#she's kept me isolated from any support for so long

[bbydoll18xx]

She’s Such a Good Girl (Part 2)

Paige continues her assault on your innocence, leading you to spiral.

Paige Bueckers x reader

Word Count: 2.7k

Themes: angst in the beginning, Paige being hot and flirty the rest of it woohoo, mentions of being horny oops

Part 1 - You move in across the hall from Paige Bueckers. It doesn’t take long before she tries to shatter your innocent persona. And you just let her.

Masterlist

A/N: I’m so, so grateful for all the love on the first part of this little mini series. Let me know if you are up for a third part:)) I have soo many ideas it's ridiculous

~

You wake up feeling anything but well rested. Your sleep was muddled with dreams of Paige, her smile infiltrating your unconsciousness until you woke up with an uncomfortable stickiness in between your thighs. You groan into your pillow, the general overwhelmingness of last night draining you even more.

Grabbing your phone from your bedside table, you see a text from Paige, and the butterflies erupt inside of you once more. 

‘We’re all planning on going out tonight. You’re coming with us.’

Her bluntness momentarily stuns you, but you were grateful to be included. It seemed she was hell bent on getting you out of your shell, for whatever reason, and you were simply just going to concede. You needed this.

You respond, your heart beating out of your chest, and the anxiety begins to set in. 

It was getting harder and harder to deny the gay feelings you had. And although it had been years since your “oh shit, I’m gay,” moment had dawned on you, this was reaching new heights of awareness. But you had refused to truly accept it thus far.

You had a complicated relationship with your sexuality. Most of the time you had shied away from even acknowledging it; it was too painful. In high school, you were surrounded by other gay people, and it felt like you almost belonged, slowly coming to terms with your sapphism. But as you moved away to college, you were the only one in your friend group who was even a little remotely queer, and you felt isolated by your glaring differences. 

Your religious upbringing did not help the situation either. You quickly learned how to hide your emotions. Slurs were regularly thrown around the dinner table, the nasty words cutting into your being, and your fists would be tightening in your lap, fighting to keep a neutral expression on your face.

You could not give yourself away.

As soon as you could, you’d seek solace in your room, hot, shameful tears sliding down your cheeks, forcing yourself to quiet the sobs erupting through your chest. The words of contempt echoed through your mind, until eventually you had nearly come to believe them yourself. 

Each evening you clasped your hands together desperately in prayer, vehemently struggling with everything you had been raised to know and everything you wanted and needed to feel. It was an eternal battle that raged on inside, slowly withering you into a ghost, haunted by the darkness that had flourished in the absence of support and acceptance.

You wondered what the people who had claimed to love and know you the most, would do if they found out about your dirty, little secret. The anxieties about being outed manifested in cruel dreams, awakening you suddenly, a thin layer of sweat glistening on your body as your chest rose and fell in quick staccato breaths. 

That was something you still wondered today. And you would certainly wonder for the rest of your life. You had vowed that you would never come out to your family unless you truly fell in love with a girl. So you had kept everyone at arm's length to protect yourself. But Paige Bueckers was slowly breaking your walls down, brick by brick. 

A wave of nausea washes over you as you realize that getting closer to Paige meant toying the line of the false heteronormative persona you’ve been carefully crafting since you were a young teenager. The temptation of feeling normal in a group of girls quickly shuts down any immediate worries. That was a problem for another time. 

You hear your roommates in the living room, bustling around without having any idea of your internal battle. With a sigh, you drag yourself out of bed to go out to meet them, already preparing for the deafening noises that would inevitably come with telling them of last night's events. 

You open your door, nearly shuffling your feet against the carpet as you walk out to greet Taylor and Sarah. Their heads turn from the focus on the television, faces set in smiles as they see you emerge from your room.

“Guess what I did last night?” You prompt them, and their faces morph into ones of natural curiosity. 

“Did you read your class syllabuses to get a head start?” Sarah asks sarcastically, and you stick your tongue out at her in false derision. 

“No,” you scoff, although her guess was not completely off base. “I went over and hung out with Paige and the rest of the team.”

Taylor and Sarah were uncharacteristically quiet for a moment. They glanced at each other, momentarily stunned before erupting in hollers, jumping to their feet in excitement. 

“How the fuck did that happen?” Taylor all but yells, still jumping up and down. It was a good thing you did not have downstairs neighbors.

“Well they were being so loud, and I wanted to go to bed, so I knocked on the door to politely ask them to shut up,” you explain, trying to hide the giddiness you felt as you recalled the events of last night.

“And Paige answered and invited me in. And now I’m going out with her and the team tonight,” you finish, carefully watching the reactions of your two best friends. 

Their faces were morphed into ones of sheer delight and astonishment.

“My innocent, little angel is growing up,” Taylor exclaims, pretending to wipe a tear from her eye, and you swat at her, giggling at the sheer hilarity of the situation.

“What am I supposed to wear to a bar?” You ask, and the girls shriek in laughter, clapping their hands and promising to help you get dressed later.

You feel better about everything, the support from your roommates briefly quelling the fears and uncertainties that had plagued your mind for years. And your excitement was a testimony to the effect a certain blonde had on you.

~

“You’ve got great tits. Might as well show them off,” Sarah says exasperatedly, shoving one of her low cut tops at you.

Your face heats up, and you hold up the tiny tank top. “Don’t you think it’s a little, I don’t know, slutty?” Your voice trails to a whisper as you think about purposely showing off your body. 

“That’s the point, girl! It’s finally your time to show everyone what you’re fucking made of. Go be a sexy, bad bitch!” Taylor urges, slapping you on the butt as she does.

You take a deep breath, nodding in agreement, finally pushing yourself further away from the perfect, good girl act that had been placed upon you since you were a child. 

You don the skimpy black tank, admiring the way it shows off your slim waist, and you pair it with tight jeans that accentuate the curve of your ass perfectly. You fluff your hair and add a layer of lip gloss, before taking one last long glance in the mirror.

You could do this.

With a few encouraging words from your roommates and a few slaps to your ass, you nervously make your way across the hall to knock once more on Paige’s door. The door is thrown open, loud cheers erupting as you appear, and KK launches herself at you excitedly, throwing her arms around you and pulling you into her. 

Giggling, you hug her back, your nerves melting away at her friendly disposition. She pulls away, eyeing you up and down with an approving nod. “Someone cooked here,” she smirks, and your face blooms an embarrassing shade of deep red.

“My roommates kind of helped me get dressed,” you admit, hands tugging down your impossibly small shirt. 

“Girl, you look fineee,” she says, rubbing her hands together, causing several of the other girls to cackle at her not so subtle attempt to rizz you up.

“Who looks fine?” you hear a familiar voice, and your head whips in the direction of the question. You see Paige sauntering towards you, and your heart immediately begins to pound as your eyes rake over her tall figure. 

Her hair was down in blonde waves, making you want to reach out and run your hand through the soft-looking locks. Her toned stomach was exposed from her crop top, her abs flashing in a way that had your stomach rolling with an unfamiliar feeling. You couldn’t necessarily put your finger on it, but it shot down in an intense display of unbridled want. And she had the smuggest look on her face, accentuating the plumpness of her bottom lip. Your tongue subconsciously darts out to lick a slow line against your own lip as you watch her approach you.

KK points at you, waggling her eyebrows. “The pretty princess over here.” 

You blush again. Shit, you really had to get that under control. 

Paige hums, looking you up and down once more. “She’s not wrong,” she mutters huskily in your ear as she pulls you in for a hug. Your knees weaken at her touch, and you aren't sure if you’d be able to survive the night. It had just begun, and she had you completely and irrevocably fucked. 

30 minutes later, you, Paige, and the other members of UCONN’s women’s basketball team were shuffling into several ubers to head to a nearby bar. Unsure of which car to get into, you awkwardly stand off to the side, the anxiety pumping through your veins once more, but you soon feel a muscular arm wrap around your waist.

Looking up, you are met with Paige’s blue eyes and that smug smirk, and with a wink, she guides you to the nearest car, helping you into the backseat. As you sit, you adjust your top, overly aware of how much of your chest was actually out. Paige sits next to you, settling in with a low grunt, and she immediately places a hand on your thigh. Your eyes focus on the veins and the length of her fingers, and that feeling in your belly ignites again. 

As you arrive at the bar, Paige helps you out of the car with a chivalrous hand. And it does not leave yours as you enter the doors. She laces her fingers through yours, and you don’t miss the way it feels so damn right. She guides you through the crowds of people, and your breath hitches, feeling slightly overwhelmed from the volume and the hoards of drunk people pushing into your frame. 

Paige notices immediately, and she pulls you closer, tucking you into her side protectively. You preen at the attention, the feeling so foreign but addictive. You needed more, and the idea of it ripped away from you sent an unsettling spike of dread shooting through you maliciously. 

Subtly, you shake your head in a futile attempt to clear the thoughts out of your head. Overthinking was sure to be your downfall. Nothing a little alcohol couldn’t fix, though.

Aside from the occasional glass of wine, you had never really drank. And you certainly had never done shots. But when Nika and Aubrey had thrusted a tray of them towards where you and Paige were sitting, you were quick to grab one, eager to dull the bitter voices in your head. 

You bring it to your face, taking a hesitant sniff that causes your nose to wrinkle, eliciting a fond chuckle from the blonde. “Do I just sip it or…?” You trail off shyly, suddenly very aware of how ridiculous you sounded. What kind of college girl didn’t know how to take a shot?

Paige bites her lip. “Lemme help you, baby,” she mutters in your ear, and she takes the shot out of your hand. “Breathe all of the air out and then swallow it all at once before you take another breath, okay?” 

You nod, letting the air leave your mouth, lips pouting. Without her gaze leaving your mouth, Paige holds up the shot glass, pouring the liquid down your throat in a swift motion. 

You swallow quickly, feeling the burn slide down your throat and settle into a warm pool in your belly. You lick your lips, trying to catch a tiny drop that had slid past your mouth and trailed down your chin towards your neck. 

Before you can chase the trickle, Paige leans in, swiping it with her thumb, placing it into her mouth and sucking, her cheeks hollowing in the process. 

Your face morphs into a look of shock, and she gives you a shit-eating grin. The effect she had on you was something out of a book you spent many lonely nights immersing yourself in. And now that you were living in the crystal clear reality, you regretted not getting out of your shell a little sooner. 

“Can I do another?” You ask, already looking at the tray where a few shots still remained. 

Paige laughs. “Maybe wait a few, princess. The alcohol will kick in soon,” she promises. “You can share mine,” she gestures to her drink, and you don’t miss the way the pet name rolls off her tongue effortlessly. 

Paige was not lying when she had told you that the effects would soon hit you. Before you could even start to feel uncomfortable, a delicious easiness fell over you, loosening you up in a way you had never experienced before. You reach for Paige’s straw once more, pretending that her mouth was not just on it, and you relish in the sweet liquid adding to your tipsiness.

Paige had stayed close all night, similarly to the night before, and you were grateful for her constant presence anchoring you. The other girls took turns dancing with you, showering you with compliments and making future plans. Even through the haze of the alcohol, your heart felt as if it could burst; they were all so nice, and for the first time in a long time, you felt like you actually belonged. 

The night flies by, and as it does, you and Paige get more and more touchy. Her hands took turns between trailing down your back and resting heavily on your hips. She played with a lock of your hair, twisting it in her fingers as you swayed to the music, and she was constantly gazing at you through heavy lids, pupils blown from the darkness of the bar and pure want.

Emboldened by the drinks that had graced your lips, you don’t shy away, and before you know it, you’re leaning in closer, intoxicated by more than just the liquor. The bustling crowds and excessive noise surrounding you melts away as Paige grips your waist, pulling you closer into her. 

Your heart pounds at her proximity. She reaches up, cradling your jaw and stroking the soft skin of your neck with her thumb. You wonder if she can feel the thumping of your carotid, but you’re too enthralled in her presence to even care. Her eyes flit between your own and your slightly parted lips. Everything felt so fucking delicate, as if one small move would break everything. 

“Been thinkin’ about doin’ this all night,” she whispers, and pulls you into a kiss.

All the air is sucked out of you as her lips touch yours. And while you are momentarily stunned, it does not take long before yours are moving against her in a delicious exchange of passion. All worries of not being a good kisser leave your mind as Paige moans against your mouth, the sound shooting straight down your belly and to your pussy. Her tongue moves against you, and the feel of it does not help the slick now accumulating in your panties. 

The kiss eventually ends, much to your displeasure, and as you pull away, a giggle erupts from your mouth at the insanity of it all.

You had just kissed Paige Bueckers.

“OOH, P is fucking whipped!” KK shouts over the music, enthusiastically high-fiving Ice and Nika. 

Fuck, you were caught. 

But little did KK know, is that you were pretty fucking whipped, too. With one smooth move, Paige had broken down all your walls, and you were surrounded by the bricks of your carefully crafted innocence shattered around you at your feet. And maybe you could blame it on the alcohol, but you were pretty sure that if Paige made you anything less of a good girl, you were certainly okay with that. 

~

Part 3 - You get drunk off Paige, and confessions come out.

Part 4 - Paige makes you feel so good.

Part 5 - Paige shows you her strap.

Part 6 - Your newfound fascination with Paige's abs leads to some fun.

The beginning hits a little too close to home I’m so sorry I blacked out while writing it. It’s been almost 9 years since I realized I had feelings for girls, and I still struggle every day with accepting myself. To all the readers who are going through the same thing, I love you, and here’s to hoping things get better. If you ever want to reach out, my inbox is always open.

xoxo katy

[momoswifee]

The Fall

Pairing: Mina x fem!reader

Synopsis:  "Have you ever gotten everything you ever wanted? No, but I once got very close."

Warnings: Grief, death mention, overworking, depression, alcohol consumption, isolation.

w/c: 2997

A/n: Hi!! I'm sorry for taking so long but yay! final chapter!! I'm so happy I finally finished this, I hope everyone who read all of this has enjoyed it, and thank you all for supporting me on this and for reading it!! I'm sorry if this feels rushed by the end, I really tried to write a good ending but yeah. I hope you guys enjoy it!

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4

“Mina, you really didn’t have to...” Your father says, smiling at the box she had brought.

“They’re your favourite, I have a shop near my apartment that sells them so it really isn’t that big of a deal…” she dismisses, handing him the expensive box of chocolates. 

“They were her favourite too…” He whispers, smiling at the thought, as he looks down at it. The contrary feeling washes through her. Every time she walks down the street she instinctively looks at it and wishes to go in, to get one of those ridiculously expensive boxes, bring it home and get drunk on your memory. 

Two years had passed, two whole years without you, and she felt like it was yesterday that they took you to the operating room and took you away from her. She had kept her word and had come to your parent's house for dinner occasionally, to remember you, to let them see her as an extension of their kid. 

As soon as she went through the door, a big white ball of fur almost tackled her to the ground. “Hey honey” she says, laughing as Otis excitedly pushes himself onto her, trying to get close. “I missed you too.”

Three months after your passing, Mina had already gone on the press tour, she had already attended the premier, everything to do with her most recent movie was done, and she had nothing to occupy her mind with anymore.

She only had herself, in her big empty apartment to worry about. Otis had been sent to your parents when she started the press tour, she couldn’t take care of him properly. She had never gone to pick him up after.

Once she was home, she could barely get out of bed, she didn’t talk to anyone, she didn’t answer any calls. She just laid there and thought about how you weren’t with her. At one point she did think about going to get Otis back, he was the only thing she had left of you. But as soon as she got in the car, she realized that she hadn’t been good to him, to the only thing you had left behind. If she wasn’t being good to him, she didn’t deserve him. He had gotten older, he was 10 now, and she had met him when he was 3, but he still greeted her the same.

“You’ve been working a lot,” Your mom starts, once they’re all at the table. “Have you been taking care of yourself?”

“I have a pretty good agent,” Mina replies, laughing, trying to show that she is happy with it, that it is something that she’s doing because she knows it’s good for her career. “I’ve been offered pretty good opportunities, I’m just trying to make the best out of it.”

The truth is, she took on the most challenging jobs possible so that she never had to think about you more than she had too. She needed to keep you out because it had been two years and if she heard a sound of a leave being crunched while she was walking she would automatically think that it was you who was coming to her. If she heard someone knock at her door, she would think that it was you who was knocking. Every time she went to the supermarket and decided to buy oranges, she would freeze because it reminded her of your citrus smell, she decided to just not consume oranges again. The mere mention of hockey would almost send her into a spiral. 

She hated that she would spend more time remembering you, than she had spent by your side, so, she focused on everything that had nothing to do with you. She would become another person, she would impersonate the character, she would absorb their essence and forget you. 

After lunch, Mina offered to take Otis on a walk, to go into the town, maybe get some groceries if needed. “Have you been having fun, buddy?” She asks, receiving an almost enthusiastic bark from him. She missed him, but she knew it was for the best.  

She hadn’t been to the town for a while, now usually her parents went to her, they knew she wanted to avoid it. At maximum, she would go to only their house or your parents and then leave. She honestly surprised herself when she offered to take Otis on a walk to town.

Once she had reached the center, what she saw first was your old shop, now turned bakery. She remembered the talk with your parents, how it was just you who was working there, there really was no need to keep it open, it would be best to leave the spot open for another business. 

The little bakery looked good, she got curious. She got closer. Inside were little cakes, cookies of all forms, pastries of all kinds, everything you used to love. A little tug from Otis prompted her to slightly look to her left, and there Jihyo was. She felt her heart stop. She had let her hair grow, her face had more set features, her smile lines still intact. She was laughing with some friends. She looked happy, so she did what she did best, she ran away. 

☾

“So we have a scheduled photoshoot until 4 pm and right after that you’ll be doing that interview because of your most recent nomination…”

Oh yeah, the nomination. Her role had been moving to many, so she had been told, it had been good enough to be considered for one of the biggest awards there were: an Oscar. 

“The driver will be there to pick you up after the shoot, and I’ll meet you at the script read ok?” Her manager, Miyawaki Sakura, an angel sent from heaven, said. 

Sakura, although a bit younger than Mina, had always been there for her, and more recently, had been trying to help her skyrocket her career as well as keep her healthy. After she had heard what had happened with her last manager, the over working, the whole episode where she went to the hospital, all she wanted was for Mina to have a safe and healthy environment at work, while still achieving her career goals. 

While she was being photographed, watched by people she didn’t know, all she could do was pose, blank her mind, just do whatever she was told. While she was being interviewed she did more of the same, answered the questions simply, always showing gratitude, always with her practised smile plastered on her face. 

“So Mina! First, congrats on the nomination!” The interviewer kindly says. “I’m sure this feels like a dream! I’m sure you’re getting closer to everything you’ve ever wanted right?”

She smiled politely and agreed with a nod. She continues to answer the questions with an almost excited tone, with a beaming smile. But in the back of her mind, she only heard a series of “no’s” being said right after the kind woman in front of her had asked if she had got closer to everything she had ever wanted. If she had asked this in the early days of her career, she would’ve said yes and meant it. If this had been asked before you had been taken away from her, she would’ve said yes and meant it. Now she said this half-heartedly, only wishing to go back to when she actually had everything, when she had you. 

☾

“She looked happy…” Mina says, a lingering smile on her face as she dusts off the leaves that had fallen on her. “I know you would be disappointed in me for not going up to her, but what could I possibly say to her after all this time?” 

You don’t answer, obviously, you’re not there. There’s only your gravestone with the flowers Mina had brought with her. Purple Hyacinths. 

“I miss you,” she whispers, picking out the little brown leave that rested on top of the stone. You loved autumn. The colours, the leaves, the nights with the soft rain sounding out. She was glad you had been put beneath such a big tree, that now displayed such fiery colours. 

After almost forgetting his presence, Otis makes himself known by huffing as he lays down his head on Mina’s lap, as he stares at the stone in front of them. 

All of this is way too familiar to Mina, taking Otis to see you had become a common outing, and she wishes it hadn’t. She longed for the days that he would run through the orange and red leaves happily while you held her hand and admired the seasonal sight. She hated having to come here with Otis and watch him slowly walk through those same coloured leaves, almost as if he was dreading having to face your grave, just as she was. 

☾

“Otis give it back!” 

Mina felt strange. She felt warm. The sun was hitting her just right, she felt so good. The breeze was hitting her face gently, the sound of splashing water, the birds above her, the branches of the trees swaying with the light breeze. It was perfect. 

“Well, I guess he just doesn’t want to play catch.”

A voice. Oh and what a sweet voice it was. 

“Hm, I’m sure just needs a little break.” She says, smiling instinctively at the person in front of her. The sun blinding her eyes, just letting her see the silhouette. 

“In the meantime I’ll keep you company” It says, sitting right next to her, offering her a smile. Your smile. 

You’re there. You’re there with her. 

She touches your hand, it’s warm. She can feel the heat travel through her body. 

Her right hand, as if gaining a mind of its own, goes straight to your face and her fingers trace your soft features. 

You look at her in amusement, already used to this kind of behaviour. Your smile is quickly replaced by a frown. “Mina, what’s wrong?”

Only then does she notice that she was crying. She doesn’t know why. Everything was fine. 

“I don’t know” Mina laughs, wiping her tears, leaning in to briefly kiss your soft warm lips. 

Everything was perfect. 

“Want to join me in the water?” You whisper into her lips, her hand at the back of your neck, not letting you get away from her that fast. 

The sun was so comforting against her back. She no longer felt that weird sensation. She was good. 

“I think I should stay here for now…” She whispers. 

“Ok.” You get up, gently taking her hand away from yours. “I’ll be waiting for you.” 

You send her a small, sad, smile as you leave, going in Otis direction. 

Suddenly a big thud is heard and Mina jolts awake in a cold sweat. She notices that the left side of the bed is empty. 

“Yn?” She quietly calls. Maybe you had gone to the bathroom. Before she thinks about getting up, she looks over to your side of the bed, and at your night stand, lay your dusty glasses. 

 She hated these dreams. She never knew they were dreams, it felt like she was back with you again. She couldn’t appreciate those fictitious moments because she never remembered that you were gone when she entered that dream state. 

You never left her head, you were constantly present, but in the past few weeks, you had come to see her more often as soon as she fell asleep. She would not be able to lie and say that she had been more excited lately to follow a more strict sleep schedule, it was, however, torture, waking up and not having you by her side. 

☾

Her throat burned. Every step she took felt like she was going to fall face down on the dirt. The bottle in her hand getting lighter with each step she took.

“I hate you” She spits out as soon as she sees you. “I hate you. I hate that I won one of the most prestigious awards there are and still the only thing I had on my mind was your name.”

Y/n, Y/n, Y/n, Y/n

It was all that was going through her head as she delivered her heartfelt speech. 

“Why can’t you just let me go,” she brokenly whispers as she kneels next to you. Her gold coloured dress now stained with dirt. “It feels like you haunt me, I can never live just a day without thinking about you, and it kills me” 

She says this, knowing that she doesn’t let herself move on. She left your shared house, she left your clothes, your precious peach trees behind. She even left Otis. 

She did however bring your glasses and pose them on a night stand next to her bed, she still wears her engagement ring around her neck, she still hasn’t thrown in the trash your little shampoo bottle you kept at her house, nor all your expired skincare products. Every morning she would wake up, gently massage her face with her precious serum while staring at yours. 

“Some days I wish I had never met you,” The burn down her throat now had become familiar. “I wish I hadn’t met you, so I could live a happy life.” 

Right after those words left her mouth she feels tears streaming down her face. It’s all a lie, the best thing that had ever happened to her was you. It wasn’t the stupid award she had just won, it was the life she had envisioned with you. 

Finally, she starts to feel like her knees are burning so she decides to just rest her body on the stone.

“You promished you wouldn’t leave” she slurs out. “I can’t do this without you…” 

Before she can even try to say anything again, she feels someone’s hand on her shoulder. She allows herself to think that it is you. That you had finally come to take her with you. 

“Mina-” 

Momo. 

“Mina, what are you doing here?” The oldest asks, taking in the sight in front of her. Mina resting against your tombstone, her once golden dress now stained with dirt, her make-up completely ruined. 

“I missed her.”

What was she supposed to say? That she came to yell at you to stop haunting her life? That she lied through her teeth when she had told her cousin about how well she was doing, how excited and anxious she was to learn about the award when in truth she couldn’t care less? 

Thankfully, Momo didn’t press for answers, she just took the bottle from her hand and helped her up, promising to take Mina home and helping her get better. 

On her way home, all she wanted to do was to beg Momo to take her back. She just wanted to be with you. 

☾

Momo hadn’t left her side since her escapade to see you. She stayed with her and kept her company, not wanting to see her baby cousin so distraught and alone. While she did appreciate the caring nature of the oldest girl, all she needed was to be alone. She had already asked Sakura if any job offers or any interesting roles had come up. She just wanted to get back to normal. 

She hadn't been sleeping properly, always too afraid of seeing you in her dreams. The stress of not having any work also didn't help, she felt useless. She had already, deep cleaned the house, re-arranged her closet, bought new curtains, and installed them herself. She needed to keep busy.

“Momo you really don’t have to stay here,” She sighs out, already tired of this recurring conversation. 

“I’m not leaving you alone. Mina, no one knew where you were, you just vanished. Sakura called me worried sick!” Momo exclaims. “I’m not trying to suffocate you, I just want to know that you’re alright.”

“And I am,” She says, trying to sound as reassuring as possible. “It was a moment of weakness, I’ve been missing her for a while." She stops. "I’m alright.”

"I-" Momo starts sighing. "You've been trying to keep busy, but have hardly slept. Try to sleep," she says, getting up from her seat. "You must be tired. I have to go to work now, but I'll be back when you wake up alright?"

She thinks about Momo's suggestion after she leaves. The truth is, she doesn't want to sleep. She's just afraid she will see you again in her dreams and not be able to remember and not appreciate her moments with you.

Unfortunately, sleep is stronger than her and she is knocked out before she knows it.

☾

"Are you sure you don't want to get into the water? It's actually pretty nice!"

She remembered everything.

There you were, inside the lake, softly smiling at her, waiting for her response.

She gets up and walks to you. She sits on the pier and lets her feet soak in the water.

It does feel nice.

Your hands go to hold her legs, gently rubbing them.

"I missed you." You whisper as you look up to her.

Her hand goes straight to your face. She can feel your skin. Every bump, every almost-healed acne scar. She can feel you.

"I'm here now." Mina says, looking into your eyes. The eyes she had fallen in love with.

And then she jumps into the water to be with you. All she feels is warmth. She feels your hands holding her waist and pulling her closer. She opens her eyes and sees that you had dipped with her. It reminds her of when you used to kiss her underwater, so she goes and brushes her lips on yours, melting into your touch when you pull her closer to properly feel her lips on yours.

She's happy, and she doesn't even think about ever going up to breathe.

She's with you at last.

[rik0shii]

younger cousin!reader taking care of Top during his scandal. reader cook for him making sure he eats, making sure he didn't feel alone after what had happened to him. she knows that Top loves music and encourage him to write some as his therapy. (he once mentioned it in his recent interview that making music is one of the things that slowly healed him from his past!) basically just reader feeling concerned and taking care of her oppa <3

A Place to Rest

After everything that happened, Seunghyun shuts himself away, weighed down by exhaustion and self-doubt. But you refuse to leave him alone. You make sure he eats, stay by his side so he doesn’t feel alone, and remind him of the passion that once helped him heal—his music. Through quiet persistence and unwavering support, you encourage him to write again, not for anyone else but for himself. Even if he can’t see a way forward yet, you believe in him—enough for both of you.

hii i hope you enjoy this!! reposts and comments are appreciated!<33

The apartment was quiet, too quiet. It wasn’t the kind of peaceful silence that felt comfortable—it was the heavy kind, the kind that pressed against your chest and made everything feel colder.

You glanced toward the couch, where Seunghyun sat, unmoving. His posture was slouched, his hands clasped loosely between his knees, his gaze fixed on the floor. He looked exhausted, not just physically but in a way that went deeper, like he was carrying a weight too heavy for one person.

You hated seeing him like this.

With a quiet sigh, you placed the bowl of soup on the coffee table in front of him. “I made you something to eat.”

He barely acknowledged you, just a slight shift of his eyes toward the bowl before looking away again. “I’m not hungry.”

“You always say that,” you said, crossing your arms. “But you still have to eat.”

“Not right now.” His voice was low, quiet.

You sat down beside him, determined not to let him sink any further into himself. “Seunghyun, when was the last time you had a proper meal?”

He didn’t answer. That was answer enough.

“You need to take care of yourself,” you said gently. “Even if it’s hard.”

For a long moment, he didn’t move. Then, finally, he let out a slow exhale and picked up the spoon. He took a small sip, barely more than a taste, but it was something.

A small smile tugged at your lips. “See? Not so bad, right?”

Seunghyun let out a quiet, almost hollow chuckle. “You’re too stubborn.”

“You’ve known me long enough to expect this by now,” you teased, hoping to lift the mood even just a little.

He didn’t respond, just kept eating slowly, like it was a chore. You knew he wasn’t enjoying it, not really. But at least he was trying. That was what mattered.

For weeks now, he had been shutting himself away. After everything that had happened—the scandal, the backlash, the isolation—he had retreated into his own world, letting the weight of it all bury him. You had seen glimpses of this side of him before, but never like this.

Seunghyun had always been someone larger than life. Confident. Creative. A force of nature. Seeing him like this, quiet and withdrawn, hurt more than you could put into words.

“You know,” you started carefully, watching his reaction, “you once told me that making music helped you through your hardest times.”

He stilled, his spoon hovering just above the bowl.

“You said it was the only thing that really let you express yourself,” you continued. “That when everything felt like too much, writing helped.”

Seunghyun slowly set the spoon down. His expression was unreadable, but you could see something shift in his eyes.

“I don’t know if that’s true anymore,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.

“It is,” you said without hesitation. “Even if you don’t believe it right now, I do.”

He let out a slow breath, leaning back against the couch. “I wouldn’t even know where to start.”

“Then don’t think about starting,” you said. “Just write. Anything. Even if it’s messy, even if it doesn’t make sense. Just… let it out.”

He didn’t respond, just stared at the ceiling like he was searching for something there.

“You don’t have to share it with anyone,” you added. “Just do it for yourself.”

Silence stretched between you, but this time, it didn’t feel as heavy. It felt like he was actually considering it.

“You really think it’ll help?” he finally asked.

“I do.” You met his eyes, unwavering. “And even if you don’t believe in yourself right now, I still believe in you.”

Something flickered across his face—something fragile, hesitant. Hope.

For the first time in weeks, he didn’t look so lost.

He didn’t promise anything, didn’t say he would do it, but the fact that he was listening, that he was even thinking about it, was enough.

For now, that was enough.

[siriuslyobsessedwithfiction]

This post argues that most Darklina shippers ignore Alina’s lack of agency and the abusive dynamics in the series. Alina’s choices were largely controlled by powerful men — especially the Darkling — and the only real choice she made for her own happiness was to be with Mal. The Darkling manipulated, isolated, and abused her, stripping away her autonomy, especially through the amplifiers that symbolically and literally controlled her power. Even Nikolai, though seen as a fan favorite, initially approached Alina with political motives and pressured her into an alliance. Throughout the trilogy, Alina is used as a tool by various men, with Mal being the only one who loved and supported her for who she truly was, without any hidden agenda. The post critiques the romanticization of Darkling and emphasizes how Mal’s love was the only genuinely selfless and honest one in Alina’s life.

Okay, I guess this will be my essay I was going to publish anyway.

Alina Starkov and her inability to form healthy relationships

Let's put the Darkling and Nikolai aside for a moment. Yes, the only decision the famously indecisive Alina made for herself was continuously choosing Mal even though he was continuously shitting on her and not choosing her while for some reason also asking her to choose him. Why should we clap for that?

For many years now fans have been arguing about which love interest is best suited for Alina. The most objective answer to that question is none. In order to explain why first we need to dive deeper into Alina’s character and both her platonic and romantic relationships. The main problem with Alina's relationships seems to be the fact that she is an extremely passive character and rarely takes action, unless she's absolutely forced to do so. That is, if we don't count her suicide attempts. I think she is just written that way and obviously I cannot bash a fictional character for the way she is written by the author. LB's writing style there reminds me of a self-insert fan fiction from Wattpad. So Alina's lack of agency is actually the author's fault.

Of course as a typical y/n, Alina doesn't go out of her way to take action or make friends. They sort of come to her, like Marie and Nadia immediately assuming the roles of "best friend side characters in a new setting to provide exposition and gossip". The only one she seems to desperately hold onto and go to far lengths to to keep him in her life is Mal. Most of the time he doesn't even want to be there and makes that explicitly clear by weaponized incompetence: claiming that Alina doesn't need him while she consistently states that she needs him for support, not just tracking. But Mal constantly whines how he is useless, a one trick pony and the only thing he has to offer to her is tracking, even though the only thing Alina really needed, especially in the second book, is some comfort. Which ironically, Alina's proclaimed enemy - the Darkling provided. He sat with her during long nights and silently kept her company while Mal was out there drinking, gambling and sleeping with other women instead of performing his duty as Alina's captain of the guard.

Which is so bizarre. The "big bad manipulator" Darkling has plenty of alone time with her during multiple nights and never speaks to her, let alone manipulates or torments her. On the other hand, every time she interacts with Mal, they fight, he makes it about himself, asks her to make things go back to the way they were (that being her being sickly and fragile and trailing behind him like a mouse) as if she can turn back time. As if they aren't in the middle of a brewing civil war. As if Alina doesn't have a duty and a purpose for the first time in her life. Alina was overwhelmed by responsibilities she wasn't ready to take on, and her best friend Mal does the opposite of helping. He acts childishly and ignores his job instead of supporting her. Mal's big fight with Alina drives her to the point of running away aimlessly in the city in her pajamas and attempting suicide. Suicide, people. Mal is not her friend, let alone a good love interest.

It's important to remember that he didn't support her or accept her for what she was for two books straight, then made a belated 180 degree switch when the author decided that Malina would be endgame. Even the epilogue in RaR sucks. Once again, Alina is frail and strange, servants (who she now employs) don't respect her, sneer and make fun of her, while her now husband Mal turns a blind eye. Everything is back to the way it was: Mal thrives, Alina is...there, missing an essential part of herself, isolated, friendless unless her old ones visit once a year. The ending is supposed to be bittersweet, a couple who survived a war building a new life together, but I don't see the sweet part.

Alina had grown up into an extremely controlled and shut off environment. Not only did she live in a small village, she also lived in an orphanage which was basically a cult. It's crucial for development of children's minds and psych for them to have some sort of moral and core values explained and ingrained into them. Alina grew up in an orphanage where she did not have friends except Mal. Her only mother figure was an abusive hostile sexist woman. She doesn't really believe in saints and we never see her actually strive to make her country better. Her patriotism is usually out of obligation because she is stuck with her powers or because a charming person like Nikolai told her that they could do a lot of good together. Her only driving force in life is Mal. That is extremely unhealthy. 

 I do not want to blame Alina for not being an extrovert and going out of her way to make friends but I think we should acknowledge that her insecurities often get in the way of her forming relationships. She doesn't make friends in the first army because she is insecure about how small and fragile she is and maybe some people were cruel to her and if they were, it's understandable why she would be hesitant to put herself out there. But the thing is though, the very first thing we see from her, the very first words she utters are hostile towards the person who just bumped into her. Someone says to her "watch where you're going" and she snaps at him: "why don't you watch your fat feet". Well, fat shaming was certainly not necessary. She could just say "sorry" or "watch where you're going yourself" or just "piss off". She immediately retaliates to point out his "flaw" because only thing she sees in herself are her own flaws. The sentence she says after that in her inner monologue is that the soldier probably didn't expect lip from a scrawny little thing like her.

She shames others and then shames herself and the cycle repeats and it never goes anywhere. She doesn't learn to not judge herself or others and that is one of the reasons why she can't form healthy relationships. Furthermore, when she gets to the little Palace, she's prejudiced against Grisha and doesn't try to make any friends once again. As an introvert I understand why she wouldn't want to in new environment but but the smart thing would be to not be completely alone. The only "friends" she made are the ones who came up to her and literally stuck to her - Marie and Nadia, and she didn't really care about them.

Then, there's Genya. Alina finds out that Genya has been accepted into the second army and that she was a spy for the Darkling and she immediately takes it as a personal offense. In reality, Genya was a servant, a Grisha without color, so she should've seen the spy thing coming. The darkling wasn't in the little Palace most of the time so obviously he would have someone to keep an eye on her. Also she guilt-trips Genya when she doesn't immediately take Alina's side and even when we hear Genya's backstory and what she went through, Alina doesn't feel nearly as sympathetic as she should have for a friend. Why would Genya put her trust in the girl, who is allied with her abusers - the royal family, and for months didn't even care to get to know people around her, since she was only there until she could find a way to reconnect with her one sided childhood crush? Genya was well-versed in political situations and got double dose of suffering as a Grisha and as a servant, while Alina didn't even accept being Grisha. She should've known Alina wouldn't stay and bother to liberate Grisha and she didn't. She left everything up to the family who was responsible to Genya's rape for years. And Nikolai, who Alina praises to heavens and claims is the best future for Ravka, sent his rapist father to a nice luxurious retirement in the Southern colonies, as well as his mother who was equally at fault for what happened to Genya because she was the one who removed her protection from Genya and allowed the king to rape her. Alina doesn't express any concern over that, nor did she express concern when the King was in her presence and spent his days "chasing servant girls". Ew. Just ew. Alina sees what happened to Genya before her very eyes and allows it to happen. Alina is not Genya's friend.

Even in Siege and Storm, for some reason, Alina demands loyalty from Grisha who she hasn't done anything good for. What do they owe her? Alina came to the little Palace, didn't train, was prejudiced against them and they're supposed to choose her over the man who gave them shelter and trained them and kept them safe? Alina claims she does not want to be a saint or a queen or a leader one second and the next she demands unquestioning loyalty from other Grisha, as well as Nikolai's rogue Grisha and her cult. But do we really see her doing anything for them? No. When she went to the little Palace all she said is that the darkling was a psychopath and that he would take over the world, which he wasn't even planning to do. And then she threatened the remaining Grisha in the little Palace that she would have them in chains if they didn't listen to her. Imagine if the Darkling did that. She never really befriends the Grisha that stuck with her. When the inferni Hershaw shares his backstory and tells them how in the Wandering Isle people crack Grishas' heads open because they believe that their blood has magical properties, even brash Zoya is appalled and expresses her condolences. Meanwhile all Alina thinks about is herself, that Hershaw sharing his backstory means that he will place his hope for a better world for Grisha in Alina now and how she doesn't want that kind of responsibility.

The point is that Alina never goes through the steps that are required to make a friend, but when she needs one, she always demands to have them there at her beck and call. Otherwise they are a terrible person, a traitor for not being on her side and the Darkling's puppet.

Even the Darkling, who wasn't in the little Palace most of the time, who always traveled across the whole country to various military points to ensure that the borders were controlled, a person who couldn't allow anyone to get close to him, who had to remain professional with everyone, who couldn't let anyone know that he was an amplifier, still had more friends than Alina who he encouraged to make friends. He had his personal guard - the Oprichniki, and a few heartrenders he was close to, like Ivan for example. Alina only has a few Grisha during the trilogy whose names we even find out and she never even checked up on them. When they come to her with their grievances Alina never takes the opportunity to grow closer with them. No, it's always about Mal, who's doing just fine without her but will complain how she's not paying attention to him.

 Now, as for the Darkling, her interactions with him are very open in Shadow and Bone. It's just good communication between them when he was in the little Palace. They talked, Alina wallowed in her insecurities and he actually found her sour humor funny, which was very cute. And he did his best to answer her questions and ease her worries. He literally told her he was over 120 years old, that had been waiting for her for a long time, that he finally felt a connection with someone. And here's the thing: Alina never outwardly rejected his advances. She told him he was no longer alone, that he had her, the damned kiss was consensual. And then Alina runs away with Mal and goes back to every prejudice she initially had about him. What is he supposed to feel? He tries to get her back. And he bargains and shows he's willing to negotiate even after she screwed up his carefully planned coup. He even says that he doesn't mind her thing with Mal because he will die eventually or she will find out that it won't work out with him. The Darkling's primary goal wasn't "manipulating" or "possessing'' Alina, it was saving Ravka from collapsing. But over the next two books, she refuses to look at the big picture and properly address the problems which darkling is trying to fix. If only Alina actually talked to him instead of throwing baseless accusations every five seconds. She could literally call him anytime through the tether, he visited her all the time and she just refused to communicate. If she no longer wanted a relationship with him, she could at least speak to him about serious matters, like avoiding the civil war the country clearly couldn't take.

Her relationship with Nikolai was not genuine. Did it have potential to actually become genuine if they acknowledged each other’s flaws? Yes. But Alina justified Nikolai’s selfish ambitions as him trying to do what’s best for Ravka while never granting the Darkling the same leniency. She is appalled at Darkling’s willingness to kill the Grisha who turned on him after he asked him to not make him to do it and not to start an actual civil war but is okay with Nikolai sacrificing the Grisha loyal to Alina to get himself on the throne. What’s the difference between Nikolai’s and the Darkling’s relationship to Alina? Nikolai presents himself better in order to stay in her good graces. The Darkling is a general, Nikolai is a politician. The Dakling told her how it was, what he had to do, and Alina couldn’t handle the ugly truth. In both Shadow and Bone and Siege and Storm, we see the Darkling call her out numerous times, asking her the real questions: 

Why would she run without giving him a chance to explain himself? (She was still prejudiced against him and didn’t view him as an actual human being even after how much kindness he had shown her)

What was her long-term plan? (She didn’t have one)

Did she really want Mal or Nikolai? (She wasn’t sure)

Nikolai never bothered her with such difficult questions. He was all too glad to prance her around, use her as a political tool, be charming to her and show her a glimpse of a wounded boy with a dream. Funny how fans call the Darkling the manipulator when all he had was a strategy to help Grisha, and yes, for that he needed Alina’s power. He actually risked his plan at the winter fete with his flustered flirting. You’d think he’d be better at it, and perhaps he could be, but he was actually too honest and hopeful too soon.

Meanwhile, Nikolai needed Alina for his image, to strengthen his claim to the throne even though legally he had no right to it. Who is truly the selfish one here? Nikolai kissed her in public without consent and then shoved her into a carriage, practically trapped her in an engagement…Do we really believe he wouldn’t expect her to be involved in politics, uphold their image as King as Queen and for her to birth an heir? The Darkling put a collar on her because she ran away, ignored her duty and responsibilities to her people and her country, and screwed up his carefully planned coup. And because she needed the amplifiers because she didn't train and couldn't to anything without them. I will not hear the degrading “she was just a girl” as an excuse. It’s an explanation, sure, but not an excuse. She was an adult, she was a soldier, and her running away and refusing to cooperate was the equivalent of someone stealing the nuclear codes and the only cure to the land of Chernobyl infested with zombies. She was considered a saint as soon as she was discovered for that very reason, because she was crucial to any sort of plan for Ravka. Nikolai and Darkling have lots of similarities in that regard. They claim everything they do, they do it for Ravka. 

[jumpywhumpywriter]

Traitors & Lovers (Hero & Villain) part 35

Warnings: descriptions of what dying feels like, intense emotional whump, medwhump, ventilator & IV lines, person on life support, heartbreak & grief

Hero couldn't form coherent words, but he nodded, letting Superhero wrap his arms around him and take off, flying him to Agency.

The sobs had mostly stopped by the time they'd arrived, but the pain was still there, sharp as a blade that sliced into his heart. He was in absolute shock and disbelief as Superhero helped him limp off to an isolated room to await help, leaving him alone in his misery.

Hero gripped his hair in his hands, breathing shakily through clenched teeth and rocking back and forth in his chair in a futile effort to soothe himself.

The whole situation felt surreal. He'd known Villain for so long, and they'd been through so much together. And now she was... gone, just like that. Because Supervillain had known the deepest way to hurt him was to go for the part of his heart Villain held. Curse him.

Hero's head snapped up when the door to the room opened, and Medic stepped inside, hair messy. He looked tired. Exhausted, actually.

The surgeon gave Hero a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "I've got some news," he started slowly. "Villain's still alive, as of now. Barely hanging in there, but alive. I got her semi-stabilized. She's critical, so I don't want you to get your hopes up, but there is a chance she'll make it."

"How big of a chance?" Hero asked.

Medic averted his eyes, and that was answer enough.

"I want to see her."

"You can't yet."

"Why the hell not?!" Hero demanded.

Medic narrowed his eyes at him. "The other doctors are finishing getting the machines set up for Villain, and you are injured and need to be fixed up first anyway so you're not bleeding everywhere."

"I'm fine."

"No you're not."

"Medic, please. If she's going to die I want to see her one last time."

"No. Let me help you first and we'll go from there. I'm not budging on that."

Hero growled low in his throat in frustration, but hastily shed his fighting suit to expose his wounds and let Medic check them.

"Fortunately the bullets didn't hit anything vital," Medic announced after a brief examination. "All three are through-and- through, so there's no bullets stuck in your flesh. Makes my job easier." He pulled out a suture kit from a drawer, instructing Hero to lie down on the examination table to be stitched up.

Hero twitched and squirmed restlessly throughout the whole thing, desperate to get done and go see Villain's condition.

"Can you sit still for ten minutes?" Medic snapped, readjusting his position once more. "Do I have to call in reinforcements to hold you down? You're not making this go any faster."

Hero scowled, biting back a snarky retort -- it wouldn't help his situation. He forced himself to settle down, though he itched to get up and run right out the door.

"Done," Medic finally announced, snipping off the last bit of surgical thread.

Hero was on his feet in an instant. "Where's Villain?"

"I'll take you to her, but... you should be warned, it might hurt to see her in the shape she's in."

"Don't care," Hero snapped. "I have to see her. Please?"

The corner of Medic's mouth twitched, but he didn't comment, wordlessly leading Hero out of the room and off toward where Villain was being kept, stopping in front of a plain white door.

"I'll give you two some time alone," he said quietly.

Hero's heart dropped to the soles of his feet when he stepped in and laid eyes on her -- Villain. She was limp on the medical bed, a clear tube running through her open mouth and down her throat, attached to a machine that pumped timed breaths into her lungs. Several other machines were next to her bed performing other bodily functions -- and they were the only things standing between her and death.

A mess of tubes were connected to her arms and neck, some filled with clear liquid and others cycling blood through her, and Hero counted at least six different bags on the IV stand.

Villain's broken leg was in a cast, and every other injury was wrapped in gauze and bandages. Her face was pale, so terribly pale. She looked so weak and fragile like this, like the slightest touch might kill her.

Hero stood and watched for several minutes, listening to the pneumatic hiss of the ventilator breathing for her, before he shook himself out of the shock enough to approach the side of Villain's bed. Guilt ripped him apart inside as he looked down at her, devastation yawning like a deep, bottomless pit of sorrow and despair that threatened to swallow him whole.

"I'm so sorry I couldn't save you," he whispered, knowing she couldn't hear him. "Why did you have to agree to fight Supervillain with me? I know now that you knew exactly how the story was going to end, but still, you gave it a try. Why couldn't you have just let me face him alone like I wanted to?" His voice cracked with emotion.

"I told you I didn't want to put you in danger again. But you're so stubborn." He pulled up a chair next to the bed, gently taking Villain's cold hand in his own and tenderly rubbing a thumb over the back of it.

"I love you, Vil, I love you so much and it hurts and--" Hero's voice choked off, and he let out a dry laugh. "That's what love is, though, isn't it? Love is pain. It hurts. It's the cost of loving something -- knowing that one day, that something could be gone, and leave agony in its wake. And yet we choose to love anyway, because it's worth it."

His face twisted with grief. "If you ever wake up, I swear to be here for you for the rest of our lives. I will never betray you again, and I will love you with every fiber of my being and make sure you never feel lost and alone ever again. I love you fiercely, Villain, and... if you give me a second chance, I will not ruin it. I promise." He pressed his forehead to Villain's hand and sobbed quietly, the sluggish beeping of the heart monitor and the hiss of the ventilator the only other sounds aside from his own crying.

Please wake up, his thoughts cried with him. You said I'd be okay without you... but I'm not. I'm scared, and alone, and you're the only one that ever makes it feel better.

He’d never felt more broken than in this moment, not knowing if Villain would live through the night. That he could lose the one person he loved most.

I want you back. It's you -- it's always going to be you I choose. I never should have betrayed your trust -- those three years you ran off and went missing were the worst of my life. I wondered how many times the same thing could break my heart, once I found you again and discovered how much you hated me. I realized that the answer was 'as long as you love it'. And I never stopped loving you... so I keep breaking instead.

⏪️ Back Next ⏩️

Masterlist

@scoundrelwithboba @lumpofsand @isikedmyself878 @iamheretohurt @fleur-a-whump

@ay5ksal @otterfrost @sausages-things @togzy

@whump-till-ya-jump @cravesunconditionallove @whumpwritinglover222 @written-in-the-stars135 @neverthelass

@starz8nk @redwinesupanover @whumpisgoodwhumpislife @theforeverdyingperson @whatwhump

@writing-with-olive @whumplicity @art3m1zz @enigmawriteswhump @basica11ywhumped

[enderisin]

⚠️ WARNING ⚠️

LONG RANT ABOUT EPIC!CALYPSO AHEAD

Calypso is extremely fascinating to me, because although she’s one of the characters I sympathize the most with and I strongly enjoy reading about her, if she were a real person I’m afraid she would likely end up with a one-way ticket to hell.

Now, most people in the fandom agree that she’s far from a good person. However, I do not believe she is evil incarnate, nor is she an innocent victim of her circumstances.

Now, Calypso has known one thing all her life:

She is alone.

Let me make this clear.

She is completely alone. For hundreds of years, she’s never had a conversation. Never had someone to help her. Never laughed with somebody. Never had someone smile at her. She’s never even made eye contact with anyone.

So, when someone washes up on her shore, she’s ecstatic.

This changes everything.

It’s every single one of her dreams wrapped up into one person.

After what is most likely days of fantasizing about her future life and caring for the unconscious man, he wakes up.

And says he’s married and threatens her life.

Of course, she could let him go.

But this is also her only chance.

She has no idea if she’ll ever see another person again.

Let that sink in.

She’s a goddess.

She’s immortal.

She could be alone for the rest of eternity until time itself ends.

Of course she's desperate for him to stay.

Now, is any of that an excuse for what she did? Of course not.

But in letting him go, she would be sacrificing her happiness for all of eternity.

I’ll leave it up to the reader to decide what you personally would choose in that situation.

Now, fast forward seven years. In epic specifically, we have no idea how she treated him.

She could have kept him in a cage, or she could have given him everything he’s ever wanted and we would have no idea.

However, we do know two very important things that we learn from Love in paradise.

1. Odysseus is not happy and actively begs to go home.

2. Calypso is doing everything in her power to keep him there.

Even in the ending part of love in paradise where Odysseus is on the cliff (which I personally believe is when we truly see things from Odysseus’s perspective, but that’s a discussion for another time), Calypso is calmly trying to get him to stay.

And how does she do that?

By literally and figuratively taking the place of everyone he’s ever loved in his life.

Now, this is a horrific thing to try and do. Hopefully I don’t need to explain why knowingly isolating someone and using their trauma as a tool to get them to love you is not a good thing.

But I personally believe Calypso thought she was doing the right thing.

Why? Because from her perspective, she loves him. She is his support system.

In other words, she and her love is the paradise he needs to come back to.

And if she has to play dirty to get him to come back, so be it.

in Not sorry for loving you, many are confused on whether or not calypso is genuinely apologizing or simply manipulating him.

I believe it’s both.

She likely feels some level of guilt for what she put odysseus through. She knows that she is selfish. But from her perspective, she had no other choice if she wanted to keep her sanity intact.

And maybe some part of her doesn’t want to face the consequences of her actions no matter how fair she knows they are.

So in the same breath as her apology, she throws out a last ditch effort to guilt him into staying.

She tells her tale. She pours her heart out. She gives him everything she has.

But it’s not enough.

In the same song, Odysseus says he loves her, “But not in the way [she] wants him too.”

This interests me greatly. After all, just one song ago he was clearly unhappy being with her. Is he lying? Did Calypso somehow get him to love her in just one song? Is he being manipulated?

I personally believe he’s telling the truth.

He does love her.

But instead of taking the obvious interpretation of the line that he only loves her platonically, I believe this means he loves her because she is all he has.

He’s lonely, and he hasn’t seen his wife in nearly 20 years. If he completely avoided calypso, he would be just like she was before he came.

Alone.

So if Odysseus began to feel something besides hatred when he looked at his captor, is he really to blame?

Does prometheus occasionally to look forward to the eagle’s visits, for it means that for a brief moment he is not abandoned?

I guess you could call it Stockholm syndrome, what I’m describing.

But Odysseus did not have such words to describe the way he felt.

He only knew that as Calypso’s tears mixed with the ocean he was about to sail on, he forced aside the part of him that wished to dry them.

[bucky-fricking-barnes]

Someplace Like Home

Title: Someplace Like Home

Pairing: Nomad!Steve Rogers x Reader

Word Count: 8.3k

Warnings: Canonical violence, minor injuries, minor blood, non-descriptive mentions of hospitals, mild language

Summary: Y/N owns a hostel in Croatia. When the very handsome Grant comes to work for her, she falls hard and fast for the new handyman.

A/N: This story takes place between Civil War and Infinity War, when Steve is on the run. There are a handful Croatian phrases/words used, which are translated at the end of this fic. Don’t ask me why all my Steve stories suddenly have foreign languages in them. As always, thanks for reading and supporting my writing in all the ways you do. Enjoy!

Dividers are by @firefly-graphics

Your morning starts off slow, like it always does, and after the handful of guests have finished breakfast and left to spend the rest of the day at the beach or in the mountains, you settle yourself behind the front counter and pull out your laptop. The dirty dishes can wait until later—Ana will be here in an hour, and she prefers doing the dishes over going over the books, so you have an unspoken deal that you’ll do the bookkeeping if she cleans up after meals.

You’re just opening up the software on your laptop when the front door opens. The bell above it jingles as a man steps in, bringing with him a warm gust of air. June has been unseasonably cool, but today is the warmest it’s been in weeks. You’ve kept most of the windows open all morning, even though it was still a bit chilly.

“Dobro jutro,” you greet. You carefully shift the laptop off to the side a few inches, being careful not to mess up the carefully arranged papers you’ve sorted out on the counter.

“Kako vam mogu pomoći?”

The man has a gray hiking backpack slung over his shoulder. He’s tall and blond, a dark blond that looks golden in the light from the outside but brown in the shadows. His thick beard and mustache are well-trimmed. You automatically open up the leatherbound reservation book and reach underneath the counter for a key. 

“Dobro jutro. Uh, govorite li engleski?” asks the man. He smiles politely, and you smile back, nodding.

“Of course,” you answer. “How can I help you?”

His eyes move to the pen in your hand, already poised over the next open spot in the reservation book. “I’m not here for a room. I’m here about the opening for a handyman.”

Surprised, you close the book again and tuck it back under the counter where it belongs, along with the key you’d grabbed. No one has come about the open position since you’d posted it months ago in the local cafe. Not even a sign outside the hostel has helped.

“In that case, my name’s Y/N. I’m the owner here.”

“Grant,” he replies, his hand already held out for you to shake.

You oblige with another smile. “It’s nice to meet you, Grant. Can I ask how you found out about the position? I don’t think I’ve ever seen you around town.”

He nods once. “I just moved here from Italy, and from Switzerland before that.”

“So you’re making your way through Europe, then?” you ask. You’re not entirely surprised—he looks rugged enough that he could handle a long backpacking trip or several months of solo travel, unlike some of the college students you normally have traipsing through your village.

“In a way,” he answers. “Truthfully, I’d like to settle down someplace, but it’s been a rough few years. I haven’t quite found the place that feels like home yet.”

Secretly, as you listen to him explain the various European cities in which he’s lived, you wish that he’ll come to feel at home here. Brdonik isn’t large enough to be on any maps, but it’s been your home for almost a decade now, and you can’t imagine a better place. The whole community bands together, and people look out for each other. There’s enough tourism from backpackers and small cruises that you’re not totally isolated, but you’re still far enough removed that your daily life isn’t saturated with commercialism and the big city nonsense you often hear about through your guests. You’d experienced it enough before coming to Croatia, and you don’t ever plan on going back to the life you’d had before you moved.

“To answer your question,”—Grant’s gentle continuation pulls you from your thoughts—“I saw a flier posted in the cafe down the street. I stopped there for lunch.”

“What did you order?” you ask. You prop an elbow up on the counter and level him with your gaze.

“Is that important?

“If you want this job it is. You can tell a lot about a person based on what they order at a restaurant.”

He smiles a little. “I got the turkey sandwich.”

You consider his choice for a moment before giving him a nod. “Simple, but respectable. A clear tourist choice, but I like it.”

“You can’t go wrong with a turkey sandwich,” he adds.

“It’s a classic!” You smile back at him and then come around the counter into the main part of the lobby. You grab your clipboard from its hook on the wall.

“Let me give you a tour,” you tell him. “I’ll point out some of the things that need fixing, and then you can tell me if you still think you’re a good fit.”

Grant agrees, and he walks beside you as you lead him through the hostel. You show him the currently unoccupied rooms, as well as the common areas, and you give him plenty of time to inspect the stalled projects and major fixes that he’d been in charge of. While he looks around, you watch him carefully. There’s something familiar about him, something you can’t quite put your finger on, but he doesn’t set off any alarm bells in your head like some of the previous candidates had. He’s respectful of the property and the few lingering guests you come across, and Grant is polite enough to open doors for you as you approach them. He speaks softly and clearly, and his sense of humor is well-timed. Somehow, despite his hulking frame and obvious strength, you feel safe around him.

Eventually, you lead him to your office. Grant takes the seat in front of your desk and you close the door behind him, then sit behind your desk and pull a pad of paper from the drawer. He’s almost too big for the chair you normally reserve for college-age backpackers looking for a few days of housekeeping work. He’s relaxed, though, and he rests both arms on the thin wooden armrests as you get out what you need. You sneak a glance at him as you sit upright again. His eyes move slowly and carefully over the framed photos and documents on the wall, taking in each one of them individually before he moves onto the next—your college diploma from NYU, a photo of you with your family the last time they came to visit, a certificate of operation from the local government. His backpack is leaning up against the front leg of the chair and his left leg, and you briefly wonder how he’s afforded to travel so much. The bag looks brand new, and high-tech, too. Is he a tech mogul of some kind? A grown-up trust fund kid? Did he steal it, or is he just really good with money?

“You’ll have to excuse me, I don’t have any questions prepared for you,” you tell him as you reach for a pen.

He nods and looks back at you. “You weren’t expecting me to walk in today, I understand.”

“Either way, I have to say that so far, I’m very impressed with you.” You glance up again and give him a polite smile, then look back down as you write his name and the date at the top of the page. “What did you say your last name was again?”

“Carter,” he says.

Nodding, you add that at the top and make your first bullet point.

“Grant Carter. Are you named after someone? That seems a pretty traditional name for a guy your age.” You immediately cringe at the question. “I’m sorry, that was inappropriate. You don’t have to answer that.”

Chuckling, Grant shakes his head. “No, it’s alright. My mother was a big fan of Ulysses S. Grant.”

“The 18th president?” you ask, grinning wide.

He nods and lets out another small laugh. “That’s the one.”

“He’s not normally up there on peoples’ lists of favorite presidents.”

“She had her reasons, I guess,” Grant shrugs.

You hum a little with a smile and look back down at your almost empty legal pad. You have a million questions that you want to ask, and more that you know you should, but you allow yourself to think for a moment before you look up again. Whatever you ask has to be the right mix of the two.

“You’ve lived in a lot of really impressive places,” you begin, and Grant nods in confirmation. “Why come here? There are plenty of larger cities with more job openings. Better paying job openings,” you add.

“You sell yourself short,” Grant easily replies. He sits forward a little, his elbows sliding closer to the ends of the armrests. “Your town is beautiful. It’s comfortable, and a bit secluded. I’m looking for something quieter.”

“A lot of people are, but we’re not often what they want in the long run. How long are you planning on staying?”

Grant stares at you for a long moment before he replies, “Until I’m needed elsewhere.”

You raise an eyebrow. “That’s a bit cryptic, so I hope you don’t mind if I ask for a clearer answer.”

“I plan on staying indefinitely, but if it changes, I promise you’ll be the first to know.”

Not quite satisfied with his answer, you still scribble down the response and make a second point on the next line down.

“Do you have handyman experience?”

Grant shakes his head. “But I’m a quick learner and I’m stronger than I look. Whatever I don’t already know how to do, I’ll pick it up quickly if I can get the information from someone or somewhere.”

I highly doubt you’re stronger than you look, you think, forcing yourself to look down at the paper and write, rather than at him. You already look pretty damn strong.

“Do you have a previous employer I can contact? Or references?”

“I can have that information to you by the end of the day.”

You nod and keep writing, and you don’t look up as you say, “We don’t typically provide housing for employees, as we’re a small enough village that commute isn’t an issue, but given that you’re new to town, I’m going to assume that you don’t have a place to stay yet.”

“No ma’am, I don’t.”

“I can get you set up in a room here, if that’s alright with you. I won’t expect you to work outside of normal business hours, except in an emergency, but that’s the same even if you lived off-property,” you tell him, looking up. You don’t lift your pen, and it’s a little satisfying to see that Grant looks mildly surprised. He doesn’t seem like the kind of person who could be surprised by anything.

“You’re hiring me?” he asks.

“Should I not?”

He quickly recovers and shakes his head, giving you a small smile. “I was just surprised that you’re not waiting until after you’ve seen my references.”

“Are you a horrible person?”

“I don’t think so, no.

“Are you a terrible employee?” you ask, putting your pen down on the desk.

“I’m loyal to a fault.”

“Should I be concerned about criminal activity?”

Grant laughs. “I’m a model citizen, though I did steal a piece of cake when I was a kid.”

“I’ll be sure to inform the local authorities,” you tease, grinning. You slide the notepad onto your desk and stand, holding out your hand for him to shake. Grant obliges. “You’re hired, Mr. Carter. If you’re ready, I’ll show you to your room so you can get settled in before your first day tomorrow.”

“I’d like that, thank you,” he replies.

“I won’t take the room out of your salary unless it prevents us from taking guests, but I don’t see that becoming an issue, except maybe in mid-July,” you tell him as you move around the desk to the door. “The handyman position pays 800 euros a month. You’ll be paid bi-weekly in check or cash, whichever your preference. We don’t have direct deposit here. If you need an account in town, there’s a bank down the road.”

“Cash is fine,” he says. He picks up his bag and swings it over his shoulder before following you back out into the hallway, then out to the lobby. You make a pit stop at the front desk to grab a key before heading up the main staircase.

The private, single person rooms on the third floor are a little older, and you briefly worry as you climb the stairs if the beds will be able to hold Grant’s weight. You don’t use them as often now that you’ve finished transforming the old hotel into a hostel. There’s a thin coating of dust on the handrail and you make a mental note to give this floor a thorough cleaning tomorrow while he’s occupied, that way you won’t be intruding. 

You lead Grant to the end of the hall, where the rooms are slightly larger and the windows overlook the ocean. While the view is great, most of your summer guests only fill the dorm-style rooms, so you’re fairly certain you won’t be missing out on any profit by giving him this room.

“Here we are,” you say, and you open the door before stepping aside so he can enter first.

Grant ducks through the doorway and flips the light switch, then looks around in silence. You wait in the hallway, holding your breath as he makes his inspection.

“This is nice,” he finally says, looking back at you. He drops his bag at the foot of the bed. “You’re sure it’s alright if I stay here?”

You wave one hand dismissively. “It’s fine.”

Your phone chimes in your back pocket and you pull it out, quickly reading the notification. It’s only mildly urgent, but you can feel Grant trying to look occupied as he waits for you to leave, so you look up and gesture back towards the stairs with your phone. 

“I’ve gotta take care of something, but you’re in luck. Every Thursday night we host a group dinner for the guests. The food is all cooked by a chef from a local restaurant in an attempt to promote the local cuisine, so you’re welcome to join us, or I can recommend some other restaurants in the area, if you want to explore a little bit more. We eat at seven.”

Nodding, Grant smiles and crosses the room to pull the key from where you’d left it in the lock. “I’ll see you at seven. It was nice to meet you, Y/N.”

“You too, Grant. Welcome aboard!” You smile once more, then turn and head back down the hall. His door closes as you reach the top of the stairs, and suddenly, you can’t wait for dinnertime.

You occupy yourself for the majority of the day by compiling a list of projects for Grant, as well as contacting the references he sends you using the email address on the hostel’s website. He gets glowing reviews from each and every person on the list, though they all seem a little confused when you first ask about him. 

Grant comes down to the first floor at five minutes to seven, and you’re just greeting the first small group of guests to arrive back from their excursions when he steps down from the bottom step. You glance over and give him a quick, acknowledging smile before turning back to the guests.

“Dobor dan! How was your time at the beach?” you ask. They reply politely in a mix of English and their own native language. You vaguely recognize it as French. You’re about to tell them in English about the dinner schedule, hoping that they’ll understand at least partially, but Grant begins talking in rapid-fire French before you even open your mouth.

It takes everything in you to keep your jaw from dropping straight through the floor. None of Grant’s references had mentioned he was bilingual, and neither did he. It feels like it should’ve been obvious, however, given that every single person he’d talked to had mentioned his incredible intelligence and ability to pick up skills quicker than anybody they knew.

Still, you watch in stunned silence from behind the front desk and Grant chatters with the guests. He leads them from the lobby and into the adjoining sitting area, where you hear them sit down and continue to talk. Someone laughs, and then Grant does, too. It’s a deep, mellow baritone, and you catch yourself grinning before you manage to stifle it.

When the next group of guests walk in, you guide them into the sitting room with the others. Grant catches your eye as you turn the corner, and when he smiles, you swear that your heart stutters in your chest.

He’s your employee, you chide yourself, and you turn your back on the group on the premise of prepping a plate of cookies for the coffee table.

“Dinner should be ready soon,” you say as you set the plate in the center of the group. Grant translates for you, first in French, and then in a language that sounds almost Spanish, but you know enough of that to know that it’s something different. All the guests nod in agreement.

You settle against one of the heavy wood bookshelves and watch quietly as Grant chats with the guests, switching fluidly between languages whenever he turns to a new person. It’s amazing, so you simply stay silent as you listen to the flurry of foreign words in the sitting room. You’ve never heard the pre-dinner conversation so lively. It brings a new warmth to the hostel, and you can’t help but smile as you watch the guests come alive, even though they’re exhausted.

“Dinner is ready!” Ana calls. She pokes her head in the door, and she smiles wide when she sees the guests talking excitedly. Every seat is taken. When she turns to look at you, you only grin.

“What’s going on?” she asks, stepping closer so she can lower her voice. “Who is that?”

You lean in, whispering, “His name is Grant. He’s the new handyman, and apparently, he speaks multiple languages.”

“Apparently?”

“I didn’t know when I hired him! This,” you gesture with one hand towards the circle of guests, who have started to rise now that Grant has passed along the message about dinner, “was a surprise to me, too. He just started talking to them on his own. I didn’t ask him to do anything.”

Ana raises her eyebrows, giving you a meaningful look. Before you can scold her for trying to meddle in your love life, she slips away and Grant appears at your side.

“Who is that?” he asks.

Goosebumps erupt on your arms at the sound of his deep voice so close to your ear. He’s leaned down so you can hear him clearly, and though he’s not quite in your space, he’s still close enough that you can feel the warmth radiating from him. It should feel stifling in the early summer heat, but it’s comforting, and you turn towards him with a bright smile.

“Ana. She’s the manager when I’m not here. I’ll introduce you later. How come you never told me you spoke all those languages?” you ask.

Grant just smiles back at you. “You never asked.”

“I’ll make sure to add that to my list of questions for the next time I have to hire someone.” You gesture at the line of guests filtering through the doorway to the hostel’s dining room. “We should eat. Most of the guests have spent all day hiking or at the beach, and they’ll be hungry. Our local chefs are all amazing, so the food always goes quickly.”

“What’s on the menu?” Grant asks. He starts to walk and you fall into step beside him, noting how he angles himself sideways and stoops through the doorway so that you’re not squashed into the doorframe. It’s a miracle he doesn’t hit his head on any of the lowered ceilings or hanging decor in the building.

I’ll have to warn him about the lights in the rooms on the second floor, you note.

“Punjene paprike. Stuffed peppers,” you translate. You pause and watch as the guests choose their seats, silently making sure there are enough chairs. When it’s clear you’ve done the math correctly, you look over at Grant. “How many languages do you speak?”

He shrugs and surveys the long table filled with food. People are already piling their plates high and chattering with their friends and family, and the room is filled with amicable noise. The sun coming in from the windows is golden. The windows face south, which is one of the many reasons why you’d first purchased the building. It needs a lot of work, and it always has, but the view of the ocean from the dining room windows, along with the way the sun illuminates the whole room, helps make all the work worth it.

“This place is beautiful,” says Grant, quietly. “You’ve done well.”

You look over at him, surprised at the praise. It warms you from the inside out, and you smile when he meets your eyes. “Thank you. I’ve worked hard.”

He nods, and after a moment, he gestures towards the table. There are two empty seats beside each other, near the far end of the room. Ana has taken the seat across from them and she’s already begun to eat.

You follow Grant across the dining room, and you try not to act surprised when he pulls out the chair and helps you sit before taking the spot beside yours. Ana catches your eye as you reach for a dish, but you look away. You can’t risk having her embarrass you in front of the guests.

Or Grant, the cheeky little voice in your brain adds, but you quickly push the thought to the far reaches of your brain. Showing your hand—and your burgeoning feelings for Grant—right now is something you need even less.

“So, you’re from New York?” he asks.

You look up from where you’re pulling a napkin into your lap. “What?”

“Your degree. It’s from NYU, so I’m assuming that you’re from the States.”

Nodding, you allow him to serve one of the peppers onto your plate, and you heap an extra serving of rice onto the side of your plate before handing him the bowl. You don’t want to assume he likes anything, especially since he ordered one of the most American things on the menu at the cafe.

“I am. I grew up in Manhattan, and I decided to stay there for college. Once I got my degree in hospitality, I decided it was time I see more of the world,” you tell him. 

“Why Croatia?” Grant asks.

You shrug and pick up your fork. “Honestly? I don’t know why. I didn’t even mean to come here. I ended up on the wrong train and decided to stick it out. I figured it would be a fun experience either way, but I fell in love with it here. On my second day here, I saw that this building was up for sale and I had just enough money in my savings to buy it. It was a big risk, but I think that it was worth it.”

He looks around the room, listening to the conversations for a few moments before he smiles. “I think so, too.”

“Where are you from?” you ask. “You’re clearly American.”

Grant laughs at that, nodding. “I grew up in Brooklyn. When I was old enough, I served in the army for a few years, and since then I’ve just been… traveling.”

The army thing makes sense, and you file that information away for later. The two of you start to eat, exchanging a few more words throughout the meal. Grant offers to help Ana with the dishes. She’s giddy at the proposal, so you let them head into the kitchen as you help guests arrange their plans for the next day. You find yourself straining to listen for the sound of his voice during the quiet moments, however, but by the time the dishes are finished, Grant tells you that he’s exhausted and he wants to get a good night’s rest before his first day on the job. You wish him goodnight from the front desk, then wait for Ana to appear and barrage you with a million questions about the new handyman.

You learn quickly that there’s even more to Grant than meets the eye. He’d been telling the truth in his interview—he’s deceptively strong, and he really does learn quicker than anyone you’ve ever met. His Croatian improves leaps and bounds in the first few months at the hostel. By the end of the summer, he’s practically fluent, even if he does bumble through some of the more complicated phrases with a faint blush on his cheeks.

The longstanding projects for the hostel are all completed by the end of August, leaving you scrambling to keep Grant busy. When you can’t find anything to do, however, he busies himself by exploring the far reaches of the island, speaking with the guests in a myriad of languages, and keeping you company in the lobby or in your office. His presence, which had once seemed much too large for the old brick building, has settled. He seems at home in the armchair you buy for the corner of your office, and he’s become a fixture in the doorway of the lobby, where he likes to stand and watch traffic pass by.

It’s on one of the hottest days of the year that you first get a glimpse behind Grant’s ever-friendly facade. You’re behind the desk, going through the reservations for the upcoming week, when there’s a shout from outside. The front door to the hostel is propped open in an attempt to let in a breeze, and Grant has taken up residence in his normal spot. You’ve only just processed the shout when there’s an explosion. The floor beneath you shakes and shudders, and you grip the edge of the desk in an attempt to keep upright.

Grant whirls around and fixes his eyes on you. He’s scanning you, up and down, searching for any sign of injury.

“Are you okay?” he asks. You nod, swallowing thickly, and peer over his shoulder. There’s no sign of what’s happened outside, but you can hear screaming and shouting. There’s a gunshot and you flinch.

“Stay here, and stay hidden,” says Grant, and you know in an instant that it’s an order. “Stay quiet and don’t let anyone in. Okay?”

Nodding again, you drop to a crouch, then curl up on the floor with your back against the desk. You clutch your phone in one hand and listen as Grant closes, then locks the door. When he doesn’t appear behind the desk, you crawl over to the side and look out into the small lobby. He’s gone.

Your arms shake beneath you and you have to fall back against the desk for support before you fall flat on your face. Squeezing your eyes shut, you listen to the commotion outside. There are no more explosions, but you hear more screams and shouts, followed by a crash and gunshots. Your heart pounds in your chest as the noise gets closer and closer. You know that Grant was in the army, so he must have military training, but the thought of him outside—the thought of him in danger—makes you want to puke.

There’s a thud against the front door and you flinch. Your body tenses and you curl up in the fetal position, trying to maintain your breathing. It doesn’t work, however, and when there’s another bang, you scream.

“Molim! Molim, let me in!”

You look around the edge of the desk again. It’s a woman on the other side, and the desperation in her voice propels you to your feet and into the lobby without a second thought. You twist the lock and yank open the door.

A slim woman dressed entirely in black grins at you. Her eyes are a shocking shade of electric blue and her teeth are bright white—a stark contrast against the mask that hides the rest of her features.

“Sorry, dragi,” she says, and you gasp when she reveals the gun in her left hand. With the other, she reaches out and grabs you. “You’re coming with me.”

“No!” You fight against the woman’s grip, and when you lift your eyes to search for help from someone else, you can’t believe what you’re seeing.

Grant is lifting a car off someone. He lifts the car and tosses it aside with a heave and a grunt, and then he’s fighting someone hand-to-hand. The man in black is clearly trained because he gets in a few hits, but Grant never stays down for long. He’s slowly forcing the man back down the street, towards the beach, instead of towards the line of shops that’s on the other side of the hostel.

There’s a blast as another explosive goes off, this time in a restaurant diagonal from your front door. Stone and rubble flies in every direction. The street is empty of people, thankfully, except for the people Grant is fighting. Somewhere down the street, a car alarm is going off, and the light from the harsh midday sun is almost blinding. Your ears are ringing from the blast and the alarm. You think you scream at some point, but you’re not sure.

The man that Grant has been fighting has been thrown back by the blast, but Grant is still standing, as if he’s anchored onto the pavement. There’s a metal car door in his hand. He’s gripping onto a piece of the leather interior, and the red painted finish on the outside has been battered by the flying debris. His chest heaves as he tries to catch his breath.

The woman drags you out of the hostel and onto the street. She wraps her arm around your shoulders and places the gun against the side of your head. You stop struggling then, and your breath catches in your throat as your heart begins to pound even harder. Your vision is going blurry along the edges, but not enough to miss the way Grant’s jaw clenches when he catches sight of you.

“Captain Rogers!” the woman shouts.

He throws a second man off of him and turns fully towards you and the woman. “Let her go!”

In your ear, the woman chuckles. It’s low and dark, and full of malice, and you shiver. You close your eyes and pray that it’s all just a bad dream.

“Not until you come with us,” the woman replies.

“Leave her and the others out of this.”

When you open your eyes, Grant is looking past you at the woman. The light reflects in his deep blue eyes, and it’s then that you realize what he’s been hiding from you.

How did I miss it before?

“Steve Rogers,” you choke.

He looks at you again. “Y/N…”

“You’re Steve Rogers.”

There’s a pause as he watches you with clear regret, and then the woman laughs, shocking you out of your revelation.

“How precious!” she exclaims. “Your little boss had no clue who you were?”

“Let. Her. Go.” Steve takes a step forward and the woman’s grip on you tightens. You can’t stop the whimper that escapes you when she pushes the gun harder against your head, making you crane your neck to one side.

Two new men in black come up behind Steve. He turns his head slightly, listening to their approach, but he doesn’t move. You can tell that he’s calculating what to do next.

There’s a moment of clarity as you watch them launch themselves at him. Steve fights like he was born for it—and maybe he was, you rationalize—and as he easily overcomes them both, you have a revelation that’s nothing short of a rock at the pit of your stomach.

Steve has to get out of this alive. So many people count on him, and they always have. Though you know that there are a lot of people all over the world who consider him a criminal, you also know that there are a lot of people just like you that think Steve deserves a place of honor for all that he’s done and all the sacrifices he’s made.

The safety on the woman’s gun clicks off and Steve freezes. The two men take advantage of that, and they grab his arms, pulling them tightly behind his back and pushing him to his knees. He falls with a grunt. One of the men grabs a fistful of his hair and yanks his head back until he’s looking at you and the woman from his place on the ground. He doesn’t fight back.

“Steve,” you plead. “You have to fight. You can’t let them take you.”

“I’m not leaving you,” he replies. He shifts his gaze to the woman without moving his head. “If I go with you, you’ll let her go?”

“You have my word.”

Heat swells in your eyes and you know that you’re about to cry. “No! Don’t trust her, Steve! You can’t believe her!”

The woman jostles you and you close your eyes on instinct. A tear slips down your cheek.

“Shut up,” she growls. 

You swallow thickly. At your sides, your hands and fingers have gone numb, and your legs are barely holding you upright. 

“Alright,” Steve agrees. “I’ll go with you.”

A sob bursts through and the woman releases you. She practically throws you to the ground, and you have just enough time to get your arms out in front of you before you hit the road. Pain shoots up both limbs and the pavement digs into your forearms. From where you lay, you watch the men pull Steve to his feet. He moves with them and doesn’t fight back as they drag him to a black cargo van on the perimeter of the blast zone.

“Steve!” you scream. Your voice breaks and your throat feels raw as you push yourself up and stumble in their direction. The movement sends pins and needles into your hands and feet, but you do it anyway. Your limbs feel completely out of your control as you attempt to go after them.

Steve looks back at you. He’s too far now for you to make out his expression, but you can see that he’s trying to tell you something. The man on his right shoves his shoulder and he’s forced into the van. 

“Let him go! Steve!” You start to sprint, running after the van as the back door slides shut and the woman, who climbed into the driver’s seat while you were getting to your feet, begins to navigate it through the rubble from the explosions. The tinted windows keep you from seeing Steve inside and your mind immediately goes to the worst.

“Someone help me! Stop that van!”

You run until you physically can’t. The van is long gone, and when you collapse onto the street, a crowd gathers around you. People are murmuring and asking you questions. There are too many hands, too many faces, even if many of them are familiar. Your vision swims as you’re rolled onto your back. The summer sun beats down on you harder, and you try to focus, but all you can manage is a mumble of Steve’s name before you lose consciousness on the pavement.

When you wake, the soft beeping noise is enough to tell you that you’re in a hospital. You open your eyes, expecting to be greeted by white walls and bedding, and maybe a wall of cabinets with a sink. Instead, there’s a slanted wall of glass windows, each separated by a pillar of concrete. Thin, almost invisible computer screens with golden text are scattered around your room, each displaying charts, figures, and data in a language you can’t read. Some are embedded into the walls on either side of the bed, while others float above white counters that look more like control panels for a spaceship. There are scans of someone’s body and brain—your brain, you realize after a long moment—that spin in circles on the floating screens.

A hiss makes you flinch, and you quickly look away from the brain scan to where a young, dark-skinned girl is walking in through a set of sliding glass doors you hadn’t seen before. Her white, high-necked sheath dress looks nothing like hospital attire, especially since it’s sleeveless and only has mesh to cover her shoulders and a few inches below her knees, but she’s holding a tablet and looks so serious that you wonder if maybe she’s not a regular doctor. After all, this doesn’t seem like a normal hospital. Where are you? Did the men in black come back to get you, too?

“Y/N, it’s good to see you awake. How are you feeling?” she asks.

Her accent is jarring, and you blink. When you go to speak, you have to lick your lips a few times. They’re dry, and your mouth feels so much like sandpaper that for a moment you don’t think you’ll actually be able to say anything at all.

“Where am I?” you finally ask in return. “Who are you?”

She smiles briefly and checks something on her tablet, then glances over at one of the floating screens off to the side. Seemingly satisfied, she locks the device and sets it aside.

“My name is Shuri. You’re in Wakanda. You will be safe here.”

You frown. “Wakanda?” None of the hospitals even remotely close to the hostel hold that name, not even in passing, but it sounds familiar.

“Yes. We’re friends of Captain Rogers. When we heard about his capture, and how you were involved, we brought you here.”

Tears burn hot in your eyes as the memories from the street outside the hostel come flooding back all at once. How long have you been in the hospital? Who’s looking for Steve?

“We have located him already,” she continues, and you inhale sharply, shifting in the bed as you reach up to wipe your face. “And the Dora Milaje has been sent to retrieve him.”

“The what?” you ask. Your voice shakes and you swallow hard in an attempt to steady yourself.

Shuri smiles again. “The Dora Milaje. They are our special forces here in Wakanda. Let me ask again, how are you feeling?”

You move in the bed a little bit more, testing your limbs for stiffness or pain. Surprisingly, there’s very little. “I’m… I’m okay, I think. Confused, mostly. Thirsty.” Your stomach growls, so you quickly add, “Hungry.”

She laughs and nods, then picks up her tablet. Shuri taps a few times before glancing down at something through the slanted windows. 

“Someone will bring you food shortly. I’ll also have someone come change the bandages on your hands and wrists. Your injuries are healing nicely. You should still rest a while longer, but I will make sure you’re notified when Captain Rogers has been safely returned.”

Nodding, you sit back against the pillows, but you quickly sit up again with a gasp. “The hostel! Ana!”

“We’ve sent someone to assist Miss Mitrovich in your absence,” Shuri soothes. She steps closer to the bed and you lie back as she approaches. “There were very few repairs that needed to be done to your building, but they are taken care of, and all your guests are safe. I have already dispatched a team of Wakandan specialists to help with the rebuild of Brdonik. We are also installing a security system in your building.”

You sigh in relief and close your eyes, swallowing against the dryness again. You lay in silence, listening to Shuri as she moves around the room and mutters to herself. When you finally open your eyes again, it’s because she’s greeting someone as the sliding glass doors hiss open for a second time.

“Grant,” you murmur, and he gives you a weak smile from just inside the doorway. You correct yourself, shaking your head. “Steve.”

“Grant is my middle name,” he quietly explains. “And Carter…”

“Agent Carter,” you finish. “I see the connection now.”

While waiting for your food, you’ve slowly been piecing together the different parts of Steve’s life that you knew, trying to get the full picture. You’ve known him personally as Grant, the quiet man from Brooklyn that is good with his hands, always knows exactly what to say when you’re in a bad mood, and is a hit with every guest that crosses your threshold. On the other hand, you also know him as Steve, the All-American super-soldier that’s plastered across every history textbook you’ve ever been given. He’s also the super-soldier that you’ve watched on the news, listening to reporter after reporter praise him like he’s a god, then publicly curse and shame him on their next breath.

Shuri quietly excuses herself. You stare at Steve as she leaves through the sliding doors behind him. There’s a cut above his right eyebrow, and blood caked in his beard, right below a nasty split in his lower lip. He’s standing lopsided, like he’s keeping the weight off his right foot, and he looks like he could use a shower and a long nap.

“Are you okay?” you ask.

He nods again. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“For dragging you into this,” Steve answers. He sighs. “For getting you hurt. For putting you in danger.”

You shake your head and sit up a little more in the bed, allowing the pillows to prop you upright. “None of this is your fault.”

“It is, and—”

“And nothing,” you interrupt. You give him a stern look and he presses his lips together with a wince. “You didn’t know that there was any danger. If you had, wouldn’t you have left?”

After a second, Steve nods, and you continue,

“And if you’d been able to stop it from happening, you would’ve, right?”

Another nod and you smooth the surprisingly soft hospital blanket over your legs.

“Then it’s not really your fault, Grant. Steve,” you correct again, more firmly this time. You’re still coming to terms with the fact that he’s not 100% who he said he was.

“But you still got hurt. I still put you in danger just by being there. I shouldn’t have stayed as long as I did. I got too comfortable, and too close, and I was careless.”

You purse your lips and watch him for several moments. Steve stays still under your inspection, waiting for you to say something.

Finally, you tell him, “I don’t regret what happened, and if I had the chance to go back in time and change things, I wouldn’t. I’m not in mortal danger, and you’re safe again. The hostel is being taken care of. None of the guests got hurt. Tourism might be down for a couple months but…” You shrug. “It’s the end of the busiest season anyway, and I have enough savings that I’m not going to worry.”

Steve shakes his head at you, then turns to look at the screens. He doesn’t seem to be actually reading them, but he puts his hands on his hips as he stares at a spinning scan of your hand and wrist.

“Do you regret it?” you ask.

He turns back. He’s silent for a few seconds as he watches you fidget with the hem of the blanket in your lap. “No,” Steve finally replies. “I don’t.”

“Me neither.”

When he doesn’t move, you swing your legs over the edge of the bed. You’re not dressed in a normal hospital gown—someone has put you in leggings and a tunic of some kind—but you still shiver when your bare feet touch the floor.

“Y/N—” Steve limps towards you, holding both hands out to steady you if you lose your balance. You don’t, and he stops a few feet away.

“I don’t regret any of it, Steve,” you say. You start to close the distance between the two of you even more. “Not a single minute.”

“Volim te,” Steve murmurs.

You freeze, now within arm’s reach. “What?”

“Volim te.”

Your brain is working a mile a minute to catch up with what he’s said. Steve shifts in place, wincing as he transfers the weight to his injured leg. 

“You should get that checked out,” you quietly tell him, glancing down at his leg.

He stares at you, as if he was expecting a different response. You know he was, but you’re suddenly so overwhelmed by everything that it’s the first thing out of your mouth. 

“I—” You close your eyes and shake your head, letting out a small self-conscious chuckle. “I’m sorry. I love you too, Steve. I do. I love you. I don’t— I don’t know why I said that. I guess I’m just worried—”

He cuts you off by stepping into your space and cupping your face with one hand. His fingers thread up into your hair and he tilts your head back so he can press his lips to yours. Your arms fall limp at your sides for a second, but then your brain catches up. You close your eyes and reach up to put one hand on the back of his neck. The other slides around his waist, pulling him closer as he kisses you.

Steve’s body is warm and though he winces with pain, then pulls away slightly to touch his fingers to his busted lip, neither one of you actually moves away from the other. You stay close enough to feel the heat from his breath on your skin.

“You need to eat,” he murmurs.

“And you need a doctor,” you reply.

He smiles a little, more just pressing his lips together than anything, and kisses your forehead. You close your eyes again when he lingers.

“Don’t go,” he says as you step away. 

You frown and crowd close again, and you place both hands on his chest. “Steve?”

“No. I mean, you should go now, but…” He struggles for a second, trying to find the words he wants to say, and you wait patiently. “What I meant was: Don’t go back to Croatia. Stay with me.”

“What about the hostel? What about Ana and the guests?”

“I’ve heard you say a thousand times that she could probably run the place on her own. Plus, it’s the end of the busiest season, and after everything that’s happened, tourism will probably be low. You said it yourself.” 

Steve reaches up to pull your hands off of him, but he holds them and rubs little circles over your knuckles with his thumbs. He watches you carefully, giving you his full attention. His eyes are deep and blue, and the crinkle between his eyebrows has disappeared completely now that he’s sure you’re okay.

“So, what? I’d stay here in Wakanda? What would I do?” you ask, frowning. “They don’t really have tourists here, do they? It’s not like they need a hostel.”

“No, but I need a partner.”

“Don’t you already have partners, Steve? What about the Falcon? Or Black Widow? Or even your friend that you told me about—James? Isn’t he a superhero, too?” 

Shaking his head, he answers, “That’s not the kind of partner I need, Y/N. I don’t need a partner to fight with. I need a partner that I can live with. Someone to make a home with.”

You stare at him for a second, allowing your brain to process what he’s just said, and then you give him a slow, sly smile. Inside, you’re giddy and jumping up and down, but all you do is pull your hands in a little more so he has to step closer to you.

“Steven Grant Rogers, are you asking me to move in with you?”

“I guess I am.” His ears are starting to turn a bright shade of pink, and it’s beginning to creep along his cheekbones as well, just above his beard. 

Steve’s still holding your hands captive, so you simply raise an eyebrow. “Do you have a place to live here in Wakanda? Or are we going to be staying here in my hospital room until you find one?”

He shrugs and grins back at you. “King T’Challa gave me an apartment.”

“The king gave you an apartment?” You pull your hands away and step back. You can’t hide your disbelief, though deep down, you figure it’s very likely that the king tried to give Steve more. He’s a hero, even if most of the world doesn’t believe it.

“The princess was just in here going over your medical information, and you’re shocked that he gave me an apartment?” Steve asks, a smirk on his face.

You gape at him even more. “You’re kidding. Steve, that was not—”

“Princess Shuri. She’s made most of the technology around here, and she oversees the recovery of important patients. Like you,” he adds.

“If I’d known—”

He leans in and kisses your forehead again. “You don’t need to bow or anything. They don’t do that here, though I’m sure she’d appreciate a thank you the next time you see her. Maybe compliment one of her inventions. T’Challa says she likes that.”

“The next time?” you hiss. “Steve—”

This time, he laughs at you. It’s a full-bodied laugh, unlike the sparse chuckles you’ve gotten out of him since his return, and you relax. You smile, too, a real smile that makes your cheeks ache as you press your burning face against his chest. Steve wraps his arms around you. His body shakes as he laughs, but he quickly settles down and kisses the top of your head.

“I’m glad you’re okay,” you tell him, not letting go. In fact, you hug him tighter around the waist with both arms.

“Me too. Come on, ljubavi. Let’s go home.”

Dobro jutro = Good morning

Kako vam mogu pomoći? = How can I help you?

Govorite li engleski? = Do you speak English?

Dobor dan = Good afternoon

Molim = Please

Dragi = Darling

Volim te = I love you

Ljubavi = Love/my love

Thank you for reading! If you liked this, please consider reblogging my work so that others can enjoy it too.

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Forever: @aya-fay

Steve Rogers: @lipstickandvibranium​ @delicatecapnerd

[vasito-de-leche]

Do you have any specific queer headcannons of r1999 characters if so which ones and why?

I wrote a bunch of stuff for this post but then tumblr fucked me up and reloaded without saving it so here we are..... rewriting it all over again ... OAUGH. usually I default to seeing everyone as Vaguely Bisexual and Not Cis until stated otherwise, but you asked for specifics so here we go!

6 is aromantic or demiromantic.

On one hand, it's because I love projecting on my faves. On the other hand, it's because he genuinely doesn't feel like the type of person to be interested in relationships. But this isn't something that's tied to any potential disgust, repulsion or even trauma related to his Revelation and struggle against fate -- to me, 6 just doesn't feel romantic attraction. At the very least, nothing strong enough to consider pursuing. It's not in his priorities. I really dislike this specific thing that fandoms do in which every single character who is introverted, or who happens to be alone/isolated (either by chance or by choice) is secretly lonely, touch starved, pining and desperate for attention and romantic love. It feels like such a huge disrespect for their equally important platonic or familial relationships. 6 already holds a lot of love for his own community and his childhood friends, a type of affection that is shown in his subtle and unique ways. I like it when his character focuses on those aspects instead!

Mesmer Jr. is aromantic and asexual.

In her case, she's the opposite of 6. Mesmer Jr.'s trauma and OCD is much too intense for her to even consider the idea of an emotional or physical bond with anyone. She's disgusted at the idea of touching others so casually, and she's afraid at the possibility of allowing a person (someone she logically cannot have any control over) into her life because what if they throw her off her schedule? What if they mess every meticulous thing she's planned for herself and her mental stability? What if she loses her grip? Yes, it's plausible that she may find a partner who works perfectly with the way she needs things to be, and yes, you can headcanon that she heals and her OCD becomes "manageable" enough to have a stable relationship, but personally? I just like it when characters don't get to have stereotypical happy endings in which everything gets better through love and friendship and support -- like, yeah everyone loves to see their faves happy and all but eh... It's a bit of projection on my part! Some people don't get to heal and do all the things their disabilities prevented them from doing, even if we're given all this support and love. Some of us just have to find ways around these things, anything that works for us that makes our lives easier.

Sweetheart is queer but has a complex relationship with love. In a somewhat similar vein, Blonney has gone through every single letter of the LGTBQ+ community.

I tried my best to explain my thoughts on Sweetheart but at this point she deserves her own post because it's honestly a LOT, this single part was just too long so I cut it out entirely. Just trust me when I say she's queer and has a very complex relationship with love. In Blonney's case, we discussed the possibility of her being written as comphet and it got me to think a little about her. I see Blonney as the type of girl who presents as a straight bimbo, following the themes of her character and all, but who has constant crisis after crisis in the privacy of her bedroom, the only place she's allowed to be more than just a blondie. This constant journey questioning her orientations and gender happens entirely in her head and in private. I like to think that she just has these long monologues in her head. Sure, she's identified as straight her whole life, but maybe bisexual works better because there was that one girl she kept meeting under the bleachers. Oh, but maybe she's a lesbian, since all her boyfriends are just huge disappointments and none of them ever make her truly happy. Oh, but maybe that's just because she has bad taste in men, there was that one guy in class who keeps making her laugh after all. Ahh, this would be so much easier if she were a guy, her femininity is mostly performative after all. Ah, but she actually really loves pink and fashion... Nonbinary then? No, she's not the type to pick something so vague, it's one or the other. Oh, how about both? Genderfluid! Etc etc. If you ask her about how she identifies, she'll simply brush you off with a "What's it to you? That's none of your business, creep!" and move on, but this is something very personal to her. So far, she knows she likes being femme presenting and that she likes Jessica!

Eagle is a trans girl.

Have you guys seen those posts going around tumblr about how important it is that trans women exist because they fight for their own womanhood and girlhood in a world that constantly looks down upon feminine things and all women as a whole? Yeah. Yeah. Eagle being a scout that fights so hard to prove herself, the feelings of not belonging into the Boy Scouts and seeing how the Girl Scouts are created eventually, a space for her. The fact that she visits her father's grave so that he can see her grow up.

Kaalaa Baunaa, Oliver Fog, Medicine Pocket and Melania are probably bisexual, but they're super busy with work so they don't have time to address that.

Self-explanatory <3 I do like to think that Kaalaa and Medpoc are more chill about it, Kaalaa because she's a grown ass woman who is very mature, and Medpoc because they genuinely give no fucking shits about dating in general, so who cares about confirming whether they're bisexual or not. Oliver Fog is a little more flustered at the idea of exploring his orientation and whatnot, but it's tolerable. BUT MELANIA? I LOVE to think that she's FULLY aware that the MOMENT she acknowledges her bisexuality, she will have a crisis and then what will she do? She has 3 papers due next week and a heist this weekend, she can't possibly sit there wondering about liking girls! She's got things to do!

And here's the extra round of HCs that don't require that much text to explain or that lean towards being more silly!

Eternity has literally outlived the concept of gender. She/They royalty.

37 has QRPs instead. It Just Works. No one but herself and her partners understand the dynamics, though. As god intended <3

APPLe is a raging bisexual and has been spotted in many gay bars. Regulus is also bisexual.

The world would've been a better place if Bette was a butch lesbian.

Balloon Party and An-An Lee play with gender like its playdough.

Baby Blue is Not Cis and she's Not Straight either because none of that shit matters to her anymore, since she's been disconnected from reality and society for so long. She also doesn't care about labelling herself.

Diggers is trans, but no one can figure out which way exactly. It doesn't help that he refuses to clarify either. The same thing happens with John Titor, except she's very vocal about being a transwoman.

Bunny Bunny is bisexual but she hasn't realized this yet. In similar fashion, Horropedia is bisexual but he just forgets about it sometimes.

Druvis III as a trans woman goes hand in hand with Forget Me Not as a gay man. This is why they're both super divorced.

Leilani is pansexual because she prefers the colors of that specific flag over the bisexual one. Spathodea is pansexual because the personal distinction between pansexuality and bisexuality matters to her.

Tennant is bisexual because she can scam and seduce more people that way.

The Fool is nonbinary. Mf should've been born in the 2020's, I just KNOW he would've loved mirrorgender.

Zima is in the closet not out of shame but out of safety. Just in case.

Sotheby assumes that every girl in the world likes girls. So far no one has been able to prove her wrong because all she does is interact with other sapphic girls.

Pavia is nonbinary out of spite. But I also love transguy Pavia HCs so so so much, give that guy boobs, he would never get top surgery <3

Vertin is nonbinary too but she doesn't care about people knowing about it. She does, however, make the effort to be a little androgynous, as a treat for herself.

Madam Z and Katz absolutely had a Situationship going on during university. Katz was bicurious and Madam Z helped her experiment. Now the Situationship is between Madam Z and Constantine, the latter using Madam Z as a rebound after fumbling her relationship with Vertin's mother <- the machinations in my brain will astonish you.

TTT is genderfluid by virtue of being a picture on a TV, so I like to think she can just shift her appearance. In similar fashion, gender means nothing to Alien T and Voyager because they're aliens.

I specifically love the idea of all of the 1.2 gang joking about how Tooth Fairy is their token straight adult figure -- she's actually bi and asexual, but likes to keep that to herself so the kids can make their little jokes and have fun.

Enigma is gay and homophobic because his self-loathing is just that strong.

Turns out that the push Click needed to explore his own sexuality was getting killed on the battlefield, so now he's free to be gay. perhaps bicurious.

[ilikekidsshows]

hey I figure that you’re probably tired of talking about the Sentimonster nonsense but I genuinely still can’t stand that it’s an actual thing. The wildest thing about it is that I JOINED the fandom because of the Sentimonster theory, actually got excited for it and looked forward to hints, not believing the skeptics or the salters bc it didn’t seem like such a big deal—that is until I saw with my own eyes how SO MANY FANS said with their whole chest that, in “Ephemeral” Adrien HAD to be a Sentimonster or there was no other “sympathetic explanation” for why he didn’t de-akumatize himself or fight off Gabriel.

Seeing the victim blaming in real time was such a punch in the gut—and then they just kept on coming!! It finally hit me how damaging the entire thing because for the show as a whole. If even regular fans that weren’t even known for salting could so willingly disregard and ignore genuine abuse coping mechanisms in favor of magical BS… it was such a dark time. Abuse Apologism and victim blaming in a whole package

Sometimes, when I write about Miraculous, I pretend I'm writing about a show that only had three seasons. That's what the "zagulous fandom" tag is for; it's for posts that are about the parts of Miraculous that had Zag's executive control keeping Astruc in check. I also kinda accepted long ago that my blog's kind of a support blog for people who are against the Sentihuman concept.

When I first heard of the expanded Sentimonster theory, the one that went "all the rich kids are Sentimonsters", I instantly went: "You do realize how making victims of child abuse nonhumans with questionable rights minimizes their victimhood and excuses their abusers, right?" people told me I was making stuff up and whoopsie doo, the writers did exactly that.

Neither Gabriel nor Tomoe faced any consequences for abusing Adrien and Kagami because, after all, since they're Sentimonsters, the real abuse was that they didn't have their Amoks so giving them their Amoks resolves all their problems. The only abusive parent who gets acknowledged as such is Félix's dad, who is dead by the time we hear about any of this, because we can't have abusive parents face consequences for their actions because that might upset people or whatever excuses Astruc's giving for Gabriel's vindication now.

This also minimises all the affects of the abuse on the kids, since they can be handwaved away with: "They were just programmed that way." Kagami's bad social skills aren't because her mother isolated her, it's because she forgot to program Kagami with those skills. Félix's villainous behavior isn't because his mother is overly permissive with him, he was just programmed that way (by the eeeeevil Colt). Adrien isn't a people pleaser because he's repeating his abuse coping mechanisms with his overly controlling girlfriend to keep her happy the same way he did to his overly controlling father, he was just programmed to be the perfect doting son and boyfriend.

You'll notice how neatly this ties into the crew denying that Chloé was abused in any way ever by her clearly abusive mother. Chloé wasn't made into a Sentimonster, so we can't have her bad coping with her abuse be excused by "Sentimonster programming", so now the writers are just gaslighting the audience and saying: "Chloé wasn't mistreated by her parents which caused her to act to out to get attention (which she literally stated to be her motive in season 3), in fact, she's the one who's been terrorizing her poor, innocent father and he needs to be protected from this naturally occuring evil hellspawn."

All child abuse in this show gets excused.

Of course, now the writers have an added reason to make sure Adrien's abuse gets excused in particular: because they made Marinette benefit from it. As I said, Adrien is repeating abuse coping mechanisms learned from dealing with his father to keep Marinette happy. He's always prioritizing her feelings and never brings up his own problems, and this is good for Marinette, because she can just enjoy having a perfect boyfriend who caters to her every need and doesn't have problems of his own or with the ways she treats him (for all she knows). She's even maintaining this status quo by lying about Gabriel to Adrien, so Adrien won't get upset (and have emotional needs that she would need to help him with). Either we have to excuse Adrien's abuse, or we have to admit Marinette is benefitting from the fact that Adrien was abused, and even taking advantage with the way she makes no effort to improve their communication on her end, preferring to spy on Adrien and lie to him instead of just talking to him like an equal.

The show writers are also allergic to following through on their creative decisions, is what I think. They put all these different victims of child abuse and neglect in the show, and then dehumanized these children in different ways so that they wouldn't actually need to say anything about that abuse they wrote in and they can instead pretend it was never there. This is why I also think that, no matter how much the show's defenders insist the story isn't over yet, we will never be getting a proper resolution to the Sentinonsense.

[bookshelf-in-progress]

The pro-shade activists are in a tough position with Clara. Technically, they've kidnapped another man's child. And they're using her against him. If her father tries to take her back, do they have any legal right to keep her?

Clara's father's in a tough position once Clara is rescued by his enemies. If he admits that she's his child, he's admitting that his line has produced a shade (which undermines twenty years of his political rhetoric about how truly strong lines can never produce a shade). But if he doesn't try to claim her and bring her back, they're going to keep using her against him.

Is he better off using denial? Trying to claim this child is an imposter and that his real child is being kept out of the public eye while mourning her mother? It'd be pretty easy to see through that narrative when he doesn't produce a real, heartlight-having daughter.

Does he try to play the concerned father card? You've taken my child away from me, when she's grieving so deeply that it's temporarily quenched her heartlight. They've only got Clara's word that he'd be any danger, and she's a minor who can't be trusted to make her own decisions.

How well does the public know Clara? If she and her mother have been isolated due to their poor health, does anyone truly know what she looks like? Is it possible for her father to deny that he ever had a daughter? Or to claim that this daughter died before her mother did?

I think it'd make for a more interesting story if Clara existence is undeniable--her sociable mother kept up enough contacts, had enough visitors, that there are plenty of people who can recognize Clara on sight. (This might be where her mother's prolific letter-writing can be used against him--there are tons of people with written proof that this woman had a daughter who she mentioned often. And everyone knows she left society because she was taking care of her daughter.)

Anyway, it boils down to, how much of a legal battle does this have to be? Or, rather, how does this story play out after the opening act? Because "Clara is a source of public debate" doesn't tell me much about what any of these characters actually do to move the plot forward to the end.

Can it play out like this?

Brightley's part of an effort to protect Clara. They have a journalist who's willing to print the story of how she proved to be a shade and had to flee her father. (I don't think Clara would be willing to give an interview at this point. Being a shade is too new and too shameful--she's not going to want to publicly broadcast this.)

Her father's immediate reaction is outraged denial. How could even Brightley sink so low as to tell such outrageous lies?

He shows up to Brightley's house, demanding Clara back. Brightley's just like, "Oh, so you admit your daughter's a shade?"

Clara's father admits no such thing, and tries to convince Clara that she can come home, and they can push the narrative that her mother's death has caused grief so profound as to dim her heartlight to undetectable levels.

By this point, Clara has met enough shades and learned enough about her father's rhetoric to doubt his intentions. Even if she could be safe, he's still a danger to other people she's come to like. And she recognizes some instinctive disgust in her father's reactions towards her--even if they could fool the public, he would know the truth, and there's no guarantee he'd be willing to treat a shade as a daughter. She refuses to leave.

Her father argues that she's a minor who has no say in this. Brightley has no right to keep her.

Brightley's like, "You really want to drag this into the courts? Make a long, drawn-out legal battle where as likely as not, you'll be painted as an abusive father who's trying to take his daughter against her will?"

Her father decides to relent for now, but once Clara does decide to start speaking against him, he or his supporters are going to have to try more underhanded methods of getting to her or silencing her.

I'm not sure any of that makes any sense. I wouldn't post this rambling thing if it weren't for Camp Tolkien purposes. But if anyone has any thoughts, I'm all ears.

[lsleofthelost]

once again, im here with set pictures, info from the set designer, Mark Hofeling, and my own commentary on it. this time, i wanna share stuff on Isle of the Lost from Descendants 2.

post about Isle of the Lost in part one

post about Maleficent's castle

Ursula's Fish and Chips Shoppe:

About Ursula's place: "Like all the imprisoned villains on the Isle of the Lost, Ursula has had to find a way to make ends meet. Thus her Fish and Chips Shoppe is right at the tide line of the prison island. I wanted the feel of a faded old carnival attraction, still alluring despite its decay."

"Uma (China Anne McClain) and her pirate gang, including her trusted lieutenants Harry Hook (Thomas Doherty) and Gil (Dylan Playfair) rally to take back what is theirs in Uma's mother's dingy tidal pool of a Fish and Chips Shoppe."

"A detail of the menu board and specials in Ursula's Fish and Chips Shoppe."

i think this gives us info on the money on the Isle. there are two units, m and n, and there are a 100n in 1m. i think the prices are comprable to us dollars back like 30-40 years ago? which further supports my theory that the Isle is stuck in the past, in the time of their imprisonment. the menu itself has some genuine regular items, like fish cakes, dumplings, but most of them are isle specials, like pond scum, shell smell, and gulf goo. which i think is hilarious considering Ursula and Uma still just serve them whatever.

"A detail of Uma's coral throne."

Isle of the Lost:

"A view of Low Tide Lane on the Isle of the Lost. Having been an isolated prison island for decades now, the idea was that every slat and board is on its 9th or 10th life, and every object not screwed down had changed grubby hands hundreds of times."

they kept the dirty candy colour palette! and i love how they truly kept to the 'everything is used and stolen 10 times over' philosophy.

this is the Bazaar, which is another market on the Isle. there is one in the main square and then this is the one closer to the docks, we can see Mal riding through it in D2. here, we once again see the money measurement. and i think it's intereting to see that crab and potatoes are priced higher than other things. i also like the 'satisfaction no guaranteed' sign.

Curl Up and Dye:

"Drizella's Curl Up and Dye on the Isle of the Lost is where Mal and Evie load up on chemicals for their showdown with Uma's pirate gang. So more than a hair salon as absurd as the rest of the Isle, it also had to be a repository for all kinds of chemistry and alchemy. The idea here was that out of every 100 of young Dizzy's experimental, chemical beauty concoctions, 99 blow up."

"The ever-unpredictable dye distillery."

"A detail of the dry chemistry set up."

i like that the base for this is a rough finish, like a construction before any renovation. and then its just neon splashes and broken mirrors from Dizzy's experiments. also i like the note that it's more chem lab than a salon.

Rotten four's hideout:

"The VK's hideout was always a place of respite from their raging and overbearing parents. It's where the VK's purloined all the best stuff on the Isle, and where Mal perfected her street art. "

this is Mal's room! which confirms for me that she doesn't live with her mother, at least not full time.

im kinda sad that we didn't get a view of the side with all those board games (kitchen, i think?) but even just these pictures are full of interesting details! as far as i saw only Mal's and Jay's 'Long Live Evil' tags are on the walls, i think it's because it was theirs first. i like the thorns that are circling the walls, like Maleficent's thorns around Sleeping Beauty's castle. they have some kind of an old school sound system, too! which i can i assume they use when throwing parties. and there are bikes, probably repaired 10 times over, but prised nonetheless. also, i thought that the green lamp in Mal's room is a hookah lol

Uma's ship:

"Uma and her pirate gang rule the rotting docks and rocky edge of the Isle of the Lost."

"Uma's HQ is this ruined pirate ship. After all the Disney Villains were relocated to the Isle of the Lost, all the ships that brought them were scuttled and they were all locked behind an enchanted barrier. So this is one of many wrecks in these waters, including the sails of the ship, rammed into her side. We found real tall-ship riggers for this work, and they used 10,000 feet of rope in the process."

i love that they really rigged that ship! i think it's a detail that shows that Uma's pirates are real professionals.

"This photo shows the "rickety" and treacherous landscape of the rotten docksides. This became the setting of a 20 person melee to rescue King Ben and escape the Isle and Uma's vengeful clutches."

we can see Uma's 'We ride with the tide' tag in the bg, signifying that this is her territory.

there are a lot of cool details but what i'm focusing on here are the old school washing machines, again showing us how the Isle is frozen in time. im assuming theyre on the docks because this is where the water is.

i am looking to make another post with details from D3, here's hoping i'll get to it sooner than i did this follow up

[stallionmusume]

Watching Road to The Top just makes me appreciates Ayabe as a character.

It's sad that people dismiss her character as "forced" suffering, when her struggle of "being haunted by the ghost of her twin" isn’t just forced drama!

There is a phenomenon where, when a co-twin dies at birth, the surviving twin can still experience grief, loneliness, a sense of incompleteness, or even separation anxiety.

However, several scientific and media accounts describe unexpected lingering sorrow among twins who lost their co-twin at or shortly after birth, even among the twins that didn’t know they were born as twins - Song H, Fang F, Larsson H, Pedersen NL, Magnusson PK, Almqvist C, Valdimarsdóttir UA. Loss of a co-twin at birth and subsequent risk of psychiatric disorders. Elife. 2021 Jan 28 When a twin sibling dies, the surviving twin may experience particularly complicated feelings. Many twins feel their identity is so intimately bound with that of their twin sibling that their death can result in profound feelings of loneliness. The surviving sibling may feel they have to compensate in some way for the loss of their brother or sister, perhaps by behaving in a certain way, trying to be more like them, or by suppressing their own grief because they feel responsible in some way for their parents’ grief. - Child Bereavement UK

So Ayabe whole deal with her death twin imouto isn't just mere cheap forced drama, but it has also taken from actual phenomenon that do happen.

What I like is that we were shown Ayabe taking things harshly on herself and "making up" a scenario in her head where her deceased twin sister hates her. This was a result of Ayabe suppressing her grief for a long time, as she was unable to cope with her loss and loneliness, feelings she couldn’t even comprehend or explain. Most likely, her parents didn’t provide her with support, or Ayabe might have kept these feelings to herself out of guilt, believing she exists only because of her twin sister’s sacrifice.

This also says a lot about her as a person. She isn’t just an edgy and cold-hearted girl. She’s a grieving girl, haunted by her own sorrow and carrying it all on her own. Furthermore, she has such deep self-hatred that she believes her existence and achievements don’t mean anything and only happened because she was allowed to live at the cost of her sister’s life. Not only that, but she wants to believe she’s a terrible person, and that’s why she forcefully isolates herself and acts cold toward everyone. She truly believes people don’t need to care for her and that she doesn’t deserve any kindness from anyone.

She thinks of her twin sister as the "stars," the very thing guiding her clouded mind and heart, giving her a reason to run and win. But it’s not her sister who becomes her stars, it’s her own guilt. Because she feels responsible for "taking" her twin’s life, she believes she needs to win to make up for it. This is self-punishment she inflicts on herself under the guise of fulfilling her twin sister’s wishes.

I’m sure Ayabe knows this deep down, but she’s probably coping by telling herself that this is her only "stars." I mean, she wants to win for her dead twin sister, so there’s nothing wrong with that, right? But the anime subtly shows us that this isn’t her real goal. This is her punishing herself, trying to convince herself that everything is her fault. All of this stems from years of suppressing her grief and loneliness—feelings she carries alone. Ayabe most likely doesn’t know how to properly cope because no one truly understands what she has experienced or how she feels....

My headcanon is that her parents most likely have no idea what she’s going through. Considering Ayabe’s personality, she probably doesn’t tell them anything.

Another hc is that her parents do know, but they don’t know how to deal with it because they likely blame themselves. I don’t think Ayabe comes from a bad upbringing (at least the anime or canon material doesn’t hint at anything like that). So I like to think that the whole family is unconsciously grieving for their dead families at birth, because it would explain why Ayabe behave that way.

She becomes my favorite character after rewatching Road to the Top because she has so much layered personalities and characterization that people tend to overlook....

I really love her so much & I hope we get to see her again in the anime....

[hoardingpuffin]

NEW NYSM MOVIE TRAILER DROPPED NEW NYSM TRAILER DROPPED I AM GOING BONKERS I AM KNAWING AT THE BARS OF MY ENCLOSUREEEEE -

Ahem.

Anyhow. Beware all those that avoid Trailers for spoiler reasons, below the cut is my nonsense of theories for Now You See Me - Now You Don't.

SO FIRST OF ALL -

We have a group of what seems to be Horsemen-Fans pretending to be the Horsemen, meaning that the real Horsemen have not pulled any public stunts in a long time, possibly since Now you see me, Too. This makes sense as the end of NYSMT had the Horsemen be fully integrated into the Eye with the conversation between Dylan and Thaddeus hinting toward Daniel becoming Dylan's successor. That's probably gonna be why we won't see Dylan in this film, I believe anyways. Or we will see very little of him. This is further supported by Daniel giving the 'new kids' a tarot card, like Dylan did in NYSM, only. Well. Less elegantly, because he is Daniel Atlas and not Dylan Shrike. Makes sense.

In the trailer, Daniel talks about the Horsemen being "dead to him" which I am guessing could be the result of him being chosen to follow in Dylan's footsteps and that causing tension - in the previous two films, Daniel assuming a position of leadership over the others has caused massive fights already, makes sense that him taking a literal leader position would be cause for more conflict. Though I think they would have 'disbanded' either way as they became active members of the Eye in the end of NYSMT, meaning they no longer had to rely on just their small group, likely each taking on new individual missions. Since we see Jack, Henley and Merritt appear as more of a unit I am guessing that they kept at least close contact though even when on their individual missions, whilst Daniel probably isolated himself frlm the rest after whatever fight they had.

SPEAKING OF HENLEY - first of all, WHOOHOO HENLEY BACK! Second, I have THOUGHTS as to why she is. Theory 1: She never left the Eye as said in NYSMT - Dylan, or somebody else at the Eye, gave her a solo mission that she was away on for the time of NYSMT, or theory 2: somebody contacted her and asked her back when Daniel started collecting his 'new horsemen' assuming she still is one of the only people able to reign Daniel in. This Somebody could have been Thaddeus, our favourite meddler, or Jack, or - which I think would be fun, Lula, as she knew like, everything about the Horsemen. However, since Lula wasn't in the trailer, I don't know how likely that is. I just wanna see my Horsemen girls interact thoughhhh...

I feel like - especially considering it being said that two more films in the series are planned - that this is going to be the last time we see the original Horsemen as a team and as protagonists. I feel like this film will set up the three new characters as the protagonists of the new two films, in which the original Horsemen will likely assume a mentoring position like we have seen from Dylan and Thaddeus in NYSM and NYSMT. So in a way Now You Don't will probably be a last big Horsemen adventure, which is a bit sad, but I am still excited to see what is done with the Franchise. We still know so little about the Eye, about it's chapters across the world, and I hope that expanding the cast will also allow us to see more of the inner workings of the Eye.

[verdemoun]

The non-warpers.

Mary-Beth Gaskill is regarded as one of the greatest female writers to exist, up there with Shelley and Austen. In the foreword of her best novel, she writes: “to Kieran.”

Orville Swanson’s annotations and teachings of the Bible are so influential; his attitudes towards different ways of life cause drastic positive change to how Christians act towards those of different cultures.

On what is now the main street of a large town Rhodes, a supermarket stands, modern as any other. Behind the till, Johnathan Pearson smiles at a now faded photo of eight people around a wagon, his grandfather Simon in the front seat.

Tilly Pierre dies of natural causes in her sleep, next to her snoring husband in the largest house in Saint Denis.

Mary-Beth absolutely is up there with Shelley and Austen, which means all the school aged babies come home complaining at least once about having to read her books. The whole gang scold them for whining only to pretty much do the homework for them because they all love her novels - many of which are basically her own take on fit-it aus.

The Lady of The Manor, for example, reads as a beautiful tale of love between Susan Grade and David Vincent fleeing police inspector Mellon to the islands with her niece and Mr Vincent's apprentice, only for Ms Grade to realize the curse David Vincent claimed to be under (that compelled him to commit increasingly heinous acts) was a complete fabrication. She banished him to isolation on his precious islands while raising her niece and the highwayman's apprentice as her own children in the new world.

Mary-Beth's dedications would never mention names for the sake of protecting her past as a VDL, but the gang suspected many were to them. One of the more obvious ones was a novel titled Strawberry Roan, which was dedicated 'to the one who helped me realise I could be happy without being in my head somewhere else'. Strawberry Roan reads much more like Mary-Beth writing a 'how to look after horses for dummies' as she learned to look after the horses the gang left behind, except for a slow burning love affair between protagonist Marie and a charming stable boy who is tragically forced to flee the estate to avoid being drafted and no doubt killed in a fictional war.

Orville Swanson was such a charitable and revered member of the community he not only accidentally founded a whole new branch of Catholicism based on his annotated bible, but remembered as a significant figure in recent American history. The gang still randomly find his likeness on commemorative coins in their loose change (and usually keep them).

While his church was accidentally destroyed in a fire several years after his death, a garden was planted on the site in his honor and memory. It's a major tourist attraction featuring Orville's Fountain, with wishing coins thrown in collected for donation to non-for-profits and community services that support at-risk teenagers.

His legacy shows everywhere in modern era America. Arthur one day got really lost in modern era Blackwater and needed to call the gang to come get him - only to find himself standing on the corner of Orville St and Swanson Boulevard.

Counter-claim Pearson lived long enough to see other grocery stores start to pop up in Rhodes as it became a bustling town and was afraid his little local store would be out-competed. Before he passed away he significantly expanded the local produce range of his store. By the time his grandson inherited it, it had become one of the best local delicatessen + sandwich shop in Rhodes and is often featured in top 50 places to eat at in America. Johnathan is also going to be featured later yoinking that character.

Not only is a photo of the gang, as passed down for generations, still proudly displayed (well, a slightly sharpened copy of the original photo, which is now kept in secure storage to protect it from UV), but his grandfather's treasured compass. It is a small shrine to his grandfather's legacy both before, during and after the VDLs: copies of his navy enlistment and honorable discharge forms, newspaper articles featuring photos of a post-canon older Pearson receiving awards for both his store, and having the best damn stew at the local fair.

Tilly Pierre lived a long and truly fulfilled life. She never knew discomfort. She found a man who loved her, and worshipped her for who she was and had always been. She saw her oldest daughter go off to marry a wonderful man who loved his mother-in-law as much as he feared her and would always treat her daughter right. She helped her youngest girl fight for the right for an education, and go on to a remarkable career. She raised sons that would never know the perils of turning to crime to survive, or fear where they would sleep that night. She died peacefully, in a bed more warm and comfortable than she could ever have dreamed of knowing in 1899, knowing every day of her life she was loved.

[valentinsylve]

My friend from work died today. She had liver and kidney failure and her vascular system was destroyed. Then she caught covid. She was 50 and suffered from long-term alcoholism. I never told anyone (OBVIOUSLY) but before she was hospitalized for a fall, every time I was on the phone with her as a friend she was drunk. Like, serious drunk. We'd talked about recovery support and she said she kept meaning to go to meetings but she had a support group on tiktok (? I don't even know how that would work tbh). She had no one stable in her life and had lost people because of the alcoholic behavior. Alcoholism is awful and isolating and kills people and harms their loved ones. Any way people get free from it is fine by me. AA has its deep flaws but I do know many, many people who have stayed alcohol-free with that support. Really, in-person support makes so much of a difference. If you're suffering that way, you have my utmost sympathy, because I was heading toward death 10 years ago and managed to stop. Not everyone can. Going to meetings for a year helped me, even though it ultimately wasn't needed permanently. That fact wasn't due to my own strength or any bullshit like that. I think I just don't have the chemical dependency for whatever reason. Now that I don't binge (probably because my mood and anxiety disorders are wayyyy better managed and I'm no longer erotically and codependently drawn to people with worse problems than I have uh lol?), 3 drinks is a whole lot for me to have within a week, and I have bottles in the house that I haven't finished in 2 months. I loved my friend and I'm going to miss her like crazy. She was very lonely and her other relationships were chaotic and sometimes violent. I never met any of those people, probably because she didn't want anyone to meet them. I think about the way I was at 40 and feel a lot of ways right now. Mostly sad because my friend was a good person with a loving heart who had an addiction that killed her.

[mutipede]

Imagine for a second that you're in a friend group. Another person - who you don't know as well as others, they're sorta younger and have sort of a dynamic of "they were recently in a different shitty friend group where people kept being an asshole both to their face and behind their back, and triggering them by joking about underage sex shit, so another friend transplanted them out of that group and into ours" - so you don't know them that well personally, but you're sympathetic to the shitty situation they were in and they're cool and everything's cool.

They fairly regularly vent about their partner at the time, who is still friends with their old shitty friend group, and treats them badly - not standing up for them, basically ignoring them most of the time even though they were in a relationship - and most notably and severely, going along with the pedo jokes and shit, while using autism as an excuse for being insensitive even after the person they're dating has made it clear multiple times that they are bothered by this (for obvious reasons, you would think, goddamn).

Everyone, of course, unanimously agrees that this is fucked up, they don't deserve to be treated like this, and you do your best to be supportive. Eventually they break up and this person starts making more new friends outside of the group that you are in as well, and you think COOL they seem to be doing well and much happier and that's awesome.

Fast forward some random amount of time. You are messaged on steam by a friend you'd lost contact with for a very long time. Not for any particular reason specific to that person or anything -

(actually pretty sure it was just because I lost almost all the friends I'd had back then because of an abusive girlfriend doing the whole 'if she doesn't like someone or gets into an argument with someone then I can't talk to them anymore either' and 'telling me people said or did fucked up things about me so I don't trust them' and 'telling other people I said or did fucked up things that I didn't so they don't want to talk to me' isolation shit, but anyways)

- They message you, you catch up a little, they also knew and were sorta-friends with another person in your current friend group, and you'd played some TTRPGs back in the day, so you go "hey maybe they'd be interested in hanging out and possibly joining up the RPG we currently have going (which is my absolute fucking favorite thing to do fuckin seriously all of the 'obsessed with friends OCs' and 'RPG with friends IS 100% my hyperfixation' and 'fandom consisting of like three people' and we had that shit going for like 3 years and FUCK.) because the GM has been talking recently about wanting to get more people into it."

So you invite them to the discord server and everyone gets along pretty well right away and you're remembering inside jokes from like a decade ago and everything seems

GOOD

Until they start acting like an idiot. Shit like. Shooting at a friendly NPC outta nowhere (and the GM going "yes okay you do this thing despite the effects that it will most likely have on the people who have been playing this game for years and are actually taking it seriously" for... some reason) - y'know, the kind of thing that I believe would be termed "THAT GUY" shit. Straight up gets his character killed in like the 2nd session he plays, is completely unbothered "oh well I don't care I'll just make a new character"

But like the IDIOT that I (oh wait, you're being me in this retelling) - that you are, you go "Aww shit but that character could've been interesting and had cool potential and you barely even had a chance to get started, that sucks, that seems like a waste, and you're coming into an established game and just don't know the atmosphere we've had going so that explains the dumbass behavior and you can quit fucking doing that now right?" - AND the GM has so far been playing with the rest of us who have been taking shit seriously, give a shit about our characters and the story and everything, therefore doesn't seem to really want to kill off a PC either - so his character gets resurrected and... goes on to continue to do stupid shit.

Which wouldn't even necessarily be that big a deal. He wasn't around for a lot of the scheduled day and time the whole group had been playing (every saturday. for years. Fuck.) so he mostly did random stuff semi-related to the main party and storyline shit on random days he was around. Except the stupid shit he ended up deciding to do included...

Alright, so. From the beginning, there had been established in the game universe, an ultimate Big Fuckin' Bad that was designed to be unbeatable. Like "it has more defense than anything else, literally like you have to get a crit success to do 1 damage, and all of its skills are "murder" so it rolls 8 dice every turn and it will murder you and even if you get unfathomably lucky and kill one it is a time traveling killbot hivemind there are an unlimited number of them it will murder you". It was not designed to be a thing that we could defeat. Hell, it wasn't even designed as a thing we were originally really supposed to even actually fight. It was like one of those "punish players for doing one specific thing that the GM doesn't want us to do" things, and so far up to that point no one had.

Until this guy did exactly that. Yeah, that was what killed his character.

And then he decided to side with it.

And the GM let him.

And the fucked up things he started doing got more fucked up. Like, actually making me severely uncomfortable fucked up. Like "trying to mind control a friendly NPC and force him to commit suicide", to give an example.

I tried talking to him about it. Oh wait I forgot again, you're being me. YOU try to talk to him about it. You are aware that he is also autistic so you say, verbatim, "I know it's tough for you to tell when I'm playing my character in-game as upset vs. when I myself am actually IRL ACTUALLY upset so would it help if I specified" and he goes YEAH so then you make sure to go "Yeah this is actually making me actually uncomfortable that is actually fucked up" and...

nothing changes.

You try talking to the GM about it, not only from a "this is starting to fuck with me" perspective, but on a gameplay level - this guy got his character killed. Immediately. He didn't give a shit when that happened. Now he's used this whole "getting killed and coming back" thing to side with an unstoppable murder machine. He can do literally whatever he wants and no one can do anything about it. He's essentially been rewarded for not giving a fuck about his character, or the game as a whole, or anyone else's enjoyment. He has been doing shitty roleplaying and is being rewarded for it.

And the GM goes "Oh, shit! You're right!"

...And nothing changes.

(On another occasion, when you try to talk to the GM about it again, he actually says "The guy's autistic, give him a break" - if I can redirect attention to the beginning of this post and the established "someone using autism as an excuse to trigger someone else is unanimously understood to be unacceptable" thing..)

You try talking to the other most active player. Who, by the way, already had his character established as intended to be a twist villain the whole time. Like it's an open secret and the GM knew from the beginning and he's a good roleplayer and it's got some cool thematic parallels and fun story stuff with YOUR character so you're cool with it and looking forward to the challenge of either having a final epic battle against your friend OR seeing if you can find a nonviolent solution in the end, and because he's also been playing seriously for years and has gradually and organically becoming more powerful over time along with your character, you know he'll play fairly and it'll be fun and good story shit, and here's this jackass who has barged in and completely stolen the twist villain thunder and become stupid-unstoppable-OP in the equivalent of two days - so yeah that's shitty for him, too.

You, also verbatim, say how you've been getting actually triggered by some of the shit this guy has been doing, and don't know if you're overreacting or being unreasonable or selfish (which is, in itself, something that you have historically spiraled about) - since "it's just a game maybe I'm wrong for taking it too seriously or personally" and "his character is a villain he's doing villainous things and what if me getting upset is interfering with HIS fun"

I mean, ignoring that everything he's doing is interfering with everyone else's fun, but you have started to get into "I am wrong and selfish and everything I do and feel and think is unreasonable" trauma brain territory.

But, you (also verbatim) make the comparison that - making you deal with a villain character who's doing the kind of shit he's doing seems similar to making [person I mentioned at the beginning of this post] deal with a pedo villain character. Especially since that person's ex was continually triggering them and using autism as an excuse, and this guy has been continually triggering you and using autism as an excuse. And because yes, sure, villains do fucked up things, but this is a game and everyone is supposed to be having a good time and he is taking shit way too far. And he, at the time, emphatically agrees with you.

But doesn't say anything about anything to the GM.

And nothing changes.

You start to pick up on other shit the guy says and does outside of the game. He was (I think?) studying to be a psychiatric nurse, and worked in some sort of psychiatric facility. He says... man I don't even know how to explain it, but like... weirdly dismissive things about patients, getting into physical altercations with patients, and talks about how much he doesn't care when people in general complain to him about their life situations and similar shit. You start to wonder how much of his holy shit extreme asshole behavior in the game is reflective of his actual self in actual reality. You feel like an asshole for thinking this. You look around like "is anyone else noticing this shit? Is anyone else bothered by this?" No one seems to be noticing this shit. No one seems to be bothered by it. Or at least, if they are, no one is bothered enough to do anything.

Because nothing

fucking

changes.

Finally. Fucking finally. The GM decides to have a big dumb battle where the guy's character gets killed again (or fuckin you know "stuck in a dimension with his murder bot" so he is STILL essentially being rewarded because his character got what he wanted anyways) but fuck it who cares you don't have to deal with him anymore and he's making a new character that doesn't sound like an asshole so you hope that everyone can move on and have an actual good time.

Until he keeps talking about his asshole character. And when you - who have absolutely not made a secret of the fact that you have been increasingly uncomfortable with the whole situation the whole time - ask if he can just not talk about that character when you're around - he drops this meme

Because fuck you, fuck your enjoyment of the game that you'd been playing for years and regret ever inviting him to because his stupid fucking jackass character was allowed to irrevocably alter it forever for some. fucking. reason

You blow the fuck up and block him. He leaves the server. The game eventually picks back up but it's not really the same. You fucking want it to be the same, goddamn it, because you cared about it and you thought the other players cared about it but now the GM has this weird spiteful undercurrent, and has turned it into "I'm trying to kill you because that one fucking guy and him only didn't take it seriously so I'm gonna punish everyone by dialing up the difficulty and going back on things I'd previously said to nerf your character" but there's still shit you want to do and experience and shit you're looking forward to and this has been a beloved pasttime and a source of stability and JUST. FUCKING. FUN GODDAMMIT you don't want to give up on it

And then about a year later.

Many other incredibly stressful events have occurred in your life. You are not doing well. That is an understatement. You are falling apart. You try and communicate this to the only close friends you believe you have. Including specifically saying at least 2 or 3 times that you have been more and more suicidal and experiencing worsening paranoia and feel like you don't exist. You are mostly ignored. You try and hold shit together. If you pretend things are alright then maybe things will be alright. Everyone is having a hard time. You are aware that everyone is having a hard time and you don't want to make it worse. But holy fuck

One friend ghosts you for a month. You have no idea if it has anything to do with you or not, you have no idea if he's alright, you have no idea if he's alive. You're not important enough to communicate with. Other guy gets pissed that no one is talking and decides to start an argument with you about something unrelated. You make a convenient scapegoat, because your presence or absence in anyone's life is irrelevant anyone can treat you in any way without having to worry about consequences.

Sorry, "you" here still referring to me. You can stop being me anytime. I recommend it! I'm stuck though.

The whole situation I wrote about gets brought up. And actually, even though you could scroll back and find evidence that actually your memory of the events is accurate, actually it turns out that never actually happened, and actually:

You unilaterally invited that guy against the GM's will. He hadn't been talking about expanding the game and inviting more people. Everyone didn't initially get along.

You never explained, in detail, multiple times, to multiple people, what was wrong and how uncomfortable you were. You just acted weird and refused to say anything.

The term "triggered" is a specific medical / psychological terminology. When you said, multiple times and as clearly as you possibly could "no seriously this is actually bringing up traumatic shit from a previous abusive relationship and I am actually severely uncomfortable" you weren't using the term correctly because people who are triggered by something want to avoid any mention or discussion of the thing that triggers them because that discussion is in itself triggering. ...Oh, your reaction to a trigger not being what someone expects doesn't make that thing not triggering? You don't expect to be able to completely avoid the specific situation(s) or complex collection of circumstances and feelings that are triggering, so you'd rather talk about it if or when it comes up so people know what's going on and can hopefully work through it? Oh. Well, then, you aren't using the term correctly because you weren't, like, sexually assaulted. ...Oh, you were. Oh. I guess you are allowed to use the terminology. Let's all just breeze past the whole making you disclose that in order to be taken seriously thing. Which you still won't be, by the way, since:

You didn't adequately explain how and why you were triggered (please ignore the previous portion of the argument where I argued that if you were really triggered then you shouldn't be capable of talking about it at all) so how did you expect anyone to ever understand it or take it seriously or take it into account when trying to understand your behavior? (ha ha you thought that anyone would "take things into account" or "try to understand your behavior" in the first place)

You attempt, at one point, to make the comparison again "[other friend]'s ex continued triggering them despite their attempts to communicate their discomfort and used autism as an excuse, everyone agreed this was fucked up and unacceptable. [That guy] continued triggering me despite my attempts to communicate my discomfort, and it was all "c'mon he's autistic give him a break". This made me feel like a lower tier friend."

[Other friend] who had not previously been involved in the argument, hadn't been active in the discord channel where this conversation was taking place at the time and you weren't even aware they were online pops in to "hey what the fuck why are you bringing up and reminding me of my ex who treated me badly for no reason". The guy who you previously made the exact same comparison to, who agreed with you, is present. He says nothing. That would interfere with everyone dogpiling you for everything you say. You are not a thing that people stand up for. That's a thing that people do for friends. That's a thing people do for things that matter.

If in response to all of these events you say that you don't feel like you have friends, though, that's hurtful. It is hurtful to communicate that you have been hurt. You might make an actual person who actually matters feel bad.

Sorry, you can stop being me now.

Fuck. I originally started writing all of this out to attempt to work through shit and figure shit out and maybe get some 3rd party input (although I wouldn't blame anyone if they quit reading ages ago - or didn't even start reading in the first place hah, this is long as fuck) but there just... isn't any explanation for this, really, is there? What the fuck justification could there be for doing things to me that were openly called unacceptable when they were done to someone else, other than I was just. Not viewed as a thing that mattered.

Fuck.