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heauxplesslydevoted · 4 years ago

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Silent Treatment (Ethan x MC)

Summary: Naomi decides that if Ethan isn’t going to treat her like a valued member of the team, she’ll teach him a little lesson.

Based on chapter 1, some spoilers for chapter 2, and my own speculation, so read at your own risk.

I highkey hate this but I’m posting it anyway

~v~

Naomi is quiet. No, she is unusually quiet. Ethan has seen her get silent when it’s time to buckle down and focus on a task, or if something is weighing heavily on her, but at this point he knows her well enough to know it’s neither of those. She’s withdrawn, and he doesn’t understand why.

Her presence is hard to miss, the young resident has enough charm and charisma in her pinky finger to dazzle an entire room. And she’s never this quiet. Naomi demands to be heard at all times. With unapologetic vivacity. With her hands. Eyes sparkling when she gets an idea, or fiery when she needs to dig her toes into something and fight. Nothing about Naomi Valentine is ever subdued, so why the hell is she so silent?

She didn’t speak much during the last few team meetings. He and Harper have led all of the conversations, bouncing ideas back and forth, building off of each other’s ideas. Occasionally, Naomi would offer input, merely to agree or disagree with a theory, before going back into her shell.

It’s even bleeding into their personal life. For the better part of the past 3 months, she’s stayed with him, the two of them holed up in his apartment in the Back Bay, but now she’s opting to stay at her own place. It’s been going on a few days now, this random despondence, and Ethan isn’t a fan of it. He’d take it a step further and say it's driving him crazy. This isn’t the woman he’s known for the past two years, even at her lowest was she never this reclusive.

As he walks down the halls of Edenbrook, he spots Naomi, her personality back to what it once was. She’s with Ines at a vending machine, and Naomi wastes no time animatedly talking to the now attending about a fun date she went on with her girlfriend.

Heart hammering wildly in his chest, Ethan swallows thickly as he listens to her talk. He’s missed the sound of her voice, the affectionate way her strong accent curls around her ‘r’s’ and dramatically elongates her ‘o’s’. It becomes clear that she’s willing to talk, just not to him. Ethan doesn’t like that idea at all, but it’s the only one that makes sense. And if that’s the case, he needs to get to the bottom of things and remedy the situation.

“Naomi, can we talk please?” He asks once Ines is no longer in their presence.

He doesn’t miss the way she bristles upon hearing his voice. But Naomi nods anyway. “Sure, what’s wrong?”

“Can we talk in the office?”

The walk back to the seventh floor is marked with awkward silence as Naomi refuses to initiate conversation with him. The more time ticks on, the more anxiety settles in Ethan’s chest. What’s going on with her that she refuses to divulge?

The office is unoccupied when they arrive, as Harper has already gone home for the evening. Naomi stands by the door, opting not to settle into a seat or even move further into the room. Everything about her body language reads that she’s poised and ready to strike at any given moment. He frowns. She’s never been this defensive against him, at least when they’re not in the middle of an argument. “What’s going on?”

“Are you okay?”

The question catches Naomi off guard. She blinks slowly before shrugging in nonchalance. “I’m fine, Ethan.”

“You’re fine? Really?”

“Is there a reason why I shouldn’t be fine?”

“Not really, but you haven’t been acting like yourself recently.”

Because you’ve been quieter than a church mouse for the past few days. You don’t talk during meetings, you’re silent when we interact with the patients, it’s like you’ve completely tuned out.”

With the way he’s been acting, Naomi is almost shocked that he even realized what she’s been doing. Wow, so maybe the great Ethan Ramsey hasn’t lost his attention to detail.

“Oh, so you’ve actually noticed?”

“I’m a diagnostician, I notice everything,” Ethan deadpans. He can feel the sarcasm wafting off of her. “What, was this an intentional act for my attention?”

“Intentional, yes. But for your attention? Not necessarily,” Naomi answers.

His eyes narrow at her, his gaze near piercing. She’s playing some sort of childish game with him, first with not speaking and now with the vague half answers. “Okay, so walk me through your thought process. Why has the cat stolen your tongue?”

“I decided that if my input wasn’t going to be valued during team discussions, I might as well not speak at all.”

Ethan gapes at her, confused. Where did that come from? “Naomi, what on earth are you talking about? When have I ever not valued your input?”

“I’m talking about the fact that for the past two cases, I’ve stood on the sidelines while you’ve either cut me off mid-sentence to talk over me, or ignore my presence altogether. I might as well blend into the wall.”

“That’s not–”

Naomi doesn’t give him the chance to refute. “Please spare me the attempt at arguing. Last week, Harper’s first day on the team, you literally had to circle back to me because you cut me off while I was speaking. And now, we’re working on a case, and you and Harper aren’t even taking this patient seriously! I’ve had to redirect the conversation and tell you guys to focus, because you two were too busy acting like bosom buddies, sharing anecdotes about hangovers, and stupid flamenco lessons, and dates you went on in the past, which is not only inappropriate and disrespectful to the patient’s time, it’s disrespectful to me.”

“So either you are completely oblivious, which I find hard to believe for someone as astute as you are, or you have no respect for me, not just as your colleague, but as the woman you claim to be in a relationship with,” Naomi continues. The floodgates have been opened and now that she’s started, she can’t stop herself. “And maybe it’s the latter, because I set that standard. I’ve let you go days, weeks, months without speaking to me with zero consequence, I’ve let you shut me out and slam doors in my face, make snide comments last year when we were treating Leland, I’ve let you have carte blanche over the pace of this relationship. I’ve always just been here and allowed your shitty social graces and piss poor communication skills to rule, and time and time again, you’ve gone unscathed, but now I’m just really tired of it.”

For the first time in a long, Ethan doesn’t have a clue what to say, and as always, Naomi is the woman who puts him in this position.

“Naomi, you can’t possibly think that I think so little of you.”

He can tell by the way her eyes darken that he put his entire foot in his mouth just now. The warning bells go off in his brain, and he scrambles to think of how he can correct this latest blunder.

Naomi bites down on her lip, and she’s actually shocked her mouth isn’t instantly flooded with the metallic taste of blood. She’s getting Punk’d obviously. The office is bugged, and Ashton Kutcher is going to jump out and announce his presence soon. That has to be it. Ethan has to be pranking her, because there’s no way a 38 year old man could ever be so dense, right? Surely his response to her grievances isn’t to dismiss her claims.

“You know what? You’re being obtuse, and we clearly aren’t getting anywhere, so I’m going to cut this conversation off now.”

She refuses to look like the psycho in this scenario and breathe any more life into this argument, and she’s not about to plead her case any further like she’s the one in the wrong.

Ethan’s eyes soften, and he takes a step forward, arms outstretched to touch, soothe whatever hurts he’s heaped upon her, but Naomi sidesteps, moving out of his reach.

If he wasn’t nervous at the start of this conversation, he is now. If the physical act of Naomi blatantly refusing to touch him wasn’t clear enough, the metaphorical chasm between the two of the just widened by a few yards as well. A chill races up and down the length of his spine.

“Naomi, I’m sorry,” Ethan says gently. “I…” His words taper off and he pauses, struggling for what he wants to say next. This has never been his strong point, being vulnerable.

And Naomi doesn’t offer him a lifeline. She’s not going to give him an out or assuage him of anything he’s currently feeling like she usually does. She’s laid out all of her cards, and things are in Ethan’s court at this point. Like always.

“I’m going home,” she announces. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

~v~

The sun is barely out when Naomi shows up for work in the morning. Most of the hospital is still, the last of the night shift heading out as she’s on her way in. She heads towards the residents’ lounge, wanting to put her things away before checking in on her patients and having a team meeting.

As soon as she opens her locker, she spots a gorgeous bouquet of red roses wrapped in newspaper invading the space. There’s no note attached to the bouquet, and she spared a quick glance around the room to see if anyone else is there. The lounge is empty, save for another resident in the corner, sleeping.

Naomi takes the bouquet out of her locker, careful not to smash the petals and holds it up to her nose, inhaling deeply.

Deciding to not put more thought into where they came from, Naomi simply cradles the bouquet in the crook of one of her arms, stuffs her bag into her locker, and continues on with her morning routine.

She’s passing by the nurses’ station on the 7th floor when someone catches her attention. “Oh Dr. Valentine! You have a special delivery.”

Her steps slow down as she approaches the front desk where Sarah, one of her favorite RNs is stationed. Sarah steps aside, revealing an even larger bouquet of roses, these ones white.

“Where did these come from?” Naomi asks.

“They were delivered about half an hour ago,” Sarah replies with a wink. “No note, though. I won’t let Dr. Ramsey know that you have a secret admirer.”

And that’s when it clicks into place. Memories of her fight with Ethan come flooding back, and it becomes clear that he’s the one gifting her these flowers. Before she even realizes she’s doing it, her eyes roll. If he thinks a couple of bouquets of roses are a good enough apology, he can think again.

Naomi plucks a white rose right from the center of the bouquet and hands it to Sarah. “For you.”

“Really? Are you sure?”

“I insist,” Naomi says. “Happy Friday, Sarah.”

“Thank you, Dr. Valentine!”

Seeing the smile on the senior nurse’s face is almost enough to cleanse Naomi of the annoyance she feels towards Ethan in this moment. After exchanging a few more pleasantries, Naomi manages to scoop up this new batch of flowers – they’re in a vase, to which she adds her red ones – and finishes her trek to the office.

She isn’t expecting it to be covered in bunches of bright yellow sunflowers.

Their communal desk is covered in them, along with Ethan’s personal desk and the couch. “What on earth was he thinking?”

“I was thinking that sunflowers are your favorite flower,” Ethan answers, and Naomi jumps, startled at his voice. She whips around and sees him standing in the doorway. “And so I got up well before the sun was shining, went to the Boston Flower Exchange and bought every single one I could get my hands on.”

“And the roses?”

“White is supposed to be symbolic of new beginnings and forgiveness,” Ethan explains. “And you simply can’t go wrong with red.”

“If you think buying me flowers is going to cut it, you must not know me well,” Naomi says. Him buying her things doesn’t impress her, no matter how much she jokes about his money.

“No, but I figured it couldn’t hurt.” Ethan takes a cautious step into the room, shutting the door behind him. A sleepless night without her beside him forced Ethan to do a lot of thinking about how he wanted this conversation to go. A peace offering is always a good start. “And it got you to talk to me.”

Naomi scoffs and sets her flowers down. “Barely.”

“I’m sorry,” Ethan says. “I’m an idiot, and an asshole.”

“It’s good that we can agree on something.”

Okay, it’s clear that she is not going to give him any leeway. “You were absolutely right to call me out on my behavior towards you.”

“Why did you do it?” Naomi asks.

“I wasn’t thinking,” Ethan says simply. “I got so caught up in having Harper on the team, and it’s easy to slip back into old habits without even realizing.”

“It wasn’t a simple one time thing. It was more than once that you and Harper completely forgot I was even there. And I like Harper, I don’t think I could respect her more than I already do, and I have a very healthy sense of self esteem, but even the toughest person on earth wouldn’t like being in my shoes, on the outside looking in while you and your ex reminisce on old dates and inside stories. Ethan, you couldn’t handle a modicum of the shit I have willingly put up with in order to be with you.”

His stomach knots up at the thought of an ex-boyfriend of Naomi’s coming into his personal space, sharing personal jokes with her, ignoring him, and monopolizing her time. If the thought of it had him this twisted, he can’t believe he’s been putting her through that reality.

“You were right to call me out on my bad communication skills. I am terrible at relationships. I’m not using it as an excuse, it’s just the truth. But I’ve gotten complacent, which is unacceptable.” Ethan takes another step towards Naomi, and when she doesn’t instantly recoil, he takes it as a sign to get even closer. “The last thing I ever want to do is stifle your voice, or make you feel invisible. Naomi, you are...invaluable. To this hospital, to this team, to me, and I am so sorry that there was ever a time where I made you feel like you weren’t. You are the most important person in my life, and what we have is something I’ve never had with anyone else.”

“Okay, so start acting like it,” Naomi challenges. “I’m your equal and I demand every bit of respect you have to offer. Anything less than that cannot be tolerated anymore, personally or professionally.”

Ethan nods emphatically at her words. “Of course.”

“I mean it.”

“You have my word, Naomi. I’ll never let it happen again.” He closes the gap between them and cups her face in his hand. “Just please...never give me the silent treatment again. Yell from the rooftops, argue with me, I don’t care, but I can’t take not hearing your voice.”

“You needed to be taught a lesson,” Naomi says simply.

“I learned my lesson, and I hated it,” Ethan confesses, his lips dangerously close to hers. Naomi doesn’t budge, not even an inch. She’s terribly stubborn, even at the end of a fight. “It was torture.”

“Good.” Deciding to put him out of his misery, Naomi tilts her head up and captures Ethan in a kiss. He doesn’t waste a single second returning it. His free hand wraps around the small of her back, pulling her in closer. How did he go this long without touching her?

He doesn’t know how long they’ve been kissing, but he finally breaks apart from her long enough to bury his face in her neck, allowing her scent and soft skin to soothe any of his fraught nerves. She smells like home.

“Does this mean I’m forgiven?” Ethan asks.

“The jury is still out on that one.”

“You’re going to make me work for this, aren’t you?”

“Are you up for the challenge?”

Ethan untangles himself from their embrace and takes a step back, so he’s able to look Naomi in the eyes. He takes her hand and presses a soft kiss into her palm. “For you? I’ll do just about anything.”

~v~

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pbelfz · 4 years ago

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His | 12 |

Pairing: Yandere Bakugou x Reader Chapter Title: Unavailable Chapter 11 | Chapter 13 Story Masterlist Summary: You're a petty villain, and your new villain-career is forced to an immediate halt when none other than Ground Zero captures you. He's convinced that you're in need of his help to change your tainted lifestyle, and you're not going to tell him otherwise. WARNINGS: ABUSE, MANIPULATION, ALCOHOL

The reins Katsuki had on (Y/n) tightened, and she resented him further. No surprise there.

She was still permitted her job, and Katsuki reluctantly agreed to not blow up her phone as much, as it was something that didn’t necessary benefit either of them, but the situation was noticeably still tense.

Work was slow at the moment. It being only her second day, (Y/n) was still tasked with mundane cleaning duties. She stared down absentmindedly at the floor as she mopped, only one customer sipping a coffee and working on their laptop in the far corner of the shop. The atmosphere was very tranquil, as the warmth from the small space heater on the counter was enough to fill the entire room and give (Y/n) a toasty embrace as she worked.

“Did you see Ground Zero’s Instagram live last week??” (Y/n)’s attention was suddenly pulled into her coworker’s casual conversation. Her mopping paused, but she kept her eyes to the ground.

“Yes, I did!”

“God, he has no business being that hot. I would give anything to just have five minutes of his time.”

(Y/n)’s eyebrows furrowed at the statement, and she quietly began mopping again. However, her coworkers immediately took notice of how silent she was being, as it was rather strange for a woman to not have at least some input to make about the devilish Number Two Hero.

“Did you see it, (Y/n)?” One of her coworkers asked with a smile.

“No,” (Y/n) answered much too quickly, causing the girls to stiffen and look at one another. They easily brushed off the interaction, as they often did when speaking to (Y/n), having convinced themselves that she suffers with extreme social anxiety.

(Y/n) didn’t know what this feeling was, staring down at the floor as she mopped at the floor with a silent glare. Jealousy, maybe? The idea that Katsuki actually had a life outside of her rarely dawned on her. It was becoming evermore evident, though, that she only played a very small part in his world, while he regularly forced himself to be all that matters to her. A fool could see that was unfair. She gripped the mop handle tightly, glaring at the floor. Why should he get all of this fame, money, and power, when he’s really an abusive, sexist, rapist? It was almost enough for her to wish for his Hero-dom to come crumbling down. If only her coworkers knew.

“‘Don’t get why girls are so obsessed with him. The guy’s obviously an asshole,” her one male coworker commented. (Y/n) slightly felt guilty; she hadn’t taken the time to remember her coworkers’ names, each of them only taking up minimal priority in her brain, probably similar to the amount she takes up in Katsuki’s brain. The man practically had her trained not to acknowledge other people’s presence in her life, and even Kirishima also fell victim to (Y/n) not remembering his name.

“Oh, have you met him or something?” A female coworker called out the guy. “How would you know that?” The guy opened his mouth, seeming a bit flustered as he stuttered.

“Well, haven’t you seen how he interacts with his fans? He’s always so rude to them, even the women! I’d never act that way if I was a top hero,” he defended, but it fell upon deaf ears.

“Yeah, okay, white knight.”

“H-Hey!” He then turned to (Y/n), who was now mopping the same spot of the floor over and over again, too distracted by their conversation to move onto another area. “(Y/n), who do you think would make a better Number One Hero: Ground Zero or Deku?” (Y/n) looked up and met his eyes, noticing the hopeful glint in them, one that said, ‘Please help me out here.’

(Y/n) glanced between the three of her coworkers before answering, filling the silence that somehow was much more tense than it needed to be.

“Deku,” she shrugged, dunking her mop in the soapy water and finally turning to begin mopping a different area.

“Oh, come on, (Y/n)!” One of the girls wailed, but the guy looked triumphant, as if a point was proven.

“See, (Y/n) agrees! Ground Zero just seems like a jerk compared to Deku.”

“Dude, everybody seems like a jerk compared to Deku.”

(Y/n) zoned out of the conversation, but her stomach dropped when she felt her phone vibrate in her pocket. She quickly reached behind her and pulled it out, learning from her mistake of not answering Katsuki’s messages ‘on time.’

(04:43) Katsuki : Hey.

(04:43) Katsuki : What do you want for dinner?

(Y/n) stared at the screen. Was he seriously thinking about this during his work? Or was this a test of some sort? Did he hear what she just said about Deku? No, he couldn’t have. Could he? She rolled her eyes but remained wary, typing a response.

(04:43) (Y/n) : Anything’s fine.

(04:43) Katsuki : K.

(Y/n) watched the screen to see if he was going to respond, but he didn’t. She awkwardly put her phone away in her back pocket, shaking her head. Katsuki said he was going to text her less, and, technically, he was, but he still managed to find random things to ask her throughout the day. And, much to his delight, (Y/n) was replying instantaneously, and he wondered if that was because he was no longer spamming her phone. Regardless, it was a win-win for him; he could focus more on his work, and she was answering him like she was supposed to when he did send a message.

The day ended unceremoniously. (Y/n) was packing her uniform in her locker, about to clock out, when she heard a gasp from outside the locker room, followed by a flurry of panicked questions.

(Y/n)’s eyebrows furrowed at the sudden noise. She grabbed her tote and headed for the exit of the locker room, cautiously peeking her head out. She was greeted by her coworkers huddled around each other, trying to comfort one of them in the middle. (Y/n)’s eyes scanned between them, anxiety beginning to build. What’s going on??

“I have to go,” her coworker in the middle of the huddle said through a cracked voice. She’d never looked so distraught before. “My shift doesn’t end until 11, but I need to go now,” she repeated. The owner hurried in to see what the ruckus was before (Y/n) suddenly spoke from behind the cracked door.

“I can stay ’til 11.”

All eyes landed on (Y/n)’s partially hidden form. The apparent worry on their faces now hinted with slight relief, but the teary expression of the crowded coworker definitely unnerved (Y/n). This range of emotions in other people looked almost alien to her; she had gotten used to only seeing herself cry and only seeing Katsuki angry. Everything else was odd.

“(Y/n),” The saddened coworker weeped, rushing over to give (Y/n) a sudden tight embrace, pulling the girl fully out of the locker room and into the view of the other employees.

“Thank you,” she said. “I’m not supposed to miss any more time, but my sister just got into a car accident while in a cab,” she then turned to the owner. “Is this okay with you?”

The owner nodded with a forced smile, trying to hide her obvious concern over the girl, “Please go see your sister.”

“Thank you,” (Y/n)’s coworker bowed. She stood straight once more, looking at (Y/n) once more. “You don’t know my name, do you?”

(Y/n)’s eyes widened before giving a shy, guilty smile.

“It’s Mika,” she was smiling genuinely this time, tears blurring her vision.

Her other coworkers looked at one another before quickly catching on, and while Mika grabbed her bag and was rushing out of the shop with a short goodbye, they each spoke to (Y/n) softly.

“I’m Kousei!”

“My name’s Tsubaki.”

“I’m Emiko,” the owner chimed in.

They were each grinning at her, not holding it against her that she didn’t remember their names. (Y/n) stood silent, staring at each of them, eyebrows raised. Were people always this kind? She couldn’t remember. Then, for the first time, the workers of Satou’s saw (Y/n) smile.

She made a promise with herself that she would remember them this time. She wouldn’t forget them. Mika. Kousei. Tsubaki. Emiko.

(10:15) Katsuki : You on your way home? It’s getting late.

(Y/n) cringed once she saw the message. Staying until 11 PM seemed like a fine idea in hindsight — if she was a regular girl, making normal decisions, without a fucking caregiver getting in the way.

So, she did what she does best when she received a stress-inducing text message.

She ignored it.

He won’t really notice if she’s home late, right? It’s just an hour.

Two minutes later, Katsuki was blowing up her phone.

(10:17) Katsuki : (Y/n), answer me.

Missed call from Katsuki.

(10:18) Katsuki : Are you on your way home or not?

She stared at the screen, knowing that she will be reprimanded for both ignoring him and for telling the truth. She decided to avoid the situation altogether for as long as she could. While it might not have been the brightest decision, confronting and arguing with Katsuki never was the ideal, and frankly, she wasn’t in the mood for it. She knew she was delaying the inevitable; it was going to happen either way. She was happy right now, having just met her coworkers officially, feeling true bonds forming for the first time since being taken. She just wanted her newfound peace to last just a little bit longer…

Her phone buzzed again, and she looked back down at the screen. He was calling her. Her eyes never left the screen as she let it ring, eventually going to voicemail. He then texted her.

(10:19) Katsuki : Pick up the fucking phone, (Y/n). We’re not going through with this again.

(Y/n) held the power button down on her phone, turning it off, and put it in her back pocket.

It was around 10:30 when she turned her phone back on. The traffic in the café had died down significantly, and only (Y/n), Kousei, and Tsubaki were still wandering around the small shop. (Y/n) wasn’t much of a talker, and her coworkers understood that, so she mainly just listened to their conversation.

But, right now, her heart was thumping hard against her ribcage as she unlocked her phone, the sounds of her coworkers laughing drowned out by her apprehension.

Missed call from Katsuki.

1 new voicemail from Katsuki.

(10:21) Katsuki : Where are you?

Missed call from Katsuki.

1 new voicemail from Katsuki.

(10:21) Katsuki : (Y/n).

Missed call from Katsuki.

1 new voicemail from Katsuki.

(Y/n) hesitated, debating whether or not to even listen to his voicemails. Rip the band-aid off, she told herself, a mantra that never seemed to comfort her, and yet, she still repeats it. She tensed as she pressed on the voicemail icon, intending to listen to them each in order as they were sent. She lifted the phone up to her ear, trying to subdue her shakiness so her coworkers didn’t get suspicious. Her expression, though, did little to hide her fear.

“You need to answer your goddamn phone,” his voice started out rough and loud, making (Y/n) cringe away from the phone. “What the fuck are you doing, huh? Second day, and already another fuckin’ problem,” she heard something open and close in the background. The fridge? “You turned off your phone, didn’t you? All I keep getting is your voicemail,” he then sighed, the way he does when he’s trying to hold back. “Fuck you,” he barked into the phone, making (Y/n) jump. The message ended.

(Y/n) swallowed as she pressed the next message.

“Goddammit, (Y/n)! Turn your fucking phone on! I won’t fucking ask again,” his voice, naturally booming it may be, sounded tired.

The third message was a little different. It started with an aggravated huff. “(Y/n),” he started. She could imagine his face, fighting whether or not to lower his pride and beg for her to answer him. He sighed heavily into the phone, “I had a shit day, and this isn’t helping any. Answer your phone.” (Y/n) pursed her lips. It was almost a nice request. Almost.

(Y/n) pulled the phone away from her ear, checking the texts once more. She was then frozen as she stared at next message.

(10:23) Katsuki : I’m coming to get you.

Her eyes went wide, and as if on cue, there was a hammering knock on the café’s windowed door. (Y/n)’s gaze shot in the direction of the sound, locking eyes with none other than Katsuki, who stood outside in a hoodie, concealing his face in a medical mask with a beanie under his hood. He returned his hands to his pockets as soon as (Y/n) noticed him, not removing his eyes from her once as she rushed over. She picked up her bag as she came over, knowing this was about to get ugly, and she should be prepared to leave at a moment’s notice. (Y/n) glanced behind her at her coworkers, who were watching the situation, before cautiously peeking her head out of the door.

Katsuki was fuming, and it was apparent in how quiet and standoffish his body language was. He smelled of alcohol, which wasn’t a good sign.

“H—,” Katsuki interrupted her as soon as she opened her mouth.

“You were supposed to be home almost an hour ago,” his voice was stern and flat, only slightly muffled by the mask, as he glowered down at her. The two stared at each other, cold wind blowing past them almost as a way to fill the silence. Katsuki was waiting impatiently.

“I’m covering for one of my coworkers,” (Y/n) explained quietly, averting her gaze from her captor’s. Katsuki sucked his teeth, rolling his eyes away from (Y/n). This was something Katsuki hated about her. She was so confident and ballsy over text, but as soon as he’s standing right in front of her, she cowers, and he doesn’t even have to lift a finger for her to do it. Katsuki shifted his weight to his other leg and sighed through his nose, clenching his fists in his hoodie pocket.

“Why the fuck didn’t you let me know that?” His voice was steadily rising. He returned his oppressive stare to (Y/n)’s form. “I thought we had an agreement,” he gritted out. (Y/n) quickly tried to defend herself.

“It was a sudden thing! I didn’t know it—,” Katsuki, with an overpowering voice, easily talked over her once more.

“It doesn’t matter if it was sudden! You have a phone for this very fucking reason!” (Y/n) met his eyes once more, always stunned at how a grown man could behave like this. She didn’t have a rebuttal at this point and lowered her eyes to the ground. Katsuki was about to scold her further, but, blinded by his anger, he made the mistake of forgetting the presence of the employees still inside of the café.

The door was pushed further ajar by a third person, and (Y/n) felt a hand rest on her shoulder from behind, making her jump. Katsuki’s eyes shifted immediately to where the stranger was touching (Y/n), his blood suddenly running hot.

“Excuse me, sir, is there a problem?” (Y/n) suddenly heard Kousei ask. Kousei had opened the door further, stepping partly in between (Y/n) and Katsuki, as he noticed from afar the situation was getting rather escalated. Katsuki easily towered over the poor boy, making him appear rather shrimpy, and with Katsuki’s very noticeable muscle mass, it was admirable but stupid of Kousei to intervene.

(Y/n) felt like she stopped breathing, her eyes almost popping out of their sockets as they quickly shot up to scan Katsuki’s face at the intrusion. Katsuki, who reluctantly pulled his burning glare away from Kousei’s hand on (Y/n)’s shoulder, had turned his head to look down at the smaller man, and Kousei damn near shivered. He could have sworn his eyes looked familiar. He’d seen those blood red irises somewhere before, but he couldn’t place the name, as the mask and beanie were concealing much of his identity. (Y/n) felt like she was frozen in time as she watched the interaction, waiting for Katsuki to do something.

Katsuki knew that if he spoke, his identity would most likely be exposed due to his easily recognizable gruff voice, but rational thinking was the last thing on his angered mind as he stared down the boy. The bridge of his nose twitched with his heavy scowl, but he pulled himself together with a swallow, trying to calm the bloodlust he was feeling. He decided the best route was to ignore Kousei’s presence altogether, turning his attention back to (Y/n). He opened his mouth to say something to her again, but Kousei stepped further in front of her, returning Katsuki’s gaze to him. The hero clenched his jaw at the audacity, his eyes widening with a threateningly crazed glint.

(Y/n) felt trapped. Stuck. She couldn’t even bring herself to look between the two men, her body naturally shrinking and tensing, as it always does when she’s around Katsuki. Someone was going to get hurt, and it wasn’t going to be Katsuki. She wanted this to stop.

“Did you want a free drink, sir? Maybe a pastry? You can have your pick at anything we have available,” Kousei offered, somehow keeping a calm voice. But, (Y/n) saw how the arm he held in front of her had the most subtle shakiness. Katsuki’s eyebrow twitched and his mouth begin to open from behind his medical mask. As soon as he pulled his hands out of his hoodie pocket, not even able to take an offensive stance yet, (Y/n) suddenly pushed past Kousei and latched onto Katsuki’s arm. Katsuki quickly looked down at the girl, almost shocked, and Kousei seemed rather surprised as well.

“I’ll go home with you, okay? That’s what you want, right?” She said in almost a whisper, her eyes pleading with him not to make an even bigger scene. Kousei hardly heard the exchange as he stared at the pair, watching Katsuki carefully. Katsuki looked (Y/n) over quickly, as if trying to tell if she was deceiving him.

“(Y/n)—,” Kousei started, still deeming the situation to be unsafe, but Katsuki roughly grabbed ahold of (Y/n)’s hand and pulled her along the sidewalk before he could finish the thought. (Y/n) didn’t even turn to give a goodbye as she hugged her tote closer to her body, allowing herself to be dragged along by Katsuki.

Mika, Kousei, Tsubaki, and Emiko didn’t see her again after that.

“Who the fuck was he?” Katsuki grumbled from behind his mask, his grip on (Y/n)’s arm not letting up any.

“My coworker.”

Katsuki scoffed at her answer, his fist clenching just a bit tighter out of frustration.

“Fuckin’ prick. Should’ve beat his ass. Why’d he try to get involved like that?”

“Maybe because he didn’t like how you were treating me,” (Y/n) nipped bitterly. Katsuki shot a look back at her, tugging her closer to him harshly, making her yelp.

“Watch it,” he warned.

Now a decent distance away from Satou’s, there were many more civilians walking the city’s street, despite it being almost 11 PM. Katsuki, as if premeditated, shifted his hand down (Y/n)’s arm to interlock his fingers with hers, now properly holding her hand. He was still squeezing a bit hard, though.

They walked quietly and quickly, and (Y/n) could still feel Katsuki’s anger radiating off of him. She took a glimpse up at him through the corner of her eye. He kept his scowl forward, only his eyebrows and eyes visible.

“You’ve been drinking,” she said suddenly.

Katsuki glanced down at her before huffing out an irritated breath from behind his mask, it turning into a small cloud in the cold air.

“So, what?” He grumbled. (Y/n) noticed for the first time that night how exhausted he looked. “Today was shit. Thanks for making it fucking worse.”

(Y/n), ignoring the urge to roll her eyes at his unnecessary comment, saw the opportunity and shamelessly tried to grasp it.

“Did you want to talk about it?”

“No.”

Of course, he didn’t. Well, there was an attempt. As they continued walking in silence, she could tell Katsuki’s rage had not subsided an ounce, mostly by the way he was gripping (Y/n)’s hand as if he were trying to suffocate it.

“Am I,” she swallowed, trying to keep her voice down, “Going to be punished?”

When Katsuki didn’t answer, she looked back up at him again. He was glaring straight ahead as they walked, almost like he was pretending he didn’t hear her.

(Y/n) found recently that, much like Katsuki, she too had a problem with being ignored. She had to have picked up the habit from him. Maybe she had gotten so used to Katsuki paying so much attention to her, that when he didn’t, it felt wrong. It was hypocritical, of course, to get mad at him when he’s clingy and get upset when he’s suddenly not, but who could blame her? He took on the responsibility of taking her in when he didn’t have to, and his emotions were so unpredictable and all over the place, she often felt the urgency to mirror his behaviors. Unhealthy, yes, but it certainly felt like she had no choice but to.

She let out a breath of frustration, remembering how she’s not Katsuki’s entire life, even though sometimes he treated her as such.

“My coworkers were talking about your Instagram Live,” she looked up at him once more, hoping just to elicit something. That’s another habit she picked up. She could proclaim wholeheartedly she hates it when he gets angry with her, but then why does she keep on fucking testing him? Katsuki knew he wasn’t crazy, recognizing the nagging behavior in her almost immediately, almost like she wants him to get mad at her. His frown deepened as he realized what game she was trying to play.

He didn’t even spare her a glance as they turned a corner.

“What were you doing on it?”

“Shut up,” Katsuki breathed, yanking her closer to him when he felt her start to pull away slightly. (Y/n) allowed herself to be jerked closer to Katsuki’s body, if not just for his warmth.

The air was still as Katsuki unlocked his door. (Y/n) scuttled in after him as he took off his beanie and medical mask, hanging the hat on the coat hanger kept near the front door. Quiet. Not a good sign. (Y/n) took off her own jacket — which was actually Katsuki’s — hooking it along with her bag on the coat hanger as well, keeping a close eye on the man. She moved away from the foyer and into the living room, eyes widening slightly at the sight.

Beer bottles were left in a messy array on the coffee table. There weren’t many, but since Katsuki doesn’t regularly drink, five or so bottles definitely raised a heavy concern in the girl.

She didn’t know whether or not to comment on the mess, but she quickly felt Katsuki’s looming presence behind her. She turned to face him, now noticing the slight pink, drunken tint on his cheeks that was previously hidden by the mask. He was looking down at her without a glare for a change, but (Y/n) didn’t like the atmosphere between them right now. She decided to speak first.

“Did you—,” Katsuki interrupted her almost immediately.

“Shut the fuck up.”

(Y/n) closed her mouth like a trained dog, her unblinking eyes not leaving Katsuki’s. She was beginning to feel herself shake. Katsuki licked his lips, averting his stare for second. Another sign he was holding back. He looked to be thinking of what to say.

“I was worried, you know,” he finally said. It seemed like he meant for it to come out tender and comforting, but there was a bitter edge to his voice that made (Y/n) feel herself start to feel smaller than she already was. He looked to her, finally seeming like he was anticipating her response. (Y/n) tried not to tremble over her words.

“I’m sorry, I should have told you I was staying late,” her quiet voice was riddled with fear, too scared to even remove her eyes from the tall hero. The man hummed lowly, nodding in agreement.

“You should have.”

The air was thick between them, gazes focused on each other’s. The likelihood of Katsuki being shit-faced wasn’t necessarily too high, considering he handles his alcohol well. Him being only tipsy, however, posed a problem.

“I’m sorry,” (Y/n) repeated softly, her eyes pleading with him as if she were trying to calm a fuming animal. She almost felt frozen, especially with the way he was looking at her.

He ignored her apology, rolling his eyes and shifting his weight to his other leg. (Y/n) got an uneasy feeling with the way he was watching her.

“I don’t forgive you.”

(Y/n)’s heart skipped a beat at the utterance, and something about Katsuki’s posture changed, guarding the way to the front door. Her body moved instinctively, turning and sprinting to the other rooms of the penthouse, anywhere just to get away from Katsuki. She heard Katsuki’s heavy footfall right behind her, running after her like she was prey, but her body was moving on pure adrenaline, and Katsuki was slowed due to the alcohol in his system. That didn’t say much, though; he had to have been still holding back. Perhaps, he just liked the chase.

(Y/n) made a sharp turn, almost slipping on the hardwood floor before she caught herself. Katsuki was hot on her trail, and (Y/n) could almost feel how close he was on her heels, the sudden turns of his hallway not causing him to lose his footing at all. Her heart rate was skyrocketing, pushing her body past its limit as she navigated quickly throughout the house, pushing past walls and knocking things over as if to slow him.

He’s going to kill me.

It was reminiscent of the time they first met, when Katsuki first took her. They’ve known each other for months now, and yet, they’re still doing the same thing they did when they first encountered one another.

(Y/n) was panting now, not out of exhaustion but out of desperation. She flung herself into the nearest bathroom and whipped around to push the door closed. She then saw just how close Katsuki was to grabbing ahold of her, gritted teeth and crazed eyes with an arm reaching into the bathroom as soon as she turned around. She tried to shove the door closed with her body, one of Katsuki’s arms attempting to keep it open and trying to take ahold of her.

“Don’t you fucking dare close that door, (Y/n),” he bellowed. His arm reached around, his hand desperately trying to get a grasp of (Y/n)’s own arm as she began to use her whole body weight to force the door shut. Katsuki managed to grab her wrist, but (Y/n) continued to push the door closed on his appendage, and she heard him let out a yelp at the pain, his strong grip suddenly releasing her as his arm retracted from behind the door, his nails leaving deep scratches on her skin, but it went unnoticed. She slammed the door shut, her fingers moving quickly to lock it as she leaned her back against the wood, pressing herself firmly against it to prevent him from barging in.

The door was suddenly pounded, bumping (Y/n)’s head. Katsuki punched the door again, and this time, she heard wood split. She clenched her jaw, her eyes squeezed shut as she continued holding herself against the bathroom door.

“You fucking cunt,” she heard him hiss. “Fine, then! Fucking stay in there for all I care!”

She heard him begin to pace, and she knew it wasn’t safe to let her guard down yet. She then felt another pounding on the door, lower this time. He had kicked it, making the wood split once more. (Y/n) began to fear that he was actually going to barge right in.

But, then she heard his footsteps retreat, along with some cussing. She jumped at the sudden sound of glass breaking, signaling something being knocked over. He’s throwing a fucking tantrum—!

She held her position against the door until it was silent on the other side.

(Y/n) sat on the floor of the bathroom, her back still against the door but no longer in a defensive position. She decided she was just going to wait the night out here.

She’s assuming Katsuki had either gone to bed or was just somewhere else in the house, as it had been quiet for about an hour and a half now. She didn’t know what time it was, but it had to have been at least 2 AM.

(Y/n) suddenly heard movement on the other side of the door, and she reacted immediately, tensing and beginning to push against it. Katsuki’s weight pressed against the wood before sliding down, telling (Y/n) that he was sitting the same as her.

“You still awake?” His rough voice spoke. He sounded exhausted.

(Y/n) didn’t want to respond to him just yet, so she stayed quiet and as still as she could be, listening. He sighed. She could tell he was running a hand through his hair, the way he does when he doesn’t know how to say something.

“‘Had an argument with that old hag today,” he continued, a little quieter. (Y/n) furrowed her brows. Old hag? Who is that?

“She called me a poor excuse for a son,” she heard his head rest against the door, “I called her a good-for-nothing bitch.” His mother?

“I feel like nothing I do satisfies her. She’s so fucking nitpicky, and it’s only gotten worse with age.”

(Y/n) wasn’t exactly in the mood to comfort the man that was just cursing her name a few hours ago, but she also wanted to remain quiet because it seemed like Katsuki thought she was asleep.

“I see her in you sometimes, the shit you say and do, and it just,” he huffed, trying to gather his words, “it fucking pisses me off.”

But, was that also why he was so drawn to her?

“And that shit you pulled today,” he swallowed. “I didn’t fucking need that today of all days.”

He was quiet, expecting a rebuttal, but none came. He sighed deeply.

“I think she’s fucking holding it against me that I haven’t given her any grandkids yet. Jesus,” he dragged a hand down his face. (Y/n) furrowed her brows at the statement, her eyes widening slightly. “Why can’t she just be proud of me for being a top hero? I don’t have time for any of that extra shit right now, and you’re definitely another fucking chore,” he grumbled bitterly. “Just like a damn dog.”

(Y/n) sighed through her nose quietly, keeping herself from blurting out an insult right back at him. Katsuki continued his rant.

“She’d be a fucking awful grandma, too, so I don’t know what the hell’s the rush. Bitch can suck it up and wait a couple more years.”

“Katsuki?” His heart skipped a beat at (Y/n)’s voice, the sound almost making him jump. He thought she would’ve been asleep by now, even if she was hold up in the bathroom.

“Hm?”

“What will you do if I’m pregnant?” She knew she had to ask eventually. It was something she felt like she had been handling on her own these past few days, but she knew this would have to involve Katsuki sooner or later. It already did involve Katsuki. The question sobered Katsuki up much more than he would like to admit, his eyes widening as he briefly remembered their fornication. It was quiet on the other side of the door, (Y/n) waiting anxiously for his response as time seemed to move much too slowly.

“You’re not pregnant,” he finally said. It almost seemed humorous how serious and sure he sounded, almost like he was trying to convince himself.

“How do you know that?”

She heard him exhale, but before he could respond, she spoke again.

“Can we get a pregnancy test to make sure?”

“When is your—,” (Y/n) continued talking over him, her anxiety bubbling up out of her throat.

“I don’t want a baby, Kat—!” I don’t want your baby, Katsuki.

“(Y/n), I’m talking,” Katsuki raised his voice slightly, his worry starting to slip through his words and grab ahold of (Y/n)’s attention, effectively shutting her up. “I think your next period starts in a week, but I’ll have to look at the calendar,” he mumbled. “Have you had any symptoms, like is anything different?” Katsuki asked as if he even knew what pregnancy symptoms looked like.

(Y/n) thought for a moment, trying to not imagine being stuck with Katsuki’s child, but shook her head. “No, nothing unusual, but it’s only been a few days.”

“Okay, well, monitor yourself before your period is supposed to start,” he told her. “If anything is out of the ordinary, let me know as soon as possible.” This was the closest Katsuki had ever gotten to sounding like he cared about her.

“Okay,” (Y/n) agreed. It was quiet for a bit, the door still separating the pair before (Y/n) spoke up again.

“Do you want kids?”

She heard Katsuki inhale deeply as he thought. “Not at the moment,” he said after a while. “But, if it happens, then it happens.”

“And, what about me? What if I don’t want it?” (Y/n) said with a tone, her hands clenching her knees. She knew she shouldn’t have expected Katsuki to consider her feelings in all of this, even if it affected her body, but she somehow was still offended by his lack of consideration.

“Then, that’s just too fuckin’ bad.”

That was the end of the conversation.

(Y/n) had dozed off after Katsuki went to bed to try and salvage any amount of sleep he could before work. When (Y/n) awoke, she felt an ache racking through her body from sleeping in a sitting position. The light in the bathroom was still on, causing her eyes extreme discomfort as she tried to take in her surroundings. She pressed her head against the wood of the door, listening for any movement. When she heard none, she slowly stood, stretching her body out with a groan. She unlocked the door and peeked through the crack. Katsuki wasn’t around.

She tiptoed out of the bathroom, cutting the light off as she left. She glanced around the room, observing what she could see of the living room with the minimal morning light just beginning to shine through the windows.

There was no mess, no destroyed furniture, nothing to indicate that there was a quarrel last night. Katsuki had cleaned up whatever he had broken while (Y/n) hid. She turned, looking back at the outside of the bathroom door.

Two breaks in the wood were visible, even in the darkness, from Katsuki’s hitting. She offhandedly wondered if he was going to get that fixed, or just order a new door entirely. Visitors might get suspicious if they see the destruction.

She walked quietly, glancing at the clock as she passed it. 5:02 AM. Is Katsuki still here?

The bedroom door was left open, and as she peered in, she saw large lumps collected under the blankets, as well as the smallest tuft of ashen blonde hair peeking out by the pillows. Shit. He’s late.

(Y/n) stood there staring for a moment, unsure how to approach him, knowing he was going to be pissed at himself, and somehow her, for his lack of punctuality. Her fingers began to clench her pants as she watched Katsuki sleep soundlessly, and she carefully made her way to his side of the bed.

He had the covers pulled almost completely over his head, as he slept in a fetal position. (Y/n) bit the inside of her lip before reaching an arm out to where she thought his shoulder was.

“Hey, Katsuki,” she said probably much too quietly, and yet Katsuki’s eyes almost immediately shot open. He shoved (Y/n)’s arm away and lurched upward, looking as if he’d been woken up by the sound of a bomb going off.

His eyes quickly found (Y/n)’s, and she thought he seemed to be looking for an emergency, expecting her to tell him something was happening.

“What??” He questioned, throwing his legs over the side of the bed, his hands grabbing onto (Y/n)’s biceps, almost like he was making sure she was there. He wasn’t angry, but (Y/n) didn’t think she’d ever seen his eyes this wide. It made her own mirror his expression.

“You, um,” she rephrased her sentence, “It’s 5 AM.” Katsuki stared at her before visibly relaxing, a sigh leaving his lips as he closed his eyes. He rubbed his hands up and down (Y/n)’s arms soothingly.

“I’m off today,” was all he said to make (Y/n) instantly regret waking him.

“Oh, I’m sorry.”

Katsuki shook his head, letting (Y/n)’s arms go as he reached up to stretch. He was only in his boxers, which wasn’t abnormal, considering how warm his body gets when he’s sleeping.

“’S fine,” a hand rubbed over one of his eyes. He was accustomed to being woken up frequently in the night, so it didn’t actually bother him any, which shocked (Y/n) when she first found out. She would have thought the one thing Katsuki gave a damn about was his sleep schedule, but he never seemed too upset whenever it was interrupted. She somehow had a feeling he used to not be this way, and perhaps years of pro-hero work naturally made his bedtimes shift around in all different directions, his frustration for it long having subsided.

He glanced over (Y/n), and she now saw just how exhausted he looked. “Go change,” he muttered before a yawn escaped him. (Y/n) looked down; she was still in her clothes from the day before. “Then, come to bed,” he finished lazily, his eyes fighting to stay open. (Y/n) only nodded.

(Y/n) returned to the bed dressed in Katsuki’s sweatpants and sweatshirt. She pulled the covers back on her side of the bed, about to slip inside them, when Katsuki’s head whipped around. He then turned over and scooted himself closer to her side, his eyes barely even open as he held the sheets up with one arm, silently asking (Y/n) to snuggle.

If only he could be like this all of the time, not just when he’s tired.

She crawled into the bed, and Katsuki pulled the blankets up, effectively covering most of their faces. He sighed through his nose, his breath tickling (Y/n)’s face as she nestled into his warm skin. She frowned, feeling Katsuki pull her closer to him, one of his heavy legs even wrapping around her own. His heartbeat thumped right against her ear, a calming rhythm she could never find in Katsuki until they were sleeping. She eventually allowed her eyes to fall shut once she adjusted herself comfortably, as she let herself be embraced by the man that was holding her captive. She wasn’t in the mood to hug Katsuki back — she hadn’t been since the rape — but she still acted like Katsuki’s personal body pillow, as he gets rather clingy at night.

“Do you have a hangover?” (Y/n) asked, wanting to at least talk to him before he fell back asleep. She had a tendency to blurt out sudden questions at Katsuki, and while it bothered him normally, she knew he would be more willing to be honest when he’s half-asleep. Katsuki shifted slightly, his fingertips beginning to run gently down her spine.

“Nah,” he breathed, eyes closed.

“Are you feeling better, then?” She looked up at Katsuki’s face, her previous drowsiness quickly fading away the more she talked.

“Mmm,” he hummed faintly, and (Y/n) didn’t know if that was a yes or a no. “Go to sleep,” he told her, his gravely voice soft for a change.

(Y/n) didn’t know if he pretended to fall back asleep after that or if he actually did.

Part of her reveled in the feeling of being held by Katsuki, but another part of her knew she was wrong for laying with her captor like this, ignoring the true nature of their relationship. But, (Y/n) could appreciate how after every bad altercation they had, Katsuki was always extremely affectionate once it was all over. It was almost like he was trying to make up for his bad behavior by acting as if the yelling, the chasing, the stinging scratches on (Y/n)’s arm, never even happened, cleaning up whatever mess he or (Y/n) made and continuing on the night without another nod in its direction. (Y/n)’s only motivation, it seemed, for getting through Katsuki’s tantrums was the anticipated cuddle sessions she knew he would give soon thereafter, like he was rewarding her for putting up with him. It was working, anyway.

(Y/n) woke up hours later to find that she and Katsuki had hardly moved throughout the night, Katsuki’s heavy, muscular limbs still wrapped snuggly around her smaller form. It was odd for him not to toss and turn in his sleep, so he had to have been really tired last night. He didn’t normally snore, but he was puffing out rather deep breaths, the blow of air tickling (Y/n)’s cheeks. (Y/n) stared up at him, the morning light allowing her to appreciate how handsome he was.

After a few moments, she gently gripped Katsuki’s arms, feeling his muscles twitch as she carefully tried to shimmy out of his grasp. Katsuki swallowed and readjusted himself, constricting his arms around her torso once more, pulling her closer against him. (Y/n)’s brows furrowed, and she glanced behind her at the alarm clock on his nightstand. 9:32 AM.

She turned back to Katsuki, who was very much still asleep. “Katsuki,” (Y/n) said quietly. Katsuki’s face scrunched up at the utterance. He was awake now, but his eyes remained closed.

“Mm,” he hummed in response.

“I have to go to work,” something she never thought she would be able to say to him. It all felt too domestic, making her forget her captivity. Katsuki reached an arm up, stretching, before wrapping it back around (Y/n). His arms were squeezing (Y/n) in a protective hold, his thumb beginning to stroke her shoulder.

“‘ere’s no need,” he muttered out, his voice groggy and deeper than normal. (Y/n) paused at this.

“What do you mean there’s no need?” She asked, staring up at Katsuki’s chin. He let out a yawn, his eyes still shut as he spoke.

“Called your boss. You don’t work there anymore,” he said simply, now a little more awake than before. (Y/n) looked at him like he was kidding with her. He better be kidding with her.

“You what?” She spoke lowly, her wide eyes not leaving Katsuki’s tired face.

“I quit for you.”

(Y/n)’s breath was caught in her throat.

“You’re kidding?” She questioned after a moment, knowing damn well just how serious Katsuki always was. He finally opened his eyes, peering down at her through heavy eyelids with a slight scowl.

“No?”

(Y/n)’s face fell into a deep glare as she looked up at the man who was embracing her, her arms trapped by her sides.

“I don’t understand,” she half-chuckled. He was joking. (Y/n) knew he wasn’t, but she held onto the hope that he wouldn’t do something like that…!

He sighed and closed his eyes again. “Then, don’t bother to try. Go back to sleep. I’m fuckin’ tired, and it’s my day off,” he grumbled, an attitude quickly surfacing. (Y/n) instantly started to push herself away from Katsuki, trying to break out of his tight grasp, but he wasn’t relenting any.

“Fuck you,” she spat, a crazed glare on her face as she watched the man try to fall back asleep, carelessly ignoring her scorn. “Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you—!” (Y/n) continued trying to pull her body out of his arms. Katsuki clenched his jaw and his limbs suddenly detached from (Y/n), allowing her to shift away from him on the bed and add space between them. He then sat up, his previously drowsy face now replaced with its own glower to match (Y/n)’s.

“(Y/n),” he warned. The girl quickly got up from the bed, backing away cautiously. She was expecting Katsuki to pounce. “Get the fuck back over here. Now,” Katsuki pointed to where she previously was on the bed. Her glare was defiant.

“No.”

Katsuki, expecting this answer, immediately threw the blanket off of him, his legs swinging over the side of the bed. “You’re getting awfully spoiled, aren’t you?” He began to trudge over to (Y/n), exhaustion long gone from his face. “I would have fucking punished you last night if I’d known you’d act like this!” His voice was raising, and while (Y/n)’s first instinct was to cower away from him, she forced herself to fight back. Glancing at the alarm clock beside her, she quickly yanked it, the chord coming out of the wall, before pelting it at Katsuki, aiming for his head. He ducked, avoiding it easily as it smashed against the wall behind him, and (Y/n)’s rushed backwards steps almost made her trip as she glanced around the room looking for another thing to throw. Her hands latched onto one of Katsuki’s metal water bottles, but before she could even lift it off of the desk, he grabbed both of her wrists with one hand. (Y/n) turned her head quickly to look up at him, instantly being met with a hard smack on her cheek, making her neck snap the other way. With one eye closed out of shock, she felt the hot ache of the slap stinging her cheek as she grit her teeth.

“Dumb fucking bitch,” he snarled, yanking (Y/n)’s arms away from anything else she could try to throw. He began dragging her along with him to another room, making sure to pull harshly with each turn. (Y/n) dug her heels in the ground as best she could, cursing herself for wearing socks on his hardwood floor. Trying to make herself dead weight, though it wasn’t slowing him down any, was making Katsuki’s mood even worse. She began to try kicking at him, pulling her body in the opposite direction of him. Katsuki then let go of her, allowing her to fall onto the ground with a thud. She didn’t even get a chance to try to crawl away before Katsuki was knelt down, reaching his arms around her torso and lifting her up. He easily threw her over his shoulder, no matter how heavy she tried to make herself. She was able to get one good elbow to the back of his head before she was thrown to the ground once more, and this time, she found herself somewhere she hadn’t been since she first was captured.

She hardly was able to utter a plea before Katsuki slammed the door shut, the lock clicking soon after.

She was back inside of the closet.

#bakugou katsuki #bakugou katsuki x reader #bakugou x reader #yandere bakugou #yandere katsuki #yandere bakugou katsuki #yandere #katsuki x reader #bnha #mha #HIS

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yandere-sins · 4 years ago

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Yandere Kageyama please! Maybe he is the leader of the Mafia or a Gang leader?

Now this is very farfetched, but yandere!yakuza!Kageyama? Hot. Didn’t make him the leader in case I want to write more for that AU. It wouldn’t make sense if he was a leader yet in the long run.

»»———————— ♡ ————————««

Dealing with other people had never been your strong point.

It wasn’t like you lacked social skills, and you had a few friends to prove that. However, you just weren’t good at negotiations or lying. Being in a tense conversation always made you nervous, as did having to stand your ground and not be a push-over. Then again, you probably would have made it through your life just fine if not for that one mistake.

You cursed your ‘best friend’ quietly under your breath as you walked the long hallways. Feet on wood made those full, echoing sound of steps, letting you know that this was real wooden flooring, only the best of the best and expensive as hell. Things that could be bought when one lends out money and then asked for more and more back.

At the same time, you had to curse yourself too. How stupid had you been to co-sign a contract you hadn’t even read?! Who did this in this day and age, just blindly believing that you weren’t just selling off your soul to someone else’s cause? Of course, no one expected your friend to bail the moment his brilliant idea of a business got ruined, leaving him deep in debt. Still, now it was your responsibility to pay back the money you never even possessed in your whole life.

Anyone would have been nervous, wringing their hands as they got escorted through the traditional mansion. From afar, you heard calm, serene deer scares clicking and water flowing into a pond. Everything seemed so perfect.

Perfect enough to hide a lot of secrets.

Only the person who had greeted you, a tiny, young man with very noticeable orange hair, seemed as if he had no care in the world. He hummed happily, occasionally throwing a glance over his shoulder to make sure you were still following, before moving forward in what could be best described as carefree jumps.

“It’ll be alright,” he hummed, after watching your wringing hands. You managed a faint smile, wanting to believe him but finding it hard to after having done your research. This wasn’t just a loan shark facility. The Karasuno clan wasn’t just men in suits with more papers than words. They were the kind of people you didn’t want to pick a fight with, the ones you’d avoid at night. The ones really desperate people would go to for help when the government refused them. The ones your best friend thought he could trust after every bank denied him a loan.

And now it was all on you to meet these people, anxiety or not.

You were led into a nice tatami room, with only one table and two seating pillows filling it. A waste of living space, but it sure left an impression. To be able to afford a mansion so big to have an almost empty conference room in it surely was something to look in awe upon.

“Kageyama will be with you in a bit. Make yourself at home!” your guide chimed, grinning widely before he shut the door behind you. Now, you were all on your own, and you shifted your weight on your feet for a while before deciding to sit down. Just standing around would be very rude, too, right? The last thing you wanted to make was a bad impression, even though that meant you had nothing to get your mind off until it was time to meet that Kageyama-guy.

Meaning, the moment the sliding door flew open, you jumped hard, having been in your thoughts for just a minute too long. “[Name]?” the person who entered asked, and you stuttered a quick, “Y-Yeah?” back. He nodded approvingly before walking over, taking the seat across from you, and you began to wonder if you were sitting on the right side of the table or if there were any rules for that.

“I’m Tobio Kageyama, thank you for coming,” he introduced himself, reaching inside the jacket of his black suit - matching the dark tuft of hair he had perfectly. For a second, you thought those were the last words you’d hear before he pulled a gun on you, but instead, he made a letter appear, as well as an expensive-looking pen.

“This is your signature, correct?” He unfolded the paper for you to see, pointing at the bottom where he had it black ink on white paper, your very own signature. “Yes...” you mumbled, slowly curling into yourself. “Alright, did you have any contact with the person who took out the loan lately? We’ve been trying to find them, but if we can’t, that would mean that you need to pay--”

“I don’t have the money.”

Whatever had ridden you to interrupt him like this vanished with the little bit of confidence you had left. You felt sweat collect on your forehead, and you were too afraid to look up at him, while Kageyama’s mouth hung open, in the middle of saying something. Closing it, he looked at the table, followed by some taps on the wooden surface.

“Do we... do we know each other?” he asked suddenly, catching you off-guard. But he managed to draw your attention again, eyes flitting up to look at his face. “I- I’m not sure, do we?”

“Second year of high school, I think I sat a few rows behind you.”

Blinking, you could barely believe what you were hearing. “Huh, you were? I’m sorry... I must have forgotten... Or wait, you were really into volleyball back then, right?”

A smile crossed his face, nothing you would have described as sincere, but it seemed like a well-meant try. Still, you felt a bit of relief ease the tension in your shoulders, despite not exactly being safe even now. “I’m glad you remembered. I just noticed.”

Clearing his throat, he looked back down at the paper again, pointing his pen towards a large number with a lot of zeroes, making you shift your attention. “See, the problem is that this was my first deal with someone from outside the organization, and I’d absolutely hate to sit on this kind of money. You understand that, right? I eventually have to give it back to my bosses, and for that, it would be really bad for me to not have it, right?”

“I understand...” you mumbled, gulping at the big sum he was talking about. “But I really don’t have it! If I could, I would give it to you right away, but there’s no way for me to pay it back anytime soon.”

Kageyama watched you intently, time passed painfully slow. Something about his unblinking stare was unsettling, but you figured he might just be thinking right now, and instead removed your eyes from him shamefully. It was your fault, and you’d do the right thing if you could to make up for it, but as you were, there was no way to do so.

“I believe you,” he eventually agreed, pulling the paper off the table and back into the pocket inside of his jacket. “So here’s what we will do instead.”

Reaching into the opposite side from where he had just put the document into - and you were almost a hundred percent sure that this was your death sentence now and he’d pull a gun - he produced a silken, deep black, and long piece of fabric. “For as long as the debt isn’t paid, you’ll work for me. There is a lot to do, and you’ll not complain nor search for outside help while you work here. I hope you understand that if you can’t pay back what you owe, we will have to find other people in your surroundings to help you; your family, for example.”

Holding out the piece of fabric towards you, Kageyama leaned forward over the table. “I only do that because we have past together, [Name]. I’d hate if there was something happening to someone I know just because one more asshole runs away from their responsibilities. I can help you, and this is a good option, believe me. No harm will come to you or anyone else this way.”

The offer sounded reasonable enough, despite you not missing the bad notions in it that he so carefully threaded into his words. In the end, even if you knew each other, he too was a yakuza, serving his own and his clan’s purpose more than anyone’s. This was a merciful suggestion compared to the alternatives, and you could not imagine how your parents would take it if they were to be bothered by people like him.

Agreeing despite your better judgment, you took the thing from him, stretching it in your hand. It was soft, and honestly, you could imagine yourself wearing a pajama in it; it was that comfortable. “Uhm...” you mumbled, realizing you didn’t know what to do with that. “Please put it on,” he instructed, standing up. Only now did you realize it was perfectly made to be used as a blindfold.

Despite your hands shaking, you hesitantly covered your eyes with it, thanking God that if this was your end, you’d at least not have to see it coming. You flinched when you felt two other hands coming down onto the back of your head, helping you to secure the fabric tightly before you were asked for your hand to help you up. Up till now, you weren’t dead yet, so that was an achievement. “It’s just for security reasons, don’t worry. I’ll bring you somewhere safe, so just follow my lead.”

His fingers linked with yours - weird considering you two weren’t so close to justify such an affectionate hold on you - and you felt his tug, urging you forward. “Where... Where will we be going?” you asked, hearing the sliding door open, followed by a small chuckle of a third voice, before familiar-sounding footsteps took off before you two. Kageyama clicked his tongue, and you already felt like you had made a mistake, unable to see that his reaction had been for someone else entirely.

“Don’t worry, [Name],” he assured you, but his lack of answering your question barely helped you.

Still, all you could do was trust him, now that you were in his care.

Trusting was something you were very good at after all, Kageyama was aware. You’d trust a friend you’d only known for a few months and co-sign his contract with the yakuza. You’d trust said yakuza when he told you he had work for you to fulfill the deed. And you trusted Kageyama to be sincere, when really, he had set you up to come to him and agree to his conditions without complaining, letting yourself be taken to his room easily.

A room in which really no one could hear you when you screamed as the Karasuno clan’s prodigy would do all the things to you he had been dreaming about for years now.

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themollyjay · 3 years ago

Text

The Myths of Forced Diversity and Virtue Signaling.

In my novel Mail Order Bride, the three main characters are a lesbian and two agendered aliens. In my novel Scatter, the main character is a lesbian, the love interest is a pansexual alien, and the major side characters include a half Cuban, half black Dominican lesbian, a Chinese Dragon, a New York born Jewish Dragon, and a Transgender Welsh Dragon. In my novel The Master of Puppets, the Main Characters are a lesbian shapeshifting reptilian alien cyborg and a half black, half Japanese lesbian. The major side characters include three gender fluid shapeshifting reptilian alien cyborgs, and a pansexual human. In my novel Transistor, the main character is a Trans Lesbian, the love interest is a Half human/Half Angel non-observant Ethiopian Jew, and the major side characters include a Transgender Welsh Dragon (the same one from Scatter), a Transgender woman, a Latino Lesbian, an autistic man, three Middle Eastern Arch Angels, and a hive mind AI with literally hundreds of genders. In my novel The Inevitable singularity, one of the main characters is a lesbian, another has a less clearly defined sexuality but she is definitely in love with the lesbian, and the third is functionally asexual due to a vow of chastity she takes very seriously. The major side characters include a straight guy from a social class similar to the Dalit (commonly known as untouchables) in India, a bisexual woman, a man who is from a race of genetically modified human/frog hybrids, and a woman from a race of genetically modified humans who are bred and sold as indentured sex workers.

Why am I bringing all of this up? Well, first, because it’s kind of cool to look at the list of different characters I’ve created, but mostly because it connects to what I want to talk about today, which should be obvious from the title of the essay. The concepts of ‘forced diversity’ and ‘virtue signaling’.

For those who aren’t familiar with these terms, they’re very closely related concepts. ‘Forced Diversity’ is the idea that characters who aren’t neurotypical cisgendered heterosexual white males are only ever included in a story because of outside pressure from some group (usually called Social Justice Warriors, or The Woke Brigade or something similar) to meet some nebulous political agenda. The caveat to this is, of course, that you can have a women/women present as long as they are hot, don’t make any major contributions to the resolution of the plot, and the hero/heroes get to fuck them before the end of the story. ‘Virtue Signaling’, according to Wikipedia, is a pejorative neologism for the expression of a disingenuous moral viewpoint with the intent of communicating good character.

The basic argument is that Forced Diversity is a form of virtue signaling. That no one would ever write characters who aren’t neurotypical cisgendered heterosexual white males because they want to. They only do it to please the evil SJW’s who are somehow both so powerful that they force everybody to conform to their desires, yet so irrelevant that catering to them dooms any creative project to financial failure via the infamous ‘go woke, go broke’ rule.

What the people who push this idea of Forced Diversity tend to forget is that we exist at a point in time when creators actually have more creative freedom than are any other people in history. Comic writers can throw up a website and publish their work as a webcomic without having to go through Marvel, DC or one of the other big names, or get a place in the dying realm of the news paper comics page. Novelists can self-publish with fairly little upfront costs, musicians can use places like YouTube and Soundcloud to get their work out without having to worry about music publishers. Artists can hock their work on twitter and tumblr and a dozen other places. Podcasts are relatively cheap to make, which has opened up a resurgence in audio dramas. Even the barrier to entry for live action drama is ridiculously low.

So, in a world where creators have more freedom than ever before, why would they choose to people their stories with characters they don’t want there? The answer, of course, is that they wouldn’t. Authors, comic creators, indie film creators and so on aren’t putting diverse characters into their stories because they are being forced to. They’re putting diverse characters into their stories because they want to. Creators want to tell stories about someone other than the generically handsome hypermasculine cisgendered heterosexual white males that have been the protagonists of so many stories over the years that we’ve choking on it. A lot of times, creators want to tell stories about people like themselves. Black creators want to tell stories about the black experience. Queer creators want to tell stories about the queer experience.

I’m an autistic, mentally ill trans feminine abuse survivor. Every day, I get up and I struggle with PTSD, with an eating disorder, with severe body dysmorphia, with anxiety and depression and just the reality of being autistic and transgender. I deal with the fact that the religious community I grew up in views me as an abomination, and genuinely believes I’m going to spend eternity burning in hell. I deal with the fact that people I’ve known for decades, even members of my own family, regularly vote for politician who publicly state that they want to strip me of my civil rights because I’m queer. I’m part of a community that experiences a disproportionately high murder and suicide rate. I’ve spent multiple years of my life deep in suicidal depression, and to this day, I still don’t trust myself around guns.

As a creator, I want to talk about those issues. I want to deal with my life experiences. I want to create characters that embody and express aspects of my lived experience and my day-to-day reality. No one is forcing me to put diversity into my books. I try to include Jewish characters as often as I can because there have been a number of important Jewish people in my life. I include queer people because I’m queer and the vast majority of friends I interact with on a regular basis are queer. I include people with mental illnesses and trauma because I am mentally ill and have trauma, and I know a lot of people with mental illnesses and trauma. My work may be full of fantastical elements, aliens and dragons and angels and superheroes and magic and ultra-high technology and AI’s and talking cats and robot dogs and shape shifters and telepaths and all sorts of other things, but at the core of the stories is my own lived experience, and neurotypical cisgendered heterosexual white males are vanishingly rare in that experience.

Now, I can hear the comments already. The ‘okay, maybe that’s true for individual creators, but what about corporate artwork?’. Maybe not in those exact words, but you get the idea.

The thought here is that corporations are bowing to social pressure to include characters who aren’t neurotypical cisgendered heterosexual white males, and that is somehow bad. But here’s the thing. Corporations are going to chase the dollars. They aren’t bowing to social pressure. There’s no one holding a gun to some executive’s head saying, “You must have this many diversity tokens in every script.” What is happening is that corporations are starting to clue into the fact that people who aren’t neurotypical cisgendered heterosexual white males have money. They are putting black characters in their shows and movies because black people watch shows and spend money on movies. They are putting queer people in shows and movies because queer people watch shows and spend money on movies. They are putting women in shows and movies because women watch shows and spend money on movies.

No one is forcing these companies to do this. They are choosing to do it, the same way individual creators are choosing to do it. In the companies’ cases the choices are made for different reasons. It’s not because they are necessarily passionate about telling stories about a particular experience, but because they want to create art to be consumed by the largest audience possible, which means that they have to expand their audience beyond the neurotypical cisgendered heterosexual white male by including characters from outside of that demographic.

And the reality is, the cries of ‘forced diversity’ and ‘virtue signaling’ almost always come from within that demographic. Note the almost. There are a scattering of individuals from outside that demographic which do subscribe to the ‘forced diversity’ and ‘virtue signaling’ myths, but that is a whole other essay. However, within that demographic, lot of the people who cry about ‘forced diversity’ see media and content as a Zero-Sum game. The more that’s created for other people, the less that is created for them.

In a way, they’re right. There are only so many slots for TV shows each week, there are only so many theaters, only so much space on comic bookshelves and so on. But at the end of the day, its literally impossible for them to consume all the content that’s being produced anyway. So, while there is, theoretically less content for them to consume, as a practical matter it’s a bit like someone who is a meat eater going to a buffet with two hundred items, and then throwing a tantrum because five of the items happen to be vegan.

The worst part is, if they could let go of how wound up they are about the ‘forced diversity’ and ‘virtue signaling’ they could probably enjoy the content that’s produced for people other than them. I mean, I’m a pasty ass white girl, and I loved Black Panther.

So, to wrap out, creators, make what you want to make, and ignore anyone who cries about forced diversity or virtue signaling. And to people who are complaining about forced diversity and virtue signaling, I want to go back to the buffet metaphor. You need to relax. Even if there are a few vegan options on the buffet, you can still get your medium rare steak, or your chicken teriyaki or whatever it is you want. Or, maybe, just maybe, you could give the falafel a try. That shit is delicious.

#writing #original fiction #media #representation #diversity #the war of souls #the hearts of heroes #The Master of Puppets #scatter #transistor #the inevitable singularity #mail order bride

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palmett-hoes · 4 years ago

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per your post "every single one of the monsters is autistic and/or adhd" will you elaborate on that?, if you do i will love you forever (not that i wont if you dont do it)

oh boy i would love to!!! unironically nothing brings me more joy than writing long, convoluted character analysis posts

---

okay so i’ve written several posts before about why andrew is autistic. his moral code, the roundabout way he communicates, his body language, his stimulation-seeking behavior, his strict adherence to transactional deals, the emphasis on honesty, and a dozen other details. at this point i just take andrew being autistic as fact, not just an interpretation

h o w e v e r i also hc that andrew is dyslexic, which is also a neurodiverse condition

- - -

similarly, i’ve seen more than one person interpret kevin as autistic, and i absolutely agree that it fits. not just the hyperfocus on exy but mostly the way he communicates. he’s very indirect, especially in his affection but very direct with his opinions. he tries to be helpful in a material way to the people he cares about, even if he comes off as negative. he wants the people he cares about to be safe and successful so he pushes them to work hard and reminds them in measurable ways how to stay healthy. he doesn’t factor in a lot of room for emotions, so instead he focuses on quantifiable things that he can improve. i personally act very similarly. approaching someone emotionally is hard for me, so when the people i care about have problems all i can think to do is try offering solutions, check up on their well-being, etc. practicality instead of conventional sentiment is extremely common with asd

- - -

so now let’s talk about neil. i had to think on this one for a WHILE but ultimately came to the conclusion that neil is adhd, probably hyperactive type.

like obviously neil is high energy. i would say he probably does the most exercise of anyone on the team. morning run, morning practice, afternoon practice, night practice with kevin and andrew, plus he doesn’t have a car so he runs to class (on a BIG ass campus), and goes for an extra run when he feels stressed. that’s... insane, honestly.

neil reminds me SO MUCH of this post that goes:

“Was just informed by my mom that I do in fact have ADHD and the reason I thought I didn’t was because ever since I was seven whenever I got super energetic my mom would have me go chop wood so now when I’m feeling The ADHD I go chop wood”

(phenomenal post) and that’s neil to a t. tell me this isn’t exactly how neil handles his problems and also exactly what mary would have had to do to keep her unmedicated and very energetic son focused on the task of staying alive

neil also definitely has that ADHD on/off switch with his interest. the obvious being exy which is like the definition of a hyperfixation, but you can see it in other things: the way he runs totally hot or totally cold with people, his complete disinterest in his schoolwork, the way he can’t seem to sit still long enough to follow movies. but then there’s also the hyperfocus. doing the same drill for hours on end. watching exy game after exy game. staring at andrew until time falls away

what’s more, neil on many occasions shows racing thoughts, both in an anxiety way (and anxiety often goes hand-and-hand with adhd) but also as a way to quickly and accurately take in details about people to build a character profile of them. this is what allows him to connect with the foxes, how he manages to get through andrew’s puzzles, and even how he knows what to say in order to knock riko down a peg. his brain just works so fast and it takes in a lot of very specific details and disparate information to make connections.

but also like,, neil has a HUGE problem with time blindness. like the instant he didn’t have his mother around to manage and direct him anymore he lost all sense of time. he stayed in Millport for a YEAR. and what did he keep telling himself during that time? basically “i really need to move on, but not just yet.” for a YEAR! then he gets to palmetto and he’s like “i’ll cut and run in a month or two” then he doesn’t “i’ll be gone by halloween” wrong again “i’ll leave by the raven’s game” nope. like,, the boy just has NO sense of time and he can’t seem to make himself DO anything outside of an externally enforced schedule. and even then,,, HE HAD 48 FUCKING DAYS TO FIGURE OUT SOMETHING TO DO TO NOT GET MURDERED! 48 WHOLE DAYS. he didn’t make a plan, he didn’t write down any letters with goodbyes, he didn’t GO TO THE FBI LIKE HE’D INTENDED TO THE WHOLE TIME! nah he just made out with andrew and when he finally got to zero he was just like “ah shit, that was fast. oh well guess i’ll die” and that’s time blindness, babey!

---

let’s move on to nicky.

now i think it would be really easy to say nicky is just adhd because he’s high energy and forgetful but tbh,, i don’t think that’s all of it. like if you really look at nicky’s character and especially at his problems, he has asd problems just as much as he has adhd problems.

so nicky is dual diagnosis asd and adhd. also nicky reminds me a lot of a girl i used to know who was autistic/adhd

so, adhd:

very generally speaking, ppl with adhd will struggle with sitting still, listening to and following instructions, planning/organization, following a schedule, and some social boundaries like “appropriate” times and topics of conversation

i would say you see hints of this with nicky. he’s definitely a rambunctious personality, constantly on the move, constantly stimulation seeking. he’s very tactile. he likes to dance, he likes to party, he complains about it but he’s an elite-level athlete. he’s also decidedly very chatty, and doesn’t seem to really pay attention to what he’s saying. he distracts himself and the people around him have to keep him on track. he has some trouble with boundaries. he’s a little all over the place. he’s almost a bit of an adhd stereotype

also one thing i find interesting is that when neil sees him in the library doing work neil is surprised to see he’s capable of that, especially bc when we see the upperclassmen doing work they generally do it in their dorms or on the bus and/or with other people around. that hyper-social nicky would be alone in a quiet place is weird. but this is like the most common tip for dealing with adhd. don’t do it in a familiar space. have a designated space and time to do work. limit distractions. just a lil detail

so now, asd:

in all honesty, most of nicky’s actual problems in the narrative could be viewed as stemming from asd symptoms. his number one issue being that he has a lot of trouble with nonverbal cues (and tbh, verbal ones too). the twins are mostly quiet. andrew especially (when he’s sober) communicates primarily nonverbally, and nicky seems to have a lot of trouble with this. despite knowing them for the longest on the team, nicky honestly seems to have the least insight into the way either of the twins actually thinks or processes things. he loves them, and he’s very forgiving of them, but he fundamentally doesn’t understand them.

the twins, andrew especially, put up a LOT of nonverbal boundaries, and nicky sort of inadvertently keeps trampling all over them. he’s touchy in a way they don’t like. he talks a lot about their personal lives to other people. he treats them like they’re joking when they’re serious. etc. and like,,, you kind of get the sense that the upperclassmen feel similarly about him. beyond the homophobia, beyond the fact that he’s loyal to andrew, the upperclassmen still treat him with this sense of,, bafflement, i suppose? it’s clear that they don’t really understand him and he doesn’t really understand them. although, nicky IS curious about the upperclassmen, while the upperclassmen are pretty dismissive of him. it reminds me of when my sweet, floppy dog tries to play with my cat. their body language is different; they’re each receiving different signals than they believe they’re sending out

only,, nicky loves people!! he likes being around them, he likes talking to them. he’s interested in their lives and stories, but it’s very clear that he can’t read between the lines on people. he has an incredibly hard time with people who expect their actions to speak for them, which is most people, but is especially his cousins.

actually this is very much also an issue that i have: things need to be spelled out for me. the way i deal with it is i ask a lot of questions. ‘how do you want me to react to this potential situation?’ ‘what are specific things that make you most comfortable?’ ‘please explain to me exactly how you feel and what has prompted those feelings?’ and i’m always communicating vice versa like that with other people. a lot of specifics in both questions and answers

and the interesting thing is, when i was skimming through the books reviewing dialogue styles for another ask, i noticed that, actually, nicky DOES do this. with neil and the upperclassmen, nicky asks a LOT of quick, clarifying questions. things that ask after tone, that ask after intent. it’s kinda sad that he does this for communicating with acquaintances, but with the twins, the people he’s closest to, he makes a lot more assumptions. and i’m really proud of nicky for having this coping skill, because i can’t imagine it’s something he grew up doing. there’s no way he was raised in an environment that fostered this kind of open communication so it must have been something he learned about much later, probably in germany with the kloses, which would also explain why he’s a lil imperfect about it

---

now last but not least, aaron

this is another one i had to think through for a long time before it felt like it fit

much like how i felt that it would be easy to read nicky as simply adhd rather than also asd, i think it would be easy to say aaron is autistic simply because he is quieter, less rambunctious. however, i actually think he’s adhd, likely primarily inattentive type

in all honesty, aaron’s #1 character trait for the first two books is basically that he’s disconnected. detached. separated both from his family and his team. not in the same forcefully apathetic way that andrew is, more,, spaced out. he’s just kind,, there. not really paying attention to what’s going on, tuning in every once in a while only if something really catches his eye/ear then tuning right back out again. just sits in his corner and plays on his phone. and the thing is, from the moments when he does tune in, you can tell that he actually does care. he backs nicky when seth insults him in tfc, and we know he cares deeply about andrew even if he’s become disillusioned with their fraught relationship. he even hangs with his family, doesn’t seem to really try and slip away to other friends besides katelyn, he’s fine spending his leisure time with the monsters. so it’s not totally apathy, he’s just,,, tuned out most of the time

and, yea, that sounds like adhd. it’s not the type that most people are familiar with, and for a lot of people this causes it to slip under the radar. it can make it hard to get help or a dx because it doesn’t fit with how adhd “should” look or how someone “should” act, but difficulty focusing your thoughts and staying in tune with the current moment is absolutely part of adhd

addiction is also a huge problem for people with adhd. a lot of stimulants affect people with adhd very differently than neurotypicals, especially in small doses, and an adhd kid who’s struggled their whole lives with the disorder might try speed or god-forbid meth or fuck even coffee and suddenly find that things are a lot easier for them. they start to self-medicate, they don’t actually know what they’re doing, and then they’re addicted, and everything spirals out of control. we don’t know too many details about aaron’s addiction other than that his mother enabled him, but wouldn’t this fit? it’s also an explanation for aaron still taking drugs at eden’s, given that cracker dust seems to be a mild amphetamine. (aaron talk to betsy about the neurocog and get an actual prescription please)

(total throw away but aaron plays videogames and videogames are like,, adhd culture)

#Anonymous #txt #andrew minyard #kevin day #neil josten #nicky hemmick #aaron minyard #my posts #im talkin #cw addiction #cw addiction mentioned

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zims-left-shoe · 4 years ago

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I'd about this stuff but zim x reader where reader has to introduce zim to family and its awkward and fluffy?!?! Did I do that correctly??

AAAA yes!! This prompt actually works perfectly. Ily bby!! I really need to get back on Insta and Snap so we can talk more lmao.

Romance. What even is it? You could never say for sure, and yet you had been playing the courtship expert for about a month or so. What else were you supposed to do? Not only would he not take no for an answer, it was a fine way to kill your boredom. He had zero expectations, which was what made it great. You could tell him anything and he would believe it. Boyfriends were supposed to do their s/o's homework for them? He never questioned it once. To be completely honest, he was the only reason you were passing chemistry and calculus.

That being said, at the end of the day, it was all one big game. Wasn't it? All he had asked of you was to be his 'lovepig' in a romantic experiment he was conducting. You had nothing else better to do, and hell, it wasn't like you needed to be keeping your options open. You were just as unpopular as the alien freak himself. So, why not? Wasn't it just some mutualistic dynamic? You both benefited from it. He got 'data' (the accuracy of it questionable) for his Earth infiltration, and you got to have some fun. Plus, there was the fact that you haven't touched a homework assignment in weeks.

These were all things you had told yourself. You had managed to explain away all the times you had defended him from Dib and your classmates as being all part of the experiment. If there was a deeper reason, like real feelings perhaps, you didn't want to consider it too much. This relationship was intended to be one big joke after all.

"Y/n? Hello?" A hand was waved in front of your face, ripping you from your thoughts and reflections.

"Huh? Did you say something?" You tore your gaze from the plate of uneaten food that sat before you, eyes dragging up to meet those of your father. The man next to him groaned; your other father. You loved them both, but they were both staring at you with slightly annoyed frustration. They particularly disliked when you would space out while they were talking to you, which apparently they had been.

"Yes, I did. I said, when do we get to meet the boyfriend?" The one you called Father spoke; he was your biological sire, and the one you tended to get annoyed with the most. Genetics, you supposed. You were too much alike, and thus you butted heads often.

"Zim? I dunno." Shrugging, you picked at the dinner on your plate with your fork. It was a response that you hoped would suffice, despite knowing full well you had no intentions of ever introducing the Irken soldier for obvious reasons. Having lived with you for so long, they both knew what your response meant. At first, you assumed they'd only sigh and move on, but that wouldn't be the case.

"We really want to meet him. We've given it a month, but I think it's time that we finally see him." Your father spoke again, voice firmer than the last time.

"I know you said he's...er, unique, but we promise we won't think anything of it. So long as he's good to you, it doesn't matter." The one you called Dad chimed in, a kind smile on his face. You knew he wasn't just saying that, and that he meant it. He was probably the nicest person you had ever met, and you were thankful to have him in your life.

That being said, you couldn't help but scoff at what was said, particularly the last line. Good to you? Zim was probably the most selfish person you had ever met in your life. Still, he did provide you with a source of entertainment. And if you worded things the right way, he would do anything you wanted him to. He was surprisingly easy to manipulate.

"What's so funny?"

"Nothing, Dad. But, no. I don't think you'll be meeting him." You expected that to be the end of it, bringing a forkful of dinner to your lips.

"Y/n M/n L/n, you will bring your boyfriend home within the next week or else you won't be seeing him ever again." Eyes widening in surprise, your fork clattered against your plate as it slipped through your fingers. You would never have predicted your father to become so agitated over this. On some level, you supposed he was just looking out for you, wanting to make sure that Zim was a decent guy and all that. But at the same time, it was annoying. Did he not trust you to handle yourself? Plus, you were almost certain they wouldn't be satisfied upon actually meeting Zim.

You remained silent. What you should have done was once again shrug your shoulders and say, 'fine'. Your relationship wasn't even supposed to be real, just some experiment that didn't matter too much to either of you. So why should you care if they forced you to break up because you wouldn't bring him home? And yet...you found yourself devastated at the mere thought of that. Was it because you enjoyed the absence of boredom? That had to be it. It couldn't possibly be because you had developed feelings for the little roach...no way.

"You either bring him home for dinner Friday night, or-" Your father pressed, and you slammed your palm on the table before he could continue.

"Fine, okay!" Glaring at your food, you were no longer hungry. You just wanted dinner to be over. "May I be excused?" You asked, voice still seething with attitude. They both waved you off, so you took your plate and covered it, putting it in the fridge for later. Storming off to your room, you supposed you shared more similarities with your 'boyfriend' than you'd like to admit. You both had quick tempers for one thing, but you both liked being in control for another. You were about to get a rude awakening soon enough; you weren't keeping your feelings and relationships in check as much as you thought.

(more under the cut)

There were several ways your peers, if asked, would describe you. Nice, however, was not particularly one of them. It wasn't that you weren't a good person deep down. You just preferred to make yourself your number one priority, even if it turned you into a little bit of a bitch in the process. It was much easier than taking the risk of offering yourself up to others. After all, who really wants to deal with untangling the mess of emotions? Ignoring everything was the safest thing to do. Considering that, it wasn't surprising that you and Zim had been drawn together. They say opposites attract, but you found it to work almost the same for those who are similar.

After all, Zim was also a big supporter of suppressing all emotions, so much so that you were sure he forgot he even had any. And maybe he didn't. You didn't think it was possible, considering he was still pretty much a person, but at the same time, you never asked about Irken psychology.

Not only that, but Zim seemed to care only for himself at all times. Even in the times he would do anything that vaguely resembled an act of love, it still had everything to do with his own personal motivations of gaining human courtship data.

With all of that on the table, plus the fact that you weren't really sure what the status of your relationship even was, you weren't expecting you would be bringing him home for dinner Friday. What you envisioned happening was for him to call this whole thing off once you gave him the ultimatum, claiming that he had enough research so you would be through.

And again, there was that small wave of anxiety that passed over you. For whatever reason, you didn't want to lose whatever it was the two of you had going on. You had grown used to having someone to talk to everyday, even if the majority of conversation was listening to him drone on about his evil plans to conquer the Earth in the name of the Irken empire. Frowning, you glanced down to whatever toxic food substance was sitting on your tray.

The surrounding cafeteria was filled with the chatter of your classmates, all rambling about mostly unimportant things. You had your popular kids laughing and running their own psychoanalysis on Dib, who in turn ignored them from across the room while his sister played video games by his side. You also had your social outcasts, sitting by themselves and discussing whatever they liked to talk about; well, Gretchen wasn't exactly talking. She chose to occupy her time by staring at Dib, who in turn ignored her too. Same shit as always.

The din of irrelevant voices and clattering plates barely did anything to mask the forceful footsteps approaching your table, ones that could only be brought about by a soldier's march. Whether it was because you had grown so used to the sound or you were so wrapped up in your mind, the noise didn't register with you until a tray was harshly dropped onto the table.

"Why do you look like that?" The alien now sitting across from you asked, with a hint of something that at first you thought was distaste, but later recognized to be Zim's version of concern. Which was strange in itself, concern for others was always an afterthought for him, sometimes not even a thought at all.

"Like what?"

"All shmoopy." You narrowed your eyes, about to give a remark of denial, but whatever words died in your throat as you instinctively straightened up from your slouch, lips straightening from downturned into a neutral expression.

Breathing out a sigh, you decided to just get straight to the point before he would go off on a tangent about whatever thing Dib said in class that offended him. "Look, Zim. You need to come over for dinner Friday night, or else our relationship, experiment, whatever the hell it is, is over." Zim opened his mouth to say something, but you continued on before he could get even a single syllable out. "I know you don't want to, and believe me, you embarrassing yourself in front of my family is the last thing I want, but my parents are demanding to meet you. And if they don't, they're forbidding me from seeing you again or whatever."

The Irken stayed quiet for a moment, thinking this over. To you, you guessed that his silence was him formulating some great break up speech in his head, so you braced for it. Why you even cared was beyond you, but it was still not what you wanted. "First of all, Zim will not embarrass himself!" You fixed him with a disbelieving look. There was no chance in any of the infinite parallel universes that he would not make a complete fool of himself. "But FINE! Zim will conquer this...interrogation."

Rolling your eyes, you attempted to fight the grin tugging at your lips. "It's not an interrogation, roach boy."

He disregarded your comment, clearly no longer listening. Instead, he hopped up onto the table, heeled soldier boots striking the tabletop, the sound echoing off the cafeteria walls. "Zim will be the best love-mate your parental units have ever laid eyes on!!" He yelled, throwing his fists in the air. Shrinking into yourself, you covered your face with your arms, face burning from the heads that were all turning in your direction to stare.

"Please don't say it like that." After a moment, Zim climbed back down and into his seat on the bench. Your classmates quickly lost interest, as these outbursts were commonplace. Eventually, you came out of your self cocoon to lay some very specific instructions on him. "Okay, cool. I need you to listen very carefully."

"Eh?" He snapped his attention back to you. Groaning, you reached across the tabled to grab his hand, your go to move to make sure he listened to you.

"Come over Friday at six. The whole time, just smile and nod. Don't say anything more than necessary. Just get by with the bare minimum, and then go home. Do you understand?" You looked to him with an intense look in your eyes. You knew that if you were not explicitly clear, the night could end in disaster. House-exploding, alien death battle kind of disaster.

"Of course I do! Don't worry your stinky head, Zim has it under control." He dropped your hand, waving you off, overconfident as always.

"Alright...I'm trusting you." You didn't trust him in the slightest. But there was really nothing you would be capable of doing. You had instructed him, very specifically you might add, and that was all you could do. And hope. You would be hoping too. With one last relenting sigh, you had no time to process the relief that came with the surprise of not being broken up with. Whatever relaxation you had briefly felt was immediately replaced by dread for Friday.

You laid sprawled on the couch, staring at the ceiling and drumming your fingers on your stomach. You really hoped that Zim would take your advice and behave himself over the course of the next few hours, but in the back of your mind, you knew that to be impossible. The house had been quiet, save for the clanging of pots and pans in the kitchen as your dad worked on dinner. Meanwhile, your father was just finishing tidying up the house, despite you telling him that it didn't matter. You told him that Zim wouldn't care, but the real reason it didn't matter is it probably would end up in worse shape regardless. His response had been to ignore you as he continued to wipe down surfaces you forgot existed.

Right at six o'clock on the dot, your doorbell rang. You bolted up right, scrambling to reach the door faster than your father. Unfortunately, you weren't quite quick enough to match his long-legged stride, and he threw open the door just as you had the doorway within your sights. You had to skid to a halt in order to stop yourself from slamming into your father's back.

"You must be Zim." Your father's voice was firm, but not threatening. At least not yet. You peered around him to get a good look at Zim, who, to your relief, was smiling and nodding. You stifled the laugh that was brought on at the sight of a simple black bow tie that was tied very incorrectly around his neck. It was a strange sight, considering it didn't quite fit with the standard invader uniform he always adorned.

Your father stepped aside to let him in, sticking his hand out afterwards, prompting the Irken to shake it. Zim gazed at it quizzically, apparently not understanding what to do. Just as you were about to bestow a helpful hint, his face brightened as he kicked his leg up, resting his foot in your father's hand. He still seemed to be processing the motivations behind Zim's actions, but before he could respond, you grabbed ahold of Zim's leg, yanking it back onto the ground. The invader stumbled, and before he could fall, you threw an arm around his shoulders, pulling him in close and poking his cheek.

"Oh, Zim, what a jokester! Anyway, we'll be off now, call when dinner's ready-" You tried to drag your alien counterpart away before he could do anything else stupid, but unfortunately, your father had other plans.

"No, I don't think so." Although his voice was less than pleased, you knew he was just trying to put up an intimidating front. He wanted to scare Zim at least a little bit. Groaning, you turned around. "So, you think this whole thing is one big joke, huh?"

"Father, please-" You rolled your eyes, knowing that Zim was too dense to actually be pressured by your father's act.

"You do drugs? Ever been suspended?"

"I thought you said this wasn't an interrogation." Zim muttered to you, and although it was intended to only be heard by you, Zim is physically incapable of speaking under his breath, and thus your father heard it too. You thought he was more fazed by Zim being unaffected by his grill attempts than what was actually said.

"What's with the...you know?" Your father decided to ignore Zim's comment and go right for the green elephant in the room: Zim's appearance. In all honesty, it was a rude question. But, Zim was used to it by now.

"We talked about this! It's a skin condition!" You sighed in exasperation, just wanting to get through this night with your sanity intact. "Also, you can't just ask people that." There was an awkward pause between everybody, and you almost wished Zim would start screaming about something not even relevant.

Luckily, you didn't have to stew in silence for much longer. "Dinner's ready, come get it or don't!" Your dad called from the table. You gestured for Zim to follow you as you shuffled after your father, whose strides were quick and long, making it hard to keep up at a normal pace. Both parents had sat down, you following suit across from them. Zim, however, stayed standing, eyes fixated on the plate and glass of water resting on the table in front of the chair next to you. You hoped he was sensible enough to just ignore the food and sit there politely.

"You can sit down, you know." Your father eyed Zim skeptically. The invitation to take a seat seemed to snap Zim out of his trance, as he sat down so fast he bumped the table, making the silverware shake. He finally appeared to take notice of your parents, and pointed a clawed finger across the table.

"It's like my Tallest!" His grin was wide, and his contacts portrayed his excitement. Your parents, on the other hand, looked to be beyond confused. You didn't exactly blame Zim for the association, considering both were tall males, and his comment made you notice that they were coincidentally wearing hues of red and purple. "I didn't know you had your own Tallest."

"Who?" Your dad asked, eyes flicking between you and your uninformed alien boyfriend. You gave Zim a swift swat to his thigh under the table, intending to convey the message of 'what happened to smiling and nodding?'. He seemed to understand your intention, and answered your dad's question by cracking a smile and nodding furiously. Internally, you were smacking yourself in the face as both parents stared at you as if they were wondering whether or not Zim was higher than a fucking kite. The dinner so far was going fantastic. At least he hadn't caused any physical damage yet.

Your father cleared his throat, deciding to move on. "So, Zim...what are your plans after high school?" Thank god, a subject change. That being said, your relief only lasted about a half a second before you realized he didn't have any answers to this type of question, and he was horrible at bullshitting.

"Um...oh, you know...stuff." Zim took a fork and began to experimentally stab at the food that was on his plate. "Sciency stuff." He tacked on those words, sensing your father not being satisfied with his original answer.

"Like what, doing an internship at Membrane Labs or something?" Your father continued to ask questions, but at this point you were helpless to stop him. Zim was on his own.

"Yes!" Your father seemed to not believe Zim's confirmation, so you decided to help him out.

"Yeah, he's actually really good friends with Dib. You know, the Professor's son." You offered, albeit a stretch of the truth. The two knew each other very well, and, well, enemies after enough time are basically friends anyway.

"Yes...the Dib-worm is my best friend." Zim spoke through gritted teeth, and you prayed that your parents wouldn't pick up on the venom seeping into every syllable.

"You have any siblings?" Your dad asked, gaze less critical than the man next to him.

"No." His answer was short, almost as if he was attempting to speedrun the questions to get this dinner over with faster. Unfortunately, your parents would only fill it with more questions. Any attempt to stop them would be futile.

"Where are you from exactly?"

"Somewhere that isn't here. Eh, uh, er...it's very far. You wouldn't know it." Your father raised an eyebrow, growing tired of Zim's evasive and nonspecific responses. In a shocking turn of events, Zim was actually able to read the room for once in his life, picking up on your parents' distrust. "Wow, is this good food or what?" Before you could squeak out a single sound, Zim began to shovel the food on his plate into his mouth as fast as he could, washing it down by chugging the glass of water.

This of course sent you into a panic. You reached out an arm, to do what you weren't sure, but you never made contact. Instead, your hand hovered in the air as you gawked at Zim in bewilderment. He wasn't smoking, flailing, or screaming. In fact, he was taking it quite well. Everything seemed to be okay, and even he seemed to be surprised. His face relaxed into a smile when he realized that nothing was trying to kill him from the inside. Which, if that was what he had expected, you weren't quite sure what his plan had been in the first place, but you knew better than to question him. Questioning Zim only led to long rants that no one had the energy or the willpower to listen to.

"Thank you-" Your dad's gratitude was cut off by Zim's ear piercing shriek as he dropped to the ground, knocking aside his chair in the process. He thrashed about like a fish out of water as he clawed desperately at his throat and face. Apparently, the delayed reaction had kicked in. His ear-piercing screeches were chopped up by choking and spluttering as he continued to kick and flounder his limbs around wildly. Looking up from the Irken rolling around on the ground to your parents, you noticed that they looked absolutely petrified.

"He's fine! He'll be fine!" You waved your hands desperately, despite knowing full well they would never believe you. As if to accentuate the incorrectness of your statement, Zim howled out another cry of pain, the sound twisting your face into a cringe. At once, your parents clambered out of their seats, stumbling over each other to get to your side of the table. Your dad kneeled down next to Zim and tried to help him, completely at a loss for what was going on. Meanwhile, your father grabbed you by the wrist and dragged you off around the corner to the kitchen.

As you're being hauled away, you hear a distant "Should I call 911?" from your dad.

As soon as you were out of ear shot of your suffering boyfriend, your father whisper yelled at you. "What the hell is wrong with him?!"

Again, you felt the need to defend him. It wasn't his fault that his alien biology couldn't handle Earth food, and that he didn't understand Earth culture too well. Okay, maybe that last one was his fault considering he's been on the planet for about four years and blending in was kind of his job. But still! "Look, I promise he's a decent guy once you get to know him."

"He's strange, Y/n! Not in the good way, in a concerning way." He hissed to you, never dropping eye contact.

"He's just a little different is all!"

"A little different?! He's dying in our dining room!" Suppressing the urge to say, 'you mean our die-ning room?', you took a deep breath, preparing to explain away the probably traumatizing situation your parents were witnessing.

"He has a biological condition that makes it to where he can't a majority of foods." You thought that maybe that statement would calm him down, but it only seemed to worry him more.

"Jesus, Y/n, you couldn't have told us about the dietary restrictions before you brought him over? We almost just killed him!" Running a hand through his hair, he watched as you cast your eyes toward the ground, wringing your hands together. You knew he was right. It was something you should have thought of saying beforehand, you should have just told Zim to bring some Irken food along. But you had expected him to not even think about touching the food. And yet, you had just watched as he scarfed down almost the entire plate and a whole glass of water.

"Sorry! But...would you please just give him another chance?" You pleaded, voice sweeter than you had ever sounded in your life.

With a heavy sigh, your father nodded, waving you in the direction of the dining room. "Fine, if he doesn't need to go to the hospital, he can stay for the movie if he wants to. Just go hang out upstairs while we clean up" Your smile displayed your thanks as you made your way back to the scene of the accident. Things seemed to be alright now. If anything, your dad was more shaken up than Zim was. The Irken was standing again, pretending as if nothing happened.

"C'mon." You said nothing more as you took him by the hand, pulling him towards your room. He didn't protest, glad to be away from your dad who had been continuing to fuss over him. As you shut the door to your room behind you, the solace that came with knowing he was okay completely drained from your body. "What the hell was that?!" You smacked him lightly on the arm. He should know better than to consume food that would cause his insides to sizzle and smoke. Apparently, he seemed to still think that had been an ingenious idea.

"Zim was trying to show them that I am a good candidate for your love partner!" Your eyes widened, astonished on multiple levels. He really was a special kind of clueless, wasn't he?

"That was not the way! And why do you even care? I thought this was just some stupid experiment? Why should you care if this whole thing ends, you can just find someone else!" Throwing your hands up, your voice raised in volume, fire licking every word.

"Because Zim doesn't want someone else! Zim wants you, Stinky...Stink-worm." His voice had matched yours in loudness at first, but near the end of his words he grew quieter, arms crossed tightly against his chest, eyes averted in curt sheepishness. If Irkens could blush, you were sure he would be.

Any follow up argument you possessed had fled your brain, the only thing replacing it being the slight heat that flushed your cheeks. "Zim...are you saying that you actually...like me?" You were surprised, but pleasantly so. Now that you had to force yourself to think on it, you had realized that somewhere along the way, you began to like the roach boy more than you care to admit. It was a bit irritating to dwell on, considering this whole arrangement was, in the end, supposed to be no strings attached. He got his data, you had something to fill your time. Life has a funny way of panning things out, regardless of your intentions.

"Zim is saying nothing!" His eyes were shut tight, a sign you could interpret as confirmation to your question. Neither of you would admit it, nor ever wanted to. That was the unfortunate downside to both sides of the equation having destructively low EQs.

Even if you wanted to press him more, you were interrupted by your parents calling you for the movie. Sighing, it seemed you would have to shelve this conversation for a later date, which was fine by you. Feelings were messy and complicated anyway. "Let's go, roach boy." Zim followed without complaint, and as soon as you both came into view, your parents hit play on the film, which you instantly recognized as E.T. the Extra-Terrestrial, something you had seen a million times. It had been your movie of choice as a kid. "Topical." You murmured under your breath, directing Zim to the couch.

Your parents seemed impressed to see Zim alive and well, acting as if he hadn't been borderline dying on the dining room floor less than twenty minutes ago. "We've seen this about a hundred times, we know how it ends. You two have fun." Your father smiled to the both of you. Apparently, he actually listened to you and was giving Zim the benefit of the doubt.

"But not too much fun." Your dad added helpfully, but of course the implications of his comment flew right over Zim's head.

"Anyway, if we don't see you before you leave, it was nice to meet you, Zim. Sorry for almost killing you." Your father didn't wait for a response--which he most likely wouldn't have gotten anyway--before heading to bed with your dad, most likely to watch something of their own. Your parents flicked the lights off as they exited, leaving the room dark, save for the light being thrown from the TV, as well as a soft glow coming from Zim's PAK. You had never noticed that before, but it made sense, considering this was the first time you had seen him in the dark before.

"You might like this. It's about an alien who comes to Earth. Well, more like gets stranded on Earth."

"Hmm." Zim peered at the screen with interest, but began to frantically rub at his eyes, blinking repeatedly. Before you could even ask if he was okay, he snapped a tired response. "Contacts are bothering Zim."

"Just take 'em out." He attempted to fix you with a distrusting stare, but it was broken by another stint of scratching. "They won't be coming back out, at least not before you leave. You'll be fine." You sank into the couch cushions, the darkness and familiarity of a favorite movie easing you into a contented state.

"Fine. But Zim is blaming you if you're wrong, Stink-worm." With speed and skill, he peeled the lenses from his eyes, stowing them in his PAK, which didn't seem all that sanitary. He blinked a few more times, but seemed comfortable. You directed your attention to the TV screen, but it was snapped away again at the feeling of weight settling on your thigh. Looking down, you saw Zim's head casually laid on your leg, eyes fixated on the movie. "Say anything and I'm replacing your organs with space squids." Zim grumbled, still not looking at you.

"That's not very nice." You snickered through your words. You knew his threat was empty, and you weren't exactly a stranger to outlandish warnings yourself.

The Irken groaned, still not moving. "Ugh, fine. Say anything, and I'll, eh, lick your face or something." You said nothing more, arm resting lazily on his side, hand hanging near his own. Out of his own volition, he intertwined his claws with your fingers, almost daring you to say something. You didn't.

As the movie progressed, you could tell Zim was a hundred percent into it. That being said, when it came time for the scenes of Elliot and E.T. dying and being treated by the government, you felt Zim grip you a little tighter. You were beginning to wonder if you should turn it off. You were only encouraged in that thought when you felt Zim's back tremble, and although you couldn't see his face, you believed him to be crying.

You reached out your free hand for the remote, but stopped at the sound of Zim's uncharacteristically shaky voice. "Do-don't." You drew back your free hand, the other hand being tucked closer into Zim's chest. A sigh slipped past your lips, and you lifted him up and set him on the ground while he swiped at his eyes so you could kick your legs up and across the couch, reaching out to grab him and lay him on top of you before he could even begin to protest about being moved.

"You okay?" You asked, expecting a fight about being placed in this position.

To your amazement, he didn't squirm off of you at all, instead, saying a simple "Yes." He even cuddled into you, head resting on your chest as he watched the film. This was the calmest you had ever seen the normally high-energy alien. A hand began to absentmindedly stroke his back, the texture of the fabric of his uniform unlike any you had ever felt. At first you were at a loss for what the rumbling against your chest was, but after a moment you were able to place it. Purrs were rising from Zim's throat, and although it was reminiscent of a cat, it was still a sound that was distinctly alien. It was a noise you had never heard before.

"For the record, I like you. A lot." You murmured quietly, hoping he was too enthralled by the movie to register what was said. Regrettably for you, Zim only seemed to listen when you wished him not to.

"Zim also thinks you are quite tolerable...for an Earth-worm."

"Gee, thanks. I feel so special." Despite your words, there was still a smile in your voice. At this point, the movie was past it's tearjerker moments, and the kids were all trying to get E.T. back to the forest. "So, do Irkens have a thing like E.T., where they connect with someone?" The syncing of Elliot and E.T.'s biological functions, emotions, and thoughts was a main plot point in the movie, and it got you wondering if maybe there was some accuracy, if not with Irkens, perhaps with another alien race?

"Sort of." His answer was unfocused, still drawn into the end of the film. You guessed this would be his new favorite Earth movie, which meant he would most certainly be demanding for you two to watch it together at least twice a month.

"What do you mean, ‘sort of’?"

"We mate for life." He paused while you were still processing his statement. "But I don't think that was the connection you were asking about."

"Oh brother." You mumbled, deciding to toss that information out the window. Good to know that you wouldn't be getting of the roach anytime soon...or ever.

#invader zim x reader #zim x reader #invader zim fic #invader zim fanfiction #invader zim #invader zim one shot #invader zim oneshot #fanfiction #fanfic #one shot #oneshot #request

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twothumbsandnostakeincanon · 4 years ago

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Little bit sick, little bit sleep deprived, but above all desperately in sudden need of a Corpse Bride au, but with polyamory like the original SHOULD have ended.

Like say the Argents are the old money family, whose money has actually run out after Gerard dumped all of it into hunting. It’s left Chris with nothing to give his daughter.

The Stilinskis are nouveau riche, and good people. John offers to help out Chris, possibly lend him money for stable investments that might help. Chris is embarrassed but grateful. Victoria is ashamed and suspicious.

She insists that the deal can only go through with a marriage of their children to ensure that the fates of their families are intertwined. John won’t be able to pull the money out from under them without it effecting his own son negatively.

Chris is 100% against it, ready to say absolutely not, but Allison steps in. She knows what their financial sitation is. Their house is falling apart around them. She’s willing to do whatever has to be done to save them.

John, for his part, is shocked by the request. He offered his help, and now they’re asking for his son? He’s ready to say no, to condemn Victoria’s interference, but Stiles, like Allison, steps in.

The Argents need help. Stiles is under no illusions as to how most marriages work. His parents’ was one of the very few that began for love rather than economic reasons. He’s never met Allison, but has heard enough about her from their social circles to think they’ll make passable partners. There’s really no reason to say no, especially not if it will save her family from poverty.

The arrangement is made, and they meet. It goes better than anyone could have hoped, honestly. Stiles is happy to find Allison clever and engaging, and Allison is relieved to find that Stiles seems to be very encouraging of her sportsmanship. It certainly doesn’t hurt that they make a gorgeous pair.

It’s not love at first sight, but it could easily grow into something beautiful.

The ceremony is rushed, what with a rather immediate need for money. The invitations are sent out to family and friends- the McCalls, the Hales, the Martins- but almost no one will be able to arrive until the day of the wedding. Luckily at least one family member is able to make it for the rehearsal dinner.

Allison always was a favorite of Aunt Kate.

Stiles is nervous, though. His ADHD doesn’t do memorization very well, and he cannot, for the fucking life of him, remember his vows. Despite quiet encouragement from Allison, the anxiety starts to overwhelm him and he has to step outside for a moment between courses.

He paces in the woods just out of sight for a bit, trying to remember the words.

“Your cup- this cup- ah fuck.”

He gives up and pulls the little sheet of paper out of the pocket, reciting the whole thing from beginning to end.

“With this hand I will lift your sorrows

Your cup will never be empty, for I will be your wine.

With this candle, I will light your way into darkness.

With this ring, I ask you to be mine.”

A sudden howl of wind tears through the grove of trees he stands in. Dead leaves swirl around him, and the ground beneath his feet begins to move, rolling as if it were being pulled like the tide. Stiles falls on his back.

A figure appears before him, a half decayed body dressed in a tattered suit, the space between exposed ribs showing the starry sky behind him.

“I do, darling.”

Stiles wakes up in a bar in the underworld. Convenient, as he’s honestly never been more prepared for a drink in his life. It’s too bad all of the drinks are for a deader liver than his.

The handsome corpse- can a corpse be handsome? Stiles spends a moment on the question, and decides that finding a corpse handsome is probably the least of the things he should be worrying about right now.

The corpse, who is by at least some definition handsome, introduces himself as Peter, and then turns around and immediately starts introducing Stiles as his husband.

“Uh, sir? Excuse me sir?”

“Oh ‘sir’ is it?” Peter says with a sinful smile and a raised eyebrow. “I can work with that.”

“No- I mean maybe- Wait, no, I can’t be your husband! I’m about to be someone else’s husband!”

“But you’re already mine,” Peter points out. “You asked and I said yes.”

“I wasn’t talking to you, I was just-“ Stiles waves a vague hand, “-talking.”

Peter frowns a little.

“But I said yes. We’re married now.” He shrugs a little, as if it’s no consequence. “I suppose if you’re really attached to them, they can be our husband too.”

“Wife,” Stiles corrects, wondering how a dead man is steering this conversation so successfully when he doesn’t even have all of his finger bones.

“Oh a wife! I’m not picky. It’s good to have variety.”

Meanwhile, above ground, Allison knows something must have happened to Stiles. Her mother is convinced that this is just the Stilinski’s trying to ruin their family name, and Chris is desperately trying to keep the peace between her on the warpath and John freaking out over his missing son. Allison tries to slip out with her bow to track him, but Kate catches her.

“You should stay here,” she says, guiding Allison back to her room. “Who knows what your mother will think if you disappear too?”

Allison argues, tries to reason with her, but before long she’s back in her room, listening to the lock of the door click behind her.

Frankly she’s shocked that Kate would take such an attitude about this. She’s always been supportive of Allison’s archery and tracking. Maybe even too supportive, because Kate’s attempts to stop Allison have zero affect on her. It’s just ten minutes later that Allison disappears into the woods after climbing out her window and down the side of the house.

Kate, meanwhile, is just thrilled that she doesn’t have to come up with her own diversion. The chaos of the missing fiancé will provide the perfect cover for her to intercept the Hales before they arrive, and finish killing them off.

Underground, Stiles discovers that if he listens closely, Peter reveals a lot in the spaces between words. Eventually Peter admits that he has to have a True Love Up Top in order to visit the living. And he has one very, very important visit to make.

“She promised to elope with your nephew, and then tried to murder him?” Stiles whispers, shocked.

“Wolfsbane,” Peter answers grimly, and to be honest, werewolves have been the most acceptable surprise Stiles has suffered today. “He got away. I didn’t.”

“Shit.”

They’re both silent for a minute.

The Stiles says, “Alright, well what are we waiting for? Let’s go kill her.”

Peter falls a little bit in actual love then.

When they get to Elder Gutknecht, Peter proudly lifts up his hand, showing off the ring rattling around the bone there, and says, “Gotta pop up for a bit and visit the in-laws!”

Elder Gutknecht peers closely at Stiles (who is trying not to think too hard about the purpose of glasses for a skeleton) and says, “What the hell have you done now, Peter.”

“You said I had to have a True Love who was still alive!” Peter says, stubborn. “This is my True Love, Stiles. The truest love. We’re married, even. That’s how in True Love we are. And he’s alive. Send us up, Gutknecht.” There’s more than a touch of threat to his tone by the end.

Elder Gutknecht, who was not prepared for this in seminary and honestly thought there would be more clouds and wings in his afterlife, says, “Fuck it. Drink this. You have 12 hours.”

Moments later, they’re standing in the grove where Stiles recited his vows on accident. Allison immediately drops down from a tree, bow pointed directly at Peter.

“Step away from my fiancé,” she growls, sounding utterly threatening and wolf-like in her own right.

“Oh, is this our wife?” Peter asks, delighted.

“Ally, where’s your Aunt Kate?” Stiles rushes to ask, stepping between them.

Allison lowers her bow, confused.

“She’s back at the house,” she says slowly. “At least I think so. She locked me in my room and I had to sneak out.”

Peter’s lost his sense of smell with the degrading of his body, but he still has other senses to rely on.

He hears coaches and horses.

Familiar coaches and horses.

His family is arriving.

Peter takes off running through the woods, Allison hot on his heels, not at all convinced that she doesn’t need to shoot him. Stiles falls behind, but manages to keep them in his sight.

Up ahead, Kate is lying in wait with wolfsbane smoke bombs, ready to disrupt the coaches and massacre the beasts within. Or she was ready, before her brother discovered her.

“Kate, you can’t do this,” he says through gritted teeth. “It’s murder. This is how our father destroyed our family.”

“It’s not murder to kill a wild animal,” she says, neither listening nor caring. The coaches appear. She throws a smoke bomb and opens fire. Peter hears everything from the tree line as he barrels toward them, and Allison sees what her Aunt has done.

Chris tries to tackle her but only succeeds in knocking her aim astray. The Hales are stumbling out of their coaches now, coughing and choking. Talia is trying to gather her betas, trying to asses the danger, but suddenly she sees the image of her dead brother and wonders if maybe they’ve already lost to whatever attacked them.

Then her brother leaps at a woman on the side of the road and rips her throat out.

Maybe not a ghostly spectre after all.

It’s all a bit of a Business™ after that.

Explanations are had, both past and present. Peter rushes things along a bit, because he only has like 11 hours left now and it’s going to take at least 9 to do the necromantic ritual that will bring him back to life, suck on that Elder Gutknecht.

Chris explains to Allison about their family’s hunting history. The Hales explain to Chris exactly what Kate had done. Stiles explains how he accidentally got married. Peter explains again that he really has to get moving now.

In the end, Stiles and Allison still get married. Peter is in attendance with the rest of the Hales, and at the reception somehow manages to get the second dance with both the bride and the groom.

He doesn’t give the ring back. He manages to get a third matching one in time for the ceremony though.

#long post #lmao I feel way sicker now #probably because I wrote this instead of sleeping #steter #stallison #stetallison #?#that’s it right?#whatever #does peter/allison even have a ship name #this blog needs a tag for my bullshit #sorry I can’t put this under a cut I wrote the whole thing on my phone while laying on my side with one arm pinned under me #so we’re all suffering together #corpse bride au #tumblr fic and kinda fic

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phynali · 4 years ago

Text

Canonization and Fandom Purity Culture

I wrote a 1k-word twitter thread (as proof that I am Not made for Twitter and it’s goddamn 240-character limit) and am pasting it here with edits and updates (it’s now 2k words).

I have thoughts to share (which I know have been stated more eloquently before by others) about this trend of demanding/obsessing that certain ships become "canon" and how it overlaps with the rise of fandom purity culture.

Under the cut.

Here in 2021 there is a seemingly large and certainly loud and active contingent of online fandoms who desire (or even demand) "canon validation" for a given interpretation of a source material. This is more true with shipping than anywhere else.

First, it is important to note that the trend is not limited to queer ships or to any single fandom. In the past few years I've seen it for Riverdale, Voltron, Supernatural (perhaps most extreme?), The 100, etc., and less recent with the MCU, Sherlock, Teen Wolf, Hawaii 5-0, etc. It is a broad trend across ships, fandoms, and mediums.

So if it is more common for queer ships, it is hardly unique to them. Similarly, pretending that it is about queer representation is a clever misdirect to disguise the fact that it is most often about ships and shipping wars. If you ever need proof of that, consider that a character can be queer without being in a given relationship or reciprocating another character's affections. Thus a call for more/better queer rep itself is very different than a call for specific ships to be made canon.

Also note that when audiences frame it as wanting to recognize a specific *character* as queer, it is almost always in the context of a ship. Litmus test: would making that character queer but having them *explicitly reject* the other half of the ship be seen as a betrayal?

(Note: none or this is to say we shouldn't push for more queer rep and more *quality and well-written* queer rep! Just that that isn't what I'm talking about here, and not what seeking canon validation for a specific interpretation or a specific ship is almost ever about.)

Why does this matter?

the language of representation and social justice should not be co-opted to prop up ship wars

it is reciprocal with a trend toward increasing toxicity in transformative fandom spaces

Number 1 here is self-explanatory (I hope). Let's chat about 2.

Demands for canon validation correlate with a rise in fanpol / fandom purity culture. What is fandom purity culture (and fandom policing)? This toxic mentality is about justifying one's shipping preferences and aiming to be pure (non-problematic) in your fictional appetites regarding romance and sex.

Note that this purity culture is so named as it arises linearly from American Protestantism, conservative puritanical anxiety around thought crimes, and overlaps in many ways with terf ideologies and regressively anti-kink paradigms.

It goes like this: problematic content is "gross" and therefore morally reprehensible. Much like how queer sex/relationships get labelled as "gross" (Other) and thus morally sinful, or how kink gets labelled as "harmful" and thus morally wrong. The Problematic label is applied by fanpol to ships with offset age or power dynamics, complicated histories, and anything they choose to label as "harmful". As such, they would decry my comparison here to queerphobia itself as also being harmful, because their (completely fictional) targets are ~actually~ evil.

(The irony of this is completely lost on them).

This mode of interacting with creative works leaves no room to explore dark or erotic themes or dynamics which may exist in fiction but not healthily in reality. Gothic romance is verboten. Even breathe the word incest and you will be labelled a monster (nevermind Greek tragedy or GoT).

As with most puritanical bullshit, fanpol ideology only applies these beliefs to sex and never to violence/murder/etc, proving what lies at its core. It also demands its American-based values be applied to all fictional periods and places as the One True Moral Standard. It evangelizes – look no further than how these people try to recruit others to their cause, aim to elevate themselves as righteous, and try to persuade (‘save’) others from their degenerate ways of thinking.

“See the light” they promise “here are our callouts and blog posts to convince you. Decry your past sins of problematic shipping, be baptized by our in-group adulation and welcome, and then go forth and send hate to others until they too see the light.” In many ways “get therapy” by the antis is akin to “I’ll pray for you” by the Christian-right (and ultimately ironic).

(Although it has been pointed out to me that these fans are likely not themselves specifically ex-evangelicals, but rather those who have brushed up with evangelical norms and modes of thinking without specifically being victims of it. In many ways they are more simply conservative Christian in temperament and attitude without necessarily being raised into religion by belief).

What this has to do with canon validation is that these fans look to canon for approval, for Truth. On the one hand, if it is in the canon then it must be good / pure or at least acceptable. The authority (canon) has deemed it thus. It is safe and acceptable to discuss and to enjoy watching or consuming. In this way, validation from canon means a measure of safety from being Bad and Problematic.

For example, where a GoT fan could discuss Cersei/Jaime's (toxic, interesting) dynamic in depth as it related to the canon, fans who shipped Jon/Sansa (healthy, interesting) were Gross and Bad. The canon as Truth provided a safety net, a launch point. "It's GRRM, not me, who is problematic." It wasn’t okay to ship the problematic bad gross incest ship, but it being in the canon material meant it was open for discussion, for nuance, for “this adds an interesting layer to the story” which is denied to all non-canon ships labelled as problematic.

(Note: there are of course people who have zero interest in watching GoT for a whole slew of very valid reasons, including but not limited to the incest. That’s a different to this trend. A less charged example might be The Umbrella Academy, where a brother canonically is in love with his sister and antis still praise the show, but if you dare to ship any of the potential incest ships then you are the one who is disgusting).

On the other hand, a very interesting alternate (or additional) explanation for this phenomenon was raised to me on twitter. (These ideas aren’t mine originally, but I wholly endorse them as a big part of what is likely going on): Namely, as with authoritarian individuals in general, they see themselves as right and correct, but the canon (which has not yet validated their ship) is not correct, and is in fact problematic, and so they can save the canon from itself.

As mentioned, these fanpol types see their interpretation as Good and Pure. So if they can push (demand, bully) the canon into conforming to their worldview and validating their interpretation, then they have shown the (sinful) creators the light and led them to the righteous path. This only works if the canon allows itself to saved though, otherwise the creators remain Evil for spurning them.

How is this different from fans simply hoping for their ship to be canon?

For a second here, let’s rewind to the 90s (since Whedon has been in the news recently). This “I want it to be canon” thing isn’t 100% new, of course. We saw this trend then for the show Buffy the Vampire Slayer, but it was different then. At the time, fans who hoped for a ship to be canon might have been cheering for a problematic one to begin with (Buffy/Spike). So shipping was still present, minus vocal fanpol.

(And Buffy fans learned that canon validation...can leave a lot to be desired. A heavy lesson was learned about the ways that fan desires can play out horrifically in canon, and how some things are best left out of the hands of canon-writers).

These days, this is still largely true. Many fans hope for their ships to go canon, as they always have. There are tropes like “will they/won’t they” that TV shows may even be designed around, which a certain narrative anticipation and a very deliberate build up to that.

But while shipping *hopes* occur for many fans, almost all ships fans that *demand* to go canon and obsess over are now the ones deemed as Unproblematic, or as Less Problematic. I’m talking here about the ships that aren’t necessarily an explicit will/won’t they dynamic but do have some canon dynamic that leads them to being shipped, but which the creators aren’t necessarily deliberately teasing and building up a romantic end-game for.

These ships often have fans who are happy to stick to fandom, but there has also been a huge uptick in the portion of fans who are approaching shipping with an explicit lens of “will they go canon?” and “don’t you want them to be canon?” and now even “they have to go canon” and “the canon is wrong if they don’t make this ship canon”, to a final end-point of “if the ship doesn’t go canon, the source material is Wrong and Bad.”

These latter opinions are the one we see more by extreme fans (‘stans’), hardcore shippers, but especially by fanpol-types, the ones who embrace fandom purity culture at least to some extent.

Why them?

In pushing for canon validation, fanpol types seek to elevate their (pure) interpretation of canon. As mentioned above, it’s validation of their authority, a safety-net, and a way to save the canon from itself if only they can bully the canon into validating their right and good interpretation.

There’s also another reason, which is that canon validation is a tool to bludgeon those seen as problematic. They can use it to denounce other (problematic) ships as Not Being Canon and therefore highlight their own as Right and Good, because it is represented in the True Meaning of the Work.

Canon validation then is a cudgel sought by virtuous crusaders to wield against their unclean enemies. It is an ideological pursuit. It is organised around identity and in groups sometimes as insular as cults.

How does this happen?

Fanpol tend to be younger or more vulnerable fans, susceptible to authoritarian manipulators. As many have highlighted before, authoritarian groups and exclusionary ideologies like terfs are very good at using websites like tumblr to mobilize others around their organizing beliefs. Fanpol tend to feel legitimate discomfort, but instead of taking responsibility for their media engagement, ringleaders stoke and help them direct their discomfort as anger onto others; “I feel ashamed and uncomfortable, and therefore you should be held accountable for my emotions.” Authoritarian communities endorse social dominance orientations, deference to ringleaders, and obedient faith to the principles those ringleaders endorse.

As these fans attach more and more of their identity to a given media (or ship), and derive more and more validation and more of their belongingness needs from this fanpol community, they also become more and more anxious about being excluding from this group. This is because such communities have rigid rules and very conditional bases for social acceptance. Question or "betray" the organizing ideology and be punished or excommunicated. If that is all you have, you are left with nothing. Being labelled problematic then is a social death.

What this means is that these fans cannot accept all interpretations of a media as equally valid: to do so Betrays the ideology. It promises exclusion. And, in line with a perspective around ‘saving’ canon and leading others into the light – forcing and bending the canon to their will is what will make it Good (and therefore acceptable to enjoy, and therefore proof of them as righteous by having saved others). As was also pointed out to me on twitter, endorsement from canon or its creators also satiates that deep need they have for authority figures to approve of them.

Due to all of this, these fans come to obsess over canon validation of their own interpretation. In a way, they have no other option but to do so. They need this validation -- as their weapon, as their authority, as their safety net, as their approval, as their evangelical mission of saviorship.

Canon validation is proof: I am Good. I am Right(eous). I am Safe.

(In many ways, I do ache for some of these people, so wrapped up in toxic communities and mindsets and so afraid to step out of line for fear of swift retribution, policing their own thoughts and art against the encroaching possibility that anything be less than pure. It’s not healthy, it’s never going to be healthy.)

In the end, people are going to write their own stories. You are well within your rights to critique those stories, to hate them, to interpret them how you will, but you can never control their story (it's theirs).

Some final notes:

This trend may be partially to do with queer ships now being *able* to go canon where before so no such expectation would exist. Similarly, social media has made this easier to vocalize. Still, who makes these demands and the underlying reasons are telling. There are also many legitimate critiques of censorship, queerbaiting (nebulous discussions to be had here), and homophobia in media to be had, and which may front specific ships in their critique. But critique is distinct from asking that canon validate one's own interpretation.

#fandom purity culture #antis #discourse

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novantinuum · 4 years ago

Text

Intake (SUF one-shot)

Fandom: Steven Universe

Rating: Teen Audiences (TW: brief discussion of mental illness related topics like suicide ideation and intrusive thoughts.)

Words: 2800

Summary: Steven fills out an important form.

This is set multiple months pre The Future, and is a small glimpse into Steven’s journey to find a therapist.

If you read this and enjoy, I’d greatly appreciate your support through reblogs here, or kudos/comments on AO3 as well. AO3 link will be provided in the reblogs. Thank you! <3

____

His leg bounces with a restless fervor as he slumps in the waiting room chair, clutching the clipboard and pencil the receptionist gave him with a white knuckled grip. Gaze hardened, he takes a good long look at the other patients spread across the room, a few of them appearing equally as spent and fidgety as him, and hunches over the intake form so his answers will be conclusively obscured from their view.

He grimaces. Ugh. Why would a place like this lay out their chairs so close, anyways? Why even give people the option of being nosey? He may be stuck seeing this therapist Connie’s mom recommended because he’s all messed up in the head, but it’s not like he wants the whole planet to know about it. Goodness knows all of Beach City and Little Homeworld already does thanks to his little ‘incident’ a month back. That’s bad enough.

His chest almost feeling hollow as he sighs, he scrawls in his name, his birthday, his cell number, address, and an emergency contact (Dad, who left for the car to give him privacy after signing a few forms he can’t fill out as a minor) on the lines indicated. He leaves out his many middle names for once, all of them leaving a bitter taste in his mouth at this present moment. Briefly, he wonders if this will be a problem, as these past few weeks Dr. Maheswaran assisted his dad in finally acquiring legal documentation and health insurance for him, and per those records he’s officially ‘Steven Quartz Universe’ in the eyes of the law.

Eventually he shrugs, figuring the likelihood of there being another sixteen-year-old ‘Steven Universe’ here today to confuse him with is nearing zero.

Okay, what’s next?

He briefly skims over the next few passages— a bunch of legalese about the terms of counselor-patient confidentiality and when they might have to breach that for safety reasons— and signs where indicated so they know he looked over it.

Someone sitting two chairs away coughs. He can’t help but flinch at the sudden noise, and folds himself tighter in his own seat as he flips over the first page of the form and continues to read.

In a few words, explain why you’ve chosen to reach out to us today. How can we help you?

Steven frowns, fingers twitching around the shaft of the pencil as he contemplates how to respond. For whatever reason, the question “explain why you’re here” feels very blunt and antagonistic to him in a way he can’t quite ascertain. Like... in a “give the wrong answer, get booted right out the door” sorta way. He lifts his head, peering at all the humans spread across the room, each and every one with their own story, the central character of their own worlds. Some are texting on their phones as they wait for the receptionist to call their names, others are filling out forms as well. What brought these people here, he wonders? Surely there’s plenty of people having a worse time than him right now. Surely there’s people with real problems, people who are literally struggling just to stay alive from day-to-day. He’s not like that, right? Besides that one little wobble a month back, he’s been handling his problems on his own fairly okay. Hasn’t he? So what makes him selfish enough to think that he’s worth anyone’s time?

In his pocket his phone vibrates, knocking him back into reality. He yanks it out and switches it on to look at the new text splashed across the lock screen:

Dad: Hey Schtu-ball, just wanna let you know that I’m proud of you and love you very much. You’ve got this!

He stares at these words for a good minute, the kind sentiment— despite reading as a little hopelessly over-encouraging— filling the hollow space in his chest partway. Even if his dad’s been a bit overbearing in his affections this past month, it’s clear he means well.

So. Why am I here today, he thinks, reading the question over again. He folds his fingers up into a stiff fist, pulling his thumb across his knuckles. After licking his chapped lips and shoving his phone back in his pocket, he scribbles a hasty reply.

I feel really angry and empty and tense and just want to be better.

The teen pauses, allowing those words to echo over and over in his mind, to truly sink in. It’s such a succinct and to-the-point admission that he suddenly wonders why he ever doubted he was less deserving of aid than anyone else in this waiting room.

His countenance a little lighter now and his shoulders growing less stiff, he moves on to the next section.

To aid our counselors in providing you the best possible care, please rate the following statements on a scale from zero to four, zero meaning “not at all like me,” and four meaning “extremely like me.”

Steven’s eyes dart across the length of the massive table below these instructions, his previous anxiety rushing back into his brittle bones as if it’d never left. Each row is host to a short sentence and five blank boxes, numbered zero to four. Read it and rate yourself, right? Should be simple enough. But as his glance flits over these statements and he understands the sort of personal, probing questions they’re asking through them, he begins to mistrust his previous burst of optimism. Dread floods his system, making his cheeks flush bright pink. Heart pounding at the mere thought of people staring, he drops his head lower, successfully hiding most of his face behind the clipboard until he can coax that betraying glow into fading away.

In the end, this goes to prove that it doesn’t matter if everyone says therapy will be ‘helpful’ for him; reflecting on all this junk is still gonna suck.

Quietly, he takes a steadying breath and forces himself to read on, to crack open the hornet’s nest that is the depths of his crap brain.

1. I am shy around others.

He considers this for a moment. Shy. Historically, this has never been a word people would use to describe him. For years he reveled in the thrill of meeting new people, new Gems. His childhood eagerness to engage in fellowship with those around is half the reason Era 3 even exists. And he’s fine around people he knows. Like, on a rare good day he has no problem playing board games or watching cheesy soap operas with his friends. But to be fair... as of late, his eagerness to meet anyone new feels like it’s all but vanished. Is that being shy? Or is that just him failing to care for anyone beyond his inner circle?

With a small shrug he checks the box for one, and moves on.

2. I don’t enjoy being around people as much as I used to.

Hmm. Probably a three. People are unintentionally exhausting these days. He used to be energized by social interaction, and now it just leaves him sucked dry. Most days he’d rather stick to his room.

3. I feel isolated and alone.

The weight of the diamond embedded in his belly— something he normally barely notices— grows ever more apparent as he marks off a four.

4. My heart often races for no good reason.

Uh, yeah. What happened just a minute ago is a pretty good tell. Four.

5. I have spells of terror or panic.

Another four.

6. I am anxious that I might have a panic attack while in public.

Four once more. He holds his pencil tighter, squirming in his seat as he tries (and fails) not to think about the pale scars spread across his back, hidden in his hairline, and on the underside of his arms, indentations that once marked the base of the crystalline spines that jut out from between his scales.

7. I think about food more than I’d like to.

Steven pauses at this one. For once, he’s not sure he can say this statement applies to him. Truth be told, he only started caring about what he put in his mouth earlier this year, when he cut meat and fish out of his diet. And that’s not... a bad thing? It’s not bad to want to consider the impact your food choices have on the environment? He definitely didn’t choose to do so for self-denying reasons, and that’s probably what they’re asking about. He checks zero, and moves on.

8. I feel out of control when I eat.

He almost checks another zero, but then he remembers that day after the proposal... and the week after his incident. And he decides that even if he doesn’t consciously obsess over the food he eats, there’s still a few occasions where once he starts snacking he finds it difficult to stop. A one it is, then.

9. I have sleep difficulties.

This statement nearly makes him laugh. Does he have sleep difficulties. Hah. He doesn’t think he’s gotten a truly restful night of sleep since he sacrificed himself to Homeworld at fourteen.

A solid four. No question.

10. My thoughts are racing.

Four.

11. I feel uncomfortable around people I don’t know.

Hmm. Two.

12. I drink alcohol frequently.

The only alcohol he’s ever had is a tiny sip of his dad’s with permission at Garnet’s wedding reception, and it tasted terrible. He has no interest in drinking again. Zero.

13. When I drink alcohol I can’t remember what happened.

Zero.

14. I drink more than I should.

Zero again.

15. I have done something I have regretted because of drinking.

Another zero. It almost makes him feel better, just knowing there’s a decent number of lines on this paper that aren’t a carbon copy of his lived experience.

16. I feel sad all the time.

Aaaand back to “the story of his life.” Briefly, he wonders if ‘feeling sad’ is the same thing as feeling nothing at all. But then again, does the difference really matter? He checks the box for three.

17. I am concerned that other people don’t like me.

Three. Although honestly, he’s even more concerned that people continue to like him after everything he’s done.

18. I feel worthless.

Steven nibbles at the inside of his cheek as he reads this statement, memories automatically flashing through the pathetic events of the last few weeks, through all the days he barely crawled out from under his covers, all the days he didn’t even manage to brush his teeth or run his fingers through his greasy, knotted hair, all those awful days he couldn’t so much as play one of his video games without growing tired of it in minutes and taking a restless nap for the rest of the afternoon instead.

Four.

19. I feel helpless.

Two. Everyday affairs are a drag, but at the very least he knows he can fight his way out of danger in a pinch. He wouldn’t call that helpless.

20. I have thoughts of ending my life.

He freezes. Goes back, reads this line again. Reads it a third time to make sure he’s not horrendously misconstruing the prompt he’s been given.

(Tries not to think too deeply about the graphic images that flood his imagination some nights. It’s just stray thoughts, though. He’s fine.)

One, he marks, although his muscles can’t help but twitch as he shifts his wrist, as if deep down he knows he’s underplaying his answer.

21. I feel tense.

Steven gives a small snort under his breath. Yeah, he outright admitted as much earlier in this form. Four.

22. I get angry easily.

His grip tightens.

Four.

23. I have difficulty controlling my temper.

He swallows hard, his mouth feeling abnormally dry. He’s not sure he likes how blunt and probing this questionnaire is becoming.

Four...

24. I sometimes feel like breaking or smashing things.

His knuckles go white around his pencil, and he only barely resists the temptation to snap it in half as he feels a rush of hard light flow the distance from his gem through the veins of his arm. Geeze, it’s not like he means to break things! It’s just that all of his stupid powers are linked with his emotions, and whenever he gets even marginally upset now things start to splinter, crack in half, and inevitably end up broken. Just another sign he’s fated to ruin everything around him forever, and that his intent doesn’t matter. Why do they have to pry into this? He already feels terrible enough for thinking these things.

Three, he checks, his eyes damp, but mostly because he’s too scared what their response will be otherwise.

25. I am not able to concentrate as well as usual.

He takes a deep breath, coaxing his body to return to a baseline state. Eh. He’ll give this a two.

26. I feel self-conscious around others.

His glance skirts over the edge of the clipboard to monitor the four others currently spread out across the room. One’s rhythmically swinging their legs, another is still filling out a form like him, but sitting criss-cross on the chair, and the other two are quietly typing on their phones. Thankfully none of them are pressing an ounce of attention his way, (at least, not right now), but that doesn’t stop him from feeling like an exposed nerve. Three.

27. I am afraid I may lose control and act violently.

The raw memories hit like lightning before he can even think to prepare.

Flashes of Pink. Orange fragments, cold and slick in his palms. Thunder splits the skies overhead, each cacophonous sound manifesting in perfect synchronicity with his erratic heartbeat, with each tidal wave of thoughts gushing like a maelstrom through his head: SHATTERER, I’m a shatterer, I’m—

Feeling almost dizzy from the intensity of his heart’s pulse, he knows with full certainty that his cheeks are glowing bright pink again. All he can do is clench his fists, suck down whatever amount of fresh air his lungs will allow, and pray to the very stars themselves that it’ll fade away before it garners the attention of every last human in this place.

He checks the box for four, pencil marking so hard that slivers of graphite splinter off onto the page, and moves on before he can be cowardly enough to change his answer.

28. I have thoughts of hurting others.

His fingernails claw into the thin denim at his knee, limbs outright quivering as he stews in his seat, as he’s forced to reflect upon all the ugly, ugly thoughts that have flit across his awareness over the past weeks. Thoughts about one Gem specifically. He’s... always been angry, always harbored deep resentment... but ever since his most recent trip to visit Her, he hasn’t been able to shake this awful idea: a vision of him standing over the remnants of her gemstone, shattered, fragments spilled across the otherwise pristine floors of Homeworld. He... he didn’t do it when he had the chance. He wouldn’t do it, would he?

(Orange fragments, cold and slick...)

Would he??

And yet nevertheless, the thought tortures him with its frequency, makes him feel downright nauseous at every turn. He doesn’t want it. He doesn’t want to feel this way at all.

Four.

29. I am unable to keep up with my schoolwork.

Stop. Sharp inhale. Staccato, shaky exhale. Repeat, deeper this time. Repeat.

(He can no longer see neon pink reflecting in the smooth metal clasp at the top of his clipboard.)

Okay. Schoolwork.

N/A, he writes in one of the boxes, arm still trembling from the last two questions despite his attempt at cool-down exercises. Not applicable. He hasn’t even been to school, and dreads the inevitability of this therapist asking about that mess.

30. It’s hard to stay motivated for my classes.

N/A.

31. I feel confident that I can succeed academically.

N/A, once more.

And like that, the questionnaire is over. Steven is quick to hide his answers behind the front page, and slides the pencil through the length of the metal clip. He glances around him, drinking in his surroundings with pinpoint precision. Despite his earlier concerns, no one is maliciously staring. No one’s whispering. He internally wrestled with a few challenging subjects and what do you know, it didn’t end in an embarrassingly public meltdown. He— he wipes a stray tear from his eye with the butt of his palm— he took a solid step forward today.

Coercing his body to move, he pulls himself out of the cushioned chair and crosses the room.

“I finished,” he says softly, proudly, as he hands the clipboard and pencil to the receptionist. She smiles and accepts his hard-fought offering.

For the first time in a while, the smile he instinctively flashes back almost feels genuine.

I want to be better, he thinks. I will be better.

____

Notes:

This fic is loosely based on my own experience of the intake process, and the questionnaire I had to fill out. No two intake experiences are the same though, of course. This is merely one possibility. I also take personal liberties on the way I depict Steven’s struggle with mental health, and acknowledge and respect that no two fans’ interpretation will be the same.

Additional notes: -Steven’s still a minor, so he can’t actually sign contracts. I figure Greg signed a handful of forms beforehand as his guardian, and then left to allow his son a bit of privacy with filling out the questionnaire stuff. Since he's a teen, they're still giving him the full confidentiality clauses to look over so he's wholly aware how that works, though.

-To expand on a brief comment made in the midst of this, I headcanon that Steven cut both meat and fish out of his diet, and thus actually slipped up on his vegetarian diet when he was training with Jasper. I interpret this as further showcasing how the poor kid— due to being mentally vulnerable at the time and thus liable to coercion/unwise decisions— began to take actions that went against much of his established morality. He ended up sacrificing his dietary choices during those days, just like he briefly sacrificed his pacifistic views to fight Jasper.

-I also headcanon that the therapist Steven is going in to see after this isn’t the one he eventually sticks with and mentions as “my new therapist” in The Future. It’s totally normal and okay to try a few different people to find someone who you click with, after all.

Thank you for reading!

#su #su future #steven universe #su fanfiction #my writing stuff #okay the official crosspost #here you go #i keep switching how i post fics here hhh #i LIKE having the ao3 link in the post itself #but when i do that the fic almost never shows up in tags so *shrugs*

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