was older than Will when Lonnie left, so he would presumably have been more aware of what was going on. He also would have been old enough to potentially blame Joyce for failing to protect him and Will. This last part is all speculation, however. Jonathan’s relationship with Will is perhaps the strongest in the family. Jonathan helped Will build Castle Byers in response to Lonnie’s departure. He stayed until it was finished despite a rainstorm and (a presumably very young) Will’s lack of skill at actually helping. He would go on to support Will in all of his endeavors, blatantly encouraging him to dare to be different. He clearly doesn’t want to see Will succumb to the pressure of conformity. He makes it very clear that he supports Will completely and unconditionally. There is a suggestion here that Jonathan fears that Will may have a lingering desire to please their father at the expense of his own preferences. Will Will is smart, sensitive, artistic, and caring in a way that was discouraged in adolescent boys in a town like his. Will is heading towards the latter years of middle school as the series starts. Lonnie is already gone, but his influence is still there. Joyce dotes on him as much as possible, but time and resources are scarce. Jonathan takes on a hybrid father figure/big brother role to help keep Will happy. Oddly enough, given the circumstances of the plot, Will actually seems to come out the best. I will go further into detail below, but compared to his mom and older brother, Will actually has the most going for him. I’ve already covered Will’s role in the family above, but there is a bit more to explore from his perspective. Will is the much-loved son and brother to Joyce and Jonathan, and the bane of his father. Joyce wanted Will to be happy, and made every attempt to bond with him. Will did indeed seem to have a good relationship with his mother, as shown in his excitement to see Poltergeist with her and his risking his life to warn his mother of the Demogorgon. We also see many scenes of him bonding with Jonathan over music, but their relationship goes deeper. Jonathan is someone who Will confides in his relationship with his father. Will also worries about Jonathan’s hand injury despite the fact that he himself is in a hospital bed, having just woken up after being in the Upside Down for a week. Despite how good his relationships are with his mother and brother, Will is shown craving his father’s love. We do not know if Lonnie ever directly called Will a “queer” or “fag” or if he only referred to him as such to others, but Will does seem aware of his dad’s lack of support. Even though Will does not like baseball, he makes a pretense of it in an attempt to gain his father’s love, and he takes it hard when his dad does not deliver. It’s quite possible that Will harbors guilt as to what happened to his family, blaming himself for his dad leaving. Much like with Jonathan, this is speculative, but it wouldn’t be an unusual reaction for a young child whose parents split. Development and Outlook

I will try to be short and sweet here. When one looks at the family as a whole, the many moving parts of the family and their environment quite frankly make sense. The family is portrayed in a reasonably realistic fashion. Lonnie’s displeasure with his family life, along with what is quite possibly dissatisfaction with his life in general, result in him leaving. These same factors left their mark on his wife and children. The Byers receive little support from the community, and are indeed seen as outcasts, resulting in reactions that range from indifference to scorn. This would lead to the Byers relying even more on each other and seeming even more like outcasts. The cycle is harsh. Even as you go outward towards more indirect influences, the Byers do not conform to conservative 80s norms, which sets them at odds with society as a whole. They are basically an island in a stormy sea. This is where Will’s bright spot comes in. Will has what the others in his family lack, at least before the events of the series: friends. Will is not an outcast in the same sense of the others. While he is still scorned by the larger school population, his relationship with the Party serve as a protective factor. In other words, he’s better able to deal with the bad aspects of his life because he has his friends to fall back on. Joyce and Jonathan, on the other hand, only have each other. Mike in particular is a source of strength for Will, which is what makes the rockiness of their relationship in season 3 so hard for him. Joyce and Jonathan would both form relationships outside of the family that make them better able to cope. Jonathan and Nancy have a mostly healthy relationship, and Joyce almost looks like a teenager in how carefree she is with Bob (before the plot hits high gear anyway). Joyce and Hopper aren’t quite as healthy, but there are signs that it could head that way before Hopper is presumably killed. This is where Joyce makes a decision that she may come to regret. While her own attempts to develop a better ecoysystem seem cursed, Jonathan finally seems to have someone outside the family (indeed from a well-off family) that not only doesn’t scorn him, but loves him. Will has a group of friends that, despite some trials, is actually growing. Joyce, however, decides to separate them from these relationships in a well-meant attempt to save them from the town, the lab, and the Upside Down. It is hard to blame her for this, but the decision is nonetheless curious. She seems to be coming around to the idea of staying due to a burgeoning relationship with Hopper, which runs contrary to her tendency to put her kids first. One could excuse her for being clouded by grief, and we don’t see how she broke the news to Jonathan and Will (and El) or the aftermath. They all seem to have made peace with the idea, but the goodbyes are emotional, and Joyce herself looks upset and perhaps guilty, but this puts the family back to relying solely on each other, at least in the short term. Will they become stronger and be able to regain normalcy away from Hawkins? Will they end up resenting Joyce for it? How will El fit into this family? Can Will cope without his friends? Can Jonathan and Nancy’s relationship survive at a distance? How is Joyce going to be able to support a now-larger family? How will Lonnie fit into this? That all remains to be seen, but would be realistic elements to include in the next season.

#stranger things #byers family #joyce byers #jonathan byers #will byers #lonnie byers

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