#there’s a distinct difference between the two i can’t put into words what it is but it’s there

[astrobei]

(gestures at couple) so who in this relationship is all time low coded and who’s blink 182 coded

[thebibliosphere]

I’ve had an increase in rainbow aura with my migraines lately (I used to get them once a year, if that. Now, I’ve had it twice in one month) so I’ve become somewhat paranoid whenever something flashes over my vision.

Sometimes, it's just light reflecting off my phone, but it still makes me freeze up in a fear response when it happens because it usually means I’ve got about 20 minutes before I’m in agony.

Apparently, this new paranoia extends into my dreams now, too, because I was running down a long corridor, aware that there was something behind me that I needed to escape, but all of a sudden, in my dream, rainbow zigzags consumed my vision, and I stopped, dead and went, “fuck, migraine.”

That's when I became aware of James Bond/Daniel Craig standing beside me, gun drawn.

“Oh, shit. Do you need to lie down?” he asked while I stared at him.

I said, “What about the thing chasing us?”

“Oh, don’t worry about that, darling. If you need to lie down you can lie down. I’ll just kill them.”

I blinked at him for a bit, still winded from running then said, “Sure,” starting to get to my knees, ready to lie down on the cold stone floor beneath us.

“Sure?”

“Yeah. Kill ‘em. I’m just gonna...” I gestured vaguely at the floor. “Be right here, I guess.”

“You can go upstairs, you know,” he said, loading a fresh clip into his gun. “This museum has a hotel on top of it.”

“Oh good,” I said, starting to suspect this was a dream and not Daniel Craig about to murder the people chasing me because I had a migraine. “I’ll do that then.”

So I got back up and started climbing the stairs that looked an awful lot like the stairs in the Kelvin Grove Art Gallery, only to abruptly walk into Deathstroke and Nightwing doing their best to kill each other in the corridor of what was clearly a hotel based on the room service tray Nightwing was using to deflect projectiles.

They froze. I looked at them. They looked at me. “I’ve got a migraine,” I said,

“Shit, sorry,” Nightwing said, putting down his tray as both men stepped back to let me walk down the decimated corridor. “We’ll be more quiet.”

“Room 13 is open,” Deathstroke helpfully informed me.

“Is there a body in it?” I asked, now leaning against the wall, less walking along, more sliding.

“Not anymore.”

“Do you need anything?” Nightwing asked, “pain killers? Ice pack?”

I waved them off and made my way into room 13 where David Jason dressed as Detective Jack Frost looked up at me from the book he was reading on the bed.

“This is a dream,” he informed me.

“No it isn’t,” I said, despite knowing it was as I hobbled over to the bed and flopped down beside him. “And this room was supposed to be empty.”

“Open, not empty,” corrected Jack Banon who had taken David Frost’s place, dressed like young Alfie from Pennyworth as he sat beside me on the bed, leaning back against the headboard. “There’s a very distinct difference between the two. Oh, don’t look at me like that. Who do you think moved the body?”

“I need to sleep,” I said, “if I can fall asleep, the migraine might go away.”

“That's all right,” he said. “You do that. I’ll make sure no one else comes in. Oh, just one thing before you do.”

He reached into his pocket and pulled out something I couldn't quite see and held it out to me. “You’ll need this.”

“What is it?” I said, my brain doing the dream thing where it refuses to read books or interpret numbers correctly. “I can’t see, what is it?”

“Oft, sorry. Can’t tell you that. More than my job’s worth.”

“You’re job...”

“Yeah.” and thats when he leaned over, stuck me with a needle and said, “Night night.”

And I woke up to the sound of @mothman-etd getting into the shower and Holly Mop wiggling under thre covers with me.

First words out of my mouth were, “What the fuck?”

And then I immediately pulled up Tumblr to write this down before I forget it because what the fuck.

Didn't wake up with a migraine though so... *knock on wood*

[eevees-hobbies]

Nasty Girl (Fem!Reader x Ren Kaji) - NSFW

Author’s Note: I was sitting in traffic, and Lick or Sum by GloRilla started playing, and I thought, “this would make Kaji blush if it blasted through his headphones.” Anyway, GloRilla and Tinashe songs are referenced below, but you don’t have to know those songs to enjoy the story 🙂

Synopsis: New Fear has been Unlocked: not disconnecting your music from your boyfriend's headphones. Now, he just has to match your freak. 

Content Warning: Fem!Reader x Ren Kaji. Sensory Deprivation (hearing), lyrics are explicit, Kaji imagines you giving him a lap dance, mention of Kaji smelling your sex, cunnilingus, p in v, dom behavior, dirty talk, use of the words slut and brat, ass smacking, talk of worshipping that ass, and technically a cumshot/creampie combo. Tis smut. Minors Do Not Interact. 

Word Count: 2.4K

Divider by @strangergraphics. Story banner by me.

If you and Kaji could add music sharing to the official list of love languages, it would be underlined, bolded, and highlighted as it serves as an integral part of your relationship.

You appreciate Kaji’s favorite genres. Some of your dates with him include attending concerts—hard-hitting drums and thunderous electric rifts from bands like Metallica, Slipknot, and Megadeth make up some of your fondest memories with him.

Kaji enjoys listening to you express your musical taste, too. You are most certainly not a monolith; your taste in music varies, drifting through the ebbs and flows of enjoying different beats and sounds as you float between different genres depending on your mood.

While some of the songs you like may not resonate with him personally, he’ll always nod along as you gush about your favorite artists. He adores how your face lights up, whether you’re talking about rock, metal, hip-hop, or everything else in between. So when you apologize because you’re "talking his ear off," he’ll shake his head and encourage you to keep going. “Please tell me more about Megan Thee Stallion’s new album.”

Not only do you two exchange opinions on music, but it also isn’t unusual for you to borrow his headphones to listen to your playlist. 

One day, you were preparing to make dinner, so you reached for your cell phone to put on some motivational tunes to get you through the monotony of dicing vegetables.

As you pushed play on your phone, you tilted your head to the side. You didn’t hear lyrical prose coming from the speakers. Instead, you heard the distinct sound of deafening silence. You pushed the play button again, considering that maybe you hadn’t pressed the correct area on the screen.

Still, nothing. 

As you pick up your device to investigate whether the volume is on, Kaji, seated on the couch in the other room, scrunches his nose. 

The music from the band In Flames suddenly stopped and was replaced by what he assumed to be something you were attempting to listen to. 

His eyebrows furrow as he genuinely listens to the lyrics.

Lick on my clit, make this pussy cream. Do this motherfucker how you do them Russian creams.

Yeah, there’s no doubt that this is from your playlist, and it was certainly…graphic. 

Kaji rises from the couch and approaches the kitchen doorway, pausing under the doorframe to admire you. His eyes wander over your shape, your ass jutting out a bit as you lean your elbows on the counter. 

The lyrics are still drilling into his ear, raunchier and more explicit than the first few lines he heard, but he can’t help but wonder if you’d be willing to sing these lyrics to him. He imagines your pretty lips mouthing filthy shit into his ear. 

His cock twitches, thinking about you dancing to the song, flirting your hips and ass in his lap as you tease him, letting his hands explore your body as you dip low and bend over, letting him see the way your ass eats up the fabric of shorts. Before he knows it, he’s rock hard, the outline of his dick protruding through his black skinny jeans. 

You still haven’t identified the problem, and right as you consider force-closing the application, you feel Kaji press his body against your back. You jump a little at his sudden presence and open your mouth to tell him to give you a warning next time, but before you can, he places one shell of the headphones over your ear, leaving the one closest to his mouth uncovered.

“Interesting taste you have. What did she say? ‘All over his breath like pussy flavored gum’”

Well, damn, then.

Your knees suddenly feel as though they may not be able to keep you upright, trembling and unstable, as if you’re a new babe learning how to walk again. You feel the warmth of his breath, sweet and cherry-flavored, on the back of your neck. 

Your boyfriend never talks like this. Kaji isn’t vanilla by any means, but he definitely doesn’t say things like GloRilla does in her song. 

You laugh nervously. Suddenly, you’re very aware of how hard he’s pressing your body into the edge of the counter.

“I didn’t realize that I hadn’t disconnected Bluetooth.” 

“No, looks like you didn’t.”

Kaji reaches up and places the other headphone shell over your ear—music drowns out any of the sounds in the kitchen, like the ticking of the clock on the wall or Kaji’s breathing in your ear. Instead, it’s replaced with the beginning of Tinashe’s Nasty.

I've been a nasty girl, nasty.

As she asks if anyone’s going to match her freak, you can feel Kaji’s hands tracing down your body, squeezing your breasts through the thin fabric of your dress, fingers lingering over your nipples despite the presence of your bra. He knows your body so well that he can locate them simply from memory. 

As he glides his hands down your stomach, you prepare for him to touch you where you need him the most. The drooling, twitching mess that she is needs him.

But Kaji’s hands move behind you instead of touching you where you ache. You let out an audible whine that earns you an unseen smirk. Yeah, he knows what you think you need, but he knows better. 

Need somebody with a good technique Is somebody gonna match my nasty?

He crouches down, hands lifting your dress; you don’t need a verbal command to know to kick up your feet so he can pull your panties down and toss them to the side. 

If you keep up with me I'll keep on comin' back

With his strong hands placed firmly on your ass, his fingers grip and fondle the plush flesh, earning a strangled moan from your throat. You wiggle your ass in an attempt to get him to stop toying with you and touch you. But all you earn is a searing smack to your ass cheek and Kaji’s eyes appreciating the way you jiggle for him. 

If you do it too good I'm gonna get attached

You yelp, your skin feeling a brief sting from his palm. You pout, but honestly, you only have yourself to blame, and you should absolutely know better. Kaji prefers it when you behave yourself, but when you are fervent about acting up? Fine, either a firm smack to your ass or clit, or a hand wrapped around your throat is quick to put you in your place. 

But he’s not cruel. Punishments are his last resort, and as he presses his lips to the tender spot where he smacked your ass, offering you a gentle peace treaty, you’re reminded of that. 

You once again jerk from his touch, feeling like something is pricking at your ass, but the kitchen counter and the way he’s keeping you held against it leave you with limited escape routes. 

Kaji licks the indentations his teeth made on your cheek, a low growl erupting from his throat.

Fuck, he wouldn’t call himself an ass worshipper, but he’d be willing to drop to his knees and press his forehead against the filthy ground on the street to pay homage to yours. 

Cause it feels like heaven when it hurts so bad Baby, put it on me I like it just like that

“Kaji, that hurt!”

The benefit of you being unable to hear is that Kaji doesn’t have to answer you. If he did, you’d probably hate the answer. A monotone “Good” from him would probably warrant an attitude from you. And he doesn’t want attitude—at least not at this moment—he just wants a well-intentioned taste. 

You gasp as he presses his face into your sex, nose nudging against your folds, inhaling all of you. His mouth is watering as his tongue licks up and down your already wet slit, your slick sticking to your folds in the way fresh honey sticks to a honeycomb. His fingers spread your cunt open, eyeing the way you already dribble like a slut for him.

Your eyes roll back as he delivers a peck to your pussy, then a longer kiss until his mouth forms in an opened-mouth make-out session with her, not being liberal with the use of his tongue. You begin to press yourself back onto his mouth, daring his tongue to be even deeper. And Kaji doesn’t fight you; you give a silent thanks that he’s allowing you to fuck his tongue. 

He brings his hand between your thighs, allowing the palm of his hand to rub against your clit as you bounce back on his face.

“You’re so messy,” he growls into your cunt as your slick drips down his chin and drenches his palm. And it’s the god-honest truth; your cunt is dripping, hot, wet, thick, and languid, coating his tongue and throat with your essence. You’re his favorite indulgence. When he has a sweet tooth, he doesn’t think of or crave candy; he thinks of you. 

As your cum cascades into his mouth, his tongue cleans up every inch of you, tongue sliding between your folds, over your clit, your clitoral hood, and even your inner thighs. By the time he considers it a job well done, you’re glistening in his saliva more so than your cum. 

Wiping his mouth against the back of his hand, he rises again to take his place pressed against your back.

“K-Kaji,” your moan is desperate as you press your ass against his crotch. “Need you so bad, baby!”

Kaji can’t help but keep his eyes on you as your head falls back to rest on his shoulder. You don’t realize how loud you’re being with the music playing in your ears, but he desperately hopes the neighbors can hear every single thing you yell. 

Each gasp and moan leaving your lips has him throbbing, his heart pounding in his chest as his eyes travel down to your neck, watching you swallow so thickly, eyes pooling with desperation and pleading to have him, him, him.

He hikes one of your legs onto the counter, forcing you to knock over some of the produce you were planning to use for dinner. 

He’s not very patient, even in moments where he wants to savor you; he’s his own worst enemy and too eager to feel you around him. He’s already stretching your cunt apart with the head of his dick, and you lean over to give him a better angle. 

Kaji, ever the appreciative one, bottoms out immediately, stretching your hole to the thickest part of him.  

With each jerk of his hips, the headphones shift until they clatter onto the counter in front of you. The sounds you were unable to hear before overwhelm your senses immediately. You catch the end of Kaji sputtering your name so loudly that you’re surprised you didn’t hear him over the music.

“Fuck, why are you so messy?” He rasps out, breath shakey and labored not from exertion but from simply being so consumed by his desire for you he can’t help but suck in too much oxygen. 

“M-maybe it’s the way you just slobbered on my pussy?”

“Oh, god. There’s that fucking mouth. Headphones must be off.” You earn another smack to your ass and the quickening of his ruts into your sopping cunt. “Like you better when you’re too busy moaning like a slut to be a brat.”

You practically mewl in appreciation of being called a slut and a brat in the same sentence.

“Yeah, look at ya squeezing me tight, brat. Jerkin’ me off with your needy pussy.”

You bury your face into the crook of your elbow, moaning and face heating up because he’s fucking right; your pussy is wringing him, hoping to coax every last drop of his cum out of his balls.

Kaji hisses. Without warning, your cunt clamps down onto him, halting his rutting, “Fuck, pretty girl. Already?”

You whine because, really, what the fuck were you supposed to do? He should be praising you for holding on this long.

As your clenching stops, he has a bit more clearance to continue his thrusts, bottoming out into your tight, orgasming sex. The wet, squelching sound your pussy makes as Kaji hilts you are loud,  filthy, lewd, practically sounding of nothing but sin. He can’t help but think, “like those songs she likes,” as he whimpers at the thought.

“Fuck, well, I’m glad you’re feeling good. Gonna let me cum now?” He’s teasing you because, of course, he can cum. You aren’t stopping him—the more the fucking merrier. You try to utter precisely that, but he juts his hips sharply, knowing you were going to say something with that smart-ass mouth of yours, the tip of his dick drilling against your g-spot.

Your nails scrape against the counter, trying to grip and claw at something. “K-kaji, I’m…!”

You bite your lip, that all-too-familiar tightening overtaking you until it bursts, and another orgasm rips through you. 

Kaji groans and pulls out with urgency because there’s something he has to do. Call it a compulsion or whatever label you want to assign to it, but it’s something he’s compelled to do to you when the urge to cum inside doesn’t sway him.

He spreads your labia with his thumb, butterflying your pretty pussy for him. He’s giving himself solid pumps with his free hand, eyes never leaving your ass, loving the way it looks sticking out like this for him. He gasps, his moan raspy but so deliciously loud. “Fuck, fuck, fuck here it c-comes!”

His cum shoots out, splattering all over your waiting hole until it’s so covered by his thick, white seed that he can’t see your opening anymore. And the final part of the ritual? Smearing it all over your folds, the fleshy pink of you, and pushing it back in with the tip of his dick for good measure.

“What even is that fetish called?” you mumble.

“I don’t have a fetish. I just like doing…this.” He can’t tear his eyes away at how pretty she looks, covered in white.

He finally places a kiss on the back of your neck, his hand reaching around your fucked out and bent over form to grasp his headphones. “Forget cooking. Let’s order in.”

And maybe after this romp in the kitchen, you both had inadvertently conditioned yourselves to use certain songs to initiate sex. His dick automatically hardening when you play songs that bring him back to the moment in the kitchen, and him placing the headphones over your ears as he fucks you to the same music that celebrates getting your back blown out.

[p0orbaby]

A Very Merry Christmas Indeed

summary: you give leah the best gift of all

warnings: talks of pregnancy

a/n: just a little something for you all during the holidays

word count: 467

-

Leah was nestled in the midst of crumpled wrapping paper, a playful frown adorning her face as she observed her mounting stack of gifts. "You really know how to spoil me, love," she teased, casting a narrowed gaze in your direction.

You grinned nervously, handing her a beautifully wrapped box. “Yeah? Well I saved the best for last,” you said, watching as she shot you another smile and took the box from you.

Leah raised an eyebrow, noting the distinct difference in this particular gift. A hand-tied bow, plain paper, no tags. She opened it with a steady hand, and as the box revealed its contents, she found herself holding a onesie with the words “Future Arsenal Star” written on it. Confusion momentarily etched across her face until her gaze met yours.

“What’s this about?” Leah inquired as she turned the material around to get a better look. “I think someone left this under the tree by mistake”

You took a deep breath, an apprehensive smile playing on your lips. “No, someone didn’t. I put it there. And we’re going to need it sooner than later,” you say, holding up a small ultrasound image.

Leah’s eyes widened, her initial confusion shifting to realisation. “Are you…?” she stammered, her voice choking up as she tried to speak.

You nodded, tears welling up in your eyes. It was releasing more than anything. You hate keeping secrets, especially from your wife. “We’re going to be parents. We’re starting this incredible journey together,” you whispered, emotions swelling up between the two of you.

Leah’s own eyes glistened as she reached for you, pulling you into a tight embrace. “I can’t believe it,” she murmured into your neck as she held you close. “When did you find out?”

“A couple weeks back” you sniff, trying and failing to compose yourself. “I wanted it to be a surprise”

Leah pulls back from where she buried herself into you. Her eyelashes are stuck together with tears and her cheeks flushed and rosy. You lean down from where she’s placed you in her lap on the floor to kiss her, you can’t resist any longer.

“I thought something was up,” Leah confesses when she pulls back, her fingers tracing absentminded patterns on your back. “You were acting different, but I figured it was just the holiday stress”

You chuckle softly, bring your hand up to brush loser hairs from her face. “A little, but mainly I was just getting impatient to tell you”

The room filled with the warmth of the holiday season, intertwined with the profound joy of a new beginning. As you and Leah embraced, the promise of parenthood enveloped you both, creating a memory that would forever be etched in the fabric of your lives.

“This is the best Christmas gift ever”

[novlr]

I’m just starting out with writing, and I really want my characters to feel different from each other. How do I make sure they have their own unique voices so my readers can tell them apart?

Experiment with character dialect

Dialect refers to the language people use when they speak: their accent, their slang, their regional or generational vernacular. When we think of “dialect”, we often think of things like “y’all” or “yer man” or “innit” — clichéd indications of place. You can definitely use these in your story, but also challenge yourself to go deeper.

Dialect can be a result of generational trends — you’ll notice that today’s teenagers don’t talk the same way their parents or grandparents do! Words fade in and out of fashion all the time. They can also be tied to a particular industry or subculture. When developing each character’s unique voice, consider what kind of slang or specialised language they might incorporate into the way they speak. 

Vary your characters’ syntax

Syntax has to do with the way we structure our sentences. Some characters will use only short, compact sentences, while others will ramble for miles. Some will always use grammatically correct language, while others will speak in fragments. 

A useful exercise is to write a conversation between two characters who use very different syntax in the way they talk. You can take their different approaches to the comical extreme until you get a sense of their different voices, and then dial it back and incorporate their individual syntaxes with more subtlety.  

Consider your characters’ word choices

There are very few true synonyms in the English language; each word has its own distinct connotation and tone. For example, one character might describe themselves as loquacious, while another describes them as a motormouth. Or, they might describe an authority figure as derisive, while the other character says they’re mean. 

The words a character lands on in any given situation can communicate a lot about how they see the world and themselves. 

Put your characters in moments of conflict

Conflict, tension, and suspense reveal who your characters really are. One character might become loud and aggressive, while another shuts down and speaks only in quiet monosyllables. Sometimes, a character’s voice contrasts the words they’re saying (you can communicate this through dialogue and action tags); for example, if a character says, “I’m not afraid!” in a strained, rattling voice, that belies their fear. 

As an exercise, try writing an argument between two of your characters and explore how the tension changes the way they speak. Then, you can incorporate this into your story.

Don’t neglect body language

On that note, a big part of a character’s distinct voice is the way they behave when they talk. You can convey this through action tags (“She hugged herself tight as she spoke”) or through descriptions surrounding the dialogue. 

Look at how your character holds themself — do they sprawl, taking command of the space, or do they try to make themself disappear? Do they only half-listen to the person talking to them, or do they make them feel like they’re the centre of the world? The way you communicate body language to the reader will inform the way they hear that character’s voice.

Read your work out loud

When you’ve finished the first draft of a story, it’s always a good idea to read your work out loud. This helps you catch any misused words, typos (the age of autocorrect is notorious for this), or inauthentic speech. You don’t have to let anyone hear you while you do this — it’s simply a tool for you as the writer to get a better sense of how your words come across on the page.

When you read, listen to each character’s dialogue and check to make sure it sounds true to that particular character. If you can’t tell the character voices apart, you may need to create a little more distinction through your revision process, using the tools we looked at above. 

Listen to character voices in the wild

A great way to develop your ear for character voices and get inspired along the way is to listen to the way real people talk. Go to a public park, a café, or a marketplace and stealthily absorb the language people use to express themselves. See if you can get a sense of what they’re thinking and feeling underneath their words. Then, you can incorporate elements of these experiences into your characters. 

Remember — human beings are unfathomably complex. Each is the epicentre of their own little universe, with all its dangers and joys. To create characters that readers will follow to the end, ensure that each one has a voice that’s unique and alive. 

[starstruckmiraclekitty]

omg i loved innate desire to protect! are you going to do a pt 2? if so please let the reader make it out alive😭😭

Yes!! I did this one part angst and part fluff lol, best of both worlds!!!

Thanks for reading😊💚

Part 1:

Warnings: angst, mentions of violence, swearing

Innate Desire to Protect Part 2

"She’s suffered some major internal bleeding, and it may take some time for her to wake up from these injuries. I really can’t put a time stamp on it, gentleman, I’m sorry.” 

“Thank you Doctor, we appreciate all that you are doing for them.” Price said, patting Ghost on the back.

Each of 141 was continuously in your hospital room, they took turns taking watch on you, none of them really wanting you to wake up alone.

Ghost could only stare at the doctor, he was hoping she would've given a different answer. He wanted you to be awake, he wanted to scold you for doing something so impossibly stupid, jeopardizing your life for his. 

“Alright gents, why don’t 3 of us head on over to Patricks and grab a drink and a bite, we’ll have someone swap out in a bit.” Gaz suggested. They were all tired, and frankly could use a drink after the long days that followed the mission, and the near death scare you gave them. 

“God I’d go for a whiskey.” Price muttered, standing up and heading to the door.

“L.T. why don't you head over to the bar with the guys. I’ll be here to watch her.” Soap said, silently hoping Simon would finally take the chance to decompress. He knew you’d be okay, but Simon hadn’t allowed himself to unwind the tension that had built inside him since you got shot. 

Simon studied Soap for a moment, considering his words. Perhaps a bourbon was just what he needed to relax. He trusted Johnny to stay here and look after you.

“Thanks, Johnny.” He said, making his way out of the room with Price and Gaz, not before sparing you a concerned glance.

“Go, L.T. I’ve got her.” Soap said, noticing his lieutenants hesitance to leave. 

Simon only nodded, the final push from Soap being what he needed to head out the door.

“Stubborn bastard.” Soap chuckled under his breath. He relaxed in his chair, finally taking the time to rest, his gaze thoughtfully landing on you.

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It was about two hours later, when you awoke to the sounds of muffled laughter and a voice saying, “Steaming Jesus, that’s too funny.”

Your eyelids fluttered open, and you slowly took in your surroundings. You noticed that Soap was sitting in the armchair next to your hospital bed, watching what seemed to be a children’s tv show, on your hospital tv.

“Truly a kid at heart, aren’t you Johnny.” You said softly, giggling to yourself at the sight.

Soap immediately jerked his head to look at you upon hearing your voice. “Kid, you're awake!” He exclaimed, moving the chair to face you. “Good to see you in one piece.”

“Doesn’t feel like I am in one piece, and you're one to call kid.” You joked back. 

Soap laughed at this, softly putting his hand on yours. “Gave us quite the fright kid, Ghost’s mask was cracking, and fast.” You knew which mask he meant. He meant that Simon was appearing from underneath the mask that was Ghost. There was a fine distinction between Simon, and Ghost. Anytime he was on the field, or preparing for a mission, he was Ghost. When he was off duty, or in the safety of his or your room, he was Simon. Very few people were lucky enough to ever see this side of him. You and the boys of 141 were really the only people who got to see him for who he really was. 

At the mention of his name, you looked around expecting to see your lover sitting somewhere in the room. To say you were disappointed when you didn’t see him, was an understatement. 

Soap took notice of this, and immediately went to ease your worries. “Ah, that lover boy of yours went out with the boys to Patricks. I nearly had to kick him in the ass just to get him out.”

“Sounds like him.” you smiled to yourself. 

“Yeah, stubborn- “ Soap started, just as Ghost came in to relieve him. 

“You’re awake.” He said coolly, eyeing you.

“That’s my cue.” Soap said awkwardly, wanting nothing more than to be as far away from this conversation as possible.

As Soap left, you could feel the atmosphere in the room change significantly. You knew Simon was mad at you for what you did, you just didn’t realize the extent of it.

“It’s good to see you, love.” You said, trying to ease some of the tension.

“It’s good to see you? That is all you have to say to me?!” Simon roared, gripping the foot of the bed. You could see his knuckles turning white, from how hard he was gripping.

“Simon, I don’t know what you want me to say.” You countered.

“How about, Lieutenant, I am sorry I acted a fool, without thought, and charged headfirst into a fight without a plan. How about the fact that you’re reckless, and you could have died. Huh? How about any of those Y/N.” He was full on yelling at this point, not caring who heard him.

You could feel tears pooling in the corner of your eyes. You’d never heard him speak to you like this before. You knew he’d be upset that you tried sacrificing yourself to save him, but you thought that he may be a tad bit grateful at least.

“I- I’m so-” you started.

“No, I don’t want to hear whatever excuse you have. It was my fight, if it was my time to go then so be it. I cannot have people who are careless and have no regard for common sense on my team. Maybe it’s best I talk to Price about having you transferred. I knew us working together would be a problem, I just knew it.”

“You.. want me off the team?” You choked out, the tears now fully coming down. You aggressively wiped them away, not wanting him to see you cry.

“I honestly don’t know what I want anymore Y/N.” He said, his voice now low. Shaking his head, he stood up, and stormed out of the room without sparing you a second glance.

The minute he left the room, you let yourself sob uncontrollably.  You have never been spoken to like that from him before, and it left your heart in shatters. The words he had spoken to you just now, had your mind spinning. What did he mean he didn’t know what he wanted anymore? Did he not want you anymore?

You hadn’t noticed Soap sneak back into the room, and take a seat next to you in the arm chair. “Love.. are you okay?” He asked, putting his hand on your leg.

“No, I’m not. I don’t even know how to feel right now. I saved his life, I’m not dead.. I would’ve thought, I don’t know? I wasn’t expecting whatever the hell that was.” You sobbed, throwing yourself into Soap’s embrace.

“I know, I heard it all. Figured it best I didn’t head out, in case he pulled something like this.” He replied, rubbing your back to comfort you.

“I think he wants to end things with me.. I don’t know what else he could have meant.” You said wiping the abundance of tears streaming down your face.

“I wouldn’t say that love. It’s Ghost saying that, not Simon, I’m sure of it. I know how he reacted isn’t right, but he watched the love of his life nearly get killed trying to save him. I can’t imagine what I would be feeling if I were him.” 

“I don’t know. Maybe this isn’t what is best for us.”

“I am not going to push you into thinking one way or another, but I know that man loves you more than anything. Just give him time, yeah? For now, why don’t you just lay back down and rest. I’ll stay here til morning with you.” Soap said as he helped you lie back down in the bed.

“Thank you, Johnny. For everything.” You replied, shutting your eyes.

“Always, Y/N”

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Four days had passed since you woke up. You were discharged two days ago, and your days were filled with paperwork, and mundane office work. Price had strictly ordered you to desk duty for 2 weeks, until the doctors cleared you for field work again. 

You hadn’t seen Simon since the night he lashed out at you. You’d caught glimpses of him in the hallways, but he never met your eyes. The more days that went on without the two of you speaking, the less optimistic you were about your relationship with him.

You were lost in thought when Price had approached the desk you were temporarily occupying. “Hey Y/N, why don’t you take a break. Go get a coffee or something. You’ve been sitting there like a zombie for hours.”

You looked up from the paperwork you were trying to fill out, and gave him a small smile. “Thanks John, I don’t know if coffee will solve the problem I am having.”

“Ahh, well. Never know til ya try, right?” He said, throwing you a wink. 

“Suppose you’re right. Thanks.” You offered, watching Price walk out of the office.

Sighing, you stood up from the desk and started to make your way to the break room. You stopped abruptly when you saw a figure standing by the coffee machine. Ghost.

“I was just stopping to get a cup, I’ll be on my way in a moment.” You said, suddenly feeling very small.

He just looked at you, no ounce of emotion showing behind his skull balaclava. You wanted nothing more than to make your cup of coffee and get out of there. The tension between you two was too thick to bear.

In the few minutes it took to make the coffee, neither of you spoke. The silence was uncomfortable to say the least. The minute the coffee was done, you quickly grabbed the cup, and made a B-Line for the door.

“Y/N” Simon’s voice stopped you in your tracks.

“Sir.” You replied.

“Simon.” He corrected you.

You sighed deeply at this, not knowing what to expect next from him. Frankly, you never knew what to expect with him.

“Simon.” You repeated.

“I- I uh. Bloody hell I suck at this.” He started, rubbing his hand along the back of his neck. “Y/N, I am sorry. I shouldn't have reacted the way I did.”

“No, you shouldn’t have.” You countered, putting the arm not holding your coffee crossed against your chest. Simon recognized this immediately for what it was, it was a defense mechanism. You were subconsciously trying to protect yourself, to shell in your heart.

His eyes softened greatly at this, and he moved slowly toward you. You didn’t move away.

“I just couldn’t stop replaying those moments in my head. Watching you just rush in there without a second thought, taking that bullet meant for ME. Y/N I can’t get it out, it’s all I see. If you hadn’t made it.. I.. I.” He couldn’t finish his sentence. But you knew what he meant.

You put the coffee down on the nearest table, and went to embrace him. He immediately accepted the embrace, and squeezed you tight. You both stood there for a few moments, enjoying each other’s warmth.

“I’m sorry, Simon. I know I could’ve handled that better, but the sight of you being hurt like that just made everything go numb. I would do it again, if it meant you being alive.” You said, pulling his chin down so you could look him eye to eye. “I will always protect you. That was our oath to each other, remember? On the field we’d always have each other’s backs.”

“I should’ve been the one who protected you, and I failed.” His voice breaking. Oh, now you understood. Not only was he upset at the prospect of losing you, but he was also feeling like a failure, and that he couldn't protect you. 

"Oh, Simon." You cried softly, pulling him back into an embrace.

"I'm sorry love. I promise to be better. I know 'm shit with my emotions, and it's something I've got to work on. If you'll still have me that is." His voice was laced with trepidation, as if fearing your answer would break his heart. 

"I will always want you, Simon Riley." You cooed, reaching up so you could lift the balaclava slightly, to plant a firm kiss on his lips.

"Now if you ever talk to me like that again, I'll make sure you don't walk for a week Mr. Riley." You pulled away and wagged your finger at him, trying to look as menacing as possible. 

"That's my girl." He chuckled, leaning back down to kiss your forehead, and you could've sworn you heard a soft "thank you" escape his lips. 

—----------------------------------------------------------

Let me know if you have any other requests. I've been enjoying writing these, and hope that you enjoy reading!!🙃

[rfxiii]

So glad to see you posting again! Welcome back!

I was thinking, how about maybe some dating headcanons for Franklin? You know, just some “what it would be like to date him” HCs? How fast he’d fall for you, what kind of stuff you’d do together, etc etc etc.I need to feed my lil crush on him! Thanks! 💚

(Thank you for the request! I always love getting requests for Franklin! 💚 He doesn’t get nearly the love he deserves, so thank you for requesting him! 🙏🏼)

To start, Franklin is a fairly confident guy when it comes to flirting. He’s attractive, smart, and skilled, and he knows it. And when he meets you, and sets his sights on you, he won’t hold back with the smooth talk and blatant flirting.

That being said, he actually finds himself pretty nervous when it comes to asking you out on a date. You guys probably hung out socially a handful of times before he took his chance asking you out. And it’s only once you’ve said yes to him that he realizes he has no idea where he wants to take you.

He floats the idea of making a reservation at one of the expensive restaurants Michael likes, he considers taking you to the movies, or maybe a bar. But in the end he settles on taking you down to the pier— you can walk together, get a chance to talk, and he has high hopes he can win you one of those cheap stuffed animals from one of the rigged game booths.

Franklin doesn’t just wear his feelings on his sleeve by any means, but when he starts to fall for you it’s obvious. It’s probably around three or four months into steady dating that he realizes that this isn’t just casual for him anymore. It’s like, one morning after you’ve stayed the night he sees you breeze through the kitchen, with one of his shirts on, and he knows right then that he wants this to be a serious, long term thing.

And it’s about a month or so after that he finally has the confidence to tell you he loves you. He’d been more than sure for a while, but he’d kept the words to himself until he was sure you felt the same way. He’s done his fair share of messing up in his past relationships, and he wasn’t about to take that chance with you.

He likes taking you to different sports games (mostly football and basketball), to car shows (he’s a big car guy), and out to nice bars. But he’s certainly not opposed to anything you want to do, even if that means getting dragged along to go shopping after he’s picked you up coffee and driven you all around Los Santos.

But while he does enjoy going out, Franklin's favorite activities mostly involve you guys staying at home together. He likes being extra as hell when you guys have stay at home dates. He’ll order food from, like, two or three different places, he gets a few bottles of good wine, puts on music, and plans out movies to watch and games to play. He loves the opportunity to get you all to himself, in a chill environment, where it’s just the two of you with no outside distraction.

You know Chop isn’t technically Franklin’s dog, but you spoil him like he is. By the time Lamar gets him back he can’t stop whining about how you and Frank ruined his “killer” dog.

You both have your share of arguments, and some of them get a little messy (not as bad as Michael and Amanda tho 👀). But, at the end of the day, you both love each other. And Franklin knows that, more than anything, he doesn’t want to lose you. He’s stubborn, but he’s also apologetic and forgiving. He’s not too proud to apologize first. And he’s patient enough to wait out any petty attitude you may give him until you’ve both calmed down. He loves you, and he won’t let a disagreement get in the way of that, ever.

All in all, Franklin is definitely the type of man you could have a long future with, if you’re willing to overlook some of his more..criminal activity. He may get up to some occasionally dangerous things, but he keeps a distinct separation between all of that and you. He’s protective as hell. And if there’s one thing you can always trust about Franklin, he’s always going to make sure you’re taken care of and safe.

[daisynik7]

Give You Blue

Chapter 8: How It Begins

Pairing: Eren x f!reader, Reiner x f!reader (past relationship)

cw: switching POVs (reader is 2nd person, Eren is third) angst, fluff, language

Word Count: ~3.5k

Previous Chapter | Epilogue

Give You Blue Masterlist | ao3 | Give You Blue Taglist

Summary: The conclusion of the series Give You Blue. Author’s Note: Seriously, I cannot thank you all enough for sticking with this through the end. I wanted to write a story that was realistic, relatable, and romantic, and I hope that in the end, I accomplished that. I wasn’t sure anyone would want to read a story like this, so I’m so grateful to all of you who have. I appreciate every single one of you so so much. I’ll definitely miss this series, but I’m also relieved to be give our main characters some rest LOL. Stay tuned for the Epilogue, coming out in the next week or so! 

Eren fingers are entwined with yours, hands resting on the center console of his car, windows rolled down halfway to let the passing breeze sweep through his hair. Every so often, he’ll glance at you, smiling, sunglasses covering his eyes as he drives the familiar route towards the bridge between Paradis and Marley. The radio plays songs you’ve listened with him before, during all those little hangouts inside his room. Choruses and verses he’s demonstrated for you on his guitar, impressing you with his skills. He hums each tune happily, thumb tapping against your skin in tandem with the rhythm. 

Nearly three months ago, you were in the passenger seat, that time in Reiner’s car, driving the same road, but in the opposite direction, observing the ocean blue with tears in your eyes and a broken heart. Wondering what would happen next after losing what seemed like everything to you. Because Reiner was everything to you. Was.

Now, you see your future in a clearer light. Instead of storms or perpetual rain, you envision sunshine and bright skies, filling you with warmth that has since slipped from you since your breakup. You’re no longer lost; rather, you’re wandering to something new, something different. Something wonderful. And you can’t help imagining Eren on the other side of that, welcoming you with open arms. Still, the journey isn’t over. In fact, it’s just beginning. And before you reach your destination, there’s obstacles you need to face to make it there in one piece. 

Halfway into the drive, you realize where he’s taking you. It’s his little paradise he told you about before, the special beach he goes to for an escape. It’s my super-secret spot. You have to be really special to know about it. I’ll show you this one day. You’ll love it. Even then, several weeks ago, Eren invited you into his world, deeming you special enough to share it. He trusts you, is giving his all to you. And you wish your heart wasn’t so damaged still, so that you could give him the same. The love that he deserves.  

He pulls into a spot right off the shore, letting go of your hand to put the car in park. “We’re here,” he announces, grinning. At the trunk, he pulls out two blankets, handing you one to carry. He leads you down weathered stairs towards an alcove hidden away from the main beach. The sand is soft against your feet, sinking in with each step. The distinct melody of waves crashing on the shore is soothing to your ears. It really is paradise, especially with Eren guiding the way, turning back occasionally to flash that winning smile at you. Eventually, he settles for a spot far enough from the shore to where the water doesn’t reach, laying the blanket flat. He sits cross-legged, focused on the view in front of him. He’s at ease, the tension from his shoulders relaxing, his sunglasses reflecting the glare of the golden hour. You take your place beside him, indulging in this sight. Their last moment together in the sun before you return to reality. 

The scene is amazing, streaks of orange and pink mirrored in the shimmering blue sea. It’s too majestic to stare at directly, so you watch it rippling on the ocean surface. With the sun gradually sinking into the horizon, Eren scoots closer, nudging you. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”

You rest your head on his shoulder, nodding. “It is. Thank you for taking me here.”

“I know it’s not exactly the runaway you wanted, but it’s the best I could give you,” he mentions, leaning into you. 

“This is exactly what I want. To be here with you.”

The two of you sit in silence, admiring the sunset until it disappears, and the night sky takes over, like a curtain falling after the final act. You’re holding hands now, squeezing each other tight, desperate not to let go. Maybe he senses it too, the end of this tiny getaway together. 

“Eren,” you start, voice trembling. 

Before you can continue, he turns to kiss you on the forehead gently. “It’s okay. You can be honest with me. I can take it.” 

Tears stream down your cheeks, his thumbs brushing them away as he cradles your face between his palms. “I’m sorry,” you sniffle. “I’m so sorry, Eren. I wish I could give you what you want, like what you’ve given to me. But I can’t. Not right now. I need time.”

“Then I’ll wait for you,” he urges, placing delicate kisses along the corners of your eyes, collecting your tears on his lips. “I’ll wait until you’re ready.”

You shake your head, refusing. “I won’t let you do that. There’s a whole world out there, people without baggage, without a broken heart. They’re so much better for you than I am. It’ll be so much easier than dealing with a mess like me.”

“I don’t want easier. I want you.” 

“Why? Why me?”

He smiles softly. “Because you make me happy.”

You continue to cry, asking, “How can it be that simple? What if you get sick of me? What if I can’t make you happy anymore?” It’s what happened with Reiner. He decided one day that he was no longer in love with you, and in an instant, the life you built together disintegrated into a pile of dust. Remnants of precious memories wasted away into nothing. That’s what it felt like. What if the same happens with Eren? What if you weren’t meant to be loved at all?

He keeps holding your firmly in his grasp, a look of determination in his face. “There’s so many what if scenarios you can give me. I won’t pretend to know exactly what the future has in store for us. But all I know is that I’m the happiest when I’m with you. I’m not going to let something like this go just because I’m worried it might not work out in the end. If I’m going to take a leap of faith, it’s going to be for you.” He nuzzles his nose to yours, grinning. “And who’s to say that you won’t get sick of me?”

“I would never,” you reply, gazing at him through weepy eyes. “But I’m scared of becoming a failure again.” 

“Having your past relationship end doesn’t mean you’re a failure. Love isn’t about winning or losing. It’s about learning and growing. Realizing how capable you are to love somebody and allowing them to love you. Isn’t that such a wonderful thing?”

You watch him, awed by his wisdom. As much as you wish it could, it’s still not enough to take the fear away from your fragile heart. After a moment of silence, listening to the gentle waves splash on the shore, Eren says, “Can I tell you something?” It’s dark now, the chill from the night air prickling your bare skin. He unfolds the second blanket, wrapping it around the both of you. You nod, huddling closer, relishing the warmth he always surrounds you in. 

“I emailed my advisor. I have a meeting with him Monday morning. I’m officially going to change my major,” he announces proudly. 

“Really?”

“Yeah. No more running away. I’m not scared anymore. That’s because of you.” He faces you, eyes shining like emeralds in the pitch black of evening. “You’ve given me the strength to do this. To take control of my life and make decisions for me, and not for anyone else. With you by my side, I can do anything.”

“Eren,” you whisper, chest heavy with adoration. 

He presses his forehead to yours. “I wish I could take away the pain. Take whatever hurts you and make it disappear. You have no idea how special you are to me. So, I’ll wait for you, whenever you’re ready to share your heart with me. Until then, I’ll stay by your side, as your friend, as your RA, as a person who cares deeply about you. I’ll always be here for you, okay?”

You swallow hard, tears trickling down your cheeks as you kiss him, unable to express how much he means to you, letting your lips do the talking instead. It isn’t fair to love him with a broken heart; he deserves to be loved fully by someone who isn’t afraid of it. Someone who’s healed instead of damaged, steady without stumbling at every little crack in the pavement they come across. With time, you’re determined to become that somebody for him. 

Eventually, you find the will to speak. “I won’t make you wait long. I promise.”

He laughs, snuggling closer to you under the blanket. “Pinky promise?” 

“Pinky promise.” You hook your finger around his, swaying it between you. 

Eren drives back to campus with your hand in his, brushing his thumb across your skin affectionately. You part ways outside his room, kissing each other once more before stepping down the hallway to your own room. You scroll through your phone to find Reiner’s contact, determined more than ever to settle this once and for all. No more running away.

Without hesitation, you type out your message. 

Reiner. I’m ready to talk. 

~~~

Sunday afternoon, you and Reiner agree to meet at a café on-campus, one that the two of you frequented freshman year when you were a couple. Upon your arrival, you notice that he’s already sat at a table, waiting for you, two drinks set in front of him. You sit across from him, back straight and neck tall, twiddling your thumbs at your lap where he can’t see. 

“I already ordered,” he comments, pushing the coffee cup towards you, reciting the drink name and all the specifics of how you typically like it. Proving that he hasn’t forgotten. 

You take it into your hand, tipping it into your mouth. “Thank you,” you say after swallowing your sip. 

There are a few beats of awkward silence before he starts speaking. “I’m sorry about the other night. I shouldn’t have ambushed you like that.” 

You nod in acknowledgement, fixated on the lid of your drink cup, nervous to meet his gaze. 

“I meant it, though,” he adds. “I still want to get back together.”

You take a deep breath, choosing your words carefully. “Why all of a sudden?”

He shrugs, circling the rim of his cup with his finger. “I realized how much it sucks to be alone.”

“So, by default, I’m supposed to bail you out? It doesn’t work like that, Reiner. You can’t love me only when it’s convenient for you. That’s not love. That’s selfish.” This time, you do look at him, finding the confidence in your voice. 

He doesn’t speak, facing the window, averting his eyes from yours. When he doesn’t respond, you continue. “It’s hard for anyone to be alone. Imagine how I felt when you broke up with me.”

Finally, he replies, “And you’re right. I was an idiot to do that. We should have never broken up. I didn’t know it was going to be so fucked up.” He trails off at his last statement, as if he’s just realizing it himself. 

“You weren’t in love with me anymore. It wouldn’t have been fair for either of us to stay in a relationship like that. And you were right: we relied on each other too much. So much that it hurt the most when we couldn’t anymore.”

Suddenly, he holds your hand, grasping it firmly. “Then let’s go back. It’ll be better this time. I’ll be better.” He’s desperate now; it shows in his pleading eyes and quivering speech. The tightness in his grip as he clings to you, frantic. 

You don’t pull away from him, squeezing him in return. “I don’t want to go back. I want to move forward. I can’t keep relying only on other people. I need to rely on myself, first and foremost. Stand tall and make choices because it’s what I want to do. That’s what growing up is all about, right?” 

“And you’re not scared?”

“I’m terrified. But we shouldn’t let fear prevent us from moving on and being happy. I don’t know if you and I can make each other happy anymore. I was so careful with you, to a point where I was lying to myself about being fine with the decisions you made. I guess I always felt the need to protect you. It’s been that way since we were kids. As much as we don’t want to admit it, we’re different now. Everything is different. It’ll never be like it was, no matter how hard we try to recreate it.” 

He revels at your words, a glimmer of defeat in his expression, understanding that there’s nothing else he can do to change your mind. After a minute of contemplation, he ponders, “You think that it could have worked out if I didn’t break up with you?”

You don’t answer right away, delicately formulating your reply. “Somehow, we stopped communicating. I went along with whatever you said, even when I didn’t agree. And you didn’t talk to me about the fears you were having before you broke up with me. I think we were so focused on protecting each other’s feelings that we stopped being honest to one another. I think eventually, we would realize that and break up anyways.” You take another sip of your drink before asking, “Do you think it would have worked out?”

He opens his mouth, then closes it. Eventually, he replies, “I guess when you put it like that, then no.”

You keep your hand in his, because this time, it’s really the last. And it doesn’t feel dirty or wrong to do it; it feels right. Like there’s finally that understanding that you’ve been racking your brain for the last three months. 

“Maybe we were better off staying friends,” he muses. 

“Maybe. But I don’t ever regret loving you, Reiner.” You used to think the same thing, convinced that crossing the line from friends to lovers was the vital mistake that doomed your relationship. With Eren’s words replaying in your head, you can’t say you believe that sentiment anymore. After all, Reiner has and will always be your first love. The person who taught you how to love and to receive love in the first place. Despite it not working out for the better, nothing will replace that. 

He returns your smile, still holding you. “Me neither. I’m sorry. For everything.”  

Silence falls between you two once again, a comfortable one this time, full of acceptance that this is truly the end for you and Reiner. Attempting to lighten the mood, you ask, “So, are you and Christa official yet?”

He looks at you confused, then realization washes over him. “Oh, Christa! Yeah, no. Turns out her and her big in Delta Delta are super close, if you know what I mean.” He smirks, relaxing in his seat. “I never stood a chance.”

You let go of him, leaning back into your chair. “Bummer. I genuinely do think she is nice.”

“Yeah. But I’d be annoyed too if my ex was pushing us to be friends.” He clears his throat, crossing his arms over his chest. “What about that Eren guy?”

You raise a brow at him. “Really? You want to talk about him?”

“Not my finest moment, I know. But I’m still curious. Is he your boyfriend now or what?”

You shake your head. “No. I told him I need time.”

Surprised, he repeats, “Time? For what?”

“To figure myself out.”

“To figure yourself out?” 

“Yeah. I don’t want to give him my shattered, fucked up heart. It’s not right.”

He continues to study you, confused. “So that’s it? You’re not even going to give him a chance?”

“He said he’ll wait for me,” you respond, belly fluttering as you recall last night on the beach. 

Reiner leans forward on the table, invested. “He’s totally in love with you. If he’s willing to wait for you, he’s in it for the long haul. He’s already fallen for every piece of you, I guarantee that.”

“It’s not fair to him, though.”

“It’s not fair to yourself. He’s not asking you for a healed heart. He wants you just the way you are. Why deprive yourself from someone who’s already willing to love you like this?”

“Because I don’t want to make the same mistakes again!”

He sighs, drumming his fingers on the surface impatiently. “Look, I’m not going to sit here and act like I’m completely cool with it. But for the first time in a long time, I’m trying not to be selfish again. Don’t let our past influence your future. You told me you want to rely more on yourself, right? Then start with this. Trust your heart. Don’t run away. Go for it.”

“I can’t believe my ex is actually giving me dating advice,” you chuckle, seriously contemplating his encouragement. 

“Consider this my parting gift to you. As your ex and as your former best friend. I want you to be happy. And if this guy makes you happy, why wait? If it means anything to you, just know I’ll be rooting for you, whatever you decide.”

You grin. “It does mean something. Thank you, Reiner.” You no longer see him as an obstacle standing in your way. Instead, he’s on the sidelines, supporting you. Rooting for you. It took three months of suffocating to surface. And now, you’re free. “Anyways, I should go. I have a lot to think about.”

He nods, remaining seated. “Yeah.”

You’re ready to walk to the exit when he calls out to you. “Coco?”

You turn to face him, heart thumping at the familiar nickname. The youthful twinkle in his eyes returns in an instant and all your childhood memories flash before you in hyperdrive, glimpses of your past life together. Laughing so hard that you’re clutching your bellies until you’re doubled over on his bed. Hidden under homemade forts built out of pillows and cushions, shining flashlights underneath your chins, creating hand puppets with shadows on the walls. Late night drives with the windows rolled all the way down, blasting music and singing at the top of your lungs as he speeds through the highway. Splitting milkshakes at the diner, blowing out candles on birthday cakes. Endless nights spent in each other’s arms, listening to his steady heartbeat. First kisses, first times, last summer and goodbyes. Three months ago, you would have done anything to go back. Now, you’re ready to move on. The final hit of nostalgia before you go. 

He smiles at you knowingly, as if he’s watching the same scenes of your lives play out in his head. “Nothing. I just wanted to say that one last time.” 

~~~

Eren is in his room, sitting on the floor, strumming the strings on his guitar randomly, not playing any particular tune. He recalls the events of last night, laying it all out on the table, confessing his feelings, revealing his vulnerabilities. He won’t pressure her to rush into this, knowing she’s still processing and healing from her trauma. Her thinking about him is enough. Until the day comes when they can both love each other fully, he’ll wait patiently. 

There’s a knock on his door. He isn’t suspecting company, so he assumes it’s one of his residents here to report a problem. When he opens it, he’s shocked to see her in front of him, staring at him nervously. 

“I told you I wouldn’t make you wait long,” she says, stepping towards him. 

His chest is heavy, fluttering incessantly, and all he can do is laugh, closing the distance between them by wrapping his arms around her. “It’s been the longest day ever, actually. You have no idea how happy I am to see you.”

She snuggles her face into his chest. “Me too. I hope you know what you’re getting yourself into, though.”

He kisses the top of her head, smiling. “Tell me.”

“I can get very insecure and very anxious, so you’ll have to deal with that.”

“Okay. I can handle that,” he answers, inhaling her scent through his nostrils, filling his lungs with as much of her essence as possible. 

“I want to talk about everything with you. I want us to be completely honest with each other all the time.”

Nodding, he responds, “I want that too. I want that too, sweetie.” He hugs her tighter, never wanting to let go.

“Also, sometimes I hog the blanket. But I don’t do it on purpose, I swear. I can’t control what my body does while I sleep.” She clings to him, peering up at him with the sweetest expression. 

He nuzzles her nose to hers, joking, “Ah, well, I don’t think this is going to work out then.”

She glares at him playfully, pouting her lips. “That’s your dealbreaker?”

“Well, I guess I can make an exception. For you,” he teases, kissing her. 

It began with an ending, and it ends with a new beginning. One journey closes, and another begins. It may not be easy, but what wonderful, magical adventure ever is? It’s the detours and bumps along the way that make it memorable, make it worthwhile. And with her by his side, and him by hers, Eren’s confident that they’ll get through anything. Together. 

@batafuraikisu @bloompompom @monirei @filunara @katestrophes @ichinosejager13 @hoperenae @zellskz @e-ayyy @liliorsstuff-blog @maliakealoha @holdmeclosebutdontloveme @chrollohearttags @sailorputa @squickkk @dnyllmh @hellomeow12 @s-cream-ing @potofstewie @conniesbbymama @erzascarlett28 @lem-hhn @roronoazorosbxtchh @ichigostrawberry15 @rhaelrence @lilshades @bigmoodyjoody @icansmellsouls @aangsupremacy @ashsauroras @bakuhoes-bxtch @si-kamo @jmtherula @imaddicted-b @monkemanjeager @neesiewrote @large-juice @chiinni @belovedackerman

[sanzaibian]

The last few people who were on break were now back in their seats. We might not be a lot in this meeting room-like conference room, but for a seminar of linguistics and philosophy, I guess we’re in good numbers. It’s only the second seminar like that that I’ve attended, having merely started my master’s degree, but even though not everything was in my area of interest, it still seemed interesting… if I understood what those researchers were saying correctly…

“So, welcome back everyone to the second session of the seminar ‘Identity in Language and Thought’, this afternoon we welcome Matthew Zubair from the University of Southern California who will talk to us about Identity, Identification and Coreference.”

As the speaker stopped, a great-looking young man in suit took place at the center of the room. He really came in overdressed, as if he was at a business meeting, not a seminar in a small city…

As he took place, sitting on one of the tables, he started :

“So, I guess we’ll start !”

He has a slight Indian accent, but most importantly the demeanor and tone of a business promoter. I guess even researchers in philosophy of all thingscan look cool, unlike skinny me with my short hair… Even an afro I can’t style it...

“We talked about this morning about copular sentences, so sentences with a copula, in English ‘be’, a word that has no meaning besides putting in relation the subject and the object, and more precisely, ascribing a property to the subject. We also saw that there are multiple types of copular sentences, Predications like ‘John is an actor’, Specifications like ‘The best candidate is John’, Identification like ‘This is John’ and Identity like ‘Superman is Clark Kent’.”

Matthew’s currently only retreading what we talked about this morning. I guess he finds it important to go back to the basics…

“My area of interest are the Identity and the Identification sentences. So, before anything, a bit of history. Frege is the first one to ask questions about these kinds of sentences. He enunciates two puzzles, which look at sentences which are virtually identical yet are received quite differently. For example, if I say ‘Matthew Zubair is Matthew Zubair’, it seems like a useless sentence. Yet, it’s identical in structure to ‘Matthew Zubair is Matt Zubair’, which is informative.”

I nod. What Matt’s stating might be obvious, yet it means that there is a difference under that.

“So, what’s different between those two sentences so that we find the second good, but the first bad ? In both circumstances, we are talking twice about the same person. Yet, in the second sentence, we are actually talking about two modes of presentation. In short, while in both sentences we are identifying a same referent, in the second there are actually two references. ‘Matthew Zubair’ and ‘Matt Zubair’ are two references that are distinct, but they point to the same person – me. Therefore, the second sentence is informative because we are learning that two references are actually references to a same referent. Therefore, an identity sentence is a sentence that shows that two references belong to the same referent.”

It might be a bit finicky a definition, but it’s actually logical. Basically, someone might be known by different ways, and while it’s useless to learn a name we know, it’s useful to learn a name we don’t.

“However, you might know that a name is not the only thing someone is. Indeed, a name is only a property that someone possesses, and we can possess others. For example, ‘Matt Zubair is cool’ is also an identity sentence.”

Everyone chuckles. But he’s right, cool is indeed a property Matt Zubair possesses !

“But then, something very interesting happens. The properties don’t actually attach to the referent, they actually attach to the reference. This means that we might even attach some properties that are contradictory to two references, while they’re actually referring to the same person. Say you have a stage name, and you’re well known. People who know that stage name may say ‘That person is cool’, but when they see you in real life, they might say ‘That person isn’t cool’, even though they are sane and don’t tend to contradict themselves ! Yet they just said something illogical, and that’s because they attributed qualities to your references, not to you yourself.”

Yeah, I guess there are aliases I’m more well known with. Back in my day, I wrote some stories that were actually well-liked, you know. People might even have thought that I was cool – though it’s obviously untrue.

“Now, what are these references, or modes of presentation ? How are they structured ? If we go to the root of concept, we find that by someone’s identity, we actually mean someone’s role. Therefore, everybody is a conjunction of multiple roles, names and properties, that we regroup in what we call a ‘mental folder’. A mental folder, in this view, is an amalgamation of multiple traits that someone has, and you may open folders when you hear of a new individual that you meet. However, this is not entirely true, as an amalgamation of properties and roles can actually fit multiple people. Say you’re cool people. If there was a mental folder with only the property ‘cool’, it could be referring to any of you, which goes against the very fact that a mode of presentation anchors to a specific person. Therefore, a mental folder is an actual thing who’s linked to an actual referent, and it’s that link that defines it.”

It’s logical, everyone of us can be considered cool, yet we’re all very different. If someone only knew one of us by one of our aliases, they could theoretically mistake for example me for the one sitting to the right of me, yet it doesn’t happen.

“The reality of the mental folders can be explained by the fact that identical folders can actually exist. For example, take a slow night in which you just wander on Tiktok. You see a video from a content creator that you really like, but for some reason you forget to save it. After a good while, you forget everything about that content creator, except that you really liked that one video, and then you stumble onto another of their videos that you really like. You open another mental folder, and, same thing, you forget most of the things about that video, except that you really liked it. Now, you’re left with two identical folder, that refer to the same person, yet you’re certain that they are two content creators.”

Yeah, I guess I can imagine that. I’ve spent way too much time on Tiktok, and don’t really bother liking the videos… I look around, and the one on the left of me is looking at his phone. When I nudge, I see Tiktok. Should have guessed.

“Therefore, mental folders are identities, someone that exists in the eyes of another. We may even go further and say that the only way someone is aware that there are things of interest is through mental folders. Every time a new item of interest is discovered, a folder is opened for it. However, even though those folders can be redundant, it doesn’t mean that those two folders that have been opened with the same referent aren’t two complete identities. In fact, quite the opposite. You all have multiple identities, and therefore are seen as multiple people by some others. Therefore, there is your cool stage name identity, and your normal regular person identity, which are both real people in the eyes of those who have two different mental folders.”

Yeah, that’s for sure. The one I am on Tiktok is very different to the one I am in real life. That’s why I don’t really show myself in what I produce. I don’t want people to associate me with my real self and harass me…

“But, now that we have the mental folders sorted out, let’s go back to the very beginning and talk about identity sentences : what happens when one learns that two mental folders are the same ? In theory, anything could happen, but Strawson is kind enough to tell us that two mental folders who refer to the same subject must merge.” Everyone has a small laugh. “Therefore, when one says ‘Superman is Clark Kent’, it is a sentence that means ‘The mental folders of Superman and Clark Kent should be merged’. This is what, deep down, identity sentences are, an invitation for a mental shuffling. It also means that we can finally thoroughly prove why ‘Matthew Zubair is Matthew Zubair’ is an ill-formed sentence : it invites us to merge two mental folders which aren’t separate, therefore to do nothing, which is not informative.”

I guess it’s quite fucked up how I maintain that difference between me and that identity on Tiktok, I’m not being very truthful… I should really be clear and honest with all my followers…

“So, now, how do the two mental folders merge ? There are multiple ways to imagine it, and we are reaching the limits of our knowledge, here. Either we create a new mental folder that encompasses both of the old mental folders, or we make it so that one mental folder is subsumed into the other. I’m more partial to the second option, because the first option means that we create a new folder that doesn’t have any direct reference to its referent, which to me goes against the very foundation of the concept. However, the second option also means that there is a ‘true’ identity, which is theoretically dubious.”

I push back my dreadlocks. Even though I wasn’t sure when I decided to wear them, it’s become my best decision ever. Yeah, I might be a bit of a different person outside the camera, but I feel like I’m showing my real, goofier self on rather than off…

“Let’s finish this talk with Coreferences. These are a topic our linguists friends might be more familiar with, but basically, it’s the phenomenon in which two different words refer to the same object. Basically, I could talk about ‘a Tiktok celebrity’ and then talk about ‘you’, and even though they are two different expression, they are referring to the same referent. To formalize it with the mental folders, a coreference is when there are two expression that refer back to the same referent, or to be more precise, two modes of presentation. Therefore, in identity sentences, we are making a coreference of a single referent, that refer to two different mental folders in the listener. Say a listener has ‘the philosophy lecturer’ and ‘my agent’ as two different mental folders, but I say ‘The philosophy lecturer is your agent’. I’m making a coreference out of the philosophy lecturer and your agent, therefore showing you that they are the same referent, therefore urging you to merge the two folders.”

As I saw my agent finishing his lecture quickly, talking a bit about different kinds of coreference, he asked us if the lecture was good enough for his class next week, and I held my finger up – I love doing that, it flexes my forearm just right – though the others mostly stayed dumbfounded. You know, I started my career with writing help, so these kind of discussions weren’t that rare. Back then, I didn’t even show my face, how ridiculous I was !

“Matt, ya good now, can we finish that fucking business meeting ? I wanna visit our new content mansion, bro !” Said someone with big fluffy hair. I somehow feel like they were the speaker… yeah, of course, the best lip-sinker !

- Don’t worry, you’re going to make a lot of money, you lot ! I’m investing in you ! Now, do you want to take a group photo to commemorate the event ?”

Everyone cries of joy, as we gather in front of the meeting room. The big life we all worked for so long is finally at our doorstep ! We all posed, I did my special grimace, and we posted that photo on Instagram.

The #IdentityHouse is finally #opening ! Come watch our #live on our #Tiktok !

[sophierequests]

Could I please request a Toyla x reader..? (Bless you for writing for everyone I can’t find any for him 😭) they’re crushing on each other and them having to share a bed 🥺

you are foolish to want

Navigation┃Main Masterlist┃Request

Pairing: Tolya Yul-Bataar x gn!Reader

A/N: After reading this you might ask me: Sophie, will you ever write anything else than Hurt/Comfort when you get requests that aren't in any explicit genre? The answer to that question is: no <3 Also, the second time of using horses in a Tolya fanfic?? What has overcome me?? Thank you for the request! I hope you'll like this, even though the one bed trope isn't the main focus of this story </3

Summary: Tolya and the reader are on their way to the Lazlayon until unforeseen circumstances put a slight dent in their plans.

Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Fluff (if you squint)

Word Count: 5.8K (oh god)

Warnings: Mention of almost dying, broken ribs and hurt feelings

The silence between you became louder the longer you indulged in it. It wasn’t really silence, so to say. It was more the state of not speaking. The forest surrounding you was anything but silent. Between the creaking of old rotting larch trees swaying in the wind and the padding of hooves against the more or less solid ground, nothing ever really felt quiet. 

He couldn’t be sure how much longer the path ahead of you could possibly still drag on; all he knew was that he likely wouldn’t be able to stay awake for the entirety of it. The tension of riding next to you alone would have usually been enough to keep him from falling asleep. Hell, the thought of you alone did the job well enough already. Yet something about this time felt different. 

It was just the two of you. No Tamar. No Nikolai. No Zoya. No one else to worry or think about. Just the two of you, wordlessly riding next to each other. 

And while his brain screamed at him to use that factor in his favour, to finally make some sort of move, his body recoiled at the impulse of opening his mouth and articulating his feelings. Whenever he even attempted to do so, an obstruction seemed to form inside his larynx, blocking the feeble sounds that might’ve crossed the breach of his vocal folds. Maybe it was his heart leaping out of his chest and ending up in the enclosure of his throat, desperate to be spat out and stowed away inside a neat little box that he could disregard as long as he pleased. Maybe it was bile at the thought of having to come clean about the months and months of yearning he had been subjected to since meeting you. Maybe both of these options rang true; he couldn’t be sure. The sole thing he was painfully sure of was that it had to be closely related to you. 

Everything was somehow related to you. You had always been everywhere and nowhere; everything and nothing at the same time. At least to him, he hoped. You occupied his mind, his space, and his time whenever he should be focused on anything else. When he wanted, no, needed to focus on anything else. You were everywhere just as much as you were nowhere. Nowhere he could reach. Touch. Hold. You had always been more of an idealistic daydream, rather than something concrete. And just like most dreams, you would be foolish to pursue.

“Do you think we’ll reach the Lazlayon before the night sets in?” Your voice broke through the air like a gunshot, forcing his gaze away from the impenetrable barrier of trees next to him. You stared at him expectantly, waiting until he could will himself to produce a coherent sentence.

He let out a huffed breath, absent-mindedly fiddling with the reins in his hands as if they were a set of tarot cards that would permit him to look into the future. “If we keep up this pace, we’ll likely get there right before sundown.”

“Oh, lovely. Just in time for Count Kirigin to welcome us. I’m sure he’s already buzzing with excitement,” you chuckled dryly, giving your companion a distinctive eye roll to accentuate your annoyance. 

Tolya rolled his shoulders, the mention of the count’s name sending a wave of unease through him. He didn’t necessarily hold any tangible grudges against him, he didn’t know him well enough to form any sort of well-shaped opinion of him to begin with, but what he knew was that the man was an absolute rake. If the countless times of resolute flirting with anyone that didn’t leave his presence on the count of three wasn’t enough to support this hypothesis, Nikolai’s long-winded tales of his drinking and lavished parties sure filled the gaps. Count Kirigin as a whole simply wasn’t a coeval he wanted to be around. Not when he was busy enough with keeping his emotions in check while you were close to him. 

“There’s still hope that he chose to go to bed instead of waiting by the door for us to arrive. I doubt that he’s all too invested in our presence. After all, Zoya isn’t accompanying us, so he won’t have much to ogle at,” the Heartrender objected slyly, using the scarce situation of being alone with you to voice his obvious disdain for the man in question.

“We can only hope.” You clasped your hands together, holding them in front of your chest as if you were in prayer. “At least we’ll share the same fate if it comes down to him having genuinely waited on us.” 

He nodded in agreement. It was a comforting thought to know that he was there with you. The fact that you were meant to take on the journey to the Lazlayon on your own at first disconcerted him greatly. Not that he wouldn’t have trusted you to come back in one piece, however, having you be out of his sight for so long without a possibility of contacting you made him uncomfortably aware of the actual extent of his feelings.

Another wave of silence settled around you. It was more comfortable this time. Especially since it didn’t take too long for you to speak up again. “I’m glad Nikolai decided to have you come along.”

His smile falters for just a split second, the wave of emotion your simple statement had created stripping him of the last bit of feigned confidence he had. Perhaps his years of studying and breaking down ancient poetry had gotten the best of him. Convinced him that there was more to the comment than merely you being glad that someone else had to suffer through the hours on hours of travel. But that’s what you would have said, right? You would have said ‘someone’ instead of explicitly mentioning him. During times like these, he genuinely missed Zoya’s bluntness to bring him back down to earth.

“Oh, uhm, it’s good to know that you don’t see my presence as patronising,” he stammers, his voice hitching and cracking as if he was a puberty-stricken young boy again.

You tilted your head and looked at him with narrowed but gentle eyes. The same eyes that always seemed to magically find his own whenever he had stared at you for a bit too long. “Your presence could never be patronising to me. I like being around you.”

In an ideal world, he would have told you that the feeling was mutual. The sentence would have rolled off his tongue equally as casually as it had off yours, and you both could have continued your travels with the knowledge that you appreciated each other’s company. This was not an ideal world though. In fact, he didn’t even give you a verbal response. Instead, he hastily turned his head away from you, futilely trying to cover the gleaming blush that had spread across his cheeks in a matter of seconds.

Once again, the steady whirring and rustling replaced your short-lived stab at a conversation. It took another hour for the unkempt thicket to gradually turn into a widespread field, stretching out in front of you until it was obscured by the dense artificial fog that hid the watercraft testing grounds of the Gilded Bog. It would have been a stunning view if you hadn’t been aware of the massive amount of work that lay behind it.

A sigh of relief escaped your lips when Count Kirigin’s estate came into view. Your whole body ached after riding for hours on end without a break, making you long for a warm bed and a good night’s sleep. It didn’t take long for Mother Fortuna to knock that idea out of your head though.

Just as you had intended to throw some sort of sarcastic comment in your friend’s direction, a sudden sound of a rifle being fired cut through the forest behind you. After that, everything continued to go downhill horribly fast. 

You barely managed to calm down your horse, yanking the reins to the side to let it spur out its fright by trotting in a circle. Tolya, on the other hand, was less lucky. He hadn’t been able to react quick enough, his horse rearing on its hind legs before he was in the right mindset to properly hold onto the straps of his saddle. He was thrown off its back quite roughly, his back hitting the hard ground with a bone-chilling thud.

“Tolya!” you called, dismounting your horse without thinking about the looming threat of someone directing their gunshots at you. It was as if you were passing through a tunnel, eyes only focused on what was in front of you.

A litany of his name spilt out of your mouth as you knelt down next to him; you repeated it so many times that it didn’t even feel like a real word anymore. But no amount of repetition could bring him to regain consciousness. He remained laying on the ground, perfectly still and with no reaction to anything you did. Years and years of basic medical training flickered through your mind, hopelessly trying to give you an impulse that might be able to save his life. Your hands promptly moved to the pronounced column of his throat, a motion that would have been intimate if you weren’t filled with panic. The skin underneath your fingers was warm - and unexpectedly soft - as you dug for any form of heartbeat. When you finally localised a faint but rhythmic thudding, you sucked in a deep breath, momentarily considering changing your stance on the Saints if they had been the ones to grant you this minuscule act of reassurance.

“Tolya,” you tried again, hands cradling the sides of his face as you shifted him onto your lap. His eyelids fluttered open briefly, immediately seeking out contact with yours. It took another moment for him to recognise what position he was currently in. Your hands on his face and his head on your lap felt almost too good of a situation to be anything but a dream. 

He wanted to say something, anything for that matter, but a piercing pain in his chest caused him to let out a stifled groan. It hurt to move. It hurt to speak. It hurt to breathe. His whole body felt like it had been pulled apart and reassembled without a manual, and you couldn’t do anything to ease his discomfort.

“Hey.” You let your thumbs smooth over the ridges of his cheekbones, your feather-light touch creating an embarrassingly visible trail of goosebumps all over his arms. Everything you did was too soft. Too delicate. Too wholly overwhelming. “I know it hurts. Just stay here for a while and-”

“Saints!” A shrill voice made your head shoot up, the memory of the gunshot striking you like a brick. When a familiar figure scrambled out of the woods, an extravagant hunting rifle strung over his back and a mortified look on his face, you began to piece together what was going on. “I’m terribly sorry! I- We were just coming back from our hunting trip and we didn’t- Oh, no.” The count ran a shaky hand through his neatly slicked-back hair, causing a few stiff strands to fall onto his forehead.

Something inside you wanted to be mad at him. It was his fault after all. If he had been more careful and a little less trigger-happy none of this would have happened. However, Tolya’s weight still very much present on your legs substituted your anger with worry. “Kirigin, I’ll need some help getting him to the Lazlayon. He needs to be looked at by someone more…medically-inclined than me.”

Emil nodded his head reverently, calling over a few of the other men that had joined him in his hunting party. With their help, you heaved him back to his feet. His nails dug into your shoulder as you helped him walk to your horse; neither of you trusted his horse enough to not throw him off again. It was quite the struggle, but after a lot of cursing and griping coming from the normally very composed Heartrender, you reached the opulent mansion just before the sun had vanished behind the mountain range completely.

Upon entering, the count immediately called for a medik, showing the two of you to his drawing room while he flittered through the foyer in a frenzy. Tolya let himself fall onto one of the plush divans with a groan. His hand flew to his side as soon as his back met the fabric underneath him, flinching as he seemed to have pressed down too hard. It was a strange picture to see him look this helpless. He appeared small and vulnerable, almost as if a bare touch could cause him to break and crumble.

“Don’t move,” you requested gently, one of your hands reaching out to take hold of his. He was aware that this gesture was merely meant to give him a piece of reassurance; you wanted to give him something to hold on to, something to get his mind off of the erupting pain in his chest. Still, a nimble twinge of hope sent a burning wave of longing through his body. “I think you may have broken a rib. After your fall earlier that would be one of the lesser evils,” you assessed, letting the fingers of your free hand brush over the clothed expanse of his chest. “We should probably pass a message to Nikolai. You can’t be expected to take on the ride back anytime soon. But all of that can wait until tomorrow.”

The medik arrived just as you closed your mouth, forbidding Tolya from saying anything in response to your short-lived ramblings. He was a bit miffed by the fact that the person treating him was a simple medik instead of an actual Healer that could have fixed him up in the blink of an eye. However, a faint memory of Kuwei accidentally setting a whole section of the laboratory on fire told him that their presence was a bit more required downstairs. 

He was ripped from his thoughts when the medik pushed down on his ribcage with unexpected force. A jolt of pain flashed through him again, and embarrassingly enough, that only caused his grip on your hand to tighten. You didn’t show any sign of discomfort as he did so, entirely concentrated on providing the tiniest bit of comfort you could offer him.

“Fractured rib,” the woman beside you muttered, her brows furrowed as she looked at his exposed chest stomach. “This will take a few weeks to heal on its own. We can send for a Healer as soon as one’s available, but that will probably take just as long. The new project is keeping everyone busy, I’m afraid.”

“I will send a letter to the King,” the Count interjected, rubbing his palms together in an attempt to cope with his nervousness. “The Healers at the Grand Palace are often more willing to make the trip than the ones we have on our hands here. I’m certain he would do everything in his power to ensure that one of his most trusted…guards is back in his service as soon as possible.”

“I suppose that would be for the better.” The medik took out a few differently coloured vials from the pouch on her hip, handing them to you as if the person needing them wasn’t also in the room with you. “These are painkillers. Make sure he takes one of these twice a day.” You nodded along slowly, letting go of Tolya’s hand to not drop any of the flimsy flasks. “It would be best if someone keeps an eye on him for now. Especially after taking the medicine. In case the pain gets worse, you know where to find me.” She directed her gaze at Emil who merely dismissed her with a grateful wave of his hand.

“Thank you for…taking the initiative.” You gave him a brief smile, sitting on the armrest of the sofa where Tolya was still laying. Slowly but surely, the heaviness of the day began seeping through your bones.

“But of course! That’s the least I could do after causing such a mishap.” He pursed his lips but opted to force them into a straight line while he pondered his next words. “I shall send for a servant to mind you during the night if that’s alright with you. Someone should probably be there to attend to you, just in case something happens.” 

Tolya looked up at him, evidently not too fond of his suggestion. The idea of having some stranger even do as much as stay in the same room as he slept didn’t sit right with him at all. “I…appreciate your kindness, Count Kirigin. However, I would prefer it if you refrained from doing anything like that. I’m certain it will be fine if I’m left unsupervised for the night.”

“The count has a point,” you reasoned, a distinct expression of worry present on your face. “You’re hurt; don’t be so blasé about it. It would genuinely be better if someone is there for you. At least for tonight.”

“Maybe you could stay with him for the night if it’s the aspect of familiarity he’s concerned with?” Emil offered, his eyes darting between the two of you nervously. If his upper body had allowed it, Tolya would have shot upright in his seat after hearing that. As much as he hated the notion of having someone else practically babysit him while he was asleep, anyone else would be a better option than you. He wouldn’t survive spending a night under these circumstances.

His suggestion caught you off guard with what felt like brute force. He was a good friend; one of your closest actually. Yet you had never even seen the inside of his bedroom. Spending the night in the same room, no matter under what circumstances, seemed like a terrible way to improve that friendship.

“I… Tolya? Your call.” You shifted all the responsibility of decision-making onto the Heartrender, giving him an apologetic look while he struggled to find the right words.

He mentally considered all the implications this action might entail. What if he snored? What if he talked in his sleep? What if the medicine made him do or say things he might regret? What if nothing out of the ordinary happens and he was just diving into the worst-case scenarios? “If I have to choose, I’d prefer your presence,” he mumbled, instantly clamping his eyes shut in order to avoid looking at your face while you let his words sink in. 

“It’s decided then,” you chirped, slumping off your seat to carefully place the ampoules in your bag. You sounded pretty much unbothered by the prospect of sharing a room for the night. Weren’t you even a little bit uncomfortable with that?  He should be glad that you were taking this situation so well, however, your unexpected nonchalance concerning the topic made every last speck of hope that you could possibly like him back dwindle down to nothing.

“Very well!” Kirigin clasped his hands together with a resounding clap, the jovial nature returning to his face in an instant. “Now, if you’d be so inclined - and able -, please follow me upstairs to the guest bedrooms.”

The guest bedrooms of the count’s estate reminded you of the countless ornate rooms you had seen at the Grand Palace; broad wide rooms with high ceilings and long windows that made them appear more like a makeshift dining hall than an actual bedchamber. Needless to say, the Lazlayon was a bit more bucolic than what you were used to seeing in the capital, but the white walls and the rococo king-size bed definitely opposed every notion of humility one might expect if there was no prior knowledge of Kirigin’s spendthrift way of living.

Neither of you really had enough willpower to change into your nightclothes, so you merely rid yourself of the thick jackets and clunky boots, which you mindlessly tossed on top of your bags. The bedding would be changed in the morning anyway.

It was a terribly awkward scene, the tension practically electrifying the air around you. Tolya sat on the bed, his back perched on the carved headboard while he watched you scurry around the room like a rabbit in front of a rifle. You also seemed to have realised what the offer of staying in the same room for the night might imply; your previous casualness being gone completely.

“Here,” you said, handing him one of the vials the medik had given you earlier. He took the medicine from your hands, eying it with a suspicious expression. In comparison to his hand, the tiny bottle looked like a prop right out of a doll house. The image of comparing your hand to his popped into your mind, but you hastily shooed it away, thinking about how inappropriate that thought was. “Drink. I’ll get you some water to help with the taste in case you need it.” 

Quickly, he downed the viscous medicine, cringing at the sickly-sweet flavour that spread inside his mouth as he swallowed. As soon as the liquid went down his throat, he had to stifle a cough, the taste only getting worse the longer he occupied his mind with it.

You plopped down on the empty spot next to him, cautious to not spill any of the water that you held out for him. When he reached out to take the glass, your hands touched his for a split second, your fingertips barely brushing over his. Still, that simple gesture was enough to make his head spin. Saints, he hated that you had that effect on him.

“Thank you,” he breathed out, not quite knowing what exactly he thanked you for. Thank you for being there for me when I fell off that damned horse? Thank you for holding my hand earlier? Thank you for staying with me tonight? Thank you for getting me that glass of water? He could probably think about at least a hundred things to thank you for off the top of his head.

“How are you feeling?” Your voice sounded just as sweet as the medicine tasted, he thought. He just liked listening to your voice a whole lot better. Were the painkillers already kicking in?

“Better. Sore, but better. I’m dreading thinking about what Nikolai will say once he gets wind of this.” He let his head slump against the wall behind him, his eyes glancing at you furtively as you scanned his body for any sort of unease or pain he might still feel.

“Forget Nikolai. He can survive without you for a bit longer. And Tamar is still there to save his ass when it comes down to it.” You gave him a quick smile, taking his hand to give it a reassuring squeeze before leaving his side again. “The only thing that matters now is that you’re getting better. No matter whether that happens naturally or with the help of a Healer."

“I’d prefer it happening through the help of a Healer,” he muttered under his breath, scowling at the idea of having to spend another six weeks alone in the confines of a bed without being able to follow his usual duties.

“Well, an actual break would do you some good every once in a while. After everything that Nikolai put you through during the last few years, you should be eligible to take off at least a few months without him being allowed to say anything against it.”

“So eager to get rid of me now?”

A sharp snort escaped your mouth as you looked at him, the feigned pout on his lips making him look like a kicked puppy. Sometimes you had the suspicion that Nikolai’s inherent obnoxiousness was rubbing off on him.

“Believe it or not, I still like being around you. Even though you now gave me the added stress factor of having to keep a close eye on you when we’re around horses.” You walked over to one of the cushioned armchairs that decorated the corner of the room, leaning against it without actually sitting in it. “And If I really would be so eager to get rid of you I wouldn’t have agreed to play your nursemaid for the night. Especially not if I had known that I’d have to sleep in one of these forsaken chairs. Kirigin could have at least given us a double room.”

Tolya’s previously playful expression dropped. He had been so hung up on the fact that you’d be with him for the entire night that he had completely neglected to think about the logistics of his request. Had he known that you’d end up sleeping in a chair rather than a bed, he would have answered differently. 

An unwelcome thought clawed its way into his mind; he wanted to strangle it before it could properly manifest. Had he been Nikolai or Tamar he would have immediately sprung into action, offering you his bed, and probably also his heart while he was at it. But he wasn’t like either of them. He wasn’t brash, or romantic, or even socially intelligent. These attributes would be foreign on him, like a coat that was just a bit too big to fit correctly - contorting his actual silhouette to make him look like something he wasn’t.

“Are you okay?” you asked, a worried undertone present as you spoke. He quickly closed his mouth, straightening out his features to appear more collected than he felt before fixing his gaze on you again. You didn’t only sound worried, you also looked the part; eyebrows tightly knitted together while a distinct flash of concern gloomed in your eyes. “Are you still in pain? Should I get-”

“No, it’s- I’m fine, Y/N. I was just thinking…” 

“Care to share with the class?”

Even though everything inside him rebelled against opening his mouth and speaking his mind, his heart moved quicker than his mind could process. “Sleeping in an armchair can’t be comfortable. We could share the bed,” he trailed off, watching as you gawked at him like a fish on land. “If you want to, that is.” He felt the need to add that, even if it was only enough to calm his raging nerves.

“Tolya, you’re hurt. You need the rest more than I do. I can’t possibly do that in good conscience.” The room was filled to the brim with the nervousness exuding off of the two of you. It was almost sad to watch you two stumble over your own words, acting as if you were two little schoolchildren that both had a crush on the other.

Seemingly taking your refusal as a challenge, he awkwardly shuffled towards the edge of the bed, leaving the other side very clearly unoccupied. “Would that be enough space for you?” Your eyes darted from the comfortable-looking bed to the stiff armchair you had originally intended to sleep in. Much to your dismay, the bed did look more inviting than the chair could ever be.

“I really don’t want to make you uncomfortable,” was everything you could muster up to talk yourself out of it. A futile attempt at not giving in to the want clouding your coherent thoughts ever since being in the same room as Tolya.

“You wouldn’t.” You couldn’t. “Trust me, I don’t mind. I couldn’t let you sleep in a bloody chair with a good conscience either.” As if to underline his statement, he patted the empty space next to him.

With an exasperated sigh, you shook off the roots that had metaphorically formed around your ankles and moved to the offered side of the bed. You felt terribly awkward as you slid into bed right next to him. You two had never been this close. Not in this context.

“Thank you,” you whispered, laying flat on your back with your hands folded over your stomach. He mirrored your movement soon after, albeit a bit slower.

He wanted to say something - anything - to relieve some of the tension buzzing between you. But everything he could have said wouldn’t have improved the situation in the slightest. Just like a few hours ago in the woods, the silence was anything but silent.

“You really scared me earlier, do you know that?” you mumbled, breaking through the uncomfortable silence. Again, he thought. “This could have ended with way worse consequences than a fractured rib.”

“I know.” The words were heavy on his tongue, suffocating him. Up until the possibility that worse things could have happened had sounded like an impossible what-if situation to him. But judging by the honest fear in your voice, he really could have suffered a fate way worse than being forced to rest for an uncertain amount of time. The only feeling he could recall after his fall was the dizziness of laying on top of your lap and the intoxicating touch of your hands on his cheeks. He didn’t even think that he genuinely registered the pain in his chest until he felt the impulse to move. “Thankfully, we didn’t have to find out exactly how badly this could have ended.”

“Good. I honestly wouldn’t have known what to do if you hadn’t woken up. What I would do without you.” The last sentence was so unexpected that it almost knocked the air out of his lungs. You had your way of catching him off-guard with your words that was so brutal, but equally as stunning.

“You won’t have to that out either. Not if I can help it.” He wanted to tell you. He wanted to tell you so badly that breathing normally became more and more difficult. But he couldn’t. Not right now. And maybe not ever.

Silence fell over you again. It was such a stark contrast to the chaos raging inside his head that he barely noticed when you turned to lay on your side, facing him. He forced his eyes to close in hopes of at least getting a few full hours of sleep before he was pushed back into a world where it wasn’t normal for you to sleep next to him.

“Tolya?” you whispered, resisting the urge to nudge him. 

“Mhm?” he murmured, eyes still clamped shut.

He heard you shuffling next to him, probably to put a bit of distance between you and him. “I have to tell you something.” You shuffled again, the mattress giving in ever so slightly when you did. You were sitting up now. “This might be a terrible time to do so, but I have to get it off my chest.” That caught his attention enough to look at you again. You sounded so serious.

“Uhm, sure, go for it.” To say that he was concerned would have been an understatement. His whole body tensed, much to the dismay of his fractured ribcage.

“I don’t recall the last time when I was genuinely so afraid of someone I care about not being alright, but what I felt when you didn’t wake up at first was way worse than just being scared. I'm not sure how to tell you this, and I’ve been putting this off for quite some time now. But I don’t just care about you like how I care about the others. I think I'm in love with you." The last words tumbled from your lips in a hurry, so quickly that he almost didn’t comprehend what you were saying. He could have sworn that this was a fever dream. Maybe the medicine had kicked in way stronger than he expected it to. Maybe he was genuinely going mad. Whatever it was, it didn’t feel real.

You realised how badly timed this confession was as soon as you saw the completely befuddled expression that was plastered all over his face. Suddenly, sleeping on the armchair looked way more appealing than the shared bed. You felt like you were trapped in a mass of writhing quicksand, slowly but surely devouring you until there was nothing left to take. This was way more embarrassing than you had imagined.

“I, uhm, this was a mistake.” You felt your cheeks heat up, burning you until you couldn’t take it anymore. You needed to get out of this bed. Preferably also this room. “It would be best if I leave, I’m so sorry. I’ll go downstairs to call fo-” 

Tolya seized your wrist just as you wanted to throw the covers off of you. The rash movement caused him to wince slightly, but he didn’t let go of you. A thousand questions forced their way into his mind, and he could answer none of them. 

“Wait.” He didn’t know what else to say. But he knew that you needed to stay. “Are…are you being sincere?”

“What? Of course? Do you genuinely think I would make a joke out of something like that? Especially in our…current situation?” you questioned, absolutely bewildered that he thought you were joking around.

At this point, his face was beet red. He couldn’t tell where his embarrassment came from. Whether it was the fact that he had been tiptoeing around his feelings for months by now while you felt the same or the fact that he had the genuine audacity to ask you if you were kidding.

“Tolya, I can understand that this makes you uncom-”

“No, no, don’t!” His grip on your wrist tightened as you tried to wriggle yourself out of his grasp. That was his cue to say something. Anything if it made you stay.

“What do you mean?”

“I love you too,” he blurted, maybe a bit too quickly. But the fear of having to watch you leave made his heart act before his brain could.

“You do?”

“Do you genuinely think I would make a joke out of something like that?” He gave you a sheepish smile, his eyes gleaming with adoration. Saints, he really was in love. “I never said anything because I didn’t think you’d feel the same.”

He had intended to let go of your hand, giving you a moment to process what he had just said. You didn’t let him pull away though. Instead, you took his hand in your own, tightly squeezing it before allowing your lips to curl up into a wide smile.

“Sounds like we’re both idiots then.”

“At least we’re idiots in love.”

“But idiots nonetheless," you laughed, your heart thudding even louder when you heard Tolya join you.

Taglist:

Grishaverse fics in general: @yesshewrites1 @dal-light @treasureofmy-heart

Tolya Yul-Bataar: @juneberrie @horny4knives

[mulders-too-large-shirt]

s3 episode 10 thoughts

WHEW!!! another rollercoaster of an episode tonight!!!

without further ado, please buckle up and get comfortable while i walk you through everything in excruciating detail. and below, i shall copy and paste my notes.

oh man, back for part TWO. i need to prepare myself. but honestly, can you do such a thing?! it’s debatable! you can only do the best you can. and after yesterday, i’m expecting some further big feelings. so we must keep our delaying brief. 

so i have some popcorn, and now we’re gonna get into it.

(wait. i see this episode is titled “731”. so i made that sort of disclaimer last night about needing to gather my thoughts on that being used in this show but i assume it’ll dive more into it today. so i guess just… keep that in mind? i try to be as articulate as i can when handling sensitive subject matter, but there are some things i know i’m not the most qualified to speak on)

but okay. jump in for real and i’ll try not to get too academic. 

oh we get another “previously on the x files”!! a recap!!! how special!!! and now we remember how high the stakes are. 

back in west virginia. at a gate. OH! this truck is just driving through that closed gate. well! that was abrupt. no care for property here in WV. we see that this is a disease research facility.

a lot of men with guns and disembarking into the facility and we hear a soft mewing… sort of how i’d imagine an alien cat tells you it is hungry?? are there more aliens here today?

no! it’s a man, not an alien, who emerges from a trap door.

JUST KIDDING!! THERE ARE ALIENS BEING LOADED INTO THE TRUCKS. so my alien noise detectors (ears) are in proper working order. 

(author’s note: or… are they aliens? it’s cast into doubt after the end of the episode, but for the sake of the LIVE nature of this liveblog, i will keep my original notes)

now i’m conflicted here, because these aliens look real small and sad, but if they’re behind what is being done to scully, they need to be punished. but it also seems that after last episode, it is the HUMANS who are doing the evil things. so how evil are these critters?

oh… i don’t like their fingers. 

the man is running up to the rest of the aliens, who are being taken into a clearing. oh no… not looking good for them.

and we see the man has a very distinctive face… hmm

alien execution by fire squad? noooo!!! this is exactly what happens. the soldiers seem to check that they’re dead and walk away. wtf??? do bullets work on aliens? i guess??

theme music plays as i type frantically. but i look up JUST IN TIME TO SEE THAT TODAY’S WORDS ARE DIFFERENT! “APOLOGY IS POLICY” HUH?

apology is policy… i feel like the government is really bad at apologizing for stuff though. so??

scully on the phone. mulder on the train.

scully wants to know what is on that train but x says it doesn’t matter. well not sure if you get to make that call!

SCULLY PULLS A GUN ON HIM!!! but he disarms her quickly. omg she is NOT playing around!! 

OH HE BROUGHT HER SISTER INTO THIS??? WHAT THE HELL???? X READ THE ROOM??

okay, that was uncalled for, but he says that if she wants to know what is on that train and who killed her sister, to figure out what they put in her neck…… he says it holds more than he could ever tell her. and then. he gives her the gun back and leaves. such an interesting dynamic between this dude and the agents.

SCULLY WHY DO THEY MAKE YOU SUFFER?

mulder trying to get into the train. still hanging on. and he finally found a way in!

looks at a sign that says quarantine and then tries to get into it lmaoooo. alas, he cannot.

so he goes to someone on the train and pulls the federal agent card, but the guy says he can’t help him. but a particular japanese doctor on board might be able to, dr. shiro zama. okayyyy are we getting somewhere????

mulder has a lot of confidence getting into these situations. so he takes the conductor to the dr. shiro zama’s room and says unlock the damn door.  and his room is…. empty??? is the conductor in on this. i’m suspicious.

he finds a suitcase full of writing though, and asks “why did i study french in high school”

! MULDER LORE REVEAL ! HE STUDIED FRENCH IN HIGH SCHOOL!!!! EXCELLENT!!!! CHEERING AND YELLING!!!

mulder says that if the conductor finds the doctor before he does to make him lie on the ground and hold him at gunpoint. so he’s showing the conductor how to use a gun. and he says he’s never used one before but again i am suspicious!!

back to the fbi. chip from scully’s neck analysis time. it seems to be… collecting information as if they are memories? and could even tell you A PERSON’S EVERY THOUGHT. she seems to be terrified. i would be too.

the chip guy says he found the name of the manufacturer!!! he destroyed the chip but he found the name!!! big shoutout to chip guy. 

AND THE CHIP WAS SENT TO DR. SHIRO ZAMA!!!

she’s touched and grabs his arm and this guy clearly has a crush on scully but like 1. same and 2. if it gets her life saving information idgaf

back on the train. we see the guy who killed all the other doctors last episode!!! and he’s going after who is presumably this episode’s doctor. henceforth he shall be referred to as “the strangler”

he gets dr. zama in a bathroom just as mulder walks by and seems to miss whatever is going down in there, which i assume is murder.

okay a car is pulling up in west virginia. IT’S SCULLY!!!!!!!!!!!!! with a flashlight at night. and people are running out of the disease building!!! where are they going….

this is spoooooky. very dark and quiet and just a flashlight and a dream here. but something is under the floorboards!!!! is it the guy from the start of the episode??? she is no fool, she sees him. AND A BUNCH OF OTHER PEOPLE DOWN THERE??? begging not to be hurt. HELLO??? THERE ARE MULTIPLES???

mulder back on the train. sleuthing. finds the dead doctor!!! straight up STRANGLED. a woman screams that he’s dead but mulder is like “no he’s sick :)” and pats her kid’s head and smiles <- LMAOOOOOOO i knew this man did improv in high school

back to the disease facility. scully wants to know who these people under the floorboards are, and says she won’t hurt them and that she is an fbi agent, which is the truth, but possibly not the most reassuring answer. they live here!! 

she puts together that this place used to be a leper colony but it isn’t anymore. so they just left these people there? :(

they say dr. zama “isn’t here anymore” SO HE WAS, AT ONE POINT, HERE?

THESE PEOPLE ARE HIDING FROM “THE DEATH SQUADS” HUH??? scully is deeply confused. but they explain that hundreds have been killed.

she’s like, i thought leprosy was curable, and he says yeah, but we were disfigured before treatment arrived so they kept us out here :( this is so sad!!!

and the others had the “hansen’s deformities” (i do not know what this refers to sorry but we can google later) and he says dr. zama would BURN them. horrific human experimentation!!!!

so he leads her to the execution site from the start of the episode. and it is an open pit of what looks like, to me, aliens. it’s horrific. and he says there are more. it’s really really sad. like i can’t explain how sad it is. 

and just as they do that, a helicopter arrives and shines a light on them both! i realize we don’t even know that gentleman’s name :(

scully is hiding in the woods but people with guns are running in and have surrounded her. they say “move and you’re dead” AND WE HEAR GUNSHOTS IN THE DISTANCE!!! NOOO… WHAT ABOUT OUR UNNAMED FELLOW???

mulder says not to stop the train until he finds the killer and i’m like okaaaay this is freaky. he is really hoping the conductor isn’t evil. but the quarantine door is unlocked!!! so he goes in. hopefully not to contract a scary disease. and he looks in the back AND SEES AN ALIEN!!! ALIVE!!!

but then the strangler comes to kill him!!! he starts to strangle him until the conductor comes him with his (empty) gun!!! the strangler says he’s a “law enforcement officer” which um. okay.

the conductor locks this “law enforcement officer” in the quarantine car with mulder. and poor mulder is covered in marks around his neck from the strangling :(

strangler claims he works for the NSA. and that there is a bomb on the train. because of the back room alien. and he says anything could make the weapon blow up.

is he bluffing??? 

scully in custody. some guy wants to speak with her alone and he knows her name. HE SAYS HE KNOWS EVERYTHING ABOUT HER??

he says this was a place where society sent its monsters to live in isolation. and that the people here were all victims of Zama. OKAY BUT ANSWER WHY YOU KNOW HER… WERE YOU THE FREAK PUTTING STUFF IN HER NECK??? so is this whole ordeal with scully and the others in allentown zama’s fault??? and THIS guy who was talking to her, he was the one that BROUGHT ZAMA HERE???

oh no, dr. zama began secret evil experimentations… who could have seen this coming when you recruited the guy SPECIFICALLY for his past secret evil experiments? truly no one! /s

this guy says he wants to show her something. ummm who is this guy and also what is he doing and why? because i want to throw hands. 

back on the train. the conductor asks if he should pry open the door. and the strangler has the keycard. and he claims to have a code, but if they use the code again it’ll set “the bomb” off. 

mulder doesn’t buy it and starts to put the code in. but a phone starts ringing. it’s the strangler’s. he says the phone call is for him. can we put it on speaker. 

OKAY SO. THE GUY WHO IS BEING WEIRD AND HAS SCULLY IS NAMED “ELDER”. shoutout to closed captions. 

anyway, she is on the phone and says that whatever is on that train isn’t actually alien. and that the people he was experimenting on were homeless, subjected to diseases and radiation. so he goes to check and see if the “alien” in the secret room really looks like a alien.

hmm… i find this hard to believe and am curious as to why scully claims to buy it. unless elder is forcing her to say these things….

she answers this very question by saying that SHE HAS BEEN IN THIS CAR BEFORE. WHEN THEY WERE EXPERIMENTING ON HER. NOOOO SCULLY :(

she says there is no alien abduction, and it’s a smokescreen for the government to experiment on people. and the “UFO” he saw was NOT a UFO, but a russian submarine. hmm not sure i’m buying that…

OH??? TWO WEEKS AGO the president made a public apology for secret radiation tests?? (are we still in bill era for s3 or has it transitioned to george bush town? i honesty can’t tell when this season dropped. need to look up radiation apologies)

and she says that there is a BOMB in the car as the strangler said, and the test subject/alien in the back was exposed to an awful fever, and if it blows up, a ton of people will be exposed. huh… who IS this dude trapped back there?

she says there is a ventilation grid, and the timer to the bomb is hidden inside. so the strangler opens it.  and yes! there is a bomb!!! with a little under 2 hours left!!!!!!

she says that they need to get the train to stop so a bomb squad can get out there, but he PRETENDS THE CALL IS BREAKING UP!!! and he hangs up!!!! what a traitor, thinking he can use his own smarts to get out of this! what an ego or a blind optimism this man has!

SCULLY :( why does she have to suffer in such ways… now she can’t reach her friend on the train that is about to blow up….

mulder says to reroute the train to the least populated area and unhook the car…. OMG???? WHAT IS HE PLANNING??

doing that thing where people move the train tracks. so cool. and they unhook the car they’re in!

the strangler is on the floor but he sees a scalpel…. what is HE planning…. 

scully is speeding home. “scully, let me tell you, you haven’t seen america til you’ve seen it from a train” “DAMN IT MULDER, WHAT HAPPENED” <- LMAOOOOOO, line delivered by man whose coping mechanism is Quips

he says that if what HE thinks is on that train is in there, they’ll get him out. she says if what SHE thinks is on that train, they’ll let ‘em blow up. 

mulder is asking the strangler what the hell is going on. and when he is giving smarmy looks instead of an answer, mulder says that he’ll shoot him in the stomach, which is THE MOST PAINFUL AND SLOWEST WAY TO DIE. OH. HE MEANS BUSINESS!

so the strangler says this creature on the train is a weapon. and that dr. zama was trying to find something immune to radiation and biological warfare. and mulder pulls out the “alien-human hybrid” card… but the strangler is like, well if that were true, wouldn’t someone have come to save it by now… UGH, SO WHAT IS THE TRUTH?

scully in mulder’s apartment. searching through his things. his journal. calling a number? CALLING THE SENATOR?!

we learn mulder’s number is 555-0199. so that’s some useless information for ya but maybe it’ll help you sweep trivia night. and she puts the tape X up! just bites the tape right off to cut it. love that for her. 

watching the autopsy again. and she winces, possibly realizing that she is seeing what was done to her. 

SHE SEES DR. ZAMA ENTERING A CODE IN THE VIDEO!!! carefully going frame by frame to figure out each number. whilst the strangler smirks from behind. possibly with the weapon…

she can’t fully see the last number though!! and it works!!!!

BUT THE STRANGLER!!!! HE ATTACKS!!!!!

BUT THEN HE GETS SHOT!!!!

is that…. X?????? (he has kinda like almost bell bottom looking pants but it could also maybe be skinner?)

MULDER’S FACE IS COVERED IN BLOOD!!! AND IT IS X!!! HE SEES THERE IS ONLY A MINUTE LEFT ON THE BOMB TIMER. what is he doing???! going to the creature in the back?!! is he gonna let it get blown up……… 

X is carrying mulder like a rag doll and it IS FUNNY LMAOOOO it’s kinda cute…… they’re getting out of there RIGHT AS THE CAR BLOWS UP!!!!

so was that an alien?? was it a plague bearing human??? will mulder now be exposed to plague?? WHAT IS THE TRUTH???

time skip to a week later. mulder is making calls to try and figure out what happened to the car and his face :( it’s all beat up :(

and senator matheson isn’t returning his calls…

she has a briefcase from the train but it ISN’T THE RIGHT ONE!!!!

scully says that mulder is doing the government’s work for them, chasing aliens that aren’t there to help cover a shameful story. AND SHE SAYS “APOLOGY HAS BECOME POLICY!!”

he says he wants them held accountable for what DID happen, he wants an apology for the truth, and he looks like he is gonna cry. their disagreements make me sad because they want the same thing, but i see her point…

so someone is translating a journal written in japanese… is it the OG or the fake?

GASP!!! CIG MAN IS WATCHING THE TRANSLATION PROCESS!!!

OMGGGG a million thoughts.

i really liked this episode in terms of plot. i thought we were steering straight into alien territory after the last episode, but they’re giving us more non-alien explanations that are honestly pretty damn believable. i mean, i don’t know what the results of inventive radiation torture would make a human being look like, but maybe it could look like what we assume an alien to be? OR it could be a hybrid of both stories, there’s experimentation going on with vulnerable people AND aliens are involved. 

and the reveal that scully was tested on by people- man!!! on the one hand, how horrific to learn this for a person whose greatest fear is the evil humans can create. but on the other hand, it was human, not alien, so there should be an explanation that could make sense. even if the answers are being hidden, she can try and find them. but again, how terrifying to know humans do this to fellow humans.

they’re fighting a bit at the end, because they have entirely different interpretations on what is going on, and their own individual reasoning and experience that backs their thoughts up, and it’s so deeply personal for both of them. but they want the same thing. i want to make them sit down and say that they are approaching the same problem from two different angles!! and that is okay!!! 

sighs. mulder, willing to gamble his life for a creature that could be an alien, could be a bio weapon, could be anything, but if it keeps people safe he will risk anything for it. anything for the truth.

and x showing up in the nick of time, hauling him out, saving him… after all the fights they’ve gotten into, x risking his life just to sneak him information, but never telling him enough… no matter how many times they come to blows he still showed up, dragged him away from the bomb, killed his attacker… truly, what is this dude’s motive? what is his job? whose side is he on? i would bet there is no consistant side for him, just a paycheck. 

omg. so the terrible things being done to scully are being done by humans… it doesn’t explain everything (and i don’t buy either of their stories fully) but how juicy. how terrible for scully, but juicy for a viewer of the plot.

but if they WERE experimenting on people who were homeless or otherwise vulnerable as she claimed, why on earth would they pick her? her absence was noted, her job was prominent, it’s not like she was scooped off the street. and duane barry had to bring her to where she was taken. also, duane was the only guy that we know of that was taken… maybe they were taken by different groups?? different experiments going on?? maybe one was taken by aliens and the other by people??? maybe they’re lying about only taking people who were already vulnerable, and will take anyone for sample size? man. i have so many questions. but i LIKE that. i like having mystery and a big conspiracy to try and crack, even if you run into a million endless snakes biting their own tails. nothing explains everything.

what was cig guy doing!!! and who made the chip that was in scully!! and who really sent the strangler!! and what was that creature!! why did “elder” know scully!!!

i think that the government doing awful evil things is a lot more compelling to me than an outside alien force. and sure, both can work together, don’t get me wrong, because we know aliens exist in SOME capacity after the whole poisonous gas blood and endless clones of that one lady pretending to be samantha from last season, but it’s an infinite universe, there are probably a ton of alien species. maybe the clones were one and these guys are another. 

the point i was trying to get at was this: i think the government doing evil stuff is compelling. but i’m torn on the use of real human suffering as a story building element. the things committed by unit 731 were unspeakably horrific, beyond description. but that really happened, to REAL human beings, not characters on a screen. to use that suffering and build off it it, to incorporate that into fiction is… troubling to me.

and this isn’t exclusive to the x files by any means, there are other stories that take the human experimentation that was actually done to real people in WW2 and imposes it/expands upon it in fictional contexts- but i feel a sense of… like, these things were truly real and horrible, and using them as a jumping off point feels… maybe trivializing is the word? they’re treated in the show as awful, horrible things, but they’re expanded upon in a fantastical manner that almost makes it feel like the real horrible things that happened weren’t horrific enough. idk, i’d be interested in hearing thoughts on the subject. 

but i feel that if i want to expand upon that at length, it would be best to do it in its own post. as is my rule with things that are too serious for just one post. 

(to be clear, i’m not critiquing the episode, which was well done and performed and had me at the edge of my seat. i’m raising a question about the ethics of the writing itself and if using that real horror as a jumping off point is a morally sound thing to do. feel free to chime in, you don’t have to make a huge think piece or anything, just wondering if that crossed anyone else’s mind)

morality of the plot points set aside to discuss for another day, this episode was another banger. i was at the edge of my seat and KEPT pausing to take notes lmao. i would get one thing down and ANOTHER WOULD HAPPEN! the pacing was great, i was sad to see our agents separated but isn’t there something wonderful about a phone call connecting them despite the distance? i feel that we are getting closer and closer looks into what drives them, what their essential differences are despite their commitment to figure out what is going on and their mutual skin in the game. i just don’t want them to argueeee :( my babies :(

wow! that was a lot to say, and i’m sleepy, so i best end here before i am tempted to develop all the lore into course content that i subject my friends to.

[updownlately]

'cause you used to be a part of me (now you're only somebody)

| alessia russo x reader | angst | 1.0k | a/n: it's the angst i so desperately wanted to write. i don't know what it is about spotify but it kept playing sad songs this morning and then it played 'worse for me' by tyler shaw and i had no other option but to write this throughout my class. enjoy! also i wrote this as the backstory to this blurb

~~~

“It’s done.” 

“Oh great! Okay, so the instructions say to take the dough out of the fridge and-” You begin, as you wipe your hands on the towel near you.

“No, not the timer for the cookies…the negotiations.” Out of the corner of your eye you see Alessia round the corner of the island, her phone making the distinct locking noise before it’s gently sliding on the countertop, coming to rest between you two, almost mocking you.

“The nego- oh…”

Taking a deep sigh, you mentally prepared yourself. Putting the towel down, you turned to face her. Letting yourself lean against the counter, you tried to look nonchalant even though you were everything but.

“So what’s the verdict? I’m going to assume that United matched?”

Alessia nodded, closing the gap between you two. Stopping a few feet away, she timidly reached out her hands, a wince on her face, nervousness clear with the way she was bouncing from foot to foot. 

The silent question in her eyes didn’t go unnoticed by you. You reached your own hand out, intertwining your fingers, pulling her ever so slightly closer, the space between you two noticeably smaller.

“I love you.”

“I feel like there’s a ‘but’ at the end of that sentence.”

When the blonde took a deep sigh in response, you knew you were right.

“London right?” You could feel your own heartbreak at your words, well aware that this was how it was going to end, and yet it didn’t make the sting hurt any less. 

“We both know I can’t stay at United.” 

“City?” “I might leave my childhood club, but I won’t do them like that.” Her words had you shrugging in acceptance.

“So….Arsenal?”

“Yeah.”

You thought you had held it together pretty well up until this point. You had at least, until this moment. You don’t know what it was, but the final confirmation, the singular word being uttered just made it more real. It made your nightmares a reality.

Alessia could see you physically breaking in front of her, the first few tears falling down your face. The way you leant your head back, the wordless prayer falling from your lips, straight onto the ground where it shattered into pieces.

“Please say something.” Alessia knew she sounded desperate. Your opinion technically wouldn’t make a difference at this point- it hadn’t before, what good would it do now that everything else in the way was sorted and official.

“I don’t know what you want me to say,” the defeat in your voice clear from the way it broke in the midst of the sentence.

“Something? Anything? What do you think?” By now, Alessia had matching tears rolling down her face. 

“I’m happy for you.” The statement contradicted your quiet sniffles and tears, them only getting worse.

“Are you though?” This wasn’t what happy looked like, Alessia knew that much. 

“I am. This is going to be good for you.”

Voicing her concerns, Alessia took a chance. “You don’t look happy for me.”

“Alessia…” You trailed off, wiping your tears and pinching the bridge of your nose.

The striker couldn’t tell what hurt more, the fact that you couldn’t even look her in the eyes anymore or that you used her full name, something you haven’t used since the pair of you made things official.

“You need to realize that what’s the best for you is probably- no scratch that, it is the worst for me.”

Take a deep breath in to calm yourself, you continued. “I’m happy for you. I really am, I swear. But you leaving? That too a three hour drive away? That’s going to break me. Not being able to see you ever day? It’s like my worst nightmare come true.”

As your voice trailed off, echoing through the apartment that was already feeling a little less like home, you looked up at your girlfriend.

The way Alessia didn’t meet your eyes this time, spoke volumes. 

“Alessia, no…”

This time, it was Alessia’s turn to raise her gaze through the roof, unshed tears threatening to fall at the slightest interaction.

“Don’t you dare Alessia. Please. Genuinely, I’m begging you, don’t do what I think you’re about to.”

“I’m sorry…” This time, the tears fell, the pair of you openly crying. “Know that I don’t want to do this bu”-

“Then don’t” you interrupted, naively hoping that even though she didn’t listen to you before, maybe she just might this time. 

“I need to. With you still here, I-”. Her own shaky inhale cutting her off this time, hands coming up to furiously wipe at her face. “I can’t do it. I need you there, and I can’t have that. I just can’t. I can’t do it.”

“Please,” you pleaded. “We can at least give it a shot? You won’t even have to drive down, you know I love driving, I can always make the trip…”

The next two words had your shoulders slumping in defeat. “I’m sorry.” 

Swallowing hard, a deep sigh leaving your lips, you let your heart break into smithereens on the ground between you. 

“When do you leave?” your voice a whisper, too afraid of being loud, lest something else besides your heart cracks too.

“Just before I head to camp.”

“A little over two weeks from now?” you double-checked, not wanting to believe it could be so soon. 

Nodding, Alessia timidly met your eyes, aware that she was the cause of your pain right now. 

It’s why your next words took her by surprise, cueing another round of tears.

“Let’s make the most of it yeah?”

Tears streaming down your faces, you let out a pained smile. “These cookies better turn out great…after all that we just went through. I don’t think I could handle it if they don’t.”

Pushing yourself off the counter that you were using for support, you closed the distance between yourself and Alessia. Pulling her in for a hug, the taller girl practically smothered your body with her own, small tremors wracking her frame.

You knew that heartbreak was inevitable, the both of you needing to leave for world cup prep soon. Regardless, you couldn’t find it in yourself to let her go just yet, wanting to savour as many last bittersweet days that you could. So you let yourself hold her for as long as you could, aware that the clock was ticking, that she wasn't yours for much longer. You couldn't even be upset at her. This was, after all, the best thing for her future, for her.

It just so happened that it was also the worst for you.

[mychoombatheroomba]

Hard Truths

Between the Bones (Leon x GN! Reader) - Chapter 37

The squad learns what they're up against, and Krauser gives Leon some brutal advice. As per usual.

(Cross-posted from Ao3)

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Chapter Index

There was no return to normalcy. No getting back into a comfortable cycle of pain and perseverance. How could there be, when the squad reported for First Call and you weren’t there? Leon had always felt galvanized in your presence. Your strength was his own. When he felt like he wasn’t sure he could go on, you’d been there, urging him forward. As morning drills began that first day, it wasn’t just his aching muscles and bruises that held him back. 

You can’t let yourself fall behind with me.  

His time in STRATCOM had taught him that he had a bit of a problem with authority, but he obeyed your words anyway. 

Even if it would mean moving past you. 

Even if it meant listening to the teachings of the men who did this to you, because true to his promise, Hellman was there to greet the squad for morning drills. Krauser looked just as angry as he had the day before. If the Major’s smile meant a world of hurt for the recruits of the US Strategic Command, then what did his scowl mean? 

Leon supposed he would be finding out soon. 

It was the final phase of training. That was what Krauser announced that first morning; that in eight weeks, if he and the others could pass the tests, they would graduate and be assigned into service. He would be an operative of STRATCOM. An agent of the United States. 

Not a soldier. 

Not what you or any of the others had been before this, but an agent, like Reed and Hellman. The two would indeed be assisting Krauser in training, offering lessons in the more shadowed of services. Secrets and broken locks and false names. The blacked-out text on a report. That was what he would become. 

That was what he would become without you. 

Six weeks until you recovered. 

Eight weeks remaining in training. 

The number was sobering. Staggering. The other recruits, the rest of his squad, didn’t know what that meant yet. They weren’t aware of what they were about to be facing down. 

They would learn soon enough, though. 

They would learn about Raccoon City, about the bioweapons created by Umbrella, and then they would graduate and be sent off to fight nightmares made flesh. They would be forced to see and fight and kill things that Leon had never imagined before that one night last September. 

Eight weeks before they were all sent to hell. 

And while he would be out there, fighting, you would be stuck here, trying to catch up for the time you lost. He tried not to let himself get lost in that thought too much as he pushed his injured body through Krauser’s ever-more difficult exercises - and Krauser’s still-sharp glares. The pain of it all was familiar enough now that he could endure it. He ran harder and faster, strained through the near-failing of his muscles as he carried the ammunition case across the obstacle course, not letting himself drop the added weight. He did all of that because he knew that, in eight weeks, his newfound strength and speed might be all that saved his life from some newfound horror. 

And, however he felt about them, he knew that whatever skills Reed and Hellman were here to teach might do the same. So, he swallowed his anger when he reported to the two agents with the rest of the squad later that day, gathered together in a room that reminded Leon of his time in the police academy, with desks and a projector. 

He didn’t bother to hide his sneer when Hellman began his speech. Even as he was reminded of who the real enemy was. 

“You were all chosen for STRATCOM based on exemplary performance or impressive feats,” Hellman began, and again, Leon was put off by just how different he sounded, now. How genuine. “Most of you have served with distinction, and I have no doubt that you would have had impressive careers - that you still will . . . but now that you are on this path, it isn’t glory that you’ll be getting. There won’t be medals or ceremonies. What would have brought you accolades before can never be spoken of, now. Your service will be hidden from the world, because you will be keeping that world safe from threats that it can never know are real.

“You will be the first line of defense against things the world has never seen. You may not receive glory for it, but your country will owe you a debt it can never repay.” 

The noble sacrifices. 

Leon tried not to scoff at Hellman’s wording, because he made it sound so heroic. Leon knew better. He knew that they wouldn’t be the unsung knights in shining armor. They would be the living shields for the world. Ones that would be cast aside when they broke at last, just as Andersen and the others already had been. 

But who else could it be? 

“And what exactly is it that we’re going to be fighting?” Valeria asked, not bothering to offer respect to the man who hadn’t earned it. “Who was so dangerous that you had to fucking torture us to test our strength?” 

Hellman didn’t react to her insubordination, but Leon tensed because Valeria very nearly hadn’t been allowed to be here. 

Just like him. 

We’ll need every soldier we can get.  

That and Krauser’s influence had been all that spared them. That knowledge that the fight they were preparing for was unlike anything the world had seen before, against an enemy unlike any other. 

“The Umbrella Corporation.” 

Confusion was the first thing that Leon felt in the room. “The pharmaceutical company?” Alejandro clarified with a raised brow. “We’re going to be taking down people in lab coats?” 

He didn’t know. None of them did. But Leon had reacted the same way, once. He’d not believed Ada when she’d told him that the company had created the horrors that now haunted his dreams and waking moments alike. Then he’d seen it firsthand. He owed a bullet-sculpted scar on his shoulder to one of those people in lab coats. And he owed months of restless nights to them too. 

“Not the scientists, necessarily,” Hellman shook his head, and Reed stepped forward. 

“Breathe a word of what you see in this room, and you will be tried for treason.” That was all the warning that was given before he reached forward. The agent flipped a switch on the projector to turn it on, and laid a semi-transparent image over the glass. There were murmurings of disgust. Surprise. Confusion. For Leon, though, it wasn’t some newfound terror. Even blurred and black and white, the image was one Leon recognized immediately. Rotting flesh falling away from bone and muscle. Teeth bared and darkened with viscera. A hand with bloodied nails reaching towards the camera.

Leon’s body reacted before his mind. Muscles tensing. Heart stuttering. He had to repress the urge to run. To aim his gun and fire desperately, even if he was sitting in a room miles and months away from Raccoon City. Even if he was just looking at an image taken from what had to have been that night or the days before it. 

It was good - or, perhaps, not so good - to know that his memory when it came to the zombies was clear. Crystal and cruel. 

“You’ll be fighting the bioweapons they create.” Hellman announced, letting the knowledge sink in. 

There it was. The truth that Leon had wanted the men and women around him to know. And now that it was there, he almost felt guilt for that, too. Guilt, because he wished he didn’t have the knowledge he possessed. 

No. Better they know. Better they’re prepared. 

“This image was taken during the Raccoon City outbreak, and is just one of many reported variants of bioweapons that were found in the city.” The energy in the room shifted, then, because even if they didn’t know the truth of the matter, everyone in the country had heard of Raccoon City. The strange disease that had broken out, and the city’s destruction to keep it from spreading. Not untrue, Leon supposed. Just omitting key details. Redacted information. Cover-ups. He supposed he shouldn’t have been surprised that this was the path his life would take, going from one ghost-story to another. And even now, it seemed there would be more lies of omission. “According to our intel, there was an accidental release of viral weaponry in Umbrella labs beneath Raccoon City. Reanimation of corpses as well as drastic, fast-acting mutations were characteristics of said viruses. They were transmitted through water contamination and, later, through bites or scratches. The viruses escaped into the city and reports of violent individuals started popping up in mid September. By September thirtieth, the situation was deemed uncontainable.” 

And then Raccoon City, along with the monsters in it and those people still trying to survive within it had been wiped off the map. Nevermind that this had happened because one doctor had offered the US that same viral weaponry in exchange for his safety. Nevermind that maybe none of this would have happened if they’d just taken the man into custody from the start. 

Leon supposed he shouldn’t have been surprised by the exclusion of that information, either. These men needed everyone in this room on their side. On the country’s side. 

“This is what the Major’s been training you for. Fighting against something that can wipe out a city in a week,” Hellman went on, clasping his hands behind his back. "We will endeavor to teach you how to avoid that fight. How to find the people responsible for the creation of these bioweapons before they can utilize them.” 

Tracking down Umbrella before another outbreak could happen, in other words. Cutting the head off the snake before it could bite anyone else. 

Too little, too late, Leon knew, because the cat was out of the bag, now. If the US knew, then other countries probably did too. Umbrella was a company. They would protect their interests, their assets. Viral weaponry that could “wipe out a city in a week” had to look good to someone out there. It had looked good to the US, after all. 

“The training we give you in the following weeks will never be complete,” Hellman warned, pale eyes sweeping the room of soldiers in front of him. “We could never give you full CIA-level instruction in time to send you after Umbrella. What we can give you are the tools we believe will help you to find and stop them.”

Not soldiers. Not CIA. Something else. New weapons for a new war. 

“They have facilities across the world,” Reed said, speaking in that usual cold timbre that made Leon’s hackles rise. “You’ll need to learn to adapt to new environments. Speak new languages. Pass where you’re not supposed to.” 

“And if we’re caught somewhere we’re not supposed to be?” Alenko asked from Leon’s side, picking up on what Reed was implying immediately. 

Leon already knew the answer before Hellman even spoke it. “The world can’t know about our operations any more than they can know about Umbrella’s research,” he said, adding to the gravity of the room. “But you were all chosen for your skill, and allowed to continue this training for the strength of your wills.” For holding out under interrogation. Leon didn’t miss how Reed’s eyes landed on him, then. He ignored that biting gaze, just as he’d been ignoring Krauser’s all day. 

“So if we get captured, if we die out there,” Alenko went on, his usual jovial tone gone, “then we shouldn’t expect anyone to come get us. That’s what you’re saying?” 

To his credit, the look Hellman gave in return actually looked understanding. Sympathetic, even. That didn’t change the fact that he was promising them unaided struggles and unmarked graves. “As I said, your work won’t bring you glory. But it will be more important than anything you’ve done in your lives.” 

Lives that could be turned into hollow shells. That could be warped and mutated into mindless violence. 

With or without the influence of a virus. 

But with nowhere to go but forward, Leon tried not to let those thoughts rule him. There were other things to think about. 

Things that the rest of the squad were thinking of too, by the time dinner rolled around.  

It had been quiet for so many reasons since the interrogations, but now there was an added layer of heaviness. Worry had carved creases across the foreheads of Leon’s squad, a sharp contrast to the exhausted but otherwise unburdened lower-level squads sitting at other tables. Young men and women who didn’t know yet what they would be facing. 

“So,” Williams finally said, trying to break the silence with hushed humor, “I guess we’ll all be able to put ‘monster hunter’ on our resumes after this. Not that anyone will ever see those resumes.” 

Leon wanted to smile at that, but all he could think of was dead hands and rotting breath and gnashing teeth. 

No one else laughed, either, their thoughts no doubt stuck on the images they’d seen earlier. The agents hadn’t told them everything yet. They’d have a hard time doing that in one day. Today was about fear, Leon knew that. Scaring everyone shitless so they’d respect the reality of the situation, like at Fort Benning when Cortez explained how a wrong move in a tank could earn you crushed limbs. With tanks, though, there was a field manual to understand; a list of knowns. With bioweapons . . . “How the hell are we supposed to fight those things?” Alenko asked, keeping his voice down so those cadets who didn’t know what awaited them couldn’t hear. 

And Leon knew then that he could help. That he could give his friends an edge before even the CIA did. So, he answered quietly, trying to adopt the easy authority you used when giving corrections in sparring. “The zombies, you shoot in the head,” he said, and all attention at the table turned to him. “Higher-caliber rounds work best. The more of the brain you can destroy, the better.” 

His squad looked at Leon like they were seeing him in a brand new light, realization slowly dawning across their faces. 

“There are other things, though. Different weak spots. None of them go down easy.” Because even once you knew where to shoot, where to place those bullets, it all came down to whether there was actually an opportunity to do so. Whether one had the ammunition required, or the moment needed to aim. “You have to be smart,” he warned, letting memory weigh down his words, “and you have to know when to run.” 

There was a beat of silence as Alejandro leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table. “Sounds like you’re speaking from experience, brother.” 

All sorts of secrets coming out lately, Leon thought as he nodded once.  

“I am. I was there. In Raccoon City.” 

He knew how he’d been thought of when he first arrived. He wasn’t blind to the judgmental stares when he’d struggled. The whispers that that kid’s gonna get himself killed. It was strange to be seen by everyone as you’d seen him so early on. 

“Son of a bitch,” Alejandro muttered, in disbelief. 

“How the hell did you make it out of there?” Alenko asked, and Leon wished he had a better answer. 

“Luck.” 

That was what it had come down to. His skill with a gun, his ability to think on his feet, they’d helped, but it had been luck that he’d been near those who could save him when skill alone failed him. Luck that had given him the tools he needed to survive. Skill, certainly, but luck was the reason he was still alive. 

He couldn’t change luck, though. 

So, he would focus on the two of those things that he could control. 

⧫⧫⧫

The Major didn’t look happy to see him. Not that it surprised Leon at all. 

He’d held out for a few days. He’d been focused in that time on throwing himself into the new lessons Reed and Hellman led. Languages, communication, codes, hell, even some hacking and lock-picking. All skills that may save Leon’s life, but not the ones he’d need if he ever came up against another monster that could fold a helicopter in two. Not that a knife would do much against such power either, he supposed. Still, he wanted to be ready. Had to be. For a while, he thought that he could get away with only sparring with Williams, Valeria and Alenko. Alejandro had joined them, and every so often so would the other members of the squad. Sparring while Leon told them of the hard-earned wisdom he had collected that night in Raccoon City. They were good, there was no denying that. But they weren’t you. They lacked your speed. Your instinct. Your gift for violence, earned not because you were a violent person but because you’d had such unspeakable violence done to you. You’d been a whetstone for his skill, and if all he had was eight weeks, then he needed them to be sharper than ever. 

So, he took your advice because you were right. Krauser was the best fighter on base. If you couldn’t spar, then Leon had to find other ways to become better. Even as Major Krauser scowled at him as he approached and all Leon could think of was the fact that he knew. 

He knew, and he wasn’t saying anything. 

Why wasn’t he saying anything? 

How long had he known?

What had he seen?

Another set of thoughts to be set aside. If Krauser wasn’t going to make trouble for you and Leon, then it was a situation that Leon could ignore. 

God, he really hoped he could ignore it.

It was a little difficult when the Major kept on looking at Leon like he wished he would cease to exist. Leon thought for certain that the man’s mood would brighten a touch when asked to spar. Beating the shit out of Leon had to be something he’d be interested in, right? 

“What? Your friends can’t be bothered?” Krauser grumbled. 

“My friends are taking the night off,” Leon shot back, because, frankly, he was tired of the angry glares. Tired of all the bullshit. His time here was ending, and it was Krauser’s job to make sure he survived after the fact. “I need a sparring partner.” 

What he got was an ass-kicking. Not that he’d expected otherwise. 

Still, Leon allowed himself to be proud of the fact that he actually put up a fight. He remembered sparring with Krauser all those months ago, how easily the Major had wiped the floor with him. It made each strike he earned against Krauser’s skin feel all the more vindicating. He’d gotten used to defeat thanks to you, and he’d always been able to get back up, even before that. A good thing, too, because Krauser was fighting like he had a score to settle. 

A kick with the force of a freight train hit Leon in the stomach, sending him falling backwards with a grunt. The Major didn’t waste any time, rushing to the ground with an overhead stab. Leon rolled out of the way just in time, hearing the scraping of metal against dirt. Dust washed over him, sent in a wave by the blade of Krauser’s knife, just enough getting into his eyes that his vision wavered. 

Unable to see, his heart rate spiked, trying to urge him to get up. To defend himself. He felt Krauser’s hand close around his wrist - the one whose hand held the knife. 

Leon acted quickly, bringing his other hand up, taking the knife. Slashing out almost blindly. Luck was on his side once again as he felt steel scrape against steel, parrying Krauser’s attack. The force of the blades meeting sent tremors through Leon’s arm, and it was through sheer will and memories of your words that he held onto the knife. 

His vision cleared and he was in a better position to attack, so he slashed at the Major’s wrist, freeing his own in the process. 

The two men got to their feet, putting some distance between each other. 

Krauser didn’t look impressed. “Thought with all that extra sparring you’d be better than this,” he said, and Leon wasn’t sure if it was a good sign that he was talking shit. Was it a return to form? Or just more anger? He might have gotten his answer when Krauser went on with words like a slap to the face. “Guess you weren’t really paying attention to the fights though, were you?” 

Leon knew it was bait. He could recognize that. Still, it was a shock to the system to hear Krauser imply it so openly. Even as a taunt, Leon hadn’t expected to hear it. It was just enough of a surprise that when Krauser rushed him, the younger man fumbled.

The feint was just fast enough for Leon to fall for it, and as he chased Krauser’s blade with his own - or where it would have slashed across his stomach - he nearly didn’t move fast enough to avoid the slash across his throat. You were fast, but Krauser? It was fighting you but dialed up to eleven, and it was too much for a fatigued and still-bruised Leon to handle. The blunted blade grazed his neck as he threw himself backwards. Off-balance, he nearly found himself losing his footing as Krauser pressed the attack, switching the knife to his left hand and thrusting it forward. Leon twisted his arm, getting his knife on the inside of the attack, his other hand going for the replacement . . . 

Too late, and he coughed and sputtered as Krauser swung his knife up and over Leon’s shoulder and sent it point-first into the side of his throat. Even if the Major was pulling the blow back, it landed hard enough that Leon knew he’d have a new bruise tomorrow. 

“Sloppy,” the Major shook his head as he pulled the blade away, stepping back. 

Leon retreated away, pressing a hand to the newly hurting spot on his neck. The pain was kindling for his anger - he’d moved past the frustrations of losing in these sparring matches, but he felt it now all the same. 

So he attacked first, this time. Hoping to catch the Major off-guard. 

He nearly had him, too, after a quick exchange. Nearly. Krauser twisted his knife inside Leon’s guard and switched hands again, kneeing the younger man in the gut and then running his blade up Leon’s arm in a move that would have filleted the flesh from his bones if it had been real. Then he pulled the knife away and drove it into Leon’s chest. Another bruise. 

“Where’s your focus?” Krauser snarled into Leon’s ear. “Your Sergeant isn’t here. Keep your head in the game.” 

Why the fuck was he pressing the issue? 

Leon shoved Krauser away - no small feat to make that mountain of a man move - and dropped into another ready stance. Resetting into another round, even as his muscles pleaded with him to stop. 

No. He wouldn’t be given a break out there. There would be no mercy. 

That was why you’d told him to do this, Leon knew. Krauser was as close to the real thing as he was going to get, if you were unable to fight. 

So, Leon charged again. Over and over, even if he ended up on the ground nearly every time. It was those first few weeks with you all over again. Near-victories followed by crushing defeats. All ushered in, Leon knew, by Krauser’s taunts. The Major was all too aware of that fact, as he swept Leon’s legs out from underneath him. His back hit the ground yet again, and this time Krauser didn’t even bother to go for a pin or a finishing move. 

“What did I tell you about being distracted?” the Major sneered, tossing his knife up and catching it in one smooth motion. “Because it’s the people who get distracted out there that end up dying.” 

“I’m not-”

“Don’t bullshit me. You have a weak spot and you’re letting me exploit it.” A weak spot. Leon had never once thought of you that way. You kept him going. You’d given him strength in the worst days at STRATCOM. Even during the days spent in those cells, the silent looks you would give him often felt like all that was keeping him sane. 

And then they’d beaten you in front of him, and Leon had broken. 

“You think I’m the only one who will figure it out?” The question was quiet, but cut straight to the bone. It was what you and Leon had talked about, all those nights ago. The last time in days that he’d seen you. And it was killing him. It hurt not to train with you. To get those reassuring looks when no one else was looking. 

You’d told him from the beginning that this life didn’t guarantee that the two of you would be together. 

He couldn’t let your absence drag him down. 

But he was frustrated and hurt, so he looked up at Krauser from the ground with a glare. “Why not report it, then?” Leon challenged, because that question had been eating away at him. “Why not let Reed and Hellman kick me out like they wanted to?” 

Krauser’s eyes flashed, and Leon knew that he’d overplayed his hand, admitting that he’d heard that conversation. 

“Get up, rookie,” the Major ordered, “and focus, or maybe I’ll change my mind and let them send you home.” 

Leon wasn’t sure if Krauser was serious or not, at this point. 

Whatever the case, he pushed himself up with a groan anyway, part of him debating just walking away. No. He wouldn’t give in that easily. He never did. So he stood his ground, meeting that disapproving stare that had been fixed on him for the better part of a week. The Major wanted focus? He’d get it. He wanted to talk shit? Leon could give as good as he got. 

So the younger man raised his knife, still keeping his gaze locked on his opponent. “Maybe you’re the one who needs to focus. Sure are taking an interest in something that’s none of your business.” 

Krauser didn’t take the bait, but Leon saw his expression shift. His brow creased further, his eyes glinting. He thought that maybe he'd hit a nerve, but that moment of emotion was gone quickly. “That the best you’ve got?” he asked, and then Leon was on the defensive again, blocking quick strike after quick strike. Their hands moved fast, and Leon’s mind never once wavered from the task in front of him. Right up until he ducked under a swing, his blade held parallel to the ground, and ran it straight across Krauser’s side. He followed the move through, ending up at the Major’s back, going for a killing blow to the spine. It didn’t quite land as Krauser whirled around, knocking Leon’s arm out of the way. Another side kick distanced them, but Krauser looked down at his side for a moment, looking at where Leon’s knife had connected. 

When he looked back up, he gave an almost reluctant nod of approval. “Not bad.” 

It wasn’t much assurance, but Krauser wasn’t you. Leon would take what he could get. 

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Chapter Index

A/N: Leon said "Why are you so up in my business?" and Krauser did not have a good answer to that question.

Speaking of Krauser . . . I did in fact cave and started writing his lil spin-off, it'll switch between Operation Javier and flashbacks of before, during and eventually after Between the Bones. Because I'm a hooligan. First chapter is out already! Even though I said I was gonna wait but I have no self control, oops. It is absolutely nonessential to the plot of this, and any references made to it will be fully explained in context but uhhhh I like the goofy beret man, so it exists now!

[darksigns-exe]

Then We Were Three

Pairing: Noah x Nicholas x OFC Warnings: A little bit of angst and a whole boat load of feelings Word Count: 1k

A/N: I blame @deathblacksmoke and this daily Nick post. You put this thought into my head and now deal with it. Also, I wrote this one go and it's a bit rough around the edges so feel free to ignore typos/punctuation.

Noah wants exactly one thing. Two if he’s being a little pedantic but that’s beside the point. He’s feeling a little under the weather. He doesn’t think that he’s gonna get sick, it's just not a good day. One part of the solution to his problem should be somewhere around the hotel. The other one is miles and miles away, all the way back home. 

He’s spent most of the morning holed up in the hotel room he shares with Nick. Hell, he hasn’t even bothered to get up yet. It’s almost 12 when the door opens again and Noah looks up from the screen of his phone. Nick has taken about two steps into the room before his nose scrunches up and he regards him with that piercing worry that Noah really doesn’t like to be subjected to. 

“Get up.” When he doesn’t react immediately Nick yanks the duvet off his body and almost pulls him to the ground with it “At least take a shower you’re starting to smell.”

He tries to move, but his body feels too heavy. Nick plops down next to him on the bed. His fingers trace up the side of Noah’s face “Will you get up if I come with you?”

It’s a tempting promise. 

“Shower first and then we’ll call her.” 

An even more tempting promise.

“It’s night at home.”

Nick sighs “You should know her better than that.”

He gives in begrudgingly. 

Nick pushes past him into the bathroom, Noah assumes that he’s going to put on the shower so that the water can heat up to approximately boiling. 

This bit still feels too new. He’ll be the first to admit that whatever is happening between the three of them is very much not platonic anymore but then again it probably never was. The three of them have always been a little more affectionate with each other than expected, with the important distinction that Nick and her were in a committed, romantic relationship for most of the time that he’s known them. Sometimes he feels like a kid that they just drag along wherever they go. The ever-present third wheel that they bring into their bedroom on occasion. He knows that it’s not that, that it’s more than that but sometimes he can’t stop that feeling from bubbling up in his chest. 

It doesn’t help today. 

When he comes trudging into the bathroom, the steam from the shower is already filling up the small room. Nick is already stripped down to his underwear, another thing he isn’t entirely used to yet. He’s seen his ass more times than he can count, but it’s different now. 

Noah pulls the loose shirt from his back. 

It’s easier when she’s with them. Not because he doesn’t like getting this close to Nick, but because she’s a comfortable buffer. He’s used to being with girls. Being with Nick is entirely new territory for him. In the time that it takes Noah to get entirely undressed, Nick has already stepped under the stream. He follows him quickly if only to rip off the proverbial bandaid. 

As soon as the water hits him, a heavy sigh falls from his lips. Maybe the shower will do him some good. 

“Okay if I touch you?” Nick’s voice breaks through the white noise.

He gives a barely-there nod. 

The other pulls him in with a gentle hand on his waist. He feels the muscles under his skin twitch when Nick’s hand makes contact with him. Within a moment, Noah allows himself to sink against the other. His head comes to rest in the crook of his neck. The near-boiling water pelts against his back and it calms his mind a little. The rest of it melts away when Nick properly wraps him into his arms. Noah almost doesn’t register the press of his lips against his chest. Almost.

Nick is adamant that he should let him wash his hair. It’s not due yet, but Nick assured him that it’d help. He doesn’t know what part of it actually does, but once they towel off he feels a little less as if he’s falling apart at the seams. A nap and some food will do the rest, at least it’ll bridge the gap until they can actually call her. 

Noah shoves the door back open and – placed upon the still mussed up sheets is the very woman they’d just talked about. He stops in the frame of the opened door, suddenly transfixed by the sight of her. His chest fills with that tell-tale warmth. 

Hands grab at his shoulder “What did I say?”

Nick shoves him forward, kicking his body back into action. Noah practically rushes across the room and throws his body halfway across hers. She gives a laugh when he collides with her. It warms him up even more.

Somewhere in the seconds that follow, Nick joins them. Noah rests his head against her soft belly. She brings her hand into his hair, gently scratching against his scalp just the way he likes it. 

“When did you get here?” his words are muffled by her sweater.

Another hand, larger, more calloused, finds his back. 

“Just this morning.” she pulls his hair back from his face “And I’m glad that I did. Nick said you’re not feeling good?”

He shakes his head. 

“Poor thing.” her fingers brush across his cheek “I’m here now and we don’t have to go anywhere for the rest of the day. Unless you want to go get a bite to eat later? I think that’ll be nice.” 

The conversation fades into the background of his mind after that. She keeps talking about her flight and the journey here, but Noah barely registers what she’s saying. The two bodies that bracket him are the only thing that matters now. They’re warm around him, even in a less solid sense of the word. 

They’re here all three of them and the heavy weight that had been resting upon his chest doesn’t feel so heavy anymore. 

He doesn’t like to admit that he needs the two of them to feel right, but if anything this very moment proves that he does. He’d never thought that something like this would even be on the table for him. In his admittedly narrow perception of what relationships were supposed to be, it’s always been just two people.

But this – the three of them – this feels right. 

[screemnch]

The Pathologic Russian and English analysis: Artemy Burakh the Haruspex Part 2.

I think I've officially been classified by the world's forces as a fanfiction author because of this, for you see... The reason it took so damn long for me to get around to this is because I was trying to not get deported, avoiding homelessness and having a generally horrific time. But that is none of your concern, I suppose, so let's cut to the chase.

As the Changeling: I can’t exactly say that there are many differences between the Russian and English versions of the Haruspex here - same as outlined previously, he is laconic, distant and impulsive. In terms of tone of voice, the main difference would be the constraints of grammar in the English language. Russian is quite a versatile language and allows for people to structure sentences very… Liberally. This is what I meant when I spoke about the Bachelor speaking with a very “deliberate” sentence structure. He would construct his sentences properly, with all the nouns and verbs there need to be in a sentence, never neglecting the “I” - speaking in a very proper manner, even when using not so proper words. In English it’d be quite difficult to illustrate where the difference lies - these two languages employ vastly different sentence structures. The curt tone of voice is furthered with Burakh particularly because he doesn’t structure his sentences formally. His communication is very barebones, often foregoing the “I” in what he says, for example, since it can be indicated through the form of the verbs used. I’d previously said his manner of speech reminds me of fairy tales, and I think it’s particularly because of that - the modern way of speaking is very individualistic. It’s all about explaining yourself clearly and concisely, putting emphasis on the person. Artemy doesn’t put much emphasis on himself in his dialogue, talking about actions instead. The order in which he puts words is also distinct from more modern sentence structures, though that is a bit more difficult to explain. Y’all aren’t here for that anyway so let’s get to the screenshots. Once again, the order of dialogue here is dubious at best.

I want to bring attention to the last sentence here (partially because I don’t know how much material I’ll have for this part of the analysis, so I’m just putting in whatever I want) - the original Russian version says “Where do [someone’s] eyes have to be to mix us up…” which is where I get to talk about Russian expressions. See, the implication here is that the onlookers eyes have to be positioned on/in said onlookers rear end - because that is a common way for Russian people to express that someone is inept at something. Someone’s clumsy and can’t do anything well with their hands? They must be growing out of their ass then! Though I can’t think of any other instances in which that would be used off the top of my head, but yeah. Ass eyes.

It is. So difficult to not just start talking about Clara right here and right now, she’s my special little blorbo and there’s so much about her BUT. I will limit myself to this note (yeah, right, we’ll see). Main things to note here - Clara goes from addressing Artemy informally to then using the formal version of “you” (or, I guess, the formal version of the verb addressing him because Russian is a totally real language that exists). This is combined with the fact that the way she asks Artemy who he is is specifically worded in Russian in a way that implies scrutiny. It’s extremely difficult to explain, the difference is in only one word but the literal translation would also not convey the meaning well. But basically - she asks him who he is in a standoffish manner, realises she’s talking to the Ripper himself and immediately goes to address him formally and here’s the kicker: instead of saying “don’t hurt me”, in the original version she said “don’t upset me”(literal) to which the English equivalent would be “don’t be mean to me”. So yeah, Clara realised she just gave snark to a murderer and immediately went for the “I’m just a little girl, you wouldn’t want to hurt me right?.” Comedy gold. (Or a stark example of how girls and women have to force themselves to be more palatable in fear of violence from men. You decide).

The focus here is on the “Love will find a way. Blockhead” line (the rest is for context). The sentence before that isn’t even present in the Russian version. In fact, the original version just says something along the lines of “You’ll find her if you love her” (with the exception that with the freedom Russian allows it was expressed in just two words.) I also had a good laugh at Clara calling Artemy “blockhead” because I thought it was a bit anachronistic (it wasn’t, the word was used as early as the 1500's and I swear I’m gonna have to start using MLA format citations for this one day aaaaa) but it suited the translation well, as the original insult that Clara threw at him was comparing him to a large and unformed mass of stone - a common insult for someone stupid. Just wanted to point out the fun stuff.

Entirely unrelated since I can’t be bothered to look for context for either of these, but the fact that they’re in proximity and similar to each other (while being very different in Russian) was kinda funny to me. The former being something along the lines of “So what do you need here?” and the latter meaning something like “Have you come with business?.” The second one also bears the hilarious implication that Artemy expected Clara to just… Come by on a whim, with seemingly nothing to do - either because he doesn’t think highly of her, or because there’s a precedent for people to come wandering into the Ripper’s hideout for no reason. Either way, once again - funny.

Listen, I don’t know if this is anything, and hopefully there are other Russian speakers who can tell me if I’m being a little stupid here, but! I also know that a large number of pathologic fans love to talk about this silly little thing called gender. And the fun thing about Russian is that everything here is gendered as all hell. In terms of “adoption” there are two words that essentially mean “to make someone (take them in as) your son” and “to make someone (take them in as) your daughter”. And it is a very common thing for anyone to say they’ve been adopted (as a son) regardless of their gender - since so much literature is oriented on men and talks about them more than it does women, so it’s a word that comes to mind first (had to talk to my mom about this, heehoo). However in this particular instance, Clara says that Alexander took her in as his son. It’s something entirely normal to say in Russian, and I don’t think that this thing alone is enough to build off of, but since I know there are people who would add this to a pile of headcanon justifications - I’ve pointed it out to you. Because I love you. You’re welcome. (yes I’m talking about Clara again, I can’t help it if she’s just better than everyone)

This! This is what the translation should’ve said in the Bachelor route!! I know I’ve already talked about this, but now I’m even more confused - they got it right with the Changeling, what was stopping them from recycling the same translation with the Bachelor? Like, I would like to think that maybe it’s an error on the side of the website I’m using (but also hopefully not, I don’t have the time to play the games at the moment) but it’s also entirely possible that the translation team translated this phrase TWICE instead of saving time. Because people aren’t always efficient. Anyways.

This isn’t as much of a translation thing as it is maybe an “I don’t know English” thing. I was really confused when I first read it and only after comparing it to the Russian version did I understand what the second sentence was supposed to mean. As in - yeah, I can tell how you could read this in English and understand it - but it isn’t intuitive at all. And I get it - it’s pathologic and very little is actually intuitive here. But I wonder if I wasn’t the only one confused. In Russian, the sentence states “if it weren’t for me, you would’ve drowned your town in blood.” A simple little clarification, and I think an argument may be made about the difficult to understand nature of patho’s writing but… There’s a difference between a message reaching the audience with some difficulties and the message not reaching the audience at all.

Hey hey it’s time for “Burakh (and maybe other characters, we’ll see) treats Clara as more of a concept than a tangible person!” In this edition we’re gonna be focusing on the “deadly girl” turn of phrase, where the original Russian version has him call her “girl-death.” Not in a sense that she’s the death of girls, or that she is the reaper with a pink bow over its hood, rather that she is “the girl that is death”. We saw this earlier in the Bachelor’s campaign, where Artemy referred to her as “evil,” meaning the concept of evil - Burakh seems to be prone to identifying Clara through these big generalised ideas, rather than giving her concrete qualities. It’s actually pretty funny, because Clara constantly appraises him in their conversation, calling him rude, scary, and mean. They both call each other demons though, so at least there’s that. Also instead of “henchmen” Burakh refers to Dankovsky being surrounded by “squires.”

From the same conversation - the second sentence is only similar in essence. Maybe I’m making it more of a deal than it is, but there is a hint of an apology in the Russian version, which goes something like “There’s not much faith in you; you understand that yourself” (Conveying vibes here). I like the distinction between “faith” and “trust” because Russian (fortunately this time) does have different words for those two concepts. And it’s interesting to me, what with how religion oriented the Changeling campaign is, that Burakh specifically says that he doesn’t have much faith in her. Something-something themes.

Unfortunately that is about all I have in terms of specific points to bring attention to. It sucks immensely that there was so little time for IPL to work on the Changeling campaign, because not only is she super interesting, but also because (for the sake of this particular analysis) the interaction that her and Artemy have are absolutely wonderful. On one hand they have a lot of comedic potential (which I know isn’t the aim of the game, but hey, I laughed a lot reading their dialogue) and on the other hand some of their dialogue is actually quite heartfelt. In comparison to the Bachelor’s campaign, we get to see the Haruspex from a very different perspective. There’s even a little bit of that “does not get paid enough for this” energy that most people like to portray him as here. There were not that many differences in the “did you know we were dolls” dialogue between Artemy and Clara, so I didn’t get to talk about it much but I would suggest anyone to read or reread it - there is a lot of wonderful insight into both of the characters in there. Haruspex saying that he is still human specifically because he didn’t figure out the situation he is in (as opposed to Daniil, who figured out they were dolls) and that he is actively choosing to stay in this unfair predicament because he knows that finding out the truth would leave him permanently scarred? I don’t know about you, but it made me go a little bit insane. And even with Clara having the ability to understand where he’s coming from and that you’re given the option to invite Burakh to the Cathedral even after we are shown that he is completely blind to the bigger picture? That’s different from her conversation with Daniil, in which they are both on the same page about being dolls. This conversation in particular seemed so earnest to me, and if I wasn’t talking about translation differences, I would do a whole bit dedicated to that conversation. Otherwise I’m just a bit sad, since I don’t have that much to say about the Haruspex in the Changeling route.

As usual - comments, concerns, feedback is welcome. Genuinely no clue about when the next instalment of this mess of an analysis is going to be, but we are finally going to talk about Clara properly, so keep an eye out for that.

[emotionallychargedtowel]

the persistent and the cute

Over the last few days, there’s been a really interesting discussion in the comments of my reblog of the gifset @tinngun​ put together of the Utsukushii Kare season 2 finale kiss. I’m transplanting it here because 1) it seems like @tinngun​ could use a break from all those notifications and so forth 2) the conversation was totally getting buried and I think it might be interesting to folks who probably wouldn’t see it without it being brought back out into a main post. So, first, here’s a quick recap of what I posted when I reblogged the gifset post in the first place. Well, the part that’s pertinent to this conversation, at least. I commented on the tropeyness of the scene, including allusions to Hira and Kiyoi’s sexual relationship, which (from what I hear) gets quite a bit of time in the novels but by virtue of TV as a medium, is mostly not portrayed in the series. In other words, since this part of the relationship isn’t shown directly the vast majority of the time, it has to be sketched out through these allusions, including what I’d consider coded language. 

With regard to the coded terms, I brought up something @bookittyboop​ had mentioned to me previously, that “persistent” and “cute” have specific meanings in BL/yaoi/other related genres. Basically, someone labeled as “persistent” is more active/forceful sexually and someone labeled as “cute” is yielding/more passive, with these roles being mutually reinforcing (i.e. the more yielding the “cute” person is, the more forceful the “persistent” person becomes).

Then I talked about the way Hagiwara Riku’s voice shifts in the line, “Sorry, Kiyoi. I can’t wait any longer tonight.” I had checked out some clips of other roles of his and noticed that among other things, he really seems to use his voice to differentiate between characters. This helped me to notice how distinct his “can’t wait” voice was, and I thought this was probably a voice belonging to the “persistent” part of the character. And I was less sure about this, but I thought Yagi Yusei was playing into this as well by reacting to the voice by kind of melting/going all floppy in response to it (he’d been fairly swoony before that, but it definitely seemed to be going up a notch there).

Then @xnoel, perennial fountain of information, pointed me to this quote from an interview translation (highlighting added):

So yeah, this seems like confirmation! I mean, what else would Yagi be referring to when he talks about “Hira’s ‘dark’ side” than this authoritative husky whisper thing?

Then I got some really great comments which I’m going to share here with permission, in part because I asked if anyone could point me toward more information on the “persistent”/”cute” thing.

The ever-helpful @nieves-de-sugui​ said:

a little bit of translation notes for your analysis! Hira is saying, literally, "I can't hold back (anymore)" and it's a very tropey sentence to say in BL (and shoujo) right before getting it on.  It's also the main indicator of taking over/taking charge of the sexual encounter. There's a lot of one taking over and the other giving in. (I think there's a lot here about how Japanese people relate to sex and how it should be done).

(I said I’d run into this trope in Kdramas before as well.)

And then the kind and knowledgeable @bookittyboop​ pretty much took me to school on the whole persistent/cute dichotomy! They left comments in two clusters at different times so I’m putting a little dinkus (the line of asterisks or symbol that marks a transition between sections) in there to show where that was. Oh, and I took out some greetings/closings and stuff like that for flow purposes. Here we go:

The best source I can think of (because otherwise this is the kind of thing your get through osmosis once you've watched enough Japanese media) is @absolutebl's post [link added by me] on the whipping boy trope, though there is more to it. I would classify Hira as a whipping boy/attack dog/service top and Kiyoi as more of a kuudere than a tsundere as well as a spoiled prince/pampered princess.

Their characterization and dynamic (and derivatives) is a staple not only in bl but in Japanese media. You've got a male character (Hira) who is the unassuming or even the loser archetype but unearths or shows a "manly" and protective side in benefit of his loved ones (many times after his "cowardice" or "uselessness" has let them be hurt) and slowly makes something of himself.

Then you got a (normally female) character who is  a combination of cold and aloof (kuudere) or prickly and explosive (tsundere) but actually wants to be cherished and uses the gruff exterior as a way to protect herself from heartache/rejection.

The first archetype normally admires the second and wants to be at their service while the second sees the potential in them and the adoration makes them feel safe. In normal circumstances the first character has a submissive personality and the other a domineering one. The second character is also going to find emotional vulnerability extremely difficult to express. But in certain circumstances, there is a "mom friend hack" button.

* * *

When character 2 opens up/shows vulnerability, character 1 identifies a need in the other to be cared for and takes confidence from being  chosen to provide that. There's also gap moe (duality cuteness) and horny "I'm gonna worship you so good you will forget everything else,” "gotta get top marks at satisfying you," and "you're so cute I wanna eat you up" buttons.

The second character in turn feels attracted, safe and tethered by that show of confidence and let's themselves (their barriers) go more and more . Those energies feed into each other and that's how you get to our kiss scene. Sometimes(Kiyoi's case) they add coyness and shyness ("no, that's too much you beast") because God forbid the tsundere/kuudere lacks plausible deniability when they go back to their senses. (there's a "baby it's cold outside"element too)

This is where @absolutebl​ chimed in to say they thought @bookittyboop​ was doing “a GREAT job” with this explanation.

And I agreed, and thanked them for the time and effort involved in such a useful explanation, but asked about the “mom friend hack” because it was new to me. Here was their explanation:

The mom friend is the responsible, caring one, prepared for any eventuality. If you're a generally anxious person but also the mom friend, you've got a hack where you handily navigate  situations which would normally be embarrassing or anxiety-inducing if it's for your loved one's benefit.

For example:

-Buying condoms, pregnancy tests, emetics or other "embarrassing" stuff

-telling waitstaff they got an order wrong and to please change it

-asking a teacher to explain something again or revise an exam score

-giving a jerk a piece of your mind

Basically, you may not be able to stand for yourself or even make perfectly mundane, normal requests for your own sake, but the power of love lets you rationalize things, be brave, and do it for others.

I just realized I probably didn't clarify enough. Hira's thing is not exactly a "mom friend hack" but it's similar to it in the sense that "being needed" lets him overcome a mental block.

And they added, re: my theory about Kiyoi’s response to the Persistent Voice:

As for the kiss voice and Kiyoi's reaction, I too am convinced that was all on purpose. Bl drinks from yaoi manga, which has a treasure trove of visual cues and tropes. If there was a manga version, we'd probably have seen Hira suddenly get wolfy ears and shiny eyes + Kiyoi blushing like a maiden (maybe a fade to black with the dirtiest onomatopoeia known to man) to signal someone's getting railed within an inch of his life 😂. This is the real life equivalent.

So, yeah. Lots to think about here. I’m glad to know I seemed to be on the right track. It’s funny how there is so much material out there about some tropes and genre terms (googling seme and uke will get you more results than you know what to do with) while other tropes are harder to find anything about. (If only because of the vagaries of search terms, which might be a factor here.) If nothing else I’ll have this post to refer back to and I hope others will do the same if they find it at all useful.

Thanks again to @bookittyboop​ and @nieves-de-sugui​ for their thoughts! And to the illustrious @absolutebl​ for chiming in with praise (for @bookittyboop​) and confirmation.

postscript:

There are a couple of things I keep noticing about that kiss scene since this discussion that I wanted to point out. I guess the fact that, due to both of my reblogs, I had a gifset of the scene at the top of my profile for three days probably has something to do with it.

First, I hadn’t noticed how much Kiyoi really is slipping into a “cute” persona even before the Persistent Voice is used--just in response to Hira’s first kiss. His eyes get very soft and he does that affectionate head-bonk but the pièce de résistance, to my mind, is the rather childlike way he sticks out the end of his tongue. So, yeah. The first stage of cuteness comes before the Voice is even used.

Second, I hadn’t even reckoned with just how floppy Kiyoi gets after the Voice. He’s swaying around so much that Hira keeps having to grab him so he doesn’t just keel over. He’s gone almost boneless.

I guess it’s just really fascinating to me how this set of tropes can be so pervasive in one culture (or at least noteworthy chunks of it) and yet almost entirely novel to me. I mean, I was aware cultural differences existed, of course, but sometimes getting hit by the reality of them is still startling.