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reds-writings · 10 months ago

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if only tonight we could sleep?

the dora lange case had come to a close...but was it really ever over?

(pairing: rust cohle x fem!reader)

a/n: inspired by getting lost in the sound of the cure's kiss me, kiss me, kiss me album. this is set somewhere in the same world of jealousy, jealousy!. your feedback, as always, is greatly treasured!

word count: around 2.6k

warnings: angst, canon-typical death (mentions of what happens at the Ledoux shootout), nudity (showering together!), cursing, dread, etc (minors go away)

The Dora Lange case had finally been closed once and for all. All the bullshit and danger that had accumulated over all these weeks could finally cease to continue. You’re sure that even within the next twenty something odd years or so when all of this would be well blown over and buried you would never be able to truly process the fucked up-ness of it all.

Your mind was thoroughly numb and all of your limbs ached to no end. You could feel everything you’d endured catching up to you as your body finally allowed itself to let go. Adrenaline and sheer will had been what kept you from fully crumbling during the case’s most crucial and final moments. The shit Rust and Marty decided to pull with that druggie Ginger had already left you worse for wear. Discovering Ledoux and the horrors that were transpiring in that shithole was something you couldn’t let yourself dwell on for too long lest you wanted to find yourself having a complete mental breakdown. Bodies and skulls being blown to bits right in front of you. The sight of rich blood and scattered brain matter sprayed to stain onto your boots. Finding those kids like that…you’d never get over it. One was sentenced to a life of trauma that left her catatonic and the other one deceased. You’d had the naive thought more than once telling you if only we'd all been a bit quicker…

But there was no point in dwelling on all the ifs and maybes. That was a guaranteed one-way ticket to self-induced insanity.

You should feel relief that this is over. The weight of one of the many atrocities committed in the world removed from your down-trodden shoulders. Solved. A monster taken down and put into the earth where he couldn’t return to cause more strife. Why couldn't it feel over? Where was the relief?

You didn’t know much of what Rust and Marty felt on the matter, too busy dealing with keeping your stories straight on just how you all had come across Ledoux’s hideout instead of finding the time to have a heart-to-heart on how much this might’ve permanently screwed with your heads for ages to come. You knew well enough that ending the case like this wasn’t easy for either of them given their respective standpoints when it came to kids. Marty discovered those children and both men had carried them back. Rust had shouldered the burden of carrying that poor boy. A small choice of action that had your heart twisting even more painfully than you thought it already had during it all. The Texan could go on and on about the world being shit and there being no control over the horrors one would be put through trying to live life but you found that it was he who tried the hardest to shield others from said pain and horror whether he was aware of it or not. He cared a lot more about the human race than he let on but it would be more than ineffectual trying to convince him of that particular truth.

Things with Rust had been all over the place since the fiasco of a night you had after the bar as well as any event that followed afterwards: surprise, surprise. The time you’d initially aimed for to really sit down and decipher where it was exactly you saw the two of you headed had found itself slipping away at every possible chance. Neither of you was to necessarily blame, as the nature of your work was in constant demand of your full attention, but that didn't make it any less frustrating.

You guys weren’t even truly anything yet and it was already this arduous. What kind of shelf-life did a pairing such as this really have down the line? It was more than likely that acting on any idea of pursuing Rust romantically was destined to never end in your favor. He was your coworker for Christ’s sake. Yes, there was no one else who could probably understand what it is you go through like each other but it was harder to separate other crueler aspects of your lives as well. Everything would get in the way of professionalism. It already had when it came to the showdown with Ginger.

Trying not to let your thoughts go down the usual Rust rabbit hole it found itself in you decided that you’d take the longest and hottest shower you hadn’t had the luxury of taking in weeks. Any extra time you had lately was reserved for quick and cold rinses to keep yourself up and at 'em’. Relaxation in any sense of the word was hard to adjust to after long stretches of work such as these. It was like your body had forgotten how to just be. Nothing was chasing you and there was no clock ticking over your shoulder to mock you that time to get shit done was running out. The empty quiet that followed would never not be unnerving to you. You had nowhere to be and nothing to do.

Where was the fucking relief?

With a huff, you set aside the jack and coke you’d been cradling out on your front porch in the dwindling evening light. The air was more balmy than the stifling hot you’d experienced day in and day out though your skin still held that essence of a humid dew that kept your hair and clothes sticking to you like a second skin. Dusting off your pants you made way to get on up from your depressing reverie only to find the outline of a familiarly limber figure at the end of your driveway. How the hell hadn’t you heard him pull up?

“Are you gonna stand there like a regular ol’ weirdo or get up here?” You feigned nonchalance at his sudden presence but your heart told another story with the quickening pace it decided to adopt.

Wordlessly, Rust ventured his way up the pathway and onto your shabby porch. He eyed the abandoned drink you had by your side so you offered it up to him. He loosened the tie around his neck and undid the first two buttons of his dress shirt before accepting the silent offering. It took two long gulps before the glass was drained.

There was a heavy silence for longer than what was comfortable. Where could you even start? You didn’t want to catch yourself in an awkward fumble trying to gauge what it was he exactly needed from you as it was clear there was a purpose in him showing up without a warning. The set of his posture made it seem like he was curling in on himself more and more by the minute. He couldn’t bring himself to look you in the eye, fearful that it would be his complete undoing. This visible deflation in action made you feel panicked for not knowing what assistance you could offer without having him pull away.

“...D’ya wanna talk about it?”

Rust shook his head softly as if in a daze. His eyes growing glassy and increasingly distant while he stared at your porch’s floorboards.

At a loss, you cleared your throat shakily, “Well I was just about to hop in the shower. You can come inside…hang around if you want. We don’t have to talk or nothin’...o-or we can if that’s what you wanna end up doin’ after havin’ some quiet.”

No reply.

“Well, there’s beers and whatnot in the fridge if you choose. Don’t be shy to helpin’ yourself.” You got up and squeezed his hand gently, warm and calloused like you’d been dreaming about since they held you. That already felt like ages ago. He still made no move.

“I’m here.” Was all you could say and with that, you loosened your grip and headed on inside then upstairs to your bathroom. After setting out some comfy clothes and shedding out of the day’s stiff attire for all the press work that entailed you waited for the shower to reach its desired heat. The person looking back at you in your steadily fogging mirror was almost unrecognizable. Bruises from recent incidents had barely begun to make their way towards the fading process. Skin so sullen and hair even duller. When had you started to look so tired? This beaten down? You felt sorry for anyone who had the displeasure of viewing your walking corpse as of late.

The spray of the showerhead above you was nothing short of heavenly. Any pain and misery melted away to be forever cast down into the depths of the tub’s drain. Your bones felt like lead as you let yourself stand there, waiting to gain the sense of motivation to start washing yourself clean. It could’ve been ten minutes or even ten hours before the sound of the bathroom door clicking ajar had you opening your eyes. The silhouette of the cause of your heart’s aching and beating stood beyond the fogged glass as if at a loss of what to make himself do next. You said nothing, not wanting him to feel as if he was unwanted or on the other hand forced to join you. To expose himself beyond what a casual act of nudity could display already.

It was another elongated moment before you heard the clink of a belt and the rustle of clothes being discarded. You were so far gone that it hadn’t occurred to you he was about to see you at your most vulnerable. He’d witnessed you at some of your lowest, shittiest points but this was crossing into an entirely new territory.

And yet you didn’t feel as scared as you thought you would. You didn’t find Rust to be as judgemental about the physical as he was about the metaphysical.

The shower’s sliding door worked its way open and you didn’t turn around until a few moments after it had closed. The look on his face was similar to the one you’d been subjected to all those weeks ago after the bar. One of true fear. Fear of being seen at his very core. Open and raw. Fear that you’d take this all in and decide to turn him away in disgust or disinterest. Rust’s eyes didn’t wander down any further than your face. He wasn’t here out of primal desire. He needed something…someone…you to help him hold himself together for just this moment. Any and all strength he usually had keeping him upright had escaped him after the weight of everything finally penetrated his psyche.

You found your hand making its way up to his face, tracing dampening tendrils out of his line of sight before cupping his jaw. That empty blue fluttered closed, giving himself a moment or two before completely relinquishing himself to your gentle touch. Your other hand met the other side of his face before you leaned forward to touch your forehead to his. The downfall of water in the small cubicle drowned out any other possible thoughts or worries that could’ve been had in the current moment. There was nothing and no one else that mattered.

One kiss to his nose, then his chin, and finally his trembling lips had large palms come up to rest on the supple flesh of your hips, steadily gripping you as if you’d float away from him. You separated for a moment as his hands traveled up to clutch at your back. Before he could bring you closer you kissed him gently once more before succumbing to his grasp. Settling with leaving barely-there imprints of your mouth on the expansive skin of his chest and neck, your own hands brought themselves up to return his embrace. You felt the soft press of a peck linger on the side of your head as his grip grew a bit tighter. Seconds passed until the subtle shaking of broad shoulders had you clinging to him impossibly tighter. His sobs were not all that audible but the shuddering breaths he’d take in every now and then were more than enough to clue you in on just how much he was hurting. Tears began to burn behind your own eyes as your pain melded with his.

Here you were, just two broken people who gave up all notions of stoicism to completely and utterly crumble in front of each other. Fully at each other’s undeniable mercy.

- - - -

You didn’t know how much more time had passed after holding each other but as the water began to grow more frigid you made haste to help each other wash up. You both stepped out so you could wrap yourself in your own towel before making your way to your linen closet to fetch him one as well as to not have him left wet and cold for too long. With your mind a bit clearer from the emotional release experienced, you finally came to realize the presence of the exceptionally athletic physique in front of you. He seemed to be in the same state of appreciation towards you and you caught yourself feeling hot in the face as you clumsily thrust a towel in his direction.

“You don’t have to be shy in front of me.” His voice sounded raw from lack of use. The first words he’d uttered since he’d come here.

You tucked a wet piece of hair behind your ear, trying to casually meet his stare, “I know. Just didn’t expect us to end up here when you showed up is all. It’s just catchin’ up to me…” The pinch of your chin between long fingers drew you to kiss him again.

“You’re everythin'...and then some.”

You fought a self-deprecating scoff but he said it as if it were the most simplest fact in the world. You had no choice but to believe him.

“Let’s just find you some clothes. I am in dire need of one looong hibernation after everythin’. You too, mister.” You flicked his chest then slinked out of the bathroom. You finished any of the necessary preparations for bed by the time he had wandered into your room. The window you cracked open let in a gentle breeze while the warm glow of the few candles that had been lit danced in the haven you created. Whether you wanted a form of light for the sake of your own comfort or it being done out of some subconsciously innate need to keep Rust out of the dark for the night, you didn’t care to unpack.

Climbing into bed once and for all, you lay facing each other. Letting peace and stillness settle in.

“We did it y’know…it’s over. We can be okay.” You couldn’t help but say. Feeling the need to find something to reaffirm the so-called fact that should’ve been comforting at the end of all this. Anything to soothe underlying anxiety as the heavy shadow of the unknown and incomplete loomed over you. It should’ve been over but Ledoux was but a small piece to a hugely fragmented puzzle. Both of you knew it deep down but hadn’t the strength to confirm it out loud. Afraid to shatter this sense of temporary false security.

This was far from being done and dealt with. From being fully uncovered.

Rust didn’t say anything else as he pulled you into the warmth of his chest. Caging you in with no choice but to surrender to the silent feeling of safety he was trying to provide you. You could only pray that the two of you could make it through anything as you both found yourselves victims to the passing of time and any other trials it had ready for you.

Especially with whatever was waiting for you on the other side of Carcosa.

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a/n: ahhhh! hurt/comfort is always a guilty pleasure. sorry for the immense dread at the end. i'm thinking of cooking up another fic that draws back to what exactly went down with our trio and ginger if that's something of interest to you all! thanks for reading!

#reds-writings #rust cohle #true detective season 1 #rust cohle imagine #rust cohle x reader #true detective imagine #matthew mcconaughey #true detective

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mysterycitrus · 9 months ago

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so the body is a haunted house, right? ur haunted by past pain, ur experiences and regrets, the people you’ve known and lost. ur a living structure inhabited by countless others, and that kind of grief never stops. on a biological scale, we know that trauma rewrites dna and brain matter. we see how monumental loss affects the human mind through generations, how it shapes the way we think. u can track that down family lines to the present. even unseen, u r carrying the ghosts of everyone who came before.

the central thesis of persephone is how grief can be the proponent of so much change, both good and bad. part of that is bruce’s visible, living state of mourning in the manor, in the mantle of batman, in the pearls and the portrait. he is literally haunted by the alley, by the gunshot, by the darkness. but robin is haunted by mary grayson, by dick as a child and as a teenager and an adult, by jason in the dirt, by tim and steph and damian, and on and on it goes. how do u conceptualise that kind of loss?

both jason and dick’s grief is faceless. dick’s parents are remembered in colour and name, through dick’s embodiment of joy. they are transient. they are worn by children who do not know their names. they are honoured in that way, something that jason, despite not knowing robin’s origin, is conscious of —

in persephone, i knew jason would have an altar of some kind. his grief is action, but it’s also his heavy anchor to gotham. he could leave, but he doesn’t. he despises bruce for the same reason they’re similar. originally, it was a memorial to the people at his funeral, but that changed to commemorating the life he had before his death, and the people he left behind. he lies to himself and says the elephant represents robin as a whole, but it doesn’t. it obviously doesn’t.

it is a literal symbol of jason’s inability to fully abandon his life before. the body is being haunted, after all. we get to see his perspective in wolf-king, his anger at his disconnection, his isolation from others, his paranoid, neurotic interactions with dick. he has changed so completely that he cannot trust anyones intentions. he’s hurt people, and he doesn’t regret it. he thinks people see him as something he was, versus something he is. it’s dehumanising and hard. like he is memorialising something lost at the altar, so to is everyone else when they look at him. his presence in their lives is a haunting.

when a seventeen year old dick grayson sees the elephant there, he assumes he’s died and that jason is honouring him. how can jason explain that it’s to represent a past that jason himself can’t return to? after all, the only way out is through.

and then, at the end, he is given a gift — dick leaves behind a bird on the altar. not a robin, but something meant for jason the person, not the body in the box. he is remembered for what he was. and that connection to what he was is horrifying. the idea that someone recognises that grief and honours him hurts. after all, a heart is a heavy burden.

#idek how to tag this #dick grayson #jason todd #bruce wayne #batman #nightwing #red hood #dc comics #fic meta #ig?#persephone tag #don’t take this too seriously but if u have qs cause this makes no sense plz feel free

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is-on-its-way · 4 months ago

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In the name of the Father, the Skeptic and the Son

Episodes: One Son/ Two Fathers

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Epilogue

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Chapter 6: You've already won me over in spite of me

She sighed “I have showed you evidence that if it related to anyone else you’d have thrown the bathwater and the baby out by now.”

An exploration of themes, in which Scully feels uncomy and scared at the seriousness and intensity she had with Mulder. She has never had a relationship that wasn’t superficially based in the familiarity of her childhood trauma. Mulder is her equal and she must decide what to do.

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It was never a choice.

Diana was never a choice for him because he had already chosen her. She knew that. She’d known that for a long while. He’d said as much so often, he’d shown her with actions even more. She worried about him though. His heart was more open than any man she’d ever known, maybe any person. He was filled with such guilt and remorse over not saving his sister he never let anyone who might be in need of saving feel like he could abandon them. But it left him so dangerously exposed sometimes.

It had never been a choice for her either.

Since the day she’d met him. Since that trip to Oregon, standing in the rain with him laughing, sharing his deepest personal story in that hotel room in awe of his beautiful mind and wild passion for something she had never felt for anything.

Since she had been faced with death and the only fear she’d had was not of dying; but of leaving him alone to his despair and to the world that would swallow him whole. His sweet and gentle nature ignored, without anyone seeing him how he should to be seen.

It had never been a choice.

Since she had gotten so blinded with fear he would leave her, and each time, he was utterly flummoxed she’d even considered that an option.

Since he had gone to the ends of the earth for her. Literally.

The blood ran down her arms and fingers splashing big pinkish brown drops onto the white porcelain of the tub. It flowed into the drain in swirls.

There was something the matter with her. She always avoided feeling. Was terrified of that wild and reckless thing of opening up to someone. To herself even.

That she recoiled so fully from feeling anything painful or difficult. Forced it down behind that closed door in her head. Locked away with things she didn’t feel like facing. She held so painfully onto the order and safety of shallow living. she felt in the long run the stress of keeping those things at bay would crack her apart more fully than if she just gave into the chaos.

That chaos was beckoning her now and there was such a warm comfort there. She could feel the wall cracking apart ready to fall down finally. She had a sense of calm about it that would’ve perturbed her if she had any ability for reflection at the moment. Instead she relaxed into the oblivion of pain.

She sank to the floor of the tub taking great gasping breaths trying to stay as quiet as she could, pressing her hand tightly against her mouth. She folded over her knees and rested her face in her arms. The water ran down her back around her ribcage and legs as she sank into the comfort of being free.

She felt like she was loosing something as she was gaining something else. Like a boiled frog she had just looked up and realized what she’d been longing for had already happened. And with it came a whole host of feelings that were unexpected in their despair. She felt like she was suffocating and being resuscitated at the same time. Scared and comforted all at once.

She and Mulder, Dana and Fox. They were intertwined. And had been for so long. There was no fleeing this. She was his life and he was hers.

Her tears had run out and her breathing was slowing, her ribcage ached from holding her silent sobs at bay. Her head ached from where Lucia had pushed her. Her arms ached from performing CPR for as long as she had. Her mind was a mess of thoughts. She pushed herself up with an effort and resolved to find a bed as soon as possible.

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She was just in jeans and sweater now but when Mulder saw her he gave her the same look she had caught on his face when she walked out in the black dress earlier in the evening.

He whistled a low wolf-whistle.

She shook her head and said “shut up Mulder” automatically.

He smirked as he turned away from her and she could see the blood covering his neck dry mow.

She gasped “Mulder your head”

He turned to her “Oh… yeah she got me good.”

“Come here.” She took comfort in the business of treating her patient. The only live one she’d had for seven years.

She tried to pull the hair away from the lump to see how bad the cut was but the hair had dried. “Hold on, let me get a towel.”

She got the first aid kit and a warm wet towel from the bathroom. And sat on the bed behind him.

“This is going to sting.” She said as she held up the towel to his head

He sucked in a breath in pain. “Fuck Scully, cant I just…”

“No mulder this might be a severe wound you need to go get stitched and I need to see it, so stop being a baby and suck it up.”

“Well watch your hands will you?” He said annoyed

She smiled at this, he was such a baby about the small wounds. Leave it to mulder to ignore things like being shot in the head but sink into childish complaining with a splinter or cut.

“I’m being gentle.” She said softly.

“Debatable.” He returned sullen

“It’ll be over in a minute.” She said softly.

When she had finished he turned around on the bed to face her content with her work and smiled at her.

“Not too bad”

She let out a snort and tucked her damp hair behind her ear,

She could see his face change as she did. If she didn’t know any better she’d call the look one of pure love. “You’re right, I like you better dressed like this.”

She smiled. Then something inside of her rose up in feral dread. She was a child in the middle of a vast forrest lost, alone, terrified. She stood up and shrank back from him. choking sobs, erupted from her, body shaking.

He crossed the room to her, and wrapped her up in his arms. She didn’t protest at his embrace

“Did I say the wrong thing?” He sighed gently into her hair.

“I can’t” she managed and sobbed into his chest

“You’re scaring me Scully, whats going on? Was it something I did?”

She shook her head gasping choking sobs.

“Was it the guy with his eyes turned to pudding?” He said semi sarcastically.

She shook her head again and hiccuped a laugh.

“Are you…” He swallowed “Are you thinking about leaving?”

She shook her head “I couldn’t, I can’t.” she said voice wavering.

“Is it because of that?”

She tried to get a hold of herself and she could feel him agonizing as he waited for her to answer.

She shook her head again “I want to be here with you” She found the front of his jacket with her hand and held on as if she would float away otherwise.

He breathed deeply in relief she could feel his tense shoulders relax. “Thats good because I want to be here with you.”

She turned into his chest wracked with more sobs. He looked down at her and held the back of her head in his hand stroking her hair.

“Was it pretending you were madly in love with me when in fact you are hanging on by a fine thread of your sanity because I’m an ass?”

She laughed at this and sniffled. Pulling back looking up at him. She wiped her nose on the back of her sweater

“Its.. me. Im not. I don’t know how… Its me.” Was all she could manage.

Mulder put a hand on her cheek

“Well whatever it is I’m here, okay?” He whispered.

Tears streamed down her cheeks she nodded and her chin dimpled as her lip quivered

“Dana” he said voice wavering in emotion. He pulled her by her head into his chest and she felt comforted in her discomfort.

She closed her eyes at the kiss to the top of her head, listened to his heartbeat until her breathing matched its steady rhythm. She sighed and pulled away from him, wiping her cheeks with the sleeves of her sweatshirt.

He brushed at his cheek quickly and she was sorry she’d made him cry.

“Im sorry that wasn’t right to do at work.” She said glancing up at him.

“Fuck professional Scully. Its me.” He said seriously.

She nodded at him.

“I only seem to do this in front of you.” She attempted a laugh.

“You can do anything you want in front of me.” He said, pushing the hair that fell as she touched her face, behind her ear.

Then, as she raised her eyebrow at his suggestive choice of words, he laughed softly.

“You know what I mean.”

“You never make me feel like I should be ashamed. Its why your opinion of me means so much.”

He nodded biting his lower lip.

“Im too inflexible.” There she’d said it. Admitting her own biggest disappointment.

“Thats one of my favourite things about you.” he nudged the bottom of her chin and gave her a small smile when she met his eyes. “You’re my one in six billion.”

Always words of understanding. It was why she had felt so lost when he had taken that away. Instead she swallowed and looked up at him, feeling a desire to be reckless against his unchanged support.

“It feels like everything is falling apart, like my world is upside down.” She hiccuped. “I’m not good at change.”

“Whats changed?” He searched her eyebrows knitting.

“Mulder, I…”

The door banged open. And Scully dropped his hand, and walked away from him to the desk by the window to gather her bags and hide her puffy face.

Agent Thomas came in and grunted a “Hey” as he got his belongings, from the desk.

She heard Mulder mutter something.

She went to the bathroom and put the rest of her things in her bag.

She heard Mulder say “We’re going to head out.”

“See ya” Agent Thomas said from the closet.

She met him at the door of the bathroom, he had the rest of her bags and his, he placed his hand on the small of her back as he lead her out the door.

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The moment had gone. Whatever she had wanted to tell him had evaporated through that door when it banged open. What remained was a relaxed and comfortable silence as they had ridden the elevator down to the car and drove back to the FBI parking garage.

Just when he thought he had her figured out she did something to catch completely off guard.

Sometimes she unraveled but it was in such a way that he always could sense the sense of irritation and control still gripping her. This felt like she had lost even that. Like he could feel the strict control she held over her life and psyche falling apart. And despite her reassurances he felt acutely at fault.

He thought about telling her he wouldn’t ever speak to Diana again. But it felt childish. Immature in a way he recoiled from. He had once heard his father shouting at his mother telling her not to speak to that man again. Now he could guess it had probably been CGB.

He’d gone through the same with Diana when she’d asked the same of him about a colleague he’d have a drinks with when they’d teach at quantico. At the time he felt she had been within her rights as his newlywed wife. But look at how that had turned out.

But being a partner to Scully was something different. He knew if he offered that she would be offended he’d even suggested it. She had wanted him to listen to her and acknowledge what she was saying. He had heard ‘chose between her and Diana’ again and again instead of what she had been saying. Scully wasn’t someone who had ever tried to coerce him with forced promises and ultimatums, even if she was a bit threatened by Diana. He had made a mistake to think so, because thats what he was been used to.

Wasn't it his father who had drilled into him loyalty above all else. Above whether you like them or not that week or month above whether they make mistakes or cause you pain?

Thinking back now, the way he felt he could breath when he was with Scully was unlike any relationship he’d ever had. The support she gave him, choosing to live this life with him, listening to him always as if he had something that mattered to say.

Feelings of gratitude that had always simmered for her, grew so that his lungs swelled in his chest, and he had to blink rapidly to keep his eyes clear on the road.

He pulled into the designated spot and turned off the car. They sat in silence neither of them even unbuckling. He started as she said “Mulder”.

They both looked at each other and laughed.

“You go” he said.

“I’m sorry for what I said” she said looking in her lap.

“Which part?”

“Before, what I said by the car, that you didn’t care about this partnership, about me.”

He nodded “I do care about you.” He could see her breath catch in her chest. “I know we have the x files now… but I want this part of our partnership to be okay.” He said as she met his eyes pushing her lips together in a small smile

“What were you going to say?” She asked.

“I made a mistake with you. I learned how to relate to people, from people who used favors and coercion as proof of affection. But you’re not like that. You’re concern for me doesn’t come with strings attached. Im sorry I didn’t realize that sooner.

She swallowed. “I know it sounds like I’m just jealous, but its not that. Its a feeling…”

“When was the last time you believed me over an intuition? When was the last time you didn’t ask me for evidence first?” He said gently.

She sighed “I have showed you evidence that if it related to anyone else you’d have thrown the bathwater and the baby out by now.”

They were talking so calmly now, sorting it all out like they were discussing a cancelled flight. How uniquely easy this was with her.

“Circumstantial evidence is not enough for me to turn my back on a friend.”

She pursed her lips and nodded. “Well just be careful. Diana is the type of women to use your care for her to her advantage in any way she can.”

Mulder thought on that.

She said “She’s openly and unabashedly manipulated you, for whatever reason, especially when you tell her information she otherwise wouldn’t know. Just… just be careful Mulder.”

“Okay Scully. I will.” Mulder said earnestly, looking at her searching her face.

She bit her lip and looked at him. So many unsaid things shed wished she could say.

“I’ll see you Monday Mulder.” She said instead.

He smiled as he said “Im glad to hear that Scully. Hey,” He touched her arm as she pulled the door handle and she turned back to him. “Skinner thinks he’s found us an interesting case. He called while you were showering. He says we might need to do some light undercover work, nothing as mortifying as dancing in public Im sure.”

She gave him a small smile and raised her eyebrow, then got out of the car.

Mulder locked the company car and watched her retreating figure. He noticed that imperceptible sway in her hips he’d seen earlier.

·˚ ༘ ༊*·˚·˚ ༘ ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟﾟ･༘ ☾･ﾟ⋆･ﾟ:⋆·˚ ༘ ˚·˚·༊ ༘ ˚·⋆:ﾟ･⋆ﾟ･*☾ ༘⋆:ﾟ･⋆ ☾ ༘ ˚·˚·*༊ ༘ ˚·

Notes: Honestly idk with this one, if anyone has thoughts let me know Im am not opposed to editing.

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Epilogue

@today-in-fic 🔆

#txf #x files #msr #mulder and scully #the x files #xfiles #msr fanfic #fox mulder #dana scully #One son #Two shitty fathers

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strangerwheelerthings · 10 months ago

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Can you write an angsty hurt/comfort fic about the wheeler siblings?

Mike was screaming at her. He was screaming himself hoarse as he tried to get her to leave. He threw an action figure at the wall beside her. When that didn’t make her flinch, he stepped forward, intent on shoving her out of his room. On any other day, she would have left long before it got to this point, grumbling about her weird brother with clear anger management issues. Not now. Today she would stand her ground. She wasn’t going to budge an inch.

For the first time, in far too long, she saw the pain in her brother’s eyes.

For the first time, she paid attention to more than his words, and worked to understand where all this frustration was coming from. It wasn’t rooted in anger like she’d thought for so long, but in pain and fear buried deep below the surface.

His reaction to their father’s words over dinner had finally unlocked something. The puzzle pieces all came together at once, making her sick to her stomach at the realization. Not the realization of who her brother was, but the realization of how little she’d stepped into the role of supportive older sibling throughout the last few years.

The blindness was gone, and she determined to never let it creep in again. She was not going to sit back and watch her little brother self-destruct alone. She’d go down with him if it came to that, but he was going to know he was loved if it was the last thing she did. He was going to know that his hurt and anger at the world was justified and understood.

No eleven year old should have ever suffered the heartache and trauma that he had. No child should have had to shoulder that alone, to pretend it never happened just because some Government Agent Assholes had declared it so. No little boy should have to suffer their father’s repeated homophobic remarks at the dinner table, making him feel so ashamed and scared that he struggled to admit his sexuality even to himself.

No, none of this had been acceptable. It could not go on this way any longer. Something had to change, and that something started with her opening her own heart back up to a sibling relationship with him again.

His voice had broken under the stress, and he went quiet. She knew this was not by choice. His tone was cold as ice as he strained to make himself heard. “Get Out. Please.”

“Not yet.”

She stepped forward to snake her arms around him before he could register her intentions, and pulled him into a hug.

“What’s wrong with you? Let go of me, weirdo, and get out of my freaking room!” He tried to pull away, but didn’t quite escape her grasp. He could have, if he had truly wanted to, she knew.

“I love you no matter what. You know that right?” She tried to put every ounce of sincerity she could into those words, desperate for him to really hear her and believe. Desperate to squeeze past those solid walls between them that they’d both been responsible for.

“Uh, yeah, sure, whatever.”

She released him, and stared directly into his eyes, needing him to fully understand. “There is nothing you could do or be that would ever make me love you less. I don’t think you understand what that means.” She smiled weakly, half joking but entirely serious as she continued, “I would bury a body for you. I would create a body to bury, to keep you safe. Something as small as who you love would never even faze me.”

He sucked in a startled breath. His mouth opened, but no sound escaped. Silence reigned for a number of moments.

Welp, that was probably more than enough vulnerability for the night for both of them. Small steps. She patted his arm awkwardly, then backed out of the room. “Anyway-” she rushed out, “Just wanted to let you know that. You can talk to me about anything. Ok, goodnight. Sleep tight, don’t let the bed bugs bite.” She shut his door in his face before rushing to her own room. She was emotionally spent, and embarrassed by her fumbling attempts to support him. She felt as adept as a newborn lamb. Hopefully something she’d done had gotten through to him.

Her sleep was restless, but when she awoke the next morning to a note under her door, her heart lightened considerably.

“You too - Mike”

|—---------Hug #2-----------|

For a moment, Mike could only stare. He was shocked speechless at the overwhelming despair in his sister’s voice.

“I didn’t know!” Nancy wailed, tears streaming down her face. He had to strain to understand her through the hiccuping sobs. “I didn’t. I didn’t know…”

He stumbled back a step when she collapsed against him unexpectedly. His arms instinctively circled her as she clutched his jacket sobbing into his shoulder.

“I- I just wanted to be a rebellious teenager for once in my life. I didn’t mean to kill her. I didn’t! I promise. Please.” She was begging, pleading to some unknown God or being to relieve her of all the guilt and pain, yet unwilling to part from it if they did exist. She didn’t believe herself to be worthy of the release.

Mike had no freaking clue what to do. He hadn’t even been present for whatever triggered the start of this breakdown. He’d found her staring at a bleeding hand, glass covering the kitchen floor at three in the morning, not moving. Her eyes stared vacantly, even as her head turned in his direction at his entrance.

“What’d you do?” he’d asked,originally more tired and grumpy than worried at the sight of the mess.

It took a moment for her to react before all hell broke loose and she completely fell apart. It became quite clear quite quickly that Nancy was not grounded or aware enough to talk out of it. She was lost in her own world of pain and memories, and it was all he could do to keep his arms around her as she shook.

His brain kept fumbling as it attempted to adapt this scene into his understanding of his sister. She was always so uptight and bossy. She worked hard at her job and at school, and he’d always been a little jealous of how well she’d handled everything since the first Upside Down incident. He’d never seen her cry. Not since she first learned about Barb's death.

He’d always assumed that she had moved on. She’d worked towards justice by taking Hawkins Labs down and then lived her life. She never seemed scared when monsters attacked. She became quieter after, in some ways, but that was all he had noticed.

The girl crying in his arms on the kitchen floor was not that unstoppable girl. She was broken and small, and so overwhelmed. He held her as the sobs eventually sputtered off to quiet weeping, and then finally silent stillness. She wasn’t asleep, that much was obvious through the tension still present in her body. She didn’t say anything, just sat there, unmoving.

At some point. He gently pushed her back enough to see her face. Her eyes were dull and unfocused. She’d detached from reality in an entirely different way, exhaustion shining through easily. Seeing her then, after truly coming to understand how not ok she was, it scared him how familiar this expression was. He’d seen it hundreds of times, not always so overt, but still plain to see. Except he hadn’t seen, had he. He’d glossed right over, taking it to mean anything from disinterest to simple tiredness. He’d assumed that Nancy’s pain would look like his, and when it hadn’t, he’d never looked deeper.

After who knows how long, he eventually guided Nancy back up to bed, before finally stumbling back to his own. His original goal of a midnight snack was long forgotten. Despite his own exhaustion he didn’t sleep, simply stared at the ceiling, lost in thought. He didn’t know what to do with this revelation, but he did know he would be far more observant of his sister than he’d ever been before.

#sorry for the long wait #I was originally going to create more of the story around these two incidents but that just didn't pan out how I hoped #hope you enjoy!#wheeler siblings #nancy wheeler #mike wheeler #stranger things #st #hints of #byler

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flowerwiththemachinegun · 3 months ago

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I’d say it’s pretty NSFW. HojoxReader, hint of GenesisxReader, and I mean hint like La Croix

Description: Sick little freaky old bastard. I love the idea of him rejecting me over and over again. It makes me feel desperate in the most feral of ways. Hojo wasn’t sure why he insisted on keeping you around. Maybe it was your determination to prove your worth to him, you always wanted nothing more than for Hojo to have the smallest amount of pride in you. Whether it was from climbing on his dick or making sure Hojo got anything he would ever need for his research. From recapturing “escaped” experiments Hojo really just let most of them loose to raise hell to tracking down rare plants and natural mako formations. You’ll even grab the specimen needed for his next round of breeding. Anything to make Hojo give you the slightest bit of attention.

Warnings: not too much, it’s definitely giving grooming vibes but Hojo didn’t really…mean to? But he isn’t going to stop it. Dubcon since all my lines are still blurry and we kind of force ourselves on Hojo

Frrl this idea almost got tossed but someone on a reblog gave me inspiration. Yes, yes, I enjoy my blurred lines and I can't forget that. now I can move onto another Hojo fic (eventually)

___________________________________________________

Was this a trauma response? Maybe. Something about your relationship unsettled Hojo, and that says a lot for someone like him. He fully expected you to hate him in the same regard Sephiroth did. The constant experiments and cruel tasks he would force you to perform on others should have been enough to keep you away from him. You might have even known a world without pain if you weren’t under Hojo’s care. Either unconscious for days because your body couldn’t handle what he thought it should or never sleeping, in constant fear of what the next day might bring you. Sometimes you couldn’t even shut your eyes without seeing the horrors you had been subjected to.

So why was it that you didn't hate Hojo as well?

You were always at his beck and call, trying to be everything he wanted you to be. Just wanted him to be a little proud of you, and in some ways he was, but you just weren’t created equal to Sephiroth. He wouldn’t say he would compare you to the other Firsts either, still seeing you as lesser. “Good, but not good enough,” he’d always tell you. Always with a disapproving scowl, not one time did he look impressed by your actions. On occasion if there was something new he wanted to alter about your genetic make up he would give you a small praise. Condescending, he was just talking down to you, mocking since you “didn’t cry this time.” But that wasn’t really praise, it was the best you could get from him though.

There was always something not quite right about you mentally, that Hojo knew and acknowledged long ago. You never stopped crying, always going into rageful fits whenever you were left around other staff members. On occasion having to be strapped down because you would get incredibly violent, not even caring if you got hurt in the process. Perhaps what really let him know that something may be a tad bit off, was when he caught you standing over one of his lab assistants. Scalpel in hand as you were standing over her, covered in blood with a cold expression in place. It wasn’t like assistants dying was anything new, some experiments were bound to go haywire. They were dealing with monsters afterall, it came with the territory, but this? This was different, you were fine when he left the room, not even gone for five minutes.

Hojo rewatched the surveillance recording over and over again in an attempt to see why you snapped. Nothing, he could find absolutely no reason. The minute the assistant’s back was turned you went into action, Hojo couldn’t even say it was a rageful fit. You seemed almost too calm for a child that could hardly keep their shit together while killing a tonberry. So for you to kill a human with seemingly no concern in the world was wildly uncharacteristic of you. It certainly threw him for a curveball when you looked him in the eyes and said “Is this not what you wanted?” He’ll be keeping you close after that incident, the amount of people killed in his department in the past month was already higher than usual. He didn’t want to deal with another meeting about lives that were nothing more than a sacrifice to science. Hojo also needed to keep an eye on your mental state, maybe teach you the difference between who you’re supposed to kill and who you shouldn’t. Though, he’s positive you already know the difference all too well.

After a few more occasions in which Hojo allowed others to get near you to perform check ups or routine injections, he started to realize you hated being left alone with anyone that wasn’t himself. When he thought back on every occasion he’s spent with you, you’d rarely cried around him unless he was physically hurting you. Maybe if you were hungry as a baby you’d start crying. Other than those few occasions Hojo genuinely couldn’t explain to himself why you would act so unruly around everyone else. You certainly never violently lashed out at him, which was surprising as he was the source of most of your pain. Most major milestones he made in your growth was always his doing and his alone. You were always so complacent with him. So it was no wonder that eventually he made sure to keep you around him most times, trying to socialize you with others on occasion. Supervised of course. Hojo partially blamed the lack of interaction throughout your childhood, certain it was causing you to act uncontrollably with everyone else. You never quite seemed to adjust to others, just tolerating everyone else. Only making sure you didn’t hurt anyone as long as Hojo was watching.

Over time Hojo found it best to stop locking you up, allowing you to roam about like a normal child, kind of. You could go to certain areas of his lab, depending on what he was working on he didn’t mind you lingering around him. Which is mainly what you resorted to doing, making sure you never got in Hojo’s way but also forming a habit of peeking over his shoulder at all times. Making attempts at understanding whatever it was he was researching. Hojo learned you had a very curious nature, often asking for him to explain things you took a peek at. It wasn’t until Hojo was stuck in the process of altering a mako injection, something new, better, far stronger than the last. For some reason he just kept falling short of his goal. You’d been watching him work on this for weeks, peeking at the notes he would set off to the side after he was done, moving on to the next.

You caught his attention as you snagged a pen from his desk, noting that you separated his notes into two stacks. Leaving one of them on the desk as you tell him “those won’t help you.” You’ve got Hojo’s full attention. Sitting on the floor next to him you spread out the stack of notes, rearranging them in what appeared to be a specific order. Hojo seemed so intent on watching you that he halted his own work completely, watching as you carefully circled certain portions from each page. At some point Hojo did try to intervene, stating that your idea “wouldn’t work,” to which you all but whined at him “wait, I’m not finished yet.” Fine, he would let you continue, looking over your shoulder curiously. It took you roughly two hours, getting up to steal the notes Hojo left off on, seeing if they were fit for the solution. Before you could finish and present your findings, Hojo caught on to what you were doing. Realizing with glee that you were right, a grin spreading across his face. He wasn’t going to stop you, Hojo wanted to hear every bit of reasoning you had and just how you managed to accomplish what he couldn’t.

It was perfect, now all he needed to do was create the real thing and put it to the test. For once Hojo was proud of you, outwardly praising you for work. The smile that graced his face immediately caused you to light up, the feeling was so surreal and you loved it. In turn Hojo taught you exactly how to create these mako injections. Silently deciding he would teach you as much as he could rather than focusing on your physical abilities. It was clear you excelled far more mentally. You were so young, already displaying such signs of brilliance. Hojo hadn’t realized how much information you’ve been taking in from him, it’s left him a bit in awe that you were able to catch on so quickly.

Hojo would spend far more time with you, going as far to start bringing you to his home. He’d pump your mind full of information endlessly. The minute you woke up, before you went to bed, while you ate. It never stopped. At times it was overbearing but you could handle it, quickly adjusting to the amount of knowledge Hojo needed to cram in your head. He’d constantly ask you trick questions, waiting to see when you slipped up and said something wrong. Only on the most rare occasion would you screw up, often meeting his smug expression with one of your own. Most times not speaking to you unless it was in regards to any research or whatever he decided you needed to learn next.

One thing Hojo could admit, this was the closest he felt to having a kid. The way you would curl up to him as he sat on the couch was the smallest bit of warming, often falling asleep against him so he would have to tuck you into bed. Sometimes letting you sleep in his bed with him when the nightmares were too much. It was almost comical to him, the way you came seeking comfort from the very thing that kept you up at night. Your blubbering and crying nearly immediately halting whenever he wrapped his arms around you. Other times you would just sneak into his room while he slept, snuggling against him, other times just laying right on him. It became so routine to him, Hojo never felt it to be odd. Even as you grew well into your teenage years you would still curl up to him. Hojo just thought it was a part of the dynamic between the two of you. Him being somewhat of a father figure and you being your usual needy, emotional self. Never did he think taking care of you would turn into what it would.

Hojo wanted to focus solely on turning you into the genius he was, you on the other hand still wanted to physically train. Still trying to gain his praise in that aspect. It wouldn’t happen until you were starting to go into the field for R&D missions, locating variations of monsters from each region, bringing back whatever Hojo asked for. You would always go out of your way to bring him something extra back, always a pleasant surprise for him because these were things you knew he would be interested in. Hojo would be even more impressed with you when he received a specimen alive. Sure having the carcass was good enough, but a live subject was always far better. It was a lot to handle, being the head of R&D’s field team once you turned twenty-two and obtained far more experience. Paired with Hojo seemingly trying to turn you into his successor, you would ensure that you excelled in both departments. Making sure you kept yourself right at Hojo’s side.

It wasn’t until you were hitting your mid twenties, making your desire for Hojo much more prominent. It took a while for him to accept the way you were acting towards him. Thinking that you were just being touchy whenever you spent more time apart. A thought scratching at the back of his mind, contemplating your actions may be more than what he wanted to believe. He couldn’t deny that you were making him uncomfortable. Clinging to him most times you were alone and had down time. Wrapping your arms around his neck, claiming you were just wanting to hug him. Those hugs felt far too intimate at times, your body fully pressed against his, refusing to let him go for excessive periods of time. The way you would run your fingers along the base of his neck, always ending up with your fingers tangled in his hair. You’d brush your lips against his neck subtly. You’d even still climb into his lap. Probably the most bothersome action was when you’d straddle him, forcing Hojo under you despite his squirming and complaints. He could be mistaken, he’s positive he isn’t, but it felt like you were just trying to grind against his cock. It didn’t fail when you sat in his lap these days, blatantly scooting into place if you missed your target the first time.

He wasn't sure if should accept you or not. By typical social norms this wasn't something Hojo should do, but when has he ever cared about society’s views? Your actions cause him to dwell on all of your past interactions, trying to pinpoint the moment it seemed like you wanted more from him. He truly couldn’t tell, it was like a switch flipped one day and you were instantly infatuated with him. Like you truly had no shame when it came to him, it was absurd at times. For the longest Hojo would brush you off, telling you to be professional or to go “find someone your own age.” Which wasn’t a problem, you’d been seeing Genesis on and off for months. It didn’t extend any further than sexual favors and it still wasn’t what you craved. Genesis was an exceptional lover, facts, it would just be far better with someone you loved. It was a complicated scenario, it wasn’t like Hojo could nor wanted to get rid of you. You were the lead of his field team, it wouldn’t be nearly as successful withou you, Hojo couldn’t abandon such a genius.

As time went on he figured your fixation with him was subsiding, when in reality it was just bubbling over until you couldn’t hold it in any longer. Hojo couldn’t help but wonder what happened to the seemingly innocent subjective individual he raised, now moaning and an absolute mess as you rode him. You were so rough, Hojo was certain you would break his chair, doing your damnedest to hold onto him to keep yourself from falling. The entire scene regarding this scenario was quite a bit disgusting. To most people. To you this was a dream come true. Gripping Hojo’s shoulders with bruising force, your pace unsteady and quick as you try to find your climax. Greedily trying to make up for the years you’ve had to miss out on fucking him. The way you barged into his lab as he was idly working at his desk. Pushing Hojo away from his work, climbing in his lap and begging, no, demanding he show you the attention you've been seeking. Hojo couldn’t help that his body reacted so positively to your actions, he didn’t hate it at all either. Undoubtedly enjoying the way you tightened around him. Hojo would certainly get his fill of you later. For now he would settle for cuming in you, telling you to get off of him coldly and that you need to clean up. Making sure you knew to stop by his place tonight as there would be things to discuss and activities to wrap up.

Hojo made sure to set a few boundaries, none that bothered you, you were just satisfied having him at all. He made it clear that your relationship, if you could call it that, stayed between the two of you. Requesting you get rid of any unrealistic expectations you may have for him, he’ll never set aside work for you and he isn’t looking to be on an emotional side of things. Not that he was capable of giving that to anyone no matter what, it wasn’t in him to be truly loving. You were delusional though, his actions betraying his words in your eyes. To you there was no way he couldn’t love you, you spent nearly every moment together. Working, sleeping, eating, at times bathing. Only going back to your own home at Hojo’s request. You could be quite a bit clingy, something he said he would like to avoid. It still didn’t stop him from keeping you around more often than not, often relaxing in your presence. Finding relief in being able to talk to someone who would have the slighted clue of what was coming out of his mouth. For once in his life it felt good to not be looked at as a mad man, and for you, Hojo could do now wrong. It doesn’t matter just how cruel he’s shown you he can be.

Eventually the dynamic felt less and less abnormal, at times thoughts of the past would stir in Hojo’s mind. You didn’t seem concerned in the slightest, so he wouldn’t make a fuss over it. It wasn’t anything Hojo ever pictured for himself. Being this deeply involved with an experiment, let alone one he raised. You just haven’t given him any reason to dislike this arrangement, at least not yet. For the sake of your mental state and Hojo’s well being, lets hope this doesn’t come to an end until one of you are dead.

#ff7 #ffvii #final fantasy vii #final fantasy 7 #professor hojo #hojo #professor hojo x reader

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seashaper · 1 year ago

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>> Madison Rook sees the red flags that their angel counterpart has chosen to ignore, already pushing it with the water, now he’s going to fully submerge himself? Really? Rook vividly remembers what happened the last time their ‘brother’ had sunk under deep, cold water, the fear they’d had to calm, and the inevitable mental scars that had to come with that act for its perpetrator. They have their suspicions, and after how close things came the first time, the arcanist decides to be better off safe than sorry.

They sit invisible off the banks, watching Mads Altair wading into the water, boots left on the shore. His wings unfold from his back, and Rook sighs, deeply, magically silenced, pressing a hand to their face. He couldn’t have forgotten the circumstances entirely, could he? Those violet feathers begin to soak up water, and the tiefling stands up, ready to move forward. The angel’s bright blue head disappears under the flow, deeper than he expects as his bare feet slip from under him, the current knocks him off-balance, and his now water-weighted wings begin to drag him down.

The water filling his ears, silencing the world, submerges Madison Altair in a similar memory, a much more painful 1, a deep, aching pain and fear of what’s to come filling his chest. Tears come to his eyes, the fear makes him gasp, and immediately he’s choking on water, starting to thrash beneath the surface. His head hits a rock and things go dark faster, but not for long.

It wasn’t possible to move much faster than Rook did as they glimpsed the first sign of thrashing; quickening their spell with an internal surge of power, they take Control of the river where their other self had submerged. With a gesture of their long, invisible staff, the water’s flow turns in on itself, then to the shore, ejecting the sopping angel onto the smooth stones and dirt before quickly retreating to its normal state. The staff turns to a wand, and with a now-familiar, more precise gesture, Rook draws the water from Altair’s lungs, allowing him to cough and gasp for air, but they see the black blood dripping from the side of his head, the dizziness in his eyes. ..This is the perfect opportunity.

Shadows gather in Mads Altair’s eyes, filling the gaps in his head trauma induced lingering darkness as he coughs up the last of the water, and the pulse-pounding terror of nonexistence expands from that memory into his soul, convinced despite the breathing that this might still be the end.

“This is the second time, Altair,” the now-visible tiefling states, as if Mads could see them anyways. “You haven’t even apologized for what you did to me, but I’ve saved your life twice, now, 3 times, technically. And I never even held it against you. But if you’re going to be a dick about even taking responsibility for your own cruelty, remember, I apologized for what I did the second you confronted me. And I’ve left you alone, despite it all. I knew you hated having me around, and I respected that. But you still think I deserved it, don’t you? Do you still? After all I’ve done for you, and for everyone else?”

It would be so easy to hurt him. So easy to make him feel what he made them feel, to even the smallest extent, and Rook has to take a moment to breathe while Mads hyperventilates without response, but they knew from the start they wouldn’t return his cruelty in kind. Still, they can’t help but leave him to panic for a moment while they consider their next action. Stepping closer to him, they reach for his hand wrapped around his head and pull his watch free, tossing it nearby. The same way the angel had done to them, sword in hand..but instead of spearing him to a tree, Rook presses a hand to his huddled head.

In an instant his life-or-death terror fades into dizzied confusion, which intensifies as he floats up several feet into the air, still blind as his knees and feet leave the ground. “Wh- hey, what’s- you can’t-” he can’t get his words together in time to assemble a real response, but as his vision returns to a painfully sudden flash of silvery mist, he sees himself alone floating in place 15 feet overover the shore, his watch below him, out of reach. Altair wiggles in the air, drenched wings flapping weekly, but he can’t budge, and there’s nothing to pull himself along on. It takes some sparks along his skull clearing his thoughts enough to realize what Rook did, and that it’s temporary, before the loud cursing in the middle of nowhere begins.

#((rook deserves this #action #Crafting Incantations (ic)#drowning ment #viewed ooc

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noivoom · 2 years ago

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Okay, after several days of brainstorming and debating with myself, I have finally decided to emerge from The Lurking Pit and share this little (“little”) thing! This AU came about from my love of dysfunctional family tropes as well as my desire for everyone to live (honestly I mostly just wanted to daydream fanfic ideas without having to navigate canon’s minefield of problems, began wondering what an “ideal” situation would look like, and this spawned out of it)

The point of this was to, again, create an “ideal” situation for the gang, with potential for all kinds of Shenanigans™ and Drama™ alike while still keeping everyone as close to their canon selves as possible, as a bit of relief from all the angst :’) (I say “ideal situation,” but that doesn’t mean they haven’t still got issues galore. *cough*SUNNEEDSTHERAPY*cough*) (If, on the off chance anyone is inspired by this and/or wants to make something with this setting, please let me know! I’d LOVE to see it! :D)

I call it- One big UnHappy Family!

TL;DR Sun, Moon, Lunar, Earth, KC, Bloodmoon, and Solar Flare are all alive and well and somehow ended up as the world’s most Complicated™ family. Chaos ensues.

As for how they wound up that way? WELL. I’m gonna start rambling now, please bear with me

It starts with Sun shooting Bloodmoon. Sun didn’t fully know if he really wanted to kill Bloodmoon, was fighting internally to come to a decision one way or another and therefor wasn’t actually aiming when a moment of reflex kicked in, and the barrel went off. And he misses. Well... mostly. Bloodmoon takes a decent amount of the shot, and though it doesn’t kill them, they’re left severely damaged. It’s quite a confronting sight for Sun- while in canon there was nothing left of BM for Sun to really understand the weight of what he just did (at first, anyway), here he’s immediately confronted with another animatronic panicking and in pain as their nanomachines desperately try to rebuild them :’) Nothing like a bit of visual trauma to hit home that your actions have consequences, amirite? Moon investigates the barrel shot and sudden screaming (from both BM and Sun) to find... this. He’d probably have several things in mind to say to Sun about shooting BM, but he’d hold off for now. And thus begins one hell of a domino effect.

While fixing Bloodmoon, it becomes apparent the barrel shot corrupted some of their code. Nothing particularly bad, but oddly enough, it seems to have somehow also curbed their bloodlust. The lack of cravings leave the twins disoriented and kinda lost, but it’s also... almost a relief. Lunar takes advantage of this, introducing them to new things to occupy their time, and wow, who knew they could find entertainment in something other than homicide and appalling crimes against humanity? They’re still Bloodmoon, of course, they still have to be held back from killing people, but that’s not all they wanna do anymore. And food! Now that their bloodlust is out of the way food tastes so much better, there’s so many different flavours and textures and they gotta try everything and whoops, they’ve accidentally found themselves on the world’s weirdest redemption arc. (So, uh, thanks for shooting them after all, Sun...? I guess?)

Meanwhile KC, concerned over Bloodmoon’s wellbeing, convinces Moon to let him watch over them during their recovery. As the twins begin discovering new things that satisfy themselves, KC, trying to be Dad™, joins them. He’s never actually participated in anything that doesn’t involve murder, and much of these activities are uninteresting to him, but something about doing it with his sons... it actually... satisfies something in him, too. (None of them are particularly good at finding non-violent hobbies, mind you, but Lunar, Sun and Moon help out. Mostly to keep them occupied. They have no idea what’s going on, but they much prefer whatever the hell this is to evil plotting.) Eventually Moon relaxes a little when he realises KC intends to stay true to their deal, and occasionally switches off while KC’s out rather than watching him like a hawk. This leads to KC exploring on his own and running into Glamrock Freddy. He panics a little and pretends to be Moon. A parallel of their canon talk happens and oh would you look at that, KC’s accidentally Dad-ed his way into a redemption arc of his own! (No dead Bloodmoon means Sun doesn’t McFreaking Lose It, which means Lunar doesn’t move out and get killed, and also means the magic circle isn’t destroyed, which means Moon doesn’t get stuck in his head and get his memories wiped! :D Huzzah!) (Sun is still in desperate need of therapy though)

Eclipse is, of course, rather indignant at this turn of events. He never like the Blood Twins or KC, but seriously? Just like that?! It’s almost insulting. Not to mention it screws up his plan (not that he’d had a chance to flesh out said plan yet anyway). He continues regardless, taking over Solar Flare’s body to... do something. I’ll admit, I haven’t exactly figured out what his new course of action would be. Regardless, he ends up making his own body and ditches Solar Flare without a second thought. Solar Flare, alone and deeply disturbed over having their body hijacked so easily, is at a loss for what to do when they stumble upon Earth! Or more accurately, she stumbles upon them. She comforts them and they go with her to the Daycare. (I also don’t know if Earth would have already joined the DCA crew or if she just shows up fashionably late with Starbucks Solar Flare. Both are funny; either she shows up as a stranger with another stranger like “yes hello I’m your new sister, also I decided to bring this vaguely traumatised stranger along with me, hope you don’t mind :)” or she goes for a walk and comes back with this stranger like “can we keep them? *puppy eyes*”) Thus, Solar Flare joins the family!

Honestly... despite everyone else getting redeemed/joining the family, I think it’s funniest if Eclipse stays a bad guy. Everyone else is learning about themselves and growing as individuals/family, meanwhile Eclipse is over there being a stubborn, petty, lonely bastard and refusing to acknowledge that the reason he is miserable everywhere he goes is because every time he goes somewhere, he is there. Also he creates the conflict needed for further plot to happen. Also also I don’t think he’d take the option of redemption if it was handed to him on a silver platter accompanied by a ten-page essay on why it’s the best choice for everyone, especially him. (But who knows! I guess it is possible, it would just be a lot of work. He’d have to really want to be better and put the work in. Even then, I imagine he’d probably end up going his own way. It’d be for the best after all the trauma he’s inflicted.)

The FUNNIEST pat of all of this is when Glamrock Freddy visits the Daycare to talk to Sun and Moon about something only to see Sun yelling and chasing Bloodmoon, who’s knocking over and destroying EVERYTHING, Lunar running after them playing the Benny Hill theme, Solar Flare robotically restacking the barrels one pile at a time (seemingly oblivious to the fact that Bloodmoon knocks them over again as soon as they turn their back, creating an endless cycle they don’t seem to question), Earth calling out for everyone to please not hurt themselves, and Moon just... sitting there, rubbing his temples. “... Hey Freddy,” Moon says, not looking up. “... What the heck is going on?” “Family bonding.” “Family- where the heck did all these people even come from?!” “It’s a long story.”

If you’ve read all this, thank you so much for hearing me out <3 I’ll admit, most of my thought processes behind this boil down to “I just think it’s neat” and “because I think it’s funny”. This is supposed to be just for fun, after all. Please tell me what you think! There’s SO MUCH more to this, from evolving family dynamics to specific character development and even Monty, this post is all just the basic set-up of how the gang got to where they are. I have SO MANY more thoughts about this setting, it’s a disaster and a half and I’d love to discuss it please give me an excuse to ramble more

#scuttles out of the aether to drop this and bolts #tsams #The Sun And Moon Show #sorry about the length #I just needed to ramble #tsams au #One Big UnHappy Family #I love them so much #screw it no more editing just POST

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altarkept · 4 months ago

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he let ethan continue his story. observed how it pained him to continue but powering through for the sake of them both. for wilfus to learn what had happened to his eternal love. for ethan to share his trauma with someone else, with someone he trusted, to voice them out. wilfus squeezed him, his turn to be strong. wiping tears from the other's cheek with his unbloodied hand.

it was... a lot. a lot to take in at once. a lot, even more for ethan to experience. 8 years in hell. mistreated. like he was property. chained, shackled, collared. that left him furious. for wilfus, a collar was something that ought to be mutual. in desire. in balance. wanted by both parties. something sacred, entrusted, something bestowed. a sign of respect, of authority. not whatever had been done to keep ethan in slavery. he knew a lot of alphas wouldn't agree but it was an important distinction for him. not that it would be relevant, wilfus would not inflict the tool on his mate after what he had gone through.

that hot stab of terror gripped him. he couldn't imagine losing ethan (and his child) like that, by his own hand. not that he would fault him considering the other's position. still he admired the wolf all the more for his perseverance, his steadfastness and his ability to hold strong even in the most harrowing of times. wilfus nodded at the mention of tal and their difficulty for ethan to conceive. he had always pencilled it down to his age, but his mate offered him another answer, one he didn't fully agree with.

wilfus waited for the stream of words to end. so many things to address. but first he only brought his mate closer to him. resting his head above the other's. hand once again finding the other.

the words that came didn't shock him... but truthfully wilfus did not want those to be the first after the story was said and done(?). "i’m going to fucking kill him." he said with conviction. silent rage. almost imperceptible edge in his tone. something that only people who knew him well, especially his mate, would be able to read. he didn't lash out. only the tensing of his muscles (one that had been so carefully peeled away earlier now coming back in full force) gave anything away. that and his eyes, which burned blinding red. wilfus was going to find this fucker that hurt his mate. kill him nice and slow. rip his throat out, shred his skin, scrap the meat from his bones. render his fucking carcass so that something useful could be produced from his remains. that fucking psycho. a completely elaborate plan hatched and executed just so he could play house and mates with an ex from high school that didn't want or love him back. and he dared lay a hand, more than a hand on the love of his life, forced himself and his mark upon him? wilfus was never going to forgive that. he'd hunt the fucker down.

ethan was his. and he was ethan's. that was an indisputable fact.

the omega gave himself to wilfus and he gave himself whole to ethan in kind. "you have nothing to apologise for. not for being kidnapped. not for the mark. not for emyr. not for anything." his words sincere. something he needed ethan to know. "i’m sorry i wasn’t there, i’m sorry i couldn’t find and save you, you both. i tried. i tried." and failed. over and over. ethan... wilfus was certain that he (or at least he hoped he) understood the lengths he went to do so. and the lengths he went to after when attempt after attempt was futile, going crazy without a hope or chance to ever see his mate again.

he was a broken man without ethan. had been a broken man without him.

his ring dangling on string must have reminded the other of his own. the ring itself was unimportant. a symbolic gesture, a physical manifestation of their love and commitment. wilfus liked what it signified but he didn't need it. the token was just that, something physical. what it signified was all still there. the actions, words, and emotions between them more than enough. in any case, he'd give ethan his if need be.

and ethan's worry? the question unasked.

well, the fox would just have to show and tell him just how much none of what was done to him mattered to wilfus. reservations on certain aspects aside, ethan was still ethan, and he loved him just the same. "i love you i love you i love you." kissed his face over and over as he repeated it. cradling his love in his arm. "i'm never letting you go again." pulled the collar of ethan's tee down, and pressed his lips slow and deliberate to his mark. and then did the same for the other side, the other mark. it... bothered him he wouldn't lie, especially unconsensual as it was. but he'd hate himself if it caused him to love his mate any less. it was a thought so impossible. he could not for the life of him entertain. no, if anything he needed to prove... to himself, to ethan that he loved him just as much as before, more even. the alpha's eye watered, again. threatened to spill as before. voice breaking as he made his declaration. "i love you ethan marius bell-knight. and nothing is going to change that." english proved completely incompetent at expressing his love, devotion and adoration of the man with him, wrapped up in him right now. as such, wilfus slipped back easily into his native tongue. "dwi’n dy garu di fwy nag y byddai'r lleuad yn ei ganiatáu. ti ydy’r peth gorau a ddigwyddodd i mi."

still, there were matters to attend to. the matter of fertility and children. "i’m beyond my years ethan. it’s not… not you. at least, not just you. if we ever try again, if you ever wanted to. we should be aware of that." again, wilfus would not fault or lament ethan for never wanting to have any more children. (even if the other knew how much he wanted them, his partner's comfort and safety came first.) and perhaps physical and sexual intimacy too, and if he still did, that it would be a long time before it would be comfortable for him to do so. at least wilfus' years afforded him the patience, controlled and unoverdrived libido.

"as for little emyr. i'll try my best to be a good father to him. talfryn too. to them both." his own tears flowed freely now. some falling upon his lips. wilfus tasting salt, his eyes burned with acid. he failed them once before. "you don't have to do it alone anymore, love." emyr wasn't his per se... and it might take some getting used to for sure... but the little one was ethan's and that was enough for him. the sins of the father did not fall on his child. wilfus suspected there would be coming days he'd need to remind himself of such. "we can finally have our family. here." real. real. real.

maybe it was service, maybe it was devotion. or maybe it was a little bit of both, but what mattered was that ethan did it because he wanted to. because washing his mate clean from the traces of sorrow & loss was ... freeing for him, too. maybe he was reading too much into it, but for him - personally, that was ...what it felt like & why he had been determined to do it himself. additionally, he didn't see a problem with tending to his alpha's needs. maybe that was the dame speaking, but he didn't care. he cared for him, he loved him, he wanted him to be happy more than anything in the world. so if he wanted to wash his man, then he would.

maybe he, too, had to remind himself wilfus was real. in the flesh & not just the dream of a desperate man.

even this, drying him off was ...a pleasure. getting to let his eyes roam the new man that emerged from his shower was wonderful. he almost looked like the man he unwillingly left behind back then. age ...had always suited him, it still did. he looked perfectly huggable & it took him quite some willpower not to indulge - we as he was. but he made mental notes to do it afterwards, all through the night, maybe all through the next day too. he assumed after ...a long time, he might not feel dread anymore when having to let go.

although he doubted he could ever get enough of his alpha. they lost almost ten years, they had a lot of catching up to do. as he dried him off, he did notice the new hairstyle - or rather, lack thereof. compared to when they met at least. it looked much better now, though ethan felt the urge to get scissors regardless.

oh, how he missed him. he was maybe a little rusty, but the welsh still clicked for the most part. this bit did for sure.

he wasn't sure how much he should say, but once he started - no matter how difficult it was, he kept going until he found some sort of awkward wave to ride through. it ...wasn't easy, but it also never would be, because nothing of what happened was easy to talk about. he had unspeakable things done to him; most of which he wanted to forget, but ... also ..knew he should share. not with the world, but with the man who owned his heart & his very soul.

wilf deserved to know everything.

if only so they could work past it, build a new future for themselves & the.... their kids. emyr might not be biologically wilf's child, but ... to ethan he was. no other alpha could ever qualify - not even a forced one. especially not a forced one.

there may have been a time when ethan blamed wilfus for .... for not saying him when he needed him. the first few months were the hardest. or maybe the later ones were. or when he found out he was with child again. there were ... many downs. many times did he pray to be saved, to be found, rescued & reunited with the love of his life, but the nightmare just didn't want to end.

but alas ... none of his blame truly went to his alpha. he did nothing wrong. with how long it took him to escape, he also knew that it would've been equally difficult to find him, or get in to ...to free him. pointing fingers would get them nowhere. it also didn't matter anymore, because this was reality now. there was no going back, there was no changing the course of events. what happened to him could not be undone.

he would carry that burden with him for the rest of his life: as would he the scars, the mark & the child. he could only hope that wilfus would accept it & believe him when he said the only man he wanted in his life ...was him, no matter what his neck said.

this was difficult for them both. terrifying even. afraid of rejection, afraid of losing the life he dreamt for all his life again because ethan ...was tainted now. bruises would heal, but scars & an actual child from someone else ...couldn't. & yet he had to try. fiddling with the alpha's hands while he spoke helped, but as silence stretched on & wilf untangled their hands, he worried, expecting the absolute worst. he wasn't sure if he could live without wilfus now that he knew he was alive & in this town. could he give up what made him whole ...willingly? he doubted it.

breath sucked in & held when wilf leaned in, the omega's heart dancing riverdance in his chest. thump thump thump. eyes glossed over once again, gaze turned away in shame. what would he think of him now? he knew the scent of another must still linger, the mark on his shoulder made sure it did. he wished he could change that. he wished he could change everything.

when wilf seemingly made his decision, pulling the omega in against his chest, relief washed over him. or rather ... it crash landed & he'd been the pilot. it was the way he held him that made his resolve crumble. a few tears escaped, followed by a sob he .... likely held in for very, very long. hand brought up to wipe at nose & eyes, he tried to calm himself. at least for now. he had to get this over with, so they both could move on.

voice a little shaky when he spoke up again, sniffling every now & then in-between words, he brought his own hands to rest upon his mate's, legs drawn in to make himself as small as a man of his sisze could & nuzzled back into the other. "i... i knew him. he and i, we... we umm.. we dated in high school. i didn't know he would do that. i never thought he would. sure, he was a little clingy and a bit of a control freak, but many people are and they're not.... you know?" soft sigh.

"it was in high school, people broke up all the time. i didn't think he... that he'd... he planned this ..for a long time. he took me to america before i even woke up and he had this house all ready to live in, but it was also new... like... like he had it done...for... for this. he had ... he had me shackled most of the time even if only my ankle. first only..." he swallowed hard, jaw tight. "the bedroom. then... then the kitchen." so he could ...serve. "he knew i had you, he knew about tal, but he... he still wanted me."he didn't get it. so many omegas out there, why him? "i told him i would kill us both if i didn't get to name him." he did the same once again with emyr. it worked.

"i smelled like you when we.... when he... when..." he couldn't say it. "so he marked me. i tried... i tried to stop him, i swear. i'm sorry." it felt so wrong. back then & now. to carry that man's mark on him, his scent. he wanted it gone. "i.. you remember how long it took for us to get tal? i ...think i'm the problem. i mean, i know i am. when tal presented fox, he...wasn't happy and then i didn't... my scent... wouldn't change no matter how hard he ...tried. not until emyr. he's three." not even after that had he been left to suffer in peace, oh no. one heir wasn't enough. pfht.

"it took me years to plan, but i snuck out and i ran. he's still got my id, my papers, my ..... our ring. i couldn't go back for it, i had the kids and not much time. every time i tried before, every time he caught me - or found me again, he added more chains." the ankle never came off, but the others did towards the end. all it took was him playing the obedient mate who finally realized what he had in his kidnapper & tormentor�� mate. ankle meant most of the house was accessible, collar was bedroom-only & the wrists.... he didn't want to talk about it. "even when i behaved, he wasn't happy. always angry, always annoyed, always lashing out." but he endured & he stood strong until his time came.

"i still can't believe we're here... all of us."

#[translation; i love you more than the moon would allow. you are the best thing that has happened to me.]#[welsh]#wolfcaged #[thread]

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irritatedbookshrew · 2 years ago

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Sandman (Netflix) Thoughts:

I am a Sandman fan from waaaaayyy back. The best gift an ex-boyfriend ever gave me was Preludes & Nocturnes. I was hooked. Sandman (and associated titles) went immediately on my pull list. I’ve read the terrible movie adaptation scripts that went around in the early days of adaptation talks. I’ve written a 50k+ study guide on the series.

Look, I love Sandman, okay.

So to say I was trepidatious about the Netflix series when it was first announced is underplaying it. Then I heard the showrunner who’d be helming the project, and that Neil would be deeply involved. I saw the casting announcements. I got excited. Then came all the trailers and snippets, and something in me relaxed. However, it turned out, I knew I would enjoy watching it for what it was.

**SPOILERS AHOY, especially if you haven’t read the comic all the way through**

One of the things I loved so much about the comic was the way Dream processes things. How he is so wonderfully blind to parts of his personality and so self-aware of others. Basically, the run of Sandman is that of a being pushed to its limits, of being unable to change fast enough or fully enough to encompass a seismic shift in reality. Morpheus stagnated in his years in the cell and the world moved on without him. And though he tries desperately to reconnect, we—as the readers—see him so out of step that it is almost painful. Yet he is so bound by his duty, his responsibilities, by the way he defines himself that he basically performs the single-most convoluted version of suicide imaginable. He can’t be like Destruction and just walk away from everything—it is not who this incarnation of Dream is. He can’t change like Delight did to Delirium to help process his trauma. And trauma it was, especially for someone as fundamentally arrogant as Dream is when first captured by Burgess.

Season of Mists is my favorite of the series because we get the first example of someone abdicating their responsibility: Lucifer walks away from Hell. Morpheus cannot understand this action but it clearly starts the gears turning, and it is mirrored again in Morpheus’ conversation with Destruction in later volumes. These two entities realized that the engine will power along without them, something Dream is incapable of accepting in that same way. It’s a fascinating look into his thought process.

To get back to the show—one of the biggest things I loved about was the references to Dream’s trauma. The way his eyes fill with tears at the death of Jessamy, at the impotent rage that simmers in him at his imprisonment. He has been brought low by mortals and it is humiliating. He has been weakened and hurt and he has no real tools to process those feelings because he is also Endless. When he speaks to Lucienne in the wreckage of his throne room and says that his siblings did not come for him, the confusion and heartbreak are there. Dream is not Desire, so expressive and in your face. I thought Tom Sturridge did a brilliant job capturing Morpheus’ micro-expressions, the tiny inflections on his face that indicate the sense of loss and betrayal. Dream makes note of who left the Dreaming and who stayed behind to await his return—and he is bothered by the fact that so few remained. He is not easy to love and he had given his subjects little reason for loyalty, it seems, because he is so remote to their understanding. He doesn’t make connections easily.

Actually, now I really want more interactions with Despair and Dream because out of all of his siblings, I wonder if she might be the closest to understanding. Anyway…

Dream becomes mired in depression and keeps seeking a way out. He frees Nada in Season of Mists and takes her anger—something he never would have allowed before. He’s trying to change, to seek out other ways to be happy. He says farewell to an old love in A Game of You and gains a new lover in Thessaly. It does not last because he is not fully present. He throws himself in his work, hoping to fill the void, he seeks out romance, hoping that will bring distraction. He goes on a road trip with Delirium in Brief Lives under the excuse of looking out for his sister but it is really him seeking a respite from his troubles. But Dream can never escape himself.

Wherever you go, there you are.

He can’t reconcile that. His trauma and his current aspect don’t allow for it, so he must think outside of his box for an escape. As he pays his debts, as he encounters past cruelties and mistakes, Morpheus gets closer to what makes human, well, human. But he is Endless. How is he supposed to make sense of that?

It’s a sad, beautiful, wonderful story. I think that’s why it has stayed with me over the decades. I am so excited to see where the next seasons take us, how Tom Sturridge teases out those tiny blips of emotion in his portrayal of the King of Dreams. I am so ridiculously pleased with Season 1 that I am giddy with anticipation of what comes next.

#dream of the endless sandman #sandman #the sandman #neil gaiman #comics

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redphlox · 4 years ago

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Dabi's fear of feelings and connections

Dabi is a walking contradiction; he says he doesn't care about anyone, but his flames, which are linked to his emotions, demonstrate otherwise when Twice is killed. Dabi brushes off the news that Natsuo could have died because of him but still refers to him affectionately as Natsu-kun. Touya went around calling Endeavor out for neglecting his children but still trained to regain his approval and attention anyway. He lashed out at baby Shouto, admitted Shouto had done nothing wrong, and then attacked him again years later. He cries blood while thinking about his family but doesn't go home to them or change his actions which hurt them even more. Dabi wants to destroy hero society for a better future but it's obvious he doesn't plan to live long enough to see that future.

The gaps between his actions and his words are a result of dissociation and repression. It's not that Dabi is emotionless. Actually, he feels too much and he's afraid of his feelings because they've done nothing but hurt him emotionally and physically. He literally almost burned to death the one time he had a burst of emotion on Sekoto Peak and in order to prevent a repeat of that, he operates under the flawed notion that safety lies in repressing his feelings and pushing people away. He lies to himself and others and therefore cannot reconcile with his true self and can’t trust others.

In this meta I'll discuss how Dabi deals with his unprocessed feelings of betrayal and neglect by denying himself connections with both his inner wounded child and those around him. I'll also address a few misconceptions surrounding Dabi because dismantling them is key to understanding him. Contrary to popular belief, he does not want to kill his father, he never wanted to be a hero for his own sake, and he doesn't hate Shouto or his family. At its core, Touya's hurt stems from discovering that his relationship with his father wasn't based on unconditional love. This realization destroyed his sense of self so much it caused him to start fearing his own feelings and being close to others because of the link between his emotions and his self-destructive quirk.

To understand Dabi we have to understand Touya. In 291 we see through Endeavor's flashback that Touya was eager to train under him and carry his legacy. It's implied by the fact they’re working on ultimate moves that not only is Touya a willing, eager participant but that the two have been training together for quite some time. In 301 we learn that after Touya's quirk started hurting him Endeavor not only abandoned the training regime but also abandoned Touya both emotionally and physically. Instead of using the time he spent training Touya to help Touya find a new hobby or purpose in life, or just hanging out with his kid, Endeavor chooses to remove himself from Touya’s life. When Touya confronts him about the change of routine, Endeavor is seen putting on his jacket and leaving the home, his body turned away from his son.

Maybe Endeavor had errands to run, but my point is that he was in Touya’s life one minute and then gone the next. Touya says so himself: why did Endeavor change his mind all of a sudden? The abrupt change in attitude was jarring for a 4-5 year old to handle. To Touya, training = love, so he felt compelled to keep training and demonstrate his worthiness despite the fact that his quirk was hurting him. To Touya, the pain was worth it if it meant hanging out with his dad again.

But why? Well, Touya was Endeavor's #1 fan, genuinely so. His admiration and fondness for his father was genuine, and he didn't question the triumphant look on Endeavor's face when Touya said he wanted to learn the ultimate move. Before his quirk started burning him, Touya had no idea he was born for his father's ulterior motives. He had no reason to question his father's attention. Touya lived under the impression his bond with his dad was genuine and special, and he probably felt lucky that his father was willing to share something so important to him (heroism). Even after the training stops and Endeavor stops paying attention to Touya, Touya still wears his merch and vies for his attention. Most kids see their parents as larger than life and Touya was no exception. Keigo Takami admired Endeavor the hero, and Touya Todoroki admired his father who just so happened to be the hero Endeavor. Since being a hero was such a big deal for Endeavor, it was a big deal for Touya.

But that's where Touya's story becomes tragic. His father is a flawed, flawed man with many insecurities and fallacies that he pushes onto his family. I’ll get to those in a moment, but as intelligent and observant Touya is to catch on that Endeavor never set out to marry to become a father, he is too young to separate himself from his father’s expectations. Touya realizes he was born for a purpose and Touya will be damned if he doesn't fulfill that purpose even if he knows it's wrong. His father's ‘love’ meant that much to him. For Touya, it's not about becoming a hero for the glory. It was about his relationship with his father because, as I mentioned earlier, Touya was his #1 fan in the sense that he loved Enji just for being his dad. There were no conditions tied to that. “You are my dad, and I love you.”

But that wasn’t a sentiment that Touya felt in return, and that hurt Touya. He internalized he wasn't good enough, that something about him was inherently wrong. But more than that, his world came tumbling down - he felt betrayed and lied to: his father didn't love him like Touya needed him to, and this truth destroyed him. Their relationship was a lie, a farce, and it hurt so much Touya became obsessed with not hurting anymore because he couldn’t get away from it.

Touya’s motivation to become a hero didn't rise from being inspired by All Might like Shouto. Touya’s thought process wasn’t "I want to be a hero to help others or be like All Might" like Deku. No, Touya only wanted to be a hero because he wanted his father to be proud of him for surpassing All Might. Notice that Touya's obsession with beating All Might slowly diminishes from “I can surpass All Might” to “I can surpass All Might like Shouto, too” to just “look at me, Endeavor.” It was never about being a hero per say, but about his relationship with his father. Touya realized that Endeavor isn't his father first, but a hero, and he understands that he has to be a hero too to fit into his father's world. Even upon realizing that his father was using him, Touya still wanted to be part of his life, still wanted that bond. Touya, in his desperation to be loved and accepted again, could look past his father's selfishness as long as he regained that approval. Touya could pretend the relationship was real as long as he stopped feeling so unlovable.

This is unhealthy thinking, of course. Even if Touya somehow managed to regain Endeavor's approval, the relationship would still be one-sided and dissatisfying because he wouldn't be able to ignore the truth. But, this is how he rationalized his insistence to keep training in his 4-5 year old mind and this line of thought stuck with him as he grew up just as those feelings of inadequacy never left him.

This is precisely why Natsuo's drowsy "can't you go talk to our sister?" hurt so much. Touya was already emotionally fragile, and hearing that felt like being rejected all over again when it was actually Natsuo just trying to sleep. Touya was hypersensitive to any words or actions that could be interpreted as dismissive. His trauma wouldn't listen to logic that Natsuo was 8 and too young to understand, that he was tired - no, Touya's brain said, you're being rejected again! This is also why he also stormed away crying from Fuyumi after she expressed her concern for him.

In Touya’s mind, why couldn't anyone just agree with him that he was good enough? He heard "your dad's right and you're not good enough so why try" not "I care about you, your father is wrong, and I don't want you to keep getting hurt" whenever Rei tried to get him to stop training because that's the message he got from his father, too. Nevermind that it infuriated Touya that his mother could stand there and preach to him when, from his perspective, she couldn’t take her own advice. All Endeavor ever did was teach him to turn up the heat, so why should it matter that doing just so hurts him? Touya didn't understand NOT training his quirk because he had been taught that raising his firepower was ideal in all situations. Those two statements didn't make sense to a 4-5 year old, a 13 year old, and it still doesn’t make sense as a 24 year old.

To take Endeavor's lack of self awareness a step further, because it's important to understand Endeavor to fully understand Dabi, Endeavor has yet to realize his own inherent worth. He doesn't have to prove anything to his family, especially his kids. They love him unconditionally, without special reason aside from the fact that he's theirs and he's himself. However, Endeavor is so obsessed with proving himself that he doesn't realize he never had to, and he projects this onto his children. They must prove themselves by winning the genetic lottery, by being useful to his plans, by surpassing All Might.

The irony that to be a great father he doesn't have to be a hero at all is ugly because Endeavor has no identity outside of being a hero. Endeavor has said before he wants to be a good hero and father to make Shouto proud, but he fails to realize he already had this in Touya all those years ago and it still left him unsatisfied. The issue isn’t his role as a hero, it’s his inner self. In 301 Endeavor literally reaches out to Touya to talk him out of training and hurting himself, and Touya allows his father to touch his shoulders because he wants a bond with his father - any bond. Shouto, on the other hand, wouldn't allow Endeavor to touch him in 167 and slaps his hand away because he doesn’t want Endeavor’s approval. Endeavor doesn't realize Natsuo carries deep abandonment and neglect issues because he wanted to be accepted by his father too (light novel #5) but was ignored. Endeavor doesn't realize he was always good enough by default and that by projecting onto his kids and trying to be the top hero he’s doing the opposite of what he wants. He just keeps pushing away his family.

It’s important to point out Endeavor’s illogical thinking because Touya learned some of these same ideas. Touya repeatedly tries to prove himself without realizing that he was always good enough by default. The problem wasn’t his quirk or his body, but his father’s flawed thinking and self-worth issues. Now as an adult, Dabi is selfish because he's Endeavor's son and emobidies his most negative characteristics. Dabi thinks of his flames as Endeavor's, and he thinks of himself as an extension of Endeavor because that's how Endeavor set him up for life. Touya has no identity to fall back on after his father casts him aside. He was supposed to be Endeavor 2.0, but now that title is Shouto’s. Dabi doesn’t hate Shouto as a person, but he has tricked himself into believing Shouto is their father’s puppet. Shouto is a doll being used by their father with no self agency, and Dabi is going to break all of Endeavor’s toys. It’s nothing personal against Shouto, it’s just Shouto’s bad luck that he happens to be Endeavor’s masterpiece. This is why Dabi doesn’t hurt Shouto when they first meet at the training camp, and why Dabi stops attacking Shouto after Endeavor passes out - it’s not about Shouto. It’s about Endeavor, and breaking Endeavor. Touya is still there trying to be part of his father’s world, only this time not as a hero but as a villain who will end his own suffering. He doesn't want Endeavor to die, he just wants him to suffer, to ruin his dreams. Dabi thinks of it as justice.

But because Touya is still there, there is still that goodness in him, too. His connection to Fuyumi and Natsuo is still there, repressed and compartmentalized. It’s why he calls them affectionately as Fuyumi-chan and Natsu-kun. Touya’s pain is so great he has decided he’d rather end it than to carry on and look elsewhere. He's stuck, rightfully so. He recognizes his mother is a flawed person and ultimately doesn’t blame her for being a victim - she could have done more for her son, but he still sees her and his other siblings, even Shouto, as people who fell victim to Endeavor’s abuse who don't challenge their situation. Dabi sees himself as someone who does stand up to the abuse but doesn’t realize he still wants his father’s attention. He's always wanted it. That's why he went around at 13 condemning his father's treatment of his children but still trained to prove himself. This is part of the reason he became a villain.

Not to mention that Dabi literally can't cry. He has no way to release those emotions, so instead of trying to let them out, he pushes them down. But that doesn't work and is detrimental in the long run. In 290-294 we saw Dabi's flames burn so hot during his confrontation with Endeavor and revealing himself as Touya that his burns have spread. Dabi is afraid of his feelings because of their connection to his flames, but he also uses his feelings to his advantage. He wants to go out in an inferno along with Shouto just to hurt Endeavor and put an end to his own suffering and Endeavor's career. This is why Dabi doesn't bother calming himself down or denying that he never forgot how he was treated when he lived at home. Dabi became emotional in that battlefield, smiling maniacally instead of crying because he physically can't cry. In his mind, if his feelings are going to destroy him, he might as well use them to prove a point. After all, he has experience being used. It's why he was born.

I'm not saying any of these actions or thoughts are healthy or correct or condoned, by the way. Trauma responses don't make logical sense and usually aren't healthy. Knowing how the mind responds to trauma, it's understandable that Touya still wanted his father's attention even if it was abusive. In fact, this is how children often respond to abuse. Their caretaker/parent is all they know and they cling to these figures. Often times when authorities try to remove a child from their abusive parents, the child doesn't want to go because this parent is all they know and they do feel like they love their parent/caretaker. I’m not saying the authorities got involved in this case, because obviously they didn’t, but this same mentality of abused children can be applied to Touya. Touya, in his four year old mind, probably convinced himself that if he was good enough everything would go back to how it used to be.

So, to sum up Dabi’s character, of course he doesn't make any sense. He’s still that hurt 4-5 year old who is trying to protect himself from ever getting hurt like that again while still wanting his father’s validation. Of course he doesn’t want to get close to anyone, not even the League. He doesn't want to be vulnerable or let people in or form connections because the last time that happened he was let down, forsaken, and it hurt so much it literally made him lose control of his quirk to the point he almost died. When Twice is killed, Dabi consoles himself by saying he didn't care anyway, all to prevent another emotional fire. Dabi is a master of compartmentalizing and boxing away his feelings - this is probably why, 310 chapters into BNHA, we have yet to have a few chapters in his POV or his backstory. He's disconnected from himself. He knows his plot to get justice will hurt his siblings and mother and to live with himself and move forward he represses those feelings.

Because of his father not showing up on Sekoto peak, Dabi has to live with physical disabilities due to his scars and memories of burning alive. He doesn't want to go through that again so he lies to himself that he doesn't care about anyone or anything. He denies that he's still in pain while simultaneously seeking validation of his pain. He acts like he doesn't care about his family but still calls them affectionate names. He acts like he hates Endeavor and calls him by his name but still wants his attention. He decided long ago that he would die destroying Endeavor's career because that was the thing Endeavor cares about most of all in this life. It's a "you hurt me so I'll hurt you" mentality. He has tricked himself into thinking this is justice, failing to realize this won't make him feel better if he doesn't die by his own hand along the way.

Dabi is full of resentment and spite, both of which take root from feelings of abandonment, betrayal, and the loss of a purpose and the realization that he wasn't born to be loved for who he was but as a tool for his father. The first betrayal he suffered was in the form of realizing his father didn't love him genuinely, and this was identity-breaking for him. He never recovered from it. The second betrayal, the reinforcer, was his father not showing up to Sekoto Peak. Since then, Dabi is reliving his trauma over and over again the more he uses his quirk and the more he faces Endeavor. To be saved, Dabi needs to accept that he is loved unconditionally and needs to be validated that he was right to feel thrown aside and used.

#dabi #touya todoroki #toya todoroki #shouto todoroki #shoto todoroki #bnha #bnha meta #my meta #endeavor

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plaid-shirtsandvibranium-arms · 4 years ago

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Nemesis: Retribution (5)

Summary: 10 years after the Avengers had left you for dead during a mission gone wrong, you unexpectedly re-enter their lives. Wholly unrecognizable from the person they used to know and now with a new team behind you, they ask for your help to stop a chain of syndicates who were manufacturing and peddling the super soldier serum. You were determined to say no until the chance at the vengeance you had been chasing for years was added to the offer.

Fandoms: Avengers, Marvel, MCU, The Punisher, Daredevil

Pairings: Female Reader x (Frank Castle, Billy Russo, Matt Murdock, Steve Rogers, Bucky Barnes, Pietro Maximoff)

Warnings: EXPLICIT SMUT. SHAMELESS SEXUAL BEHAVIOUR (18+ ONLY. I WILL BLOCK YOU), human rights violations, polyamorous relationships, reverse harem, blatant disregard for canon timelines and events, angst, Punisher canon level of violence and gore, strong language, mentions of trauma, mentions of character death, fluff if you squint,

A/N: Okay okay. I’m finally happy with how this turned out. Goddamn that’s a lot of words. I’ll see you all in the party in the comments and reblogs! I love reading what you think. Don’t be shy. Jump in!

No permission is granted to repost, steal, or translate my work. Not even a credit makes it okay. Tumblr is the only place I post my writing. If you see it anywhere else please report it.

[gif not mine. credit to: this glorious gif post.]

Series Masterlist | Full Masterlist

1:5 Lemons

2 missions.

A 50/50 chance of getting Salvacion.

Your heart was pounding in your chest and you were on the verge of getting lightheaded from the anticipation. A decade of chasing this bastard and this was the closest you had ever gotten to him. The man was not only deadly in skill, but always seemed to manage to give you the slip every single time. Forcing yourself to face the life you left was worth it if it meant finally avenging Lily.

The briefings the past week had been long, but they were important to make sure everyone was prepared to end this. You were minutes away now from shipping off to the mission and your whole body was buzzing.

This was it.

There were two locations that you had to hit at the same time. Two locations with large shipments that you had to stop from reaching its destination. The teams needed to be split.

"Let's go over this one more time," Steve started, fully suited up in black that was truly a far cry from his old blue and red ensemble. "I'll be leading a team into the shipment yards with Bucky and Nem at the front. Sam will be on air support. Billy will manage a team of snipers in the surrounding area."

This was the smaller of locations, but with the larger shipment. The location itself entailed a more strategic approach. You weren't happy that there was a chance that Salvacion would be at the other location, but having Frank on that team put you somewhat at ease. He understood more than anyone how important this was to you and he promised he would take Salvacion alive. He was yours to kill.

Frank always kept his promises.

"I'll be leading the other team into the industrial district," Frank continued, his signature vest strapped tight across his chest. "Pietro and Matt will cover the perimeter and I'll be charging in with Nat and Wanda."

Their location was more complicated. It was too close to the residential district and the warehouses there ran 24/7. There was a high risk of civilian casualty if they weren't careful which was why almost everyone who was powered was assigned to that group. They needed every capability they could pull to make sure no innocent blood was spilled.

"Good," Steve nodded. "We'll both have a group of agents with us too. They've been briefed and are prepping transport as we speak. We leave in 20 minutes."

Everyone nodded their understanding, grabbing their gear and heading down to the transport docks. There was a fleet of cars standing by that would be used, gassed up and ready to go. Your hands were drumming repeatedly on your vest, itching to just get on the road. Frank and Matt lingered with you before they joined the rest of their group.

The towering marine stepped up close to you and tightened the buckles of your bulletproof vest, wishing you would have accepted the offer of better gear from the Avengers but also knowing it was hypocritical of him when he declined as well.

It just wasn't your style.

It was his own damn fault for training you in his own combat style. He had no doubt of your capability, but still he worried about you. He always worried about you and he felt a sense of responsibility toward you after finding you tortured within an inch of your life.

"Stay close to Steve, sweetheart."

You snorted, but a glance back at Steve who was already looking at you with a raised eyebrow made you grumble and relent. "Fine."

"Good girl," Frank chuckled, before leaning in to press a firm kiss on your lips as he held you by the buckles of your vest. You smiled into the kiss, feeling the steady protection and reassurance that he always brings.

He stepped away for Matt to get his turn. This was a tradition that just developed naturally between the four of you. A kiss before danger. A promise to keep safe. A promise to come home.

Matt took your face in both hands and kissed the breath out of you as if he was trying to outdo Frank. It wasn't uncommon. He was always more aggressive with his affections, always as if he was scared you might suddenly slip away from his life and you were happy to reassure him every time that you weren't going anywhere. He chuckled when you bit his lip, beating him to it. He gave you one more peck before stepping aside.

Billy came closer to your side and slung his arm around your shoulders, chuckling as he nuzzled his nose against the side of your face. It was amusing him to no end at how easily you were folding for Steve. It was a nice change of pace from the three of them never being able to deny you anything.

Most especially Billy.

"We're definitely keeping Steve around. I think I like you compliant," he snickered, turning your head toward him with a finger under your chin. He planted a quick chaste peck on your lips. Your eyebrows quirked at the unusual behavior.

"What you're not gonna try to outdo me too?" Frank teased.

"Nem knows I do my best kissing elsewhere. Don't you, pretty girl?" Billy winked at you and you rolled your eyes. You smacked him in the chest but didn’t comment further. He wasn't wrong, but he was smug enough as it is.

You were about to turn toward the cars when you were knocked back slightly to the side by a sudden peck to your cheek. You couldn't stop the laugh when you caught Pietro's grin before he vanished again, a subtle warmth spreading in your chest. You were still smiling when you took your seat beside Steve who intertwined your hand with his and raised it to his lips, smiling that soft boyish smile against your skin that now made your stomach flip. He didn't let go of your hand throughout the ride, even as he caught Bucky's yearning gaze in the rearview mirror.

You were greeted by an ambush.

Somehow the syndicates knew that you would be coming, setting up a small army as your welcome party. A quick distress call through the comms from Frank confirmed that they were facing the same in their location.

But you couldn't focus on that.

You were too busy tearing through the goons that kept coming at you. Having two super soldiers and Sam in the thick of it with you was a blessing, but even with the other agents and Billy's sniper support you were severely overrun. You would just have to trust that the other team can handle their own.

You emptied the clips of your pistols as you trudged your way deeper into the fray, not bothering to duck or take cover from the onslaught of angry men. You tossed your empty guns to the side and drew out another, catching a few bullets in your vest.

No time to reload.

"I got you, Hedwig. Give 'em hell," Billy said in your ear.

The deadly smirk on your lips was the only warning the men in front of you got. You charged again as the adrenaline coursed through your body, bullets flying precisely into their skulls.

One. Two. Three. Four men down.

When your bullets ran out, you dropped the gun and pulled out two daggers. Your eyes narrowed as you took off into a sprint toward the closest target, weaving effortlessly through the oncoming fire.

A slice to the forearm to disarm.

A dagger up the chin.

Dead.

He dropped to the ground spluttering on his blood as you took the other dagger and sent it flying toward another's chest.

Dead.

Rough muscular arms caught you by surprise and gripped you from behind, caging you as you struggled. You saw the gun in his hand and reacted.

Break the wrist to disarm.

You smirked at the loud pop of his bones. You grabbed the gun before it dropped to the ground as you slipped a knife from your vest. The pain in his wrist caused him to loosen his hold on you, allowing you to turn to face him.

Blade to the gut.

Bullet to the face. Point blank.

Dead.

You didn't even flinch when his blood splattered across your face, joining the explosion of red already painting your figure. You could make out two more in your peripheral who dropped to the ground before they could advance on you, care of your guardian angel with a sniper rifle.

"Thank you, Blackbird," you said sweetly.

"Goddamn, doll," Bucky said, Steve stood beside him mirroring the same look of equal awe and fear.

This was the first time they had seen you in action. Hearsay and that little demo with Kim did nothing to prepare them for the sheer brutality you had when given the clear purpose to kill. You didn't hesitate. You didn't waste time. You didn't care that you were drenched in blood. You had a goal and you were going to meet it every time with ruthless violence.

This was who you were now.

"Are you hurt anywhere?" Steve came up to you looking worried after seeing you charging headlong at open gunfire.

He didn't like it. At least he had a shield. Skilled as you were, he didn't like that you were running every mission like you had a death wish. There was so much blood on you that it was difficult for him to tell if any of it was yours.

"None of the blood is mine," you dismissed, wiping your face with what was the only clean part of your sleeve. "Let's go. I hear more up ahead and Sam said that's where the shipment is."

Rounding the corner, you were faced with another cluster of goons with weapons aimed at your small group. They stood a good distance away in front of two shipping containers that were being readied for transport. Sam landed beside you along with a group of agents. Bucky pushed you behind him and Steve raised his shield to cover you both. Billy chirped in the comms that the snipers had repositioned and were ready. All of that barely registered with you, white noise against the rage that was brewing, because behind enemy lines was the goal you've been chasing for a decade.

Salvacion.

"I have to say," he drawled. His voice, the first you're hearing of now, sending a chill down your spine. "I expected more from the Avengers. You didn't even bring Iron Man. I'm disappointed."

"Give up the serum," Steve growled.

"No. I don't think I will," he answered. "Kill them all."

All hell broke loose once more; fists, bullets, knives, and a shield flying in every direction. Bucky and Steve kept close to you, shielding you from most of the shots as you advanced. You gunned down every bastard you saw but your eyes never strayed from Salvacion who was just standing there watching the clash.

Taunting you.

Something nagged at the back of your head as you fought. It was unusual for the syndicates to be deploying this many people to a single location even if it was for the serum. While you were thanking every god you knew for luckily drawing Salvacion on this mission, his presence was also peculiar. Something else was going on.

Something else was here.

The syndicates were pushing back on your team hard, but you were making a dent in their numbers. When you saw Salvacion start walking away, that was when you felt the panic stir in your mind.

"I can't let him get away, Steve!"

You ignored his and Bucky's calls for you as you made a mad dash straight through the fight, efficiently shooting and stabbing anyone who dared get in your path. You were consumed with the purpose of reaching him, of finally being able to end it all.

You left the larger fight behind you in favor of this more personal one, the noise receding as you chased him farther. You caught a glimpse of him making his way up stacked containers and you sped up your run. You didn't even think twice about climbing the height. Nevermind potential broken bones. Nevermind getting cornered. Nevermind that you had no backup.

Salvacion would die today.

When you reached the top, you were surprised to see him standing there waiting for you but also that he wasn't alone. You raised your gun to match the one he was aiming at you, but he merely tutted and smirked. His other hand also had a gun, this one aimed up the chin of the person he was holding captive in front of him.

Kim.

The amount of irritation this woman was bringing into your life was starting to get on your nerves. She was delegated on your team for this mission and you stifled the aggravated groan as you noticed that she was bleeding heavily from both shoulders causing her to not be able to fight back.

Top agent my ass.

"Hello, Nemesis," Salvacion grinned at you. "Or should I call you Y/N? Much more personal given our history, don't you think?"

Your name on his lips caused a wave of nausea and a sneer to grace your lips. You raised your gun higher, narrowing your eyes as his own pressed harder against Kim's skin. It wasn't an idle threat.

"Nice of you to show up for once. Was beginning to think you were avoiding me."

"Come now. Don't you enjoy our little game of cat and mouse?"

A game.

This was all a game to him and the malevolent smile on his face confirmed that. The fury in you burned, almost making you physically shake. Killing Lily was nothing to him while it had completely consumed your life. It had become your driving force while to him you were merely entertainment.

"You're going to let me go," he declared, fully confident.

"Is that so?"

"Yes," he dragged out. "Or else your teammate here will die."

"What makes you think I give a shit?" you scoffed. "Go ahead."

The way Kim's eyes widened in terror brought a sick sense of pleasure in you that you shouldn't be proud of. Salvacion let out a low laugh, amusement clear in his tone.

"Oh, dear child. No matter how much spite you wrap yourself with, you are the same naive hero wannabe you always were," he snickered. "Self-sacrificing. Even at the expense of your sister."

"You don't talk about Lily, you bastard!" you screamed, your grip shaking slightly on your weapon.

All of a sudden it was hard to breathe and your heartbeat was hammering in your ears. You didn't expect that finally facing him, hearing him talk about Lily like she was inconsequential, would shake you to your core. This was what you have been waiting for. This was what you have been building up to for the past decade. This was your purpose for living.

What were you waiting for?

"I am feeling generous today. Consider it my gift to commemorate our first official meeting," he said.

"What the fuck are you on?" you growled.

"Open the containers," he smiled. "See you soon, Y/N."

He abruptly tossed Kim to the side, pushing her off the ledge of the containers you were on and bolted away with a mad cackle. You shot at his retreating figure, desperately trying to aim through the turbulent emotions he inspired in you. You were going to chase after him when a yelp of pain caught your attention.

Kim was hanging by one hand off the edge, obviously struggling to hold herself up with her busted shoulders. You were too high up for her to survive the fall and she was too injured to help herself. Her grip was slipping.

"Y/N! Help me please!"

A dark shadow passed through your features. Saving her would mean Salvacion would definitely escape. Again. You didn't know if you would ever get another chance at him or when that would be.

You didn't like this woman. You never did. She tormented your youth, took joy in it even and as you reunited nothing changed. She was the same egotistic bully she always was. This was a dangerous mission. People die in the line of fire.

It happens. No one would blame you.

"Please!"

"Fuck!"

You dropped your weapon and clasped both hands on hers to pull her up. You strained with the effort, Kim being a deadweight adding to the struggle. You let go when half her body was safely on top, her legs swinging up to roll herself flat onto the surface. She was crying and whimpering from the fear and pain. You couldn't help the anger that bubbled to the surface.

You slapped her face.

"Get your goddamn shit together," you roared at her. "I don't have time for this. Call for evac, princess."

You ran toward the sound of helicopter blades, jumping onto crates and jolting your bones at the impact. You didn't care. The renewed rage had steadied you, calmed you almost to the point that the only thing you could see in your mind was taking him out. You had faltered and you would beat yourself up about that later, but you couldn't let him slip away again.

The helicopter was already starting to take off, Salvacion clearly visible through the open door. You cocked your gun and fired away. Empty. You slipped another gun out and fired. Empty. You kept running toward him, drawing and firing every last bullet you had as you screamed your frustration with every shot that missed.

You noticed that you managed to get a few through him by the way his body jerked. You were feeling optimistic until he reached around and pulled out a rocket launcher. You saw the sinister grin before he fired.

"Nem!" You heard your name being called, but you were too stunned by the horrible realization that you had failed today. You watched the helicopter slowly make it's way farther and farther behind the rocket that was hurtling toward you.

Even if you ran, the area of impact would still tear right through you. You were frozen in place, unable to process that this was how it would end. That it would end in you dying by his hand as well. That it would end without you making it up to Lily.

Your internal struggle was interrupted by a large body completely engulfing yours. The impact of the rocket threw you both to the ground and the loud explosion accompanied by ripping metal deafened your ears.

You struggled with your vision, the ringing in your head was painful and your body sore from crashing down. Oddly, your skull itself didn't feel injured. All of the pain seemed to be concentrated on your torso. You blinked a few times to focus the blur of your eyes as the repeated chanting of your name became louder.

"Are you okay, doll? Answer me, Nem! Come on."

"Bucky?"

Your sight finally focused to find that it was the brunette super soldier on top of you, covering you from what would have certainly been your death. The dread on his face gave way to a tired relief at you finally responding.

He pressed his forehead to yours and closed his eyes, taking deep steadying breaths. You noticed now that he was wincing and that his flesh arm was underneath you, supporting your back and cradling your head. His metal arm was detached, a mangled mess of forcibly severed wires and metal plates sticking out from his shoulder. Your eyes widened in realization.

"Bucky, your arm," you started to struggle underneath him, knowing he must be in a world of pain.

He shushed you by rubbing the tip of his nose against yours. Your eyes met icy blue ones and you saw him smile weakly, as if telling you it was worth it. He wouldn't hesitate to catch a missile with his arm again if it meant protecting you.

The rest of the boys reached you shortly after, Sam took Bucky and informed you that evac and medics were here. You were still in shock from what just happened. Billy took you gingerly in his arms, endlessly fussing at you and apologizing for not being able to do more even if you understood it was impossible for him to have tracked you through the chaos. Steve stood to the side, obviously furious at himself for not going to you even if you understood it was only right that he led the main fight.

Your body felt like it had gone through a war and you were too emotionally distressed to address anything else. You felt defeated. You felt at a loss. You failed Lily again today. Suddenly, you remembered what he told you.

His gift.

"Steve, Salvacion told me to open the shipments. He said it was a gift from him."

You didn't wait for them to respond, dragging your battered body limping across the yard to the crates. Billy recovered first, quickly jogging up to support your battered body straight with his. Steve followed closely behind, the uneasiness clouding the three of you. The locks were easily broken by Steve's shield and soon your gift was revealed.

What you saw drained the blood from all of you and caused your skin to immediately chill. It was the most sickening thing any of you have ever seen in your lives and that was saying something. How anyone could do this was beyond comprehension.

People. Dozens of people.

Crammed inside the steel box were dozens of people in various states of distress. All of them had barely any life left in them, barely sustained by the various IV bags hooked on their bodies. They hardly reacted when the doors were opened, too spent by what they had been made to go through to even blink. You suspected that a good portion of those who were not moving at all were dead. The smell was horrendous and this was coming from people who were about to be shipped to god knows where.

The horror you felt heightened to epic levels when you noticed that some of the drip bags held a different colored fluid, the distinct color of the super soldier serum. Then it clicked and the nausea finally overcame you. You poured your guts out onto the pavement, your stomach heaving violently as the truth made your vision spin.

Human testing.

Human experimentation.

And you had let the bastard escape.

Steve was going to approach you, clueless as he was on how to help you at that moment, but you had scrambled out of reach and ran out of the shipment yard. He called after you readying himself to go to you, but Billy's grip on his forearm stilled him.

"We're not who she needs right now, Cap," Billy shook his head. "Right now these people need us more."

"Where's she going?" Steve asked, swallowing hard on the lump in his throat and reluctantly agreeing.

"She'll be fine. Matt will find her."

Matt found you hours later. He had returned badly beaten and bruised from their own mission, but upon receiving word from Billy he pushed aside every painful injury he felt and rushed to where he knew he would find you. His chest tightened when he was told what you had seen. It was bad enough that you were carrying the guilt of your sister's death, but now you had the weight of all the lives that were victimized by these sick people too. It was too much for one person to bear.

He found you in the confession booth of the church on the corner of a quiet street and he couldn't see the broken look on your face when he opened the door, but he could feel it. He heard it in your unusually slow heartbeat, as if your organs were trying to give up. He heard it in the shallow breaths you took, as if the act of living was a betrayal in itself. He heard it in the cry that was begging to break through you throat. He could almost taste your despair.

He slowly knelt in front of you and pulled you urgently into his arms, squeezing himself into the tight space. He held you against him, clutching you tight and rocking you gently back and forth. This was an open secret shared between the two of you. When the darkness was overwhelming, you turned to each other and confessed. He pulled away after a long moment, cradling your face firmly in his palms. His thumbs brushed against your dry cheeks. Of course you hadn't been crying.

There were no more left to shed.

"Talk to me," he muttered, pressing his lips softly against yours.

"He experimented on a lot of people," you muttered. "And I let him go, Matty. I've been letting him carry on for ten years."

Your tone was almost a hoarse whisper, devoid of much emotion apart from a cold defeat. This worried him, but at least you were talking. You had known when you were being tortured that they Hydra hadn't perfected the serum. They kept torturing you in the hopes that they could get you to reveal anything about the formula, Steve and Bucky's abilities, or where samples of their blood were stored. You didn't talk.

Maybe you should have talked.

When the syndicates got their hands on the incomplete formula, they were faced with the same problem. A problem they apparently decided to solve by trial and error on actual people. You knew this. At the back of your mind you knew this, but it didn't register until you saw it for yourself tonight. Somehow you had ignored that fact because you had only been focused on your own grief.

"I let him go. I did this, Matty," you breathed, the guilt clear in your voice.

"No! You did not let him go. The bastard got away," he insisted. "And this is not your fault. I won’t let you think that this is your fault."

"No," you argued weakly. "I let him go. I had a shot at stopping him tonight and I didn't take it."

"Steve told me. You stopped to save Kim." The movement of his thumbs on your cheeks changed to soothing circles. "You stopped to save a teammate. That was a good thing."

You scoffed. "I wanted her to die."

"What?"

"For a solid moment as she was hanging on for her life, I wanted to let her die."

"She's alive now because of you, Nem. You fought it. You're strong. You didn't give into it."

"But what if that's what I need to do? If I did I could have ended Salvacion tonight."

You could have ended it all tonight.

Salvacion's words tonight plagued you. if you didn't try to play the hero then this whole twisted operation could have been stopped. If you didn't try to play the hero then you would have gotten your revenge for Lily. If you didn't play the hero then Lily wouldn't even be dead. You had wanted to save people so much, make a difference in the world, that you didn't stop and think about how that would impact the people you held most dear.

"You don't honestly believe that, do you?" Matt asked cautiously, he knew more than anyone the struggle you faced. All of you were just a bad day away from completely snapping.

"I don't know," you admitted in defeat. You sounded so tired and confused that it broke his heart.

He held you for a moment more, waiting for your heart and breathing to return to normal. He didn't know what else to do or what else to tell you. He didn't know how to help you this time. Just then, he sensed the arrival of a Maximoff twin.

"Pietro's outside. I'll ask him to take you away for a while," he shook his head when he felt you were about to protest. "You need a break and you need some peace."

He led you outside, his pace slower than normal as your shoulders slumped lower to the ground in resignation. He exchanged a few words with Pietro before he pressed a kiss to your temple and pushed you toward the other man.

"Come with me, little star. I'll take care of you."

The next thing you knew, Pietro had lifted you into his arms and asked you to close your eyes. You buried your face into his neck as you felt the world around you dissolve in a blur, your hair whipped around but you weren't scared. The steady grip he had on you assured you that you would be safe. When he told you to open your eyes, you had no idea where you were or how long you had been traveling.

"Where are we?"

He gently set you on your feet as you looked around the area. It was beautiful. A dense lush forest that opened up to a lake with a small cabin. Isolated. Quiet.

Peaceful.

Immediately you felt your body relax in the new environment. It was so far removed from anything and everything that it allowed you to let go of the tight hold you had on your life. It allowed you to let go of the rage for a moment.

"Sokovia," he answered. "This is mine. When Wanda and I were little, even before the enhancements, our connection was strong and can be overwhelming. I needed a place that was only my own."

"Wanda doesn't know about this?"

"No, it is the only secret I have ever kept from her. I've never brought anyone else here."

Turning to him, you could see the shy smile on his face. There was a reluctance there, as if he was nervous that his little hideaway would not be good enough for you. You were quick to shoot that thought down.

"It's beautiful, Pietro. Thank you for sharing this with me."

His smile brightened as he approached you and held both your hands in his. "We can stay for as long as you want to. I can go into town and get us more supplies. We can swim in the lake if you like and I can cook you paprikash. You'll love it."

He was so excited. So happy to be able to spend time with you. Elated to be able to share this sentimental place with someone else, but he saw the sadness in your eyes and it made him force himself to slow down. The smile on his face dimmed.

"Do you want to go somewhere else? I can take you anywhere you like."

The heartbreak and disappointment in his voice alerted you. You hurriedly wound your arms around his shoulders and forced his eyes to meet yours. You recognized the way he looked at you, but it was only now that you really noticed that he has always looked at you that way. He was so pure. So honest. So good.

He was too good for you.

"No, Pietro. This is perfect. You're perfect." You tried to smile up at him. "I don't deserve you."

Just like that he understood you. He drew you closer by the waist and pressed a soft kiss at the corner of your mouth. When he drew back, his smile lit up his face again.

"Why do you need to deserve me, little star?" he chuckled at the puzzled look on your face, finding it adorable. "Can I not just choose to love you?"

You frowned and he just laughed more. He shushed your protests by pulling you flush against his body, lowering his head to hover his lips mere inches from yours. He left this small distance as your choice to make just as he has made his.

"Let me choose to love you."

You could feel his breath on your face at this distance, see the sparkle of anticipation in his eyes, and his tongue darting out to wet his lips.

You made your choice.

Kissing Pietro has to be the most comforting experience that you had ever felt. He tasted like hot chocolate on a rainy day and you felt your body melt when he returned the gesture. You were sighing against his lips when the now familiar feeling of him dashing turned it into a surprised squeal. You blinked and you were lying down on a soft mattress with Pietro grinning down at you.

You laughed as you shared more kisses, hands giddily exploring each other and tearing away pieces of clothing until nothing lay between you. For the first time in a long time, you felt insecure about your scars. For the first time, you were reluctant for someone to see them. Again, just like that he understood you.

"You're beautiful, little star. You have always been beautiful to me."

He kissed you again, deeply and full of emotion that you melted into the bed. His lips traveled down your neck, your chest, your stomach. He stopped to nip and suck at the inside of your thighs causing you to involuntarily moan his name. Lower he went until his mouth was working gentle swirls on your sensitive bud. Your hips grinded against his tongue, desperately seeking more.

He pressed his mouth fully on you then, adding a finger much to your delight. He ate you like he worshipped you. Like he was blessed with the opportunity to bring you pleasure. Your body sang his praises, reacting with equal enthusiasm by soon reaching your orgasm. You shook beneath him as he allowed you to ride out your high, soothing you with gentle hands rubbing circles on your hips. He was smirking at you when he crawled up, satisfied that he had made you cum but clearly aiming for more.

He kissed you again as he lined himself up against your core, sliding it against your slit to coat it with your slick. He wasn't even inside you yet and you already felt like you were ready to cum. He held your gaze, silently asking for permission that this was still what you wanted. Instead of answering, you moved your hips to slip his length inside causing him to drag out a hiss and capture your mouth again. The groan you both let out when he bottomed out vibrated through your fused lips.

"You feel incredible," he whispered. "You feel so good wrapped around me. Just like I always thought you would."

"Pietro, please."

His strokes were slow and deep, hitting that special spot inside you that had you panting with want. The smooth roll of his hips was quickly driving you higher and higher toward another orgasm. It was so gentle. So sensual. So personal.

"Tell me what you want, little star."

Everything about Pietro's life had been one big event after another. Rushed decisions. Angry fighting. Missions. Even his very enhancement relied on speed.

He didn't want that with you.

With you he wanted to slow everything down. He wanted to savor every moment. He wanted to stop time if he could, keep you in his arms for as long as possible. Freeze you in this exact moment when all you felt was pleasure.

"More," you pleaded.

Maybe he could speed up just a little bit.

His strokes gradually hastened and he glowed with satisfaction at seeing you delirious with desire because of him. He palmed at your breasts, nipped at your neck, and bucked his hips just a bit harder.

"More."

He smiled. How could he deny you? He lifted you up until you were seated on him, holding you firmly with an arm up your back with his hand fisting in your hair. The other hand he slipped between the two of you to rub against your clit. You saw the wicked glint in his eyes before he dipped his head to lave at your breasts.

You felt like you were going to explode from the different sensations. That was until he decided to move your body to bounce on his cock, his own hips thrusting up to meet you and his hand on your back guiding you to wind your hips as you came down. Your clit hit his pelvis each time and another wave was added onto your building climax. You whined, moaned, and pleaded his name. Begging him to grant you release.

“Let go for me. I have you. Let go.“

He growled against your breast and pounded up into you until you screamed and shook above him, clenching him so hard you pulled his own orgasm out of him. He spilled into you, crushing you against him as you continued to flutter around him.

You fought to catch your breath and when you caught each other's eyes, still hazy from lust, you laughed. You felt free. You felt renewed. You kissed him then.

"I love you too, Pietro."

He looked at you with unrestrained adoration. He had been chasing after you for so long that he could hardly believe that he had finally caught you. That he was finally yours.

"What? You didn't see that coming?" you teased.

He chuckled and pulled you in for another lingering kiss. You felt so good in his arms that he has completely forgotten how it felt to not have you in them.

"I meant what I said earlier," he murmured against the skin of your shoulder. "If you want to we can runaway. I can take you away from all of this. We can stay here or we can go anywhere else."

He smiled warmly at you and pecked your lips when he saw the internal conflict flash through your features. Again, without a word he understood you.

"But I know that is not what you want," he reassured you. "I just wanted you to know that you have that choice if you should want it."

Tempting as his offer was, you knew you couldn't let go of Lily's memory. You would never truly be at peace until Salvacion was rotting six feet under and his whole operation was blown to bits. You couldn't leave your mission unfinished. And you couldn't bear to leave four other men behind. Looking back at the events of the past night, it felt more accurate to say five. Still, there was a sense of security from knowing you had that option.

"Let's go home."

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

A/N: Okay let’s take a vote. Should we forgive Bucky now?

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eddieslittlefreak · 2 years ago

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Happiness is a Butterfly (pt.2) - steddie fic.

part one here

Eddie came to Steve with an intention to tell him everything that has been going on lately, but suddenly he felt like Steve ripped away every word from him with his simple little sentence.

“Don’t look at me like I’m insane, please don’t.” Steve shook his head as he stepped back and walked a bit farther away.

“No, it’s not that.” Eddie answered, immediately panicking that Steve regreted what he just said. “Are you like.. completely sure?”

“Do you think I’m joking? Seriously?”

“No, fuck.. no.!” Eddie finally dared to step to Steve, holding his face between his palms just to secure himself. He needed to hold into him. “I came back because I feel what you feel.” he said determinedly. “In all my damn life I have been chasing temporary highs but looks like you are a permanent one.” Steve smiled at his words, and this was the first time he let himself react like this to something connected to Eddie. He was desperately trying to distance himself but just when he was about so succes in his mission, Eddie pulled him right back in.

“You won’t leave again this time, will you?” Steve asked, slowly melting into that touch that he has been craving for a long time now, never fully sure if he is allowed to have it.

“I will stay if you want me to.” Eddie answered, leaning a bit closer.

“I want you to stay.” he gripped Eddie’s jacket, holding into his fist like his life depended on it. “I won’t let you leave again.” he tilted hit head a bit, finally getting enough close to reach Eddie’s lips. The words got replaced by actions, every touch of theirs was burning their skin under the material that was keeping the two bodies apart.

As they tangled up together they ended up in Steve’s room. Steve found himself laying on his bed within minutes, and then was when he noticed how Eddie was smiling on something like crazy. He turned his head just to see Eddie’s old jacket on his bed which he succesfully left there yesterday.

“Oh my God.” he murmured, covering his face with his palms. “I swear I don’t sleep with that!” he looked at Eddie.

“You still have it.” Eddie said, his voice filled with happiness ad lust.

“Dont smile like that.” Steve rolled his eyes, trying to hide the fact that he actually adored that smile. It made him smile, too.

“What should I do then?” Eddie asked in a sassy tone, taking his jacket off, followed by his shirt.

“Wow. I never knew you had tattoos.” Steve touched one of them as Eddie got on the top of him. It was heavenic to feel Eddie’s body on his.

“Sould I have taken off my shirt in the upside down to show them, huh?”

“Just stop talking and kiss me, okay?” Eddie chuckled at this but he gladly fulfilled the request. Soon his lips got attached to Steve’s neck, leaving soft kisses on the sensitive skin. Steve’s fingers got lost in Eddie’s curls within minutes, pulling him closer by gripping them. “I missed you so much.” he murmured quietly, making Eddie giggle against his skin.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Steve sighed with relief after letting go of all the happenings that went down in the past. All the trauma and pain suddenly seemed so faded as Eddie was there, holding him between his arms, securing his body and soul. “I thought I fucking lost you.”

“You won’t ever lose me Steve, alright?” Eddie looked him in the eye, gently brushing his face. “Even if Vecna comes back, you won’t lose me, I promise.” he kissed him again, not even letting Steve answer.

There was a lot of bad things in the world and there always will be. But for that night when Eddie was holding Steve all night long, Steve felt like nothing could be better. That suddenly all of those bad things are just gone. He missed Eddie. Fuck, of course he did. But he only realized this completely when Eddie showed up again and he just couldn’t imagine his days without him anymore. The morning slowly slipped in under the door, paiting their faces with bright light. Steve was laying on the top of Eddie, silently snoring. Eddie was already awake, brushing Steve’s back. He finally got to hold his boy. Because let’s be honest, Steve was always Eddie’s boy. His babyboy. Okay, he would never dare to call him that because Steve would probably slap him.

“What’s the time?” Steve murmured half asleep.

“9am.” Eddie answered.

“I don’t work today, so it’s fine. Robin has the shift.” he said, burrying his face more into Eddie’s chest. When the phone started ringing, he started whining. “Oh c’mon..!” he got up, leaving his warm spot next to Eddie and picked up the phone. “Hello?”

“Steve Really Stupid Harrington!” he heard Robin’s voice. She was bascially yelling with him, so even Eddie could hear it out from the phone. “You didn’t lock the door! This is the fourth damn time, you gonna get us fired!” Steve bit his lips, just staring at a point in front, trying to play back in his mind what happened.

“But Eddie showed up?” he said, and it was rather a question.

“WHO?” Robin freaked out. “Get your ass right here and bring him, too. I need to slap one of you but honestly, you both deserve it!” Steve could hear on Robin’s voice that she’s smiling.

“We’re on the way.” he said then ended the call. As he was about to turn to Eddie, suddenly he felt two arms wrapped around him, bringing him close.

“Did the door stay unlocked beacause of me?” he whsipered into Steve’s ear. “Not so nice to blame me, Harrington.”

“Well.. too late no think about that.” Steve smiled. “Hurry before Robin beats us up.”

“Wise words.” Eddie nodded. “But then maybe we could go out like.. if you want to?”

“I slept in you arms, what do you think?” Steve looked at him, smiling like crazy. “Our first date.”

“Our first date then.

#eddie munson #eddie stranger things #steddie #steddie fic #steve harrington #steve stranger things #stranger things

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thvnderr · 1 year ago

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Seojun received the container and he almost stumbled to hold onto it due how unexpected the action was. When Ara talked about cooking for him, he became fully speechless; his eyes diverting down to the food. She had never done this for him; he could probably even count the acts of service and nice gestures she had committed to throughout their relationship. "Oh", that was the best he could say at the moment as his hands clung to the plastic and the gears in his head turned.

He felt his chest almost collapsing inwards as the girl began apologizing. His thoughts became a mush of nothing as he tried to fully digest the nature of words and sentences that he had only dreamed about before. Words that he had begged of her many times in the past but were only received with what he could read as indifference. When the incident of the accident came up, Seojun tensed all of his body, never ready to listen to whatever words she could conjure about it — most of them disregarding his trauma because he had survived anyway. The explanation felt a bit rushed as he tried to make sense of everything she was talking about, but both due the surprise and the sudden amount of questions in his head; his words remained stuck in his throat, but nonetheless started to change the light of the events that had happened that night. He remembered feeling trapped inside the destroyed vehicle while Arlo was unconscious and... bleeding at the backseat. "Ara...", he called quietly, barbed wire still latching to his heart as her name left his lips.

There was a small jerk of his body as she resigned to the idea of a friendship between them. Why did it make him sad? Impulsive as he could be sometimes, Seojun felt his feet attempting to take a step forwards, to ditch whatever she was saying and convince both of them to give each other a second chance, but... it would not be a second or a third or a fourth. How many times had they tried to patch things up in the past? His head stopped him before he could take one single step, anchoring both feet to the ground which immediately brought a little frown to his face. He had never seen Ara Kwon as anything far from perfect from the night he met her. Her performance of being spotless and fiery had won him over easily and Seojun had given himself a bit too much to her. So he loved and they fought. He reached for her hand while she reached for the scalpel. He followed and tripped and she kept going and going until they were too far apart —— it was only then that she decided to look back.

Her final statement brought unexpected tears to his eyes to regain the crybaby status his father got sure to get rid off in middle school. Seojun took advantage of the night to turn his head and dry his face with the sleeve of his jacket quickly before speaking up. "Wait", he commanded. What was he even going to say? Wasn't it more cruel to extend the horrid pain for both instead of letting her go in peace after she offered her apologies?

"Thank you", he said way more quietly this time. "You... you didn't have to. The pasta, I mean. Uh... thanks. I'm sure it's great", Seojun smiled in a poor attempt to shift the energy of the conversation. "You said so many things, I don't even know where to start, I —", he shook his head. "I still believe you're a good person", he took a deep breath, "I stopped believing it after we had our biggest fights and the accident, but this proves you can be a good person". Ah, that good heart of yours will be the end of you, Seojun Cha. "I wish it had worked between us, really", he commented and had to swallow before continuing. Had she only spoken that time he was at her place taking care of her, then things might have been different now; but after they stopped talking, he decided to finally turn the page. "I know very little about your family, I just have a vague idea based on what you and your brother shared with me, but I hope you are aware that you are better than what you think. You are capable of caring and loving and that puts you miles ahead". Agh, again with the cheesy discourse. Seojun grunted at his ridiculous intromission. He sighed and showed her a smile, a friendly one identical to when he introduced himself at that campus party. "I hope to see you again at the bar soon. Hospital stories are missing from my nightly repertoire". His own way of throwing out the idea of not being friends or at least meeting again with their weapons down in the future. "Get home safely. Call me if you need anything".

"Pasta."

She thrust the container into his arms in the way a schoolgirl would present a gift to her crush. Wasn't it her idea to do this? Why was she suddenly feeling shy? "It's to thank you for cooking for me when I was sick. I don't usually cook but—" Ara cut herself off, glad the slight flush of her cheeks was well hidden under the streetlights. It would have been considered a small gesture if it were anyone else. But Ara Kwon didn't cook. She tucked her hands into her sleeves, remembering the burn marks on her hands from the various kitchen mishaps. She didn't want his pity — and perhaps had already cursed him out enough when the injuries occurred, if only because a surgeon's hands were their most prized possessions.

"And about the apology—" A small frown. She could practically hear her father's voice from behind her. You weakling. You're a Kwon. We owe the world neither apologies nor explanations. But she didn't just owe it to him — she wanted to give it him. Because she loved him. Because he deserved it. "I shouldn't have treated you that way. I'm sorry. I regret it. I know I broke your heart, and it was fucked up of me to want to break your heart. Because you loved me, and you always tried to do right by me." For the first time, she looked unsure of herself. Lost. Was she doing it right? Or did he want more groveling; more tears? Was that the best way to convey sincerity? "But the accident — it was too far, and I didn't intend to leave you injured. I just—" a deep breath, "my brother was at risk for his life. I needed to go with him in case there was a shortage of his blood type." She didn't explain further. It wasn't her information to give.

"I came here to give you the pasta, and apologize." She had rehearsed for this; she had known what she would say. Then why was it still so difficult to get the words to leave her lips, as if something was clawing them back down? But of course, she knew exactly what was keeping them from leaving her mouth — her heart.

"I'm not going to ask to be friends, because I don't want to be friends with you. I can't." There was a small break in her voice at the end of the sentence, and Ara cleared her throat, looking rapidly up to the sky and then back to Seojun, to make sure they didn't mist over. "We'll just now be strangers that know a little too much about each other." An attempt at an ironic smile fell flat. "It doesn't mean I don't love you. The things I said when I was sick were all sincere. It's just — you deserve better." Part of her wanted to get on her knees; to beg for a second chance. But there was no assurance that she could change. And his heart could only break so many times before it was dust; before it could no longer able to be pierced together — even by the best surgeon. "And I'm not it. I don't think I ever could be, for you. I didn't even know what love was until I met you."

It was probably the first time she'd admitted aloud to being less than perfect. To being something that was undeserving, and it knocked the air out of her; made her dizzy and unmoving all at once. Because wasn't that what she had built her entire sense of self upon? Always the best, even among outstanding siblings. Always getting what she wanted or achieving it by sheer force of will. Without her confidence; without her self-assurance that she would always succeed — what was left? Only a sad little girl, lashing out at the world because she had not been loved as child.

"I won't seek you out anymore, so you can stop looking behind your back everywhere you go." It was a joke without any trace of humor. Ara set her jaw, ignoring the beating inside her chest that told her to turn back, and stepped into the night.

#seojun.interactions #seojun: ara #car crash tw

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whimsicallyreading · 3 years ago

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Write Me- Outtake

A little plot bunny for the Write Me Au

CW- Mentions of PTSD, Trauma, War

Write Me (part one)

Rowan~

Therapy was a necessary evil, Rowan soon found out.

He spent an hour, twice a week, cooped up with a stranger who tried to coax his feelings from him. He'd never been an emotive person. Aelin was the rare exception, the one person he'd always gravitated to when something itched at him. She was always available with an attentive ear when he needed to release a burden from his shoulders, but upon arriving home, it became apparent he couldn't do that anymore.

Not that Aelin wouldn't listen now if he asked. She absolutely would. But the things that weighed on Rowan now were like boulders. Dark, heavy, and capable of crushing anyone who'd seen what he'd seen during his time imprisoned. Every night when the dreams woke him up, he'd turn to his left and see her peaceful face and praise all that was good that she was a heavy sleeper. He couldn't put this on her. She was so happy to have him home, and he was so glad to be with her again. Yet those choking pains still laid on his soul, so with her encouragement, therapy was the best option.

Thankfully, Yrene was a patient woman. A well-established favorite among the other veterans. She didn't coddle them or push them to be weepy and whiney. They'd all had that drilled from them long ago.

Instead, she was calm and collected. Never did she drill Rowan for information or push meaningless busywork that felt pointless to accomplish. Yrene chatted like she was an old friend, sometimes prying tiny bits of information from him he hadn't even realized he was giving.

Occasionally days came where he didn't want to speak at all, and she respected those as well. With time, he slowly felt the days going by easier. He jerked less at loud noises, could sleep with a nightlight instead of having every lamp in the house turned on, and his dreams became less foul.

Rowan wasn't better. Not by a long shot. He doubted he would ever fully return to normal, but he felt more capable of carrying those lead weights.

One of the few things that still plagued him, and he couldn't understand why was his inability to open up to Aelin.

She was his best friend-his guiding light through months of hell. Yet their relationship now that he was home felt strained. Aelin walked on eggshells around him, and her little quirks he used to love grated on his nerves. Rowan would snip at her and gripe, but she always handled his moods with a saints patience. While he'd been working on fixing other pieces of his soul, he hadn't paid attention to how she was handling having him back, not until the previous weekend.

A plane had flown overhead, and Rowan dropped the cup of coffee he'd been holding. His body locked up and froze. Memories seized his brain, but with controlled breathing, he'd been able to bring himself back relatively fast. He should have felt proud. Yet, when he opened his eyes, he saw Aelin at his feet, picking up the shards of glass with her bare fingers and snapped.

He'd grabbed her wrist and shook the glass from her hands. They'd exchanged heated words which now wasn't uncommon between them. The words that spilled from his mouth were unnecessarily hurtful, and Rowan let her go, exasperated. He walked out of the room, wanting to get dressed for a run to clear his head, and when the door closed behind him, a muffled sob sounded from behind him.

Aelin didn't know he'd heard. She'd purposefully waited for him to leave before letting his words affect her, and it broke his heart. How many times had he'd wounded her by lashing out?

They'd had passionate fights before, and she'd never been afraid of putting him in his place. Why would she yield and allow him to walk over her? How could he let himself treat her so poorly? Rowan fretted. He felt disgusted by his actions but didn't know how to go about repairing their relationship.

So when therapy rolled around Monday morning, he surprised Yrene by immediately talking.

"I don't understand," Rowan began restlessly pacing. "She's never let me get away with being an asshole. Even when we were teenagers, that woman would have my ass if I ever crossed her boundaries."

Yrene sat quietly in her chair as he marched a talked. She occasionally fiddled with the end of her sleeve, but her attention never wavered as he spoke.

"Something is bothering me. Aelin is bothering me. It makes no sense," Rowan ran a hand through his hair. "I love her. Words cannot describe how much I missed being with her while I was overseas. She is my heart. But for some reason, I can't stand to be around her."

Rowan stops his movement and turns to Yrene almost pleadingly. "What's wrong with me?"

Yrene looks up with sympathy and points to the chair opposite of her. Rowan slumps into the chair, wringing his hands nervously, waiting for whatever sage advice she has. Maybe even an additional diagnosis on top of his intense PTSD and depression.

That last thought sent his gut sinking. He couldn't handle bringing home another bombshell to drop on his wife. Another conversation where he would rage and grieve while she comforted him with a cracked smile- promising him that she would be by his side.

He couldn't keep doing this to her.

"Nothing is wrong with you, Rowan." Yrene starts gently. "Anger is a phase of grief, and you've been given an unfair amount of things to mourn- friends, your career, your regular life. This is a normal step in the process of recovering."

"It's not fair," Rowan rests his fists on his knees and leans forward. "None of this is fair to her. Life wasn't pleasant for her while I was gone. I'm fully aware that she wasn't off dancing and sniffing daisies. She suffered. I suffered. We were both in pain, and now that I'm home, I've been getting better, but she's still hurting. I can't keep hurting her like this."

"Then it's good you brought this up. This is the kind of thing I am here to help you work on." Yrene lifts a glass of water to her lips and takes a drink. "You said Aelin hasn't been communicating it to you if you've been hurting her feelings?"

"No," Rowan states definitively. "She's not."

"Well, I haven't spoken to Aelin, so I can't say anything definitively, but it's very common for loved one's to repress their own emotions when assisting their family member on their way to recovery. It's possible she feels like laying her emotions on you while you cope with yours will hinder your progress."

"That's not right, though." Rowan taps his foot. "I've never wanted her to feel that way, and I never wanted to become the asshole she doesn't feel comfortable talking to."

"It's not that simple. Have you tried talking to her about what you went through as a POW?" Yrene drops bluntly. It's the first time she's been so candid with the language surrounding his imprisonment, and it makes him cringe, but she doesn't stop there. "You have every right to go at your pace and discuss things on your terms, but Aelin is taking her cues from you. If you are uncomfortable speaking to her, it's likely equally as awkward for her to bring up her problems to you. Unless she is communicating and is pushing you for information, that could also cause tension. You mentioned something about her time while you were gone. Has she been talking about it often?"

"Not exactly," Rowan forces his fists to relax and his leg to still. "When I got home, she was staying with her cousin out of town. I found stacks of letters she'd addressed to me in our bedroom, and I read them before she got back."

Yrene raises a hand to halt him, "I won't ask what was in those letters, but I am assuming they probably read like a diary of sorts?"

"Yes."

"Writing is a very therapeutic process for a lot of people. It's an easy way to put down your feelings without the awkwardness of someone being physically present. A lot of people find that they are more vulnerable in writing than they are in person. Have you ever considered writing back to her?"

"What?" Rowan asked, baffled.

"Maybe it will make talking to her easier," Yrene shrugs. "It doesn't have to be profound letters, maybe just a few notes. Perhaps it will break some of the ice and make her feel more comfortable approaching you again and vice versa."

"I'm not ready to tell Aelin what happened. I don't want to upset her." Rowan lowers his tone, aching to stand up and pace again. It was something he'd been doing a lot lately. He was constantly antsy.

"As I said, it doesn't need to be profound. Thank her for doing your laundry. Say I love you. Compliment her. Leave it somewhere she can find it, and let her know you still love her. Aelin is not what you're mad at. You are angry with the situation you've been forced into. Express that to her."

"That works?"

"There is only one way to find out, and it doesn't hurt to try." Yrene reaches into the drawer of the coffee table and pulls out a stack of sticky notes. "Here, to get you started."

Rowan takes the stack, and they end their session together. He walks out of her office in a daze, and the walk home offers even less clarity. Writing was never his thing. He'd written Aelin letters before, the customary ones military spouses exchange while apart, but he was no poet.

Rowan is hesitant about this new assignment, but when he comes home and finds Aelin asleep on their bed in the middle of the day, he realizes he has to try.

At first, it feels awkward and clumsy. Rowan gets the first note out of the way immediately, taking advantage of her nap. He writes 'Sorry' with a shaking hand and leaves it stuck to the screen of her phone. His heart writhes when he see's that she'd nestled one of his shirts under her head while she slept.

When Aelin wakes up, she doesn't mention the note, but the slight smile she gives lets him know he's forgiven.

He truly doesn't deserve it.

The following notes feel equally strange. Rowan sticks an 'I Love You' to Aelin's alarm clock and a 'You're beautiful' to her bathroom mirror. Of course, he means those things, but they feel paltry and empty, scribbled on a tiny square of colored paper. Still, Aelin never comments on the notes, but Rowan notes that she looks a little less tense. That's encouragement enough for him to keep trying.

The little notes feel too shallow for him, so Rowan tries to make them more specific. 'I love waking up to you in my bed,' 'I'm sorry I yelled,' and 'I would marry you all over again.'"

After the last one, Aelin acknowledges his notes with a kiss to his cheek for the first time. "I would marry you again, too. I'll see you after work."

Watching her walk out the door, Rowan found himself wishing she would stay. He should have held her longer that morning. Convinced her to call in sick.

Regret lingered in the back of his mind, but Rowan was content knowing she would enjoy herself at work. He'd met the owner of the small bookstore she now worked for, and he was a nice man. Aelin's eyes lit up as she gave him a tour between the shelves, and it was a better fit her personality overall. Rowan loved that she was happy at work. No longer was she being manipulated by that piece of shit at the bar. If Aedion hadn't run him from Orythn with a sheet of legal offenses, then Rowan would have had words with Erawan himself.

It would have been bloody.

Instead of feeling guilty, Rowan channeled his wistfulness into a longer note.

'I miss you when you are gone. Being around you has always been the best parts of my day. Some things never change.'

Aelin finds that note attached to her toothbrush, and when she stumbles into bed, he sees a sheen of silver on her cheeks. Rowan gathers her into his arms, pulling her into a deep kiss. They break apart, but Aelin remains tucked to his side for the rest of the night.

Yrene is ecstatic to hear their progress and encourages him to keep going. One day, he takes the time to count the envelopes Aelin had stacked on her desk. Neither of them had the heart to touch them. The day they reunited was still a fond memory between the two, but the memories sealed in those letters were painful.

It's a staggering number. Looking back, Rowan is astonished he'd managed to finish them all before she came home. She'd bled her heart onto those pages, and with all of the success his little notes had, had at healing their bond, he felt compelled to do the same.

Rowan writes his first letter. It's darker than he'd intended. He talks about his PTSD and how frustrated he gets with himself when he locks up. It's a few short rambling paragraphs that end with an apology for taking his stress out on her. That envelope, which he addresses with a red pen and stamps, he sticks in her purse, hoping she finds it later.

It's nauseating.

Rowan feels exposed. He's uncertain of how she will react to him admitting that he doesn't like it when she sees him in such a state. It's embarrassing.

At dinner the next day, he knows she's read it, somehow he knows, but Aelin doesn't bring it up. It brings doubts to his mind. Maybe he shouldn't have said anything? They were just starting to get back to normal. Dragging his shit into the middle wasn't helping.

That evening, they are both reading in the living room. The TV hums quietly on some old sitcom, and both of them are relaxed. Rowan wasn't ready for the show to switch from cheap jokes and laugh tracks to a commercial for an action movie. The sound of a gunshot sends Rowan into a memory.

His book is sent flying to the floor, and he curls over his knees, shielding his head with his hands. It takes several minutes for him to get his breathing under control, but when awareness to reality creeps back- Aelin is still quietly reading. His book is on the floor, but the TV is turned off.

It's quiet for several moments, but when Aelin glances up from her book and smiles, Rowan smiles back.

The letters come easy.

Rowan writes about his time in prison. His fears, lost friends, how the new scars came to be. Not only does he write about the hard things- some of his letters are essentially fan mail to his wife. They handle his attacks better, and with that, he finds his frustration with her waning. All of the reasons he loves Aelin come back to him in a rush. Sometimes it overwhelms him.

He loves her jasmine shampoo. The fact she's worn the same three scents since high school, and they are as reliable as the fire she has going every evening it dips below freezing. Rowan adores the way one half of her smile goes higher than the other. He spends a whole paragraph lamenting his hopes that their future children smile the same way. Kissing her is his favorite pass time. Her fingers combing through his hair while they watch another period movie is a close second.

With his mental state gradually improving, he notices a change in his physical body. Fat creeps back onto his ribs, slowly churning into muscle as physical therapy restores him back to his former shape. Over the course of months, his scars go from red to silver. The wan appearance of his skin disappears and days in the sun color him.

Aelin looks better too. She smiles bigger, laughs louder, and the shadows under her eyes go away. Her weight also increases, though Rowan would never say a damn thing. It's not in a bad way, either. She'd been looking so small. Her fire dimmed. He took it as a physical representation of her own recovery because she genuinely had suffered while he was away.

The letters become a part of their daily routine when Aelin starts writing them back. By the end of the year, it's no longer their sole way of meaningful communication. They talk. The letters recede into something like a love language.

Notes stuck in her shoes, envelopes tucked into his service dog, Fleetfoot's, collar. They include lousy poetry, stupid jokes, and small declarations of affection. Rowan loves it.

One day, he comes home from work and finds an envelope not hidden away. Aelin sits at the table, lip trapped under her front teeth and a green envelope between them.

Rowan glances between her and the letter, "Aelin?"

"Shh," she silences him as he unhooks Fleetfoots collar. "Don't talk. Just read."

He approaches the table with caution and breaks the seal of the envelope. Aelin's body is practically jittering with nervous energy, and the tears building in the corner of her eyes urge him to move faster.

Rowan slips the paper loose and looks at the contents. There is only two words.

It's Positive.

"What?" Rowan looks up and freezes when he looks at what Aelin has set on the table between him. A standard pregnancy test stick with two blue lines.

They'd started trying for a baby again. It was a big step for them both, but he'd been home for nearly two years now.

Aelin had experienced troubles before he'd been deployed that exposed how hard it would be for them to start a family. Their plans had been majorly derailed for obvious reasons, but they'd been prepared to accept that having a biological child may not be in the cards for them.

Positive.

Fleetfoot yips as Rowan practically lifts out of her seat, note still in hand, to kiss her. "This is the best letter I have ever gotten."

"That's really saying something," Aelin laughs against his lips.

He chuckles with her and strokes a thumb over the arch of her cheek. "You've set the bar high. It's going to be very difficult to outdo this one. I thought my anniversary ballad would keep me on top for a while, but this?" Rowan kisses her again. "This is priceless."

She hums and leans into his chest, "You can make it up to me in other ways."

Their noses brush as they lean against the table, Rowan's hands wandering beneath the hem of her shirt. Aelin gasps as his hands smooth over her plains of skin, and she tugs at the collar of his shirt.

"Aelin," he rasps as she pulls away from his neck, the ghosts of her kisses still tingling. "I love you."

"I know," she lays her head against his beating heart, and they sink into each other's embrace. "You write about it so damn much."

"And I'll keep doing it, for a long time."

"A long time?" Aelin looks up at him from under her eyelashes with a peaceful look. "I like the sound of that."

Fleetfoot whines as they shut her out of the bedroom to celebrate. The pieces of their old lives come together in their second act. Neither of them thought this sort of happiness would ever show up in their cards. They celebrate late into the night, and when Aelin falls asleep, Rowan writes. He really thinks it's his best work, yet.

Carefully, he tucks it under her pillow for her to find in the morning. He sets his wife’s alarm clock for her and lays with an arm tossed over her waist- and when he falls asleep? Rowan's dreams are filled with tomorrows, sweet embraces, and strange children.

He'd write those down for Aelin, too.

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jockpoetry · 4 years ago

Note

supernatural sees women as a tool for development and strengthening of narratives/motivation and dean sees his body as a tool. is that anything?

When I saw this ask I really made the 🥴in real life. So, yeah anon, I do think there’s something to this.

Quick Disclaimer before I actually launch into my thoughts™: A lot of my read of Dean stems from my experience as both an oldest daughter and a transman. Being the oldest daughter was an experience I lived for many years, but I am also a man. I wasn’t raised as a man, I wasn’t socialized as a man, and even though once I came out upon reflection my masculinity was obviously there. Like I was a man™ before I knew I was a man. Even when I actively tied my identity to femininity for a long time! A lot of my prideful moments were based around statements like: “I was the only girl who (fill in the blank).”

So I am just putting that out there before I launch into my spiel about Dean/Gender/Tool because they all interlock for me.

I am also going to apologize in advance because I know this has fully gone off the rails and I’m not even done writing it yet. If this is incomprehensible ! Well, happens to the best of us.

First off, most importantly I guess before we discuss womanhood and Dean and the way both are utilized on the show I need to say that I personally don’t subscribe the whole Dean is female coded thing.

It’s a read I can absolutely understand. But for me..he’s not.

He’s a hypermasculine man to the point that when (and because he is written as a punchline, as the stupid™ brother, as the whore™, as the mother/father™, as daddy’s blunt instrument™, etc) Dean deviates from the pre-accepted definition of hypermasculine it’s Wrong.

It’s Instantly Feminine.

I think the internet has made the world very black and white, or blue and pink maybe. This point, I think, colors a lot of these discussions. Dean cooks, he cleans and so therefor he’s female coded. When that really just feeds back into the whole toxic masculinity loop. You can’t be masculine and cook and clean and cry. That’s for feminine people only.

I get the argument! I do, I just think that Dean’s actions are not inherently feminine, it’s just in the vacuum of Female and in the Absence of Traditional Masculinity it makes sense to assign him female coded and move on.

IN FACT the way that Dean is the action hero of the show, the Masculine™ one on the show - but he cries, and he rages, and he cooks (Again and Again) and cleans (Again and Again). The fact he’s macho and confident but he has so little self esteem. Is frankly insane to me. You have this blaze of glory character who is so depressed that they have him kill himself. Twice. In explicitly “I hate myself, I hate hearing all the things I hate about myself, I want to destroy myself” ways.

On just a regular ol’ network show that is just ungodly bad at times. They let their Male Hero cry - all the time (if I linked every example of this the essay would be...longer than it already is, but just take my word for it). Dean tears up and grieves and shows more than just Angry Horny Violent™ (he shows plenty of that, don’t get me wrong) but he’s Emotional (Again and Again and Again). In many different ways!

I mean, beyond even just tearing up, they make their Male Hero™ face sexual violence in pretty, uniquely horrifying - and queer! - ways.

Let’s make it clear, they did a lot of this unintentionally.

Or they do it as a joke.

Off of dean for a moment to say women are plot devices in this show. I could probably count on one hand female characters who have sincere depth to them that have roles outside of progressing plot, filling a filler episode, and who are still alive. Like even characters such as Charlie who are wholly developed, and interesting, are only remembered/mentioned/utilized to progress plots or fill an episode out - and then she dies. For pain™ for plot™ for no other reason than to traumatize a character.

Which let’s also make it clear Dean’s trauma is also only used as a plot device (as is Sam’s but in a different way, and Cas’ trauma is a whole other barrel of fish we’re not gonna dive into right now). Like wholesale full stop they don’t actually care about what happened to him. Unless it’s relevant in an episode.

Oh that boys home he was left at when he was 16 for months? Sure we’ll sprinkle that in in the back half of the series. Oh he was covered in bruises and said it was from a hunt (when it’s clear contextually they were from his father but saying the fantastical but true is easier than saying the uncomfortable but true). As Dean says though the story became the story, he was sixteen. He just went along with what John said.

We only see Dean ever truly rage at John, by the way, when either Dean is dead (when he’s between life and death and he rages at John, right before John “apologizes” for traumatizing him, for putting too much on Dean’s shoulders, and fucking dying) or John is dead (the Djinn episode where Dean is straight™ and John is dead™ and he goes to his grave and just yells and rages like he should have to his father in the real world).

Dean’s trauma from being both tortured and torturer in hell? Yeah, we don’t talk about that after it’s Relevant™. Even though it’s clear - especially in the demon!dean, mark of cain era, all those years later - Alastair still has his hooks inside of Dean. I stopped watching originally after s8 ended. I was fed up with the show, and with this whole renaissance I’ve been doing a rewatch and I’m into season twelve now and it really has never come up again.

Even when he had the mark of cain and he was tasked with questioning and accused of torturing it was “the mark has changed you” and not “you were victim and victimizer in hell for forty years, which is longer than you’ve been alive on earth” (and, was about as long as he wound up living. Which is desperately sad.

Because we talk about Sam’s desire for a “normal” life but, Dean wanted out too. He was tired in the first few seasons of this show, he never had a chance to taste freedom (we don’t count the boys home, because that was a different kind of regimented life, and it was a false freedom) the way that Sam did in Flagstaff with Bones or at Stanford with Jessica. Love for Dean is sacrificing, it’s putting himself/his happiness/his well-being last.

Because Dean only knows love in the context of violence (like all of these fun examples, for starters) is a phrase that I’ve said a lot both in private chats and on here, and I absolutely think it goes to him being a tool (a blunt instrument, a plot device, so both textually and metatextually) instead of a person. Which Cas sees Dean’s shame/guilt and sees that side of Dean because he touched his soul, and saw more than just the Righteous™ man, more than just the tool, he saw A good man, not a machine.

On the other side though you have how “bad guys” view Dean: Desperate, Sloppy, Needy, Dean’s hole (Again), which is again so wildly counterintuitive to the story of a Macho Man Hero™. You’re using vocabulary that is both queering him and feminizing (and I know this a meme format, but sincerely it is done in a derogatory way it is feminizing. It’s breaking him down to bare parts, to a sloppy hole).

My whole rewatch I have been absolutely fascinated by how identity and free will is utilized/conceptualized on this show. Castiel has been my main focus, but Dean and how he is framed by himself and others is...fascinating - and frustrating. The writers inconsistency lends itself not only to this unintentionally queer character, but also one that again is incredibly easily read as a non-traditionally masculine character.

As a feminine character.

This show has so few female characters that of course it had to foist the roles/behaviors/plots that a female character might have onto a male character. Which I think is part of why reading Dean as trans (either transmasc, or transfemme) is so easily done like.

Half of these are shit posts, but you can find trans allegories/textual evidence in this show again, again, again, again, and again. And this is unintentional, they don’t want you to look at Dean and see woman, former future or present. Like a lot of these I’m sure are punchlines for them, because women/queer folk are punchlines to them.

Sometimes the only women in an episode are random witnesses who get two sentences of dialogue, and then the main guest character is a man. Who flirts with Dean, and Dean is receptive to it.

They paint themselves into a corner, there are female Rabbi. So easily could Aaron have been a woman instead of a man, but they made the choice to play up the HaHa Dean & Men card.

Because, again, Dean has filled the slot of Woman™ of Female Lead™ and the flirting would’ve been straight if Dean was a woman. It’s a plot device, they needed to have the guest character be disarming, be cute, make the main character flustered.

It’s just the main character is a man, because they’re allergic to women. But they still need those female plots, tools of femininity, to move their show forward. I mean I am a big subscriber to transmasc Jo (no idea if anyone else is with me on this one, but let me explain). Jo is in love with Dean (concept) not Dean (actuality). Which, we’ve all had our eggs cracked by someone like that. We were in love with them until we realized we just wanted to be them.

He loved her like a little sister, she loved him like a lost idol. He’s a golden calf and she dies for him, because she believed in him, she was the original character dashed at the altar of the Winchesters.

I fully believe if she had lived and if this show had a crumb of actual good writing Jo could have been a deeply compelling transmasc character. But I also think she’s a fascinating inversion of Dean. Dean is a Masculine Character who subverts Toxic Masculinity, Jo is a Tomboy™ she’s not your (if you take it straight, literally and metaphorically) average female love interest. She’s angry, she’s not soft at all, all edges and corners and thorns. She isn’t helpless, she’s stubborn but not in a “you’re going to get punished for this” way. She’s right when she’s stubborn. She’s helpful, she’s a martyr.

I could do a whole other essay just on Jo (and Ellen, and Ash, what a fucking trio!) but needless to say Jo was one of the first...plot device feminine tools sacrificed to this show. She was a regular, she was unique, she was an engaging character, and she still died (to progress the plot? no. for man pain? yeah, for like three episodes maybe, and then it’s forgotten just like the rest of Dean’s trauma, as we mentioned above).

Dean and Women and Love is a very interesting tool used too because. Boy they sure try to make Dean love women and it fails in small ways, and in big, meaningless, failed het domesticity (again) ways. Not to mention whatever Lust (in the form of a woman) having no effect upon him, when they could have used that moment to assert his Masculinity and Heterosexuality. He behaved normally? And...also...whatever the fuck the Adios thing was!

Like they have these opportunities to make him Traditionally (toxically) Masculine, but make the choice to...not? To soften him. Because it’s a tool. He’s their female lead, textually he had to take on the role of mother(/father) to Sam, but...I mean this is a million miles long already. I know, but we absolutely can’t not talk about his Paternal/Maternal behaviors. (Which appear again and again again and again, outside of his relationship with Sam even/especially). He’s the mother hen, sage, safety net, beacon, home to so many side characters they meet.

I mean in many ways Jody is also a Dean comparison. Lost her family. Found a new family. She is non-traditionally feminine, but easily flustered and Silly™ (let’s just drop the entire sex talk over family dinner scene with Alex and the boys and looking to them for help, even though she was already a mother, and she’s a cop, and a hunter and this confident no nonsense individual.... She’s not). We are meant to see her as this hard ass, but she makes extra food for the boys to take back to the bunker. She’s deadly in a fight, but also still easily overwhelmed and put into damsel mode, and she cares so much even in the face of adversity.

It’s also fun to see how Jo | Jody are reflections of Dean at different points of his life. Younger, cocky | Older, settled.

Even when the text tries to tell us that he’s not.

When it reminds us that he’s violent. That he is his father, even if he says that Sam is more like John (which was reflexive, which was angry because of Adam and how Sam was behaving like Dean in that episode, and yes there are parallels to be drawn between Sam and John, the show barely dives into them). Instead we’re told that Dean is John (Again and Again and Again and Again).

So intensely that a fanfictionalized version of the Winchester Gospels makes it an entire fucking musical number.

And yet, despite the texts insistence to make Dean Macho Man Father Reborn™ We get this Dean who is silly (and directly compared/contrasted to the female character in this scene), soft, in heels, nagging, and... Sully (you know Sam’s imaginary friend who has the same Haircut Dean has, who is a softer, shorter, friendlier, campier, version of Dean who was a replacement For Dean until the real one let Sam back in? That? Sully?) it’s hard to take them seriously.

Hell, even when he was A DEMON? What did they do? They had him sing off-key drunken karaoke, they had him doing this ! Like that’s your hero, unhinged, free to be as bad as he could be, and you put him in a cowboy hat in a romance with the king of hell.

The Female Lead, everyone. Who’s biggest betrayal(s) comes at the hands of his love interest (again, a man even though it was an angel who could’ve taken any vessel! who could’ve been recast, who canonically dies admitting his love to Dean - that one), who he tries so hard to be loyal to.

The contradictions of his character are laughable. He is so emotional, but if he is engaged about his emotions? He shuts down, or he’s exasperated about being asked about them. It really is Female Lead/Only Here For The Plot disease, because everything is more important than him. How’s he doing? Doesn’t matter outside of the context of how x character is doing or that y character is dead. Or his emotions only matter if they’re done in penance.

They also really do frame him as Pretty Boy™ in a violent way, or in a derogatory manner. They’ll give us homoerotic shots like this or these and never really acknowledge how these are gay shots. Sorry the gun scene is a a straight up sex scene, the beer sip spilling out over his mouth is oral, the scene where Cas fills up Dean’s glass with whisky is also a sex scene, they do this shit on purpose but accidentally queer it up. If Dean was a woman these scenes wouldn’t even matter. They’d be passing moments, but because he is not just a man but A Man™ they’re insane to see.

Not to mention all of these scenes and all the ones I haven’t linked where Dean dresses up. He performs masculinity, but he performs femininity too. He’s a plot device that is slotted in to whatever role they need. He’s Super Straight Butch Man™ but coaches the lesbian on how to successfully flirt with a man. He’s Action Hero™ who sits through a montage with the same lesbian and yays and nays her outfits, and enjoys himself.

Fuck he loves dressing up, he feels better in these costumes because performing a character is easier than being himself. Because who is Dean? He’s a tool, both textually and metatextually. It is exactly how the women and because of the women on the show that Dean is the way that he is. If there was a more steady female presence Dean would not be half as much of a plot device or half as camp/gay/feminine/non-traditionally masculine/queer coded as he is.

In conclusion....

#dean winchester #supernatural #spn meta #spn #gender #anon #replies #messages #my writing #ANYWAYS PHEW okay anon i don't know if i even fully got to your point but i woke up at like 3:30 to this ask and i've been fixated on it #HOPE THIS IS EVEN JUST a little bit coherent #the way i meant for this to talk so much more about transness and eldest daughter syndrome and just FORGOT #oops #oh well

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