#python job questions | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

mochacoda · 5 months ago

Text

python | csc

Pairing: Choi Seungcheol x GN!Reader

Synopsis: When you broke up with your boyfriend to work in a different country, you didn't expect to see him ever again. But when you transfer to your company's Seoul branch four years later, the department head is your ex, and he’s made it his objective to make your life a living hell for leaving him all those years ago.

Content: Angst, Fluff, Comfort | Exes to Lovers | Office AU

Tags: emotions, miscommunication, heartache, workaholic!seungcheol, insecure reader, drinking, crying, begging, petnames (sweetheart, love), konglish w/ translations, no "y/n," this is for everyone who voted for cheol in the poll, loosely connected to too nice (joshua)

Word Count: 10.2K

“I hate him,” you seethe, your fists balled up, crumpling your rejected proposal. “God, I hate him.”

Your coworker, Joshua Hong, looks up from his cubicle with raised eyebrows. “Who?”

You breathe in deeply, willing your rage to dissipate at the sight of his confusion. Poor Joshua doesn’t deserve your anger. “No one,” you say, clenching your jaw.

Open-mouthed, Joshua blinks rapidly, eyes flitting over to glance at the office you had just walked out of. The door to the room is marked with a name plate that has 최승철 [Choi Seungcheol] in bold, gold letters.

“I’m fine,” you insist, hands uncrumpling the document you had just attacked.

“Uh, okay?” he says with a healthy dose of doubt, elongating the “o” in “okay.”

“I just—” you begin, then immediately shut your mouth. “Ugh, forget it.”

It’s one thing to crumple a proposal up, and another thing to start bad-mouthing your boss out in the open. You throw the tattered outline onto your desk, then plop yourself onto your chair. You rub your temples, and then mutter under your breath, “How did I get here?”

“Good question,” Joshua laughs. “Company synergy?”

You groan, “Don’t ever say that word again in my presence.”

“Mmh,” he says, walking over to your cubicle. “You won’t have to worry about my presence in a few months.”

“Don’t remind me,” you sigh, dropping your head in your hands.

Joshua would be leaving the Seoul branch and transferring to the New York branch in a few weeks.

Curse your company for its commitment to “workplace synergy,” swapping out a handful of employees across all departments in its international branches every few years. If it hadn’t been for this horrible program, you wouldn’t be here right now.

You want to rip out your own hair, at this point.

How did it even get to this? You shut your eyes, thinking back to older times.

When you first got a job offer at the New York branch of your dream company, your initial reaction was elation. Your second? Doubt. Leaving Seoul was almost unthinkable, not to mention the fact that you’d be leaving your boyfriend behind, too.

For the first few days after hearing back from the recruiter, you knew you’d accept, but kept the news to yourself. You’d heard of so many horror stories about long-distance dating, and after a long period of consideration, you wondered what the point was.

You knew your boyfriend—really knew him. You knew he’d make sacrifices for you at the expense of himself, and it was impossible for you to accept bogging him down with a 14 hour time difference. He’d stay up waiting for your calls, instead of getting much needed rest. He’d worry about you all the time, checking the weather in Manhattan instead of Seoul and calling you constantly instead of his family and friends. He’d wait on you for as long as you needed, in an almost obsessive way, thinking it could make up the difference in distance. But he deserved someone who could love him in person, all of the time.

It’d be better for Seungcheol if you just let him go, freeing him to focus on what mattered more to him. Like work.

He loved you too much to break things off with you himself, so it was better that you did it. For his own good.

That’s what you told him, at least.

────୨ৎ──── Four Years Ago

“Cheol,” you said, teary-eyed. “Cheol, look at me.”

Seungcheol stared blankly at the ground, face frozen.

“Please?” your voice cracked.

“Who are you to tell me what I can and can’t handle?” he suddenly choked out, eyes flashing with hurt. His hands clenched, like he was holding himself back from saying more.

You swallowed thickly, reaching for his arm. “Cheol, I—”

“Don’t call me that,” he said, snatching his hand away from you.

────୨ৎ────

But you had hidden the real reasons for the breakup.

Because, deep down, you had always suspected otherwise. Somehow, everything had just become so complicated. Loving Seungcheol—which had once been something as easy as breathing—had become a dull pain in your chest, clouding your every thought with insecurities.

Even from the start of the relationship, you’d loved him more, anyway. Back then, you didn’t mind it because you loved him so much, and he was always so, so sweet to you. But around the time of the job offer, paranoia had reared its ugly head, kicking your uncertain thoughts into overdrive.

It was obvious that he didn’t really love you anymore. While you were job seeking, he was distracted. Always checking his phone, not really listening to what you had to say. He made time for you, but he didn’t necessarily make you feel like he loved you as deeply as you did him—it didn’t feel like he was the same guy that you started dating.

Something about his actions just felt like he did them to claim that he loved you, rather than because he actually loved you. His actions were laced with a kind of surface level, superficial quality.

He’d take you out to a fancy dinner, open the door for you, pay for the meal, drive you home—all the gentlemanly things he did when you started dating, too. But on the car ride there and back, and while sitting down eating together, he wouldn’t remember the things you had said about the little things happening in your life—a major change, when compared to the start of your relationship.

And sure, he didn’t have an obligation to remember your next door neighbor's name. But shouldn’t he remember your favorite kind of pie, or your closest cousin’s name? Shouldn’t he just know not to check his phone every time it pings with a new email, or leave you to eat your stupid expensive pasta alone as he takes a call outside?

It was almost like Seungcheol had fallen out of love with you, but was staying with you out of some kind of obligation to continue what he had started? That was your only explanation for why he’d spend time with you, but wouldn’t pay close attention to the things you said. Every Thursday was movie night, and in hopes of trying to keep him away from work, you let him choose the movie every time. But what use was that, when he spent more time looking at his phone than the TV—and more importantly, you, for that matter?

You’d been dating a ghost of a man. While you loved him, he tolerated you.

If the two of you stayed together when you went abroad, he’d probably double down on texts, but he wouldn’t really remember anything you’d said if you mentioned details about them in calls.

You didn’t bring any of these fears up to him, because you knew that he would continue to deny it. In fact, you’d imagined it in your head so much that you could see it when closing your eyes to sleep. If you confronted him, he’d deny that he didn’t love you anymore. But he’d be staring at the ground instead of looking at you. He wouldn’t admit that he was only with you because he enjoyed the consistency of your affection, and because he somewhat pitied you—and most importantly to him, because he wanted to prove to himself that he chose correctly when he started dating you.

The pain of watching the love of your life push down his repulsion just to be with you was decidedly more horrifying than the pain of breaking up with him altogether.

Right before ending things, it had occurred to you that Seungcheol might not have ever loved you in the first place, and that just hammered in the idea that you were making the right decision. He’d get over the breakup fast. He’d probably be thankful for it in a few years, even. If you saw him again, you’d both probably laugh, and in his head, he’d realize that he was grateful that you ended things so that he could focus on his real love, his career.

If you were honest with yourself, you would admit that there was a bit of selfishness driving the breakup, as well. There was no way you could handle Seungcheol sacrificing things for you—if he lost sleep over you, if he worried about you, if he was distracted by you—because you knew he wouldn’t be doing it for love.

Because he only ever cared out of a superficial need to prove to himself that he made the right decision in asking you out all those years ago. Not because he really loved you.

Yes, he probably never loved you, and he would never know the real reason why you ended things.

────୨ৎ──── Four Years Ago

“You give up so easily,” he spat out. “Was I nothing to you?”

Tears were running down your face. “Don’t. Don’t make this harder than it needs to be.”

Seungcheol laughed, then buried his head in his hands. “God, to think I almost—”

He stopped, jaw tightening, then shook his head like he couldn’t believe it.

────୨ৎ────

A hand comes down sharply on your desk, jolting you awake.

“Sleeping while on duty?”

Wide-eyed, with tear-stained cheeks, you look up to face your ex-boyfriend. “부장님! [Department Head!]”

Upon seeing your red-rimmed eyes, Seungcheol falters.

Swiping at your under eyes quickly, you bow your head to him slightly. “I’m sorry, it won’t happen again.”

He swallows roughly, eyebrows furrowing in confusion. He opens his mouth, like he’s about to ask you why you were crying, and your heart drops.

You will crumble if you hear the tone of voice he had used when you broke up with him.

“Excuse me,” you blurt with choked words.

You don’t dare to look at his eyes. Instead, you get up from your seat, then immediately flee to the bathroom.

────୨ৎ──── Four Years Ago

“You can focus on work, now,” you squeaked out.

Seungcheol scoffed again, a cruel sound of disbelief. “What makes you think I give a damn about work right now?”

“Don’t you? Always?” you sniffled.

His eyes flashed with something you couldn’t quite describe. He seemed angry, but not just at you. At himself, too—his hands were balled into fists at his sides, fingernails digging sharply into his palms. His throat bobbed, and you could see the intense restraint he was forcing on himself. He opened his mouth with a sharp breath, then closed it again, as if he wanted to say something but stopped himself.

────୨ৎ────

You stare with glassy eyes at yourself in the mirror, trying to calm your racing heart down. It would be alright. You would be alright.

If you just focused on your work, it would be fine.

Leaving the bathroom, you square your shoulders. You’ll draft up a new proposal that suits his standards, and you’ll do it so excellently that he can’t possibly reject it.

Hours later, and you’re standing outside Seungcheol’s office again. Taking a deep breath, you walk in without knocking or announcing yourself.

The stack of papers trembles in your hands as you place them on Seungcheol’s desk. You keep your expression blank, steadying your breath, willing yourself not to let any emotion slip. “This is the revised proposal.”

Seungcheol doesn’t look up immediately. He takes his time flipping through the pages, his expression unreadable. The tension in the room is suffocating, thick with words left unsaid from years ago. You stand stiffly, waiting, watching the way his fingers drag across the paper. Finally, he exhales sharply and sets the proposal down.

The room is unbearably silent as the question of approval hangs in the air. Your heart pounds so loudly you swear he can hear it.

He should say no immediately. It would be the easiest answer. The logical one. The one you expect.

But he hesitates.

His fingers curl against the polished surface of his desk, and his gaze lingers on the documents in front of him for just a second too long. It’s subtle—anyone else might not notice—but you do. His mask falters. Just a flicker.

And for a split second, you let yourself hope.

Then, his jaw tightens. His hands retreat beneath the table, as if physically pulling himself back. When he finally speaks, his voice is steady, controlled, and restrained—nothing like the eager, puppy-like man you knew him as when you first started dating.

“We’ll have to decline,” he says, and it’s final. Unshakable. Like he hadn’t wavered at all.

You nod stiffly, as if you hadn’t just watched something slip through his fingers. As if it hadn’t slipped through yours, too.

“Decline?” you blurt.

His face remains impassive. “Yes.”

You blink at him, momentarily stunned. You had anticipated that he would be difficult, but this—it’s too fast, too dismissive.

You steel yourself. “Why?”

“It’s not good enough.”

Your fingers clench around the hem of your blazer. “Can’t you separate private and work life?”

He meets your gaze, eyes dark and cool. “I am.” His voice is devoid of any warmth. “I don’t care. Your proposal is bad.”

The words strike harder than they should, more than just a professional critique. A cruel, deliberate dismissal. You know it’s personal—for the past two weeks that you’ve been at the Seoul branch, it has always been personal when it comes to him. Your blood simmers.

“I see.” You force your voice to remain level. “Would you like to point out what’s wrong with it?”

His lips press into a thin line. “No.”

A sharp, bitter laugh escapes you. “Of course not.”

Seungcheol leans back in his chair, arms crossing over his chest. “Four years ago, you didn’t choose me. So why should I choose your useless proposal?”

The shift is abrupt, the air sucked out of the room in an instant. Your nails dig into your palms.

“I have never loved anyone more than I loved you.” The words leave your lips before you can stop them, the truth of them ringing through the silence.

He scoffs, but there’s a flicker of something in his eyes, something raw. “You left me,” he says, voice edged with something dangerously close to hurt. “You. Left. Me.”

Your breath shudders. “You left me first.”

He leans forward, eyes searching yours, like he’s daring you to take it back. “How?” His voice is quieter now, but no less intense. “How did I leave you, when I was the one you abandoned in Seoul?”

Your vision blurs slightly. This. This is why it never worked between the two of you. He’s too bull-headed to even consider that he was in the wrong.

You shake your head. “Why didn’t you fight for us?”

His jaw tightens. “Why didn’t you?”

A bitter taste coats your tongue. “You gave up so easily.”

His eyes flash. “No,” he says sharply, “you’re the one who brought up work all the time.”

Your hands tremble. “Because if it wasn’t about work, you wouldn’t talk to me!”

That stuns him. His mouth opens slightly, but nothing comes out. His brows knit together, the first crack in his mask of indifference.

You exhale shakily, pressing forward. “Because if I talked about anything else, I knew you wouldn’t listen,” you whisper, voice breaking. “I knew I’d be talking to a man who loved the idea of me more than he actually loved me.”

Seungcheol flinches as if you had struck him. His throat bobs, hands clenched into fists on top of his desk. “That’s not true,” he grits out, but there’s something in his voice—something unsteady, like the words are slipping through his fingers before he can stop them.

“Isn’t it?” you press. His breathing turns uneven, his jaw tightening like he’s physically holding himself back.

“You made me feel like I was a burden,” you continue, the words tumbling out, years of buried pain unraveling in real time. “Like you had to tolerate me between meetings and emails. Like being with me was just another responsibility to check off your list.”

He exhales sharply, like the air’s been knocked out of his lungs. His fingers twitch, gripping the desk so tightly that his knuckles go white. “That’s not—” He stops, biting his tongue, like even he can’t bring himself to finish that sentence.

A bitter laugh escapes you. “You don’t even believe yourself, do you?”

Seungcheol stands abruptly, chair scraping against the floor, his composure unraveling before your eyes. “I worked so damn hard for us,” he says, voice raw.

Your voice is small. “I never asked you to.”

His lips part, and for the first time since you stepped into his office, his expression isn’t blank or cold—it’s vulnerable. And it terrifies you.

His expression cracks, pain flickering through his eyes. “I was trying to build a future for you,” he says, voice raw, desperate. “For us.”

“You were so busy planning a future that you forgot to love me in the present.”

A tense silence falls between you, the weight of the past pressing down on both of you like an unbearable force. His breaths are uneven, his knuckles white from how tightly he’s gripping the edge of his desk.

Finally, he exhales, a bitter, tired laugh leaving his lips. He looks down at the proposal—still sitting there, untouched, still rejected.

“This meeting is over,” he mutters, his voice hoarse.

Your heart clenches painfully, but you nod, blinking rapidly to push back the tears. Without another word, you turn on your heel and walk out, leaving behind the shattered remnants of everything you once were.

When you get back to the safe haven that is your apartment, you retrace everything he had said. Or, rather, the accusations he had thrown at you.

“You left me.”

“I was the one you abandoned in Seoul.”

“Why didn’t you fight for us?” “Why didn’t you?”

“I was trying to build a future for you. For us.”

Your heart strangely aches, remembering how shaken he looked when you called out his workaholic behavior. You had blamed him for the end of it all, but it takes two to end a relationship. Why didn’t you fight harder for him, back then?

────୨ৎ──── Four Years Ago

You’re alone now. It’s what you wanted. To be free from the self-doubt that loving Seungcheol had drilled into you.

Your chest constricted so tightly, you couldn’t breathe.

────୨ৎ────

Two days after the disastrous office meeting, you’ve somehow managed to have the misfortune of sitting in front of your ex-boyfriend at a steakhouse for work. The restaurant is dimly lit, the low hum of conversation and clinking glasses filling the space. Your body practically vibrates from the tension.

You can see Seungcheol’s gaze turn sharper every time he looks at you, and it makes it all the more insulting when he immediately brightens at Director Chun. You chug another glass of wine, hoping the buzz will numb the annoyance bubbling within you.

“Thank you, Director,” you say, reaching over the table to shake your superior’s hand. “It was a pleasure.”

“No, thank you, Team Leader,” he chuckles. “We’re lucky to have such competent, young people working for us. I’m sure the Brennans will be thrilled to see this project come to a close so quickly.”

Seungcheol laughs. “We’re lucky to have you, Director.”

It’s so fake, you’re itching to get rid of the stupid grin off his smug face.

“I’m sorry I have to leave so soon,” the director continues. “I’ll see you two back at the office?”

“Of course,” you say, standing up and bowing to him as he gets up from his seat.

When the director finally leaves, you can’t help but clench your fists. Wanting to relieve the tension in your poor tendons, you reach for the wine bottle, refilling your glass for the nth time tonight. The rest of the restaurant is loud, but it is far too quiet in your corner of the room.

Now you’re alone with Seungcheol.

The air crackles with an unspoken tension, thick and suffocating. Seungcheol, across from you, has his fingers curled tightly around the stem of his wine glass. His knuckles are practically white, the pressure of his grip betraying the storm raging inside him.

He hasn’t touched much of his food, and barely spoke beyond a few clipped replies to you. He had really only responded to Director Chun all night. But it’s nothing new. You have long learned to recognize this silence; it’s the same, bitter one that had stretched between you in the months before you left him.

You don’t know why you told Joshua you could handle going to this. Why, after everything, did you let Seungcheol pull you into a setting so painfully intimate, so reminiscent of the past? The last time the two of you were in a restaurant like this, he had left for 40 minutes to take a call outside.

Seungcheol swirls his drink absentmindedly, watching the ice shift in the glass before finally speaking. “You look well.”

You let out a breathy laugh, shaking your head. “Small talk? Really?”

His jaw tightens, and he sets his glass down with a quiet thud. “Would you rather we skip the pleasantries?”

“I’d rather we not pretend this is anything other than what it is.”

“And what is it?”

You lift your chin. “You tell me.”

Seungcheol exhales sharply, dragging a hand through his hair. He looks at you—really looks at you—for the first time since you sat down, and it sends a shiver down your spine. It’s the same expression he made when you were in his arms, four years ago.

The one that made you feel like the only person in the world. The one that he used to assure you that he loved you.

And you hate yourself, because you can’t help but remember that he looked so good when he was yours. Worse, you can’t help but notice how he’s still devastatingly handsome.

Only now, his gaze is shadowed with something darker. Something unresolved.

“You know, when you told me you wanted to end things, I could’ve accepted it,” he says, voice steady, but his fingers twitch slightly against the edge of the table.

You swallow roughly.

“I could’ve accepted it if you said you just fell out of love with me,” he continues, “But then.” He takes a deep breath. “But then, you told me it was for my own good. That I wouldn’t be able to handle long distance.”

Your hands grip your wine glass. You want to say something, but you don’t know where to even start.

“You told me you loved me, and then…” he trails, before shakily saying, “abandoned me, because I couldn’t handle it?” He dips his head low, hands joining like he’s about to make a prayer.

“Cheol, I—”

“Don’t. Just don’t.”

Seungcheol stares intensely at his half-eaten steak, a strand of hair coming down from his forehead to poke at his eyes. Despite yourself, your hand instinctively lurches to tuck it behind his ears, before you quickly jolt it back. A cloud of shame begins to envelope your mind. It’s not fair. Why does your body remember him so well, even after he broke your heart?

He takes a shaky breath before speaking again. “And you know what? That…that wasn’t even the worst part.” Choked up, he takes a deep breath and clenches his hands into fists to ground himself before continuing. “What’s worse, was what you said at the end.”

You furrow your brows, thinking back to all those years ago, right after you told him that he could finally focus on his work, and right before you walked away from him.

────୨ৎ──── Four Years Ago

“I’m sorry for wasting your time,” you whispered. You didn’t dare to look at him. “I’m sorry I made you miss that convention for my birthday.” You sniffled, voice breaking. “You shouldn’t have had to do that. I’m sorry I made you watch those stupid movies, and that I made you go out when you didn’t want to. I should’ve been more considerate of your dreams, Cheol. I’m sorry, I’m sorry I only realized it now. I should’ve—”

You exhaled deeply, blinking your newest tears away. They fell down your cheeks in streams. “You won’t have to worry about that kind of useless stuff anymore, okay? You don’t need to deal with me anymore. I’m sorry you had to handle all of that for so long. I, I really lo…”

You bit down on your lower lip, blinking desperately to get rid of your blurry vision. “I hope you get into the accelerator, Cheol. I know how hard you’ve worked for it. If anyone can do it, it’s you.”

One last time, you smiled at him weakly, not meeting his eyes. “Goodbye, Cheol.”

And then you turned your back from him, walking away from the love of your life, partly because you really did wish him well on his startup journey, and mostly because you knew he was only with you out of obligation to himself—because he never loved you, anyway.

────୨ৎ────

“Oh,” you say, eyes feeling strangely prickly.

“I love—I loved you,” Seungcheol says, clutching his chest. He exhales roughly. “Did you not… see that?”

You blink rapidly.

His throat bobs as he swallows, eyes darting away for a brief moment. “I had plans for us,” he admits, voice quiet but strained.

At the sight of his clear pain, your stomach twists uncomfortably. “Plans?”

He nods slowly, still refusing to meet your eyes. The candlelight on the table flickers between you, casting shadows that dance across his face, highlighting the tension in his furrowed brow.

His mouth parts as if he’s about to say something—something important—but then he stops himself.

You reach across the table instinctively, your fingertips grazing his wrist. “Seungcheol. Don’t do this to me.”

He tenses beneath your touch but doesn’t pull away. Instead, he finally looks at you, and the sheer weight of emotion in his gaze nearly knocks the breath from your lungs. There is so much in his eyes—anger, regret, sadness, and a deep emotion you haven’t dared call love in years. All tangled together in a way that makes it impossible to separate one from the other.

“I was going to propose to you,” he confesses, his voice barely above a whisper.

Your breath hitches. For a second, the world tilts, the steady hum of the restaurant fading into white noise. You blink, your mind scrambling to process the weight of his words. “What?”

Seungcheol lets out a short, humorless laugh, shaking his head as if mocking himself. “I had the ring. I had everything planned out.” He exhales sharply, rubbing a hand over his face. “I was just… waiting for the right time.”

A sharp, painful lump forms in your throat. “Cheol—”

“But you left before I could,” he cuts in, his voice breaking at the edges. His eyes are glassy now, raw with unshed emotion. “You thought…you thought I didn’t love you enough. But I did. I loved you so much I—” He sucks in a shaky breath, his hands balling into fists on the table. “I was trying so hard to build a future for us. I wanted to give you everything.”

Tears burn behind your eyes, and your hands are still on his arm, but they’re shaking. “I didn’t need ‘everything,’” you whisper. “I just needed you.”

His face crumples for a split second before he forces his expression blank again. “I thought I was doing the right thing.”

Silence stretches between you, thick with everything you had never said to each other. The weight of missed moments, of love given but not received in the way it was needed, settles over the two of you like a monstrous thunderstorm.

You nearly choke on the sob threatening to break free from your throat. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

His voice is hoarse, like he has swallowed glass. “Would it have changed anything?”

You want to say yes. You want to believe that if he had just told you, things would have been different. But deep down, you aren’t sure. Because the truth was, you had already been slipping away from each other long before you had walked out the door.

You had told him you were leaving him so he could focus on his work. You had told yourself you were leaving him because he didn’t love you anymore. So, would you have really believed him if he had proposed to you? You’re not sure, but there’s no point in analyzing the hypothetical what-ifs, really.

Because now, looking at the man who had once been your world, you wonder if you had ever really left him at all.

────୨ৎ──── Three Years Ago

It was Seungcheol’s birthday. It hit you while you were at the grocery store, in the fresh produce section.

You saw cherries.

You cried.

Later that day, your finger twitched over his contact on your phone, before falling to your hips.

He was probably busy. He hadn’t texted or called you since the breakup, after all. He definitely wouldn’t want to hear from you even if he wasn’t busy, anyway.

“I’m sorry,” you said out loud, knowing that the person who needed to hear it most wasn’t there. “I miss you. Happy birthday.”

────୨ৎ────

You blink, and suddenly you’re outside. There’s a chilly wind blowing against you, making you shiver. When you try to take a step forward, you find your body is too sluggish to move much.

“You’ve had too much to drink,” Seungcheol says concernedly, his warm, strong hands finding an all too familiar spot against your waist.

“I’m fine,” you say, though your teetering body suggests otherwise.

Somewhere between watching Seungcheol laugh at Director Chun’s obviously not funny jokes and trying to give your hand something to do instead of ball into fists hearing his confession, you had drunk far too much of the expensive bottle of wine that the director had bought for the three of you.

Seungcheol says your name like it’s a warning, tone firm.

But you can’t help but laugh. You’re too close to him now. And oh, he’s so warm. Instinctively, your body presses against him, because it’s familiar and comforting and something you’ve subconsciously been craving for the past four years with every fiber of your body.

“I missed you,” you blurt.

Seungcheol swallows roughly.

“Fuck, don’t…” He can’t even bring himself to finish the sentence. “How did you get here? Taxi?”

You shake your head. “Too much money. Subway.”

“I’ll take you home, okay? Where are you staying now?” He squeezes your waist.

“Mmh.” Thinking, you close your eyes, fully leaning into his touch.

Three days ago, the company told you to move out of the original apartment they’d placed you in two weeks ago, and although you’d memorized how to get to your new place using the subway, you had yet to memorize the exact address. You’d always looked at your phone to double check, thinking that you’d be fine if you were stranded, since you’d always have your phone on you. Unfortunately, though, you hadn’t considered that you’d be lost if your phone died.

“That’s not an address, sweetheart.” He inhales sharply, realizing his mistake after it leaves his lips.

“I’m sorry,” you say with a frown, tears welling in your eyes. “Don’t remember.”

Here you were, wasting his time again. You’d left him four years ago because you were a hindrance to his career, and now you’re doing it again. Old habits die hard, don’t they?

You sniffle, “I’ll sober up soon, don’t worry. You can just leave me here. I’ll walk to the subway.”

Seungcheol’s throat bobs. “Hey, hey, don’t be sorry. I got you, okay? I’ll take you back to my place, if that’s okay?”

You nod, your voice small. “Okay.”

He breathes a sigh of relief.

Before you know it, Seungcheol has escorted you into the passenger seat of his car, and you’re on your way back to the house you had called your home only four years ago.

“Did you miss me?” you ask childishly, staring at the driver with sleepy eyes.

His Adam's apple bobs up and down.

For a moment, you don’t think he’ll answer. But then, he says softly, “I did.”

“Oh,” you say, and then you feel your eyelids get heavier. You let them close.

Right before you fall asleep, you catch him whispering something that sounds a lot like, “I missed you so much, sweetheart.”

────୨ৎ──── Six Months Ago

You blinked rapidly. “In the fall?”

“Yes,” Director Chun said. “I’ll be heading over to the Seoul branch as well, for a few months at the very least. I promise you’ll be under one of our best. Department Head Choi Seungcheol is known for being collaborative. I’m sure the synergy will be great between the two of you.”

You froze. Surely, not.

“Choi Seungcheol?” you asked breathily.

“Yes. Do you know each other?”

“No,” you said, far too quickly.

“Ah, I see. Perhaps he was impressed by the work you did with the Jeons,” the director said with a smile. “He requested you directly.”

Oh.

────୨ৎ────

Sleep is supposed to be relaxing, isn’t it? So why does it feel like your chest is going to cave in on itself, like a big boulder has plopped itself down on you?

You open your eyes quickly, only to be met with a mess of short, dark brown hair.

You try to blow on the hair, only to feel it enter your mouth. It’s horribly dry.

“Ack,” you spit.

And then it occurs to you that your hair has never tasted like this, or looked like this, for that matter.

You try moving one of your arms to get rid of the annoying strands, only to find that it has also been rendered immobile. You tense your core, trying to flop like a worm, but it’s of no use.

You furrow your brows, straining as hard as you can, but nothing happens.

For a moment, you wonder if you’re having a nightmare.

And then the boulder moves.

Your eyes widen into saucers. There’s only one explanation for this. You’ve only ever known one man who gives bear hugs in his sleep like this.

“Choi Seungcheol?”

“Fuck,” it groans. “Thought I told you not to call me that, sweetheart.”

You close your eyes, wondering if you’re still dreaming. But when you open them again, you see Seungcheol’s face.

Sleep lines are adorning his left cheek, and he blinks at you slowly. His pink lips are turned down in a slight pout, and the sight of him is so adorable, it makes you want to scream.

“Did you…” you pause, mind racking an explanation. “Fall asleep on top of me?”

“You said you were cold,” he says slowly, eyes half-closed, voice deep.

“Oh,” you say, then flush, feeling heat rush up the back of your neck and reach your ears. Trying to avoid eye contact with him, your eyes stray to your collarbone, and you see that you’re still wearing last night’s clothes. “Wait, did you let me into your bed with dirty clothes?”

“Mmph,” he says, rubbing his face into the crook of your neck.

“Wow,” is all you can manage. He never let you do that when you were dating.

“Go back to sleep, love,” Seungcheol mumbles.

“Can’t breathe, Cheol,” you groan, patting his back. “Too heavy, baby.”

He groans but shifts off of you, then cuddles up next to you, hands finding your waist immediately. “Five more minutes.”

“Mmh,” you sigh contentedly.

And as you close your eyes again, it occurs to you that Seungcheol is your ex, and that the two of you are definitely doing things that exes should not be doing.

────୨ৎ──── Two Weeks Ago

You folded your pride. You extended an arm out to him first.

“Department Head Choi Seungcheol, it’s a pleasure to work with you.”

You spat his first and last name out like venom, knowing all too well that he hated being called by his full name.

He stared at your outstretched hand, then scoffed.

Fuck.

────୨ৎ────

When you wake up again, you’re alone in Seungcheol’s bed. Out of habit, your arm moves to pat the other side of the bed.

For a moment, your mind flashes back to the lonely mornings you had with him four years ago. The days when the first thing you did after waking up was to check the other side of the bed, only for it to be cold. The hope of it all had fractured your heart slowly, but surely.

But today, for some reason, Seungcheol’s side is lukewarm.

Confused at the lingering warmth, you sit up in his bed, rolling back the covers.

Is it possible that he’s still here?

Then, you smell the distinct scent of ramen through the door to his room, which has been left slightly ajar. Planning on checking the kitchen, you move to get off the bed. But before your feet reach the ground, Seungcheol walks in.

He’s holding a tiny desk, the kind made for breakfast in bed. On it is a bowl of steaming ramen and a glass of water.

“Morning,” he says with a shy smile, and oh—oh, it’s so full of endearment and joy and hope, of all things.

God, something about it is just so, so pure and domestic, it makes your chest constrict. Seungcheol had never made you breakfast in bed when you had dated, because he had always been the first to leave in the morning.

But here he is, like he plans on making up for everything starting now.

And with how bright his smile is, your heart is aching to just let him.

“Is this… for me?” you ask in a small voice. Of course, it can’t possibly be for anyone but you, but something in you wants Seungcheol to admit it.

Seungcheol nods.

“Thank you,” you say.

“Ramen’s your favorite hangover meal, right?”

You nod slowly, and Seungcheol grins, like he’s proud of himself for getting it right. But something about it pokes a nerve. What use is there in remembering it now, when you’re not together anymore?

He watches you eat slowly, and you raise your eyebrows at the taste.

“It’s really good,” you say between bites, giving a thumbs up.

“Good,” he says, making intense eye contact with you.

He’s completely focused on you, phone and computer completely out of sight, and it makes you squirm. Now that his attention is on you without any distractions, it’s too easy to see how gorgeous he is.

You flush under his attention. “Stop looking at me,” you mumble.

“Don’t wanna,” he says dreamily, lying on his stomach on the bed, looking up at you with doe eyes.

You giggle, covering your face with your hands in embarrassment.

Seungcheol reaches out to swat your hands away from your face, taking the opportunity to hold your hands. When you look at him again, you’re taken aback by how serious he suddenly is.

Your laughter fades.

He takes a deep breath, and your heart sinks. You already know what he’s going to say.

“Can we… try ag—”

“Cheol,” you gently cut him off, withdrawing your hands from his familiar grasp. “Let’s not… we’re not…”

“Why not?” He looks at you innocently, with wide eyes.

You take a shaky breath. “I can’t do this again, Cheol. It’s not good for me, and it’s not good for you.”

At first, he just blinks at you, as if he misheard. But then, something in his expression hardens. “Who says you’re not good for me?”

“What?”

“Who says you’re not good for me?”

“Cheol,” you say with a sigh. “Let’s not do this again. It’s not gonna work.”

“Who says?” his voice breaks.

────୨ৎ──── One Week Ago

“Again,” he said dryly. “Redo the business model.”

You held back your anger. “Yes, Department Head Choi Seungcheol. Is there anything else you would like me to do?”

“Care more,” he said.

You frowned. “I have my full focus on this project, sir.”

“Care more,” he repeated.

────୨ৎ────

“I’ve changed,” he says frantically. “I can prove it to you, I promise.”

Your chest constricts.

“I won’t ever let you be lonely again, I promise. I won’t let it happen, I swear. I’m so, so sorry I hurt you back then, but I’m not the same man you left. I will never hurt you again.”

You swallow roughly, the ramen leaving a salty aftertaste in your mouth.

“Seungcheol…”

He shuts his eyes tightly, like you’ve wounded him.

“Please, call me Cheol again. Please, I can’t stand to hear you call me that.”

“It’s your name,” you tell him gently.

“No, it’s not. To you, I’m Cheol,” he insists stubbornly, crossing his arms. You have to remind yourself to breathe at the sight. Since when was his body so defined? You have to look away from his pronounced biceps to regain your will.

“Look at me,” he says with a frown. You obliged and he continues, “Sweetheart, please. I promise I will never hurt you again. Please, please, take me back.”

On the bed, he’s kneeling now, hands drawn together as if in deep prayer.

“I won’t let work get in the way of loving you. It was horrible and so stupid of me and I’m so, so sorry but it was only when I lost you that I realized I forgot what the point of working was. It was to provide for you, and I couldn’t do that if you were gone because I didn’t properly show you the love you deserved. I’m so, so sorry, my love. Please give me another chance?”

Seungcheol looks at you with so much sadness, but the history you had with his ghost makes you unsure about what to do.

“I don’t know, Cheol…”

He smiles weakly, resigned. “At least you’re back to calling me Cheol, though. Right?”

You nod slowly.

All of a sudden, Seungcheol lights up, like a last-minute godsend of an idea came to his mind. “If it’s too hard to say yes now, how about taking it slow?”

“What does that mean?” His definition of taking it slow probably isn’t like yours.

“I can take you out on some dates, and then you could decide?”

Your heart sinks. He’s so hopeful—eyebrows raised, eyes wide, mouth parted.

You don’t know if you have it in you to say no.

You press your lips together.

Seungcheol must have sensed danger in your face, because he immediately interjects with a rushed confession before you even open your mouth.

“I love you. So much. I loved you then, and I loved you after you left, and I love you now. There was no one after you, you know?” He looks a bit crazed, hands scrunching the blankets roughly.

Your heart jolts.

He continues, “You were everything to me—and still are. There wasn’t a single day that I didn’t think about you. But I couldn’t bring myself to reach out because I thought you hated me.”

He’s not exactly wrong. You did hate him. Then again, there’s a fine line between love and hate. Both are powerful emotions that require you to care about the person in question.

“I even quit the startup because I realized it had eaten up all my time, ‘cause it had taken you away from me.”

You gasp. This was the answer to why Choi Seungcheol, self-made entrepreneur who insisted on refusing to work for anyone but himself, had strangely become the department head of a company that he never had a hand in creating.

“I was,” he sighs self-deprecatingly, “unemployed for a while. Until I heard you were working here, and then I made it my mission to climb the ranks until I could ask for you to get transferred to Seoul. And when you accepted, I was so…”

Your heart breaks a little for him.

“I thought it was a sign.” Hesitantly, he clarifies, “That you might want to try again.”

You inhale sharply. There he goes, again. Talking so sweetly. Back then, that was all he ever did to show you that he loved you. It wasn’t enough then, so why would it be enough now?

At your silence, Seungcheol hangs his head, and your fingers twitch, wanting to reach out to him.

Except it’s different now, isn’t it? He’s finally doing all the things you once wished he would. Isn’t that what you wanted from him? You don’t trust him yet. But he’s trying, now, and every muscle in your body aches with an impossibly deep desire to pull him into your arms.

You exhale, and out with your breath goes your final worries.

Your lips part before you’ve fully decided what to say.

"Okay."

It’s barely a whisper, but it might as well be a strike of thunder with the way Seungcheol’s head snaps up. His eyes widen, mouth parting like he’s afraid he misheard you.

"Okay?" His voice trembles, cautious, like one wrong move could shatter whatever fragile thing is forming between you.

Your throat tightens. The weight of this—of him—presses down on you, but you nod anyway.

For a second, he doesn’t breathe. Then, his face crumples, and the sheer relief in his expression makes something in you splinter. His hands twitch where they rest on the blankets, like he wants to reach for you but doesn’t dare. He’s waiting—because this time, he knows he has to let you come to him.

And you do.

Slowly, hesitantly, you lean forward. His breath hitches, but he doesn’t move away. Your forehead brushes his, a soft press that feels like a heartbeat between you. You feel the warmth of his skin, the way his breath mingles with yours in the inches of space that remain.

Seungcheol exhales shakily, like he’s been holding it in for years. His hands hover near your waist, unsure, unsteady. He doesn’t pull you closer—he’s learned now—but he craves it.

Your eyes flutter shut, leaning into his touch, telling yourself it’d only be for a second. Just long enough to let yourself feel him, really feel him, without the weight of the past crushing you.

His voice is barely above a whisper, breath fanning across your lips. “Sweetheart…”

You could fall apart at the way he says it, so quiet, so reverent—like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he speaks too loud.

Your heart aches for more, but your mind reminds you of how he had left scars in your heart. For now, this form of affection would have to be enough.

After a few minutes in his arms, you reluctantly pull away to check the address of your new apartment on your finally-charged phone. Seungcheol drops you off, walking you to your door. You don’t invite him in, and he doesn’t ask. But something about the way he looked at you, right before you walked inside your apartment, lingers in your mind long after he leaves. He’d looked at you like you’d hung every glittering star in the sky.

Four years ago, you had decided that this gaze was something he’d manufactured while putting up with you. Maybe, you were wrong.

────୨ৎ────

Seungcheol keeps his promise of taking things slow. He’d arranged for you to meet him at a cafe the next day, and he’s already there when you get there. It’s a small, cozy place tucked into a quieter part of the city, the kind with warm lighting and the scent of freshly ground coffee drifting in the air.

You hesitate for a second when you see him through the window, seated at a booth near the back, fingers idly tapping against the ceramic cup in front of him. Then, before you can second-guess yourself, you push open the door.

His eyes meet yours instantly, and for a moment, he looks breathless—like he’s just as nervous as you are. But then he smiles. It’s a tiny, careful thing, but it makes your heart drum a little faster anyway. As you approach, he stands up, hand on his heart.

“Hey,” he says, voice soft, like he’s afraid to scare you away.

“Hey,” you reply, sliding into the seat across from him.

The booth is familiar. For a second, you’re struck by the memory of late-night conversations, of stolen kisses over half-finished drinks. You really were deep in love, back then.

You shake the thought away as Seungcheol gestures toward the counter.

“Still the same order?” he asks, the corner of his mouth lifting in something that isn’t quite a smirk but close enough that you recognize it as one of his signature expressions. You raise an eyebrow.

“You think I’d change it?”

“I don’t know,” he admits, tilting his head slightly. “A lot of time has passed.”

You exhale a small laugh. “Yeah, well. Some things stay the same.”

Something shifts in his gaze, a flicker of relief, of hope, before he nods. He waves down a barista and places the order without hesitation—exactly how you like it. When the cup is finally set in front of you, you find yourself staring at it for a beat too long, a strange warmth pooling in your chest.

“Thanks,” you murmur, wrapping your fingers around the cup.

Seungcheol watches you, his own drink forgotten, but he doesn’t push. Instead, he leans slightly forward, forearms resting on the table as he asks, “So, what’s new?”

You take a sip, letting the warmth settle in your stomach before answering. “Well, I have a wedding to go to next month.”

His eyebrows lift slightly, intrigued. “Oh?”

“Yeah. My coworker from the New York branch, Lee Chan, is getting married next month. I gotta fly out for it.” You swirl your drink absentmindedly, watching the steam curl into the air. “It’s kind of crazy. Feels like yesterday he was complaining about bad Tinder dates, and now he’s getting married.”

Seungcheol huffs a small laugh. “Guess he finally found the right person.”

“Yeah,” you say, a little softer. “Guess he did.”

There’s a pause, and you realize that for all the implications, for the way the topic is naturally leading to the idea of a plus one, you don’t bring it up. And, notably, neither does he. The question lingers, unspoken but present. Instead, Seungcheol shifts the conversation.

“You still baking?”

You groan, dragging a hand down your face. “If you can even call it that.”

He grins. “That bad?”

“Worse.” You sigh dramatically. “I was trying to perfect my chocolate chip cookies, right? Like, I found this recipe online, and it looked completely foolproof. But somehow, I nearly burned down my apartment.”

His amusement vanishes instantly. “What?”

“I mean, not literally,” you backtrack quickly, waving a hand. “But there was a lot of smoke. And my oven might hate me now.”

Seungcheol’s brows furrow in concern. “That apartment’s new, isn’t it?”

You nod. “Yeah, company orders. Still trying to get used to it.”

He exhales through his nose, tilting his head as he studies you. “Isn’t it hard? Being in such an unfamiliar place?”

You blink, caught off guard. “Oh, uh, I guess?”

His tone is casual—too casual—but you’re not oblivious. You see the way he watches you intently, the way he’s gauging your reaction. He thinks he’s being subtle, but it’s clear what he’s hinting at. Someday, maybe you won’t have to be in an unfamiliar place. Maybe you could come back home, to me.

You let out a small breath, looking down at your drink. “It’s fine,” you say after a moment. “It’s just an adjustment.”

Seungcheol doesn’t push, but his fingers tighten slightly around his cup. “If you ever need anything…”

“I know,” you say, and you mean it. Because for the first time in a long time, it feels like he actually means it, too.

The conversation shifts again, moving from baking disasters to random anecdotes about work, about old stories that slip out without either of you realizing. And throughout it all, you notice something: Seungcheol is listening.

Not just nodding along, not just waiting for his turn to speak. He’s really listening—leaning in, responding at the right moments, his gaze locked on yours with a kind of attentiveness that makes your stomach flip in a way you don’t want to acknowledge yet.

It’s different. He’s different.

And maybe, just maybe, that’s why this doesn’t feel like a mistake.

Fuck, do you love him, still?

────୨ৎ────

After the weekend cafe date with Seungcheol came the work week, much to your displeasure. Today has been an especially exhausting day. The kind that seeps into your bones, weighing down your limbs, making even the simple act of unlocking your apartment door feel like a chore. You barely manage to kick off your shoes before collapsing onto the couch, groaning into the cushions.

You didn’t even hear your phone buzzing at first. It takes a few rings before you muster enough energy to blindly fumble for it.

“Hello?” Your voice is muffled, with your face buried against the pillow.

“You sound dead,” comes Seungcheol’s voice, laced with amusement but tinged with concern.

“Feel like it too,” you groan. “Long day.”

There was a pause on the other end. Then, softly, “Have you eaten?”

“I had lunch,” you say.

Another pause. Then, decisively, “I’m coming over.”

“What? No, you don’t have to—”

“Too late. I’m already on my way.”

And just like that, the call ends. You blink owlishly at your screen, a bit too drained to call him back in protest.

Twenty minutes later, a knock comes from your door.

When you open it, Seungcheol stands there, hair still slightly tousled from the wind outside, carrying a takeout bag in one hand and a six-pack of your favorite drinks in the other.

“You used to drink these when you were stressed,” he says, holding up the pack as if that explains everything.

Your heart does something funny in your chest, but do your best to ignore it. Instead, you step aside, letting him in for the first time.

Seungcheol makes himself comfortable in your kitchen, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. He unpacks the food and searches for utensils without asking you for help. And before you know it, you’re sitting at your small dining table, warm food in front of you, while he nudges a drink toward your hand.

The silence is comfortable. You didn’t realize how much you needed this until now—until the tension in your shoulders starts to ease, until the simple act of eating next to someone who cares about you makes the world feel a little less heavy.

At some point, you sigh, rolling your neck to work out a kink. You hadn’t meant for it to be noticeable, but Seungcheol caught it immediately. Without a word, he shifts his chair closer and places a warm hand against your shoulder, thumb pressing gently into the tension there.

You freeze.

“It’s okay,” he murmurs, voice softer now. “I got you. Just relax.”

And somehow, without even thinking, you do.

It isn’t grand, or dramatic, really. It’s just the quiet comfort of someone who knows you better than you thought he did. Who is all of a sudden remembering the little things, after all these years. He eases the weight of the world off your shoulders without even trying.

You don’t pull away.

And neither does he.

────୨ৎ────

A week later, and the workday is winding down. But the plans you’ve been looking forward to—a nice dinner that feels like a step forward, another stitch in the frayed edges between you and Seungcheol—suddenly teeter on the edge of collapse.

You’re gathering your things when Director Chun steps into the office, looking around before his gaze lands on Seungcheol.

"Department Head Choi Seungcheol," Chun calls, his voice even but firm. "I need you to stay back for a bit. The New York office just called me about a misalignment between Mr. Han’s vision and the work we submitted to their team. We need to smooth it over before tomorrow morning. I estimate it won’t take very long."

Your breath catches. Director Chun always sugarcoats things. It wouldn’t be just a couple more minutes, it’d be several hours of extra work.

It’s just a few words, a simple request by the director. But it’s enough to send you spiraling.

Because you've been here before.

You know how this story ends.

Your grip tightens around the strap of your bag as a million thoughts flood in, rapid and overwhelming. He’s going to say yes. Of course, he’s going to say yes.

Work will always come first. It always has, always will.

He’ll put you second again, and you’ll be left waiting, just like before.

The words you want to say—please don’t go, pick me, just this once—stick like molasses to the back of your throat.

You can’t stay here to hear him confirm it. You can’t bear to watch it happen all over again.

You walk away before Seungcheol answers the director, your feet carrying you toward the stairwell in a daze. The second the heavy door shuts behind you, a shaky breath escapes your lips. Your fingers press against your temples as you squeeze your eyes shut, willing away the sting that threatens to turn into tears.

Your chest constricts so harshly, you think you might be having a heart attack.

It shouldn't hurt this much.

But it does.

The past and present blur together in your mind—memories of cold dinners, of unanswered texts, of waiting and waiting and waiting. Until you stopped waiting altogether.

Why on earth did you think that things would be any different, now?

The door swings open with a rush of air.

"Sweetheart?"

Your stomach drops.

Seungcheol steps inside, eyes scanning the dimly lit stairwell before landing on you. His brows pull together in concern as he closes the distance between you.

"Hey," he murmurs, reaching out hesitantly. "What’s wrong?"

You shake your head, stepping back before his fingers can brush against your arm. "You don’t have to be here, Cheol."

He frowns. "What are you talking about?"

Defeated, you let out a humorless laugh, gesturing vaguely. "You don’t have to chase after me just to make me feel better about you choosing work over dinner. I get it. I know how this goes."

A pause. Then, softly, "Is that what you think happened?"

The sincerity in his voice makes you falter.

You blink at him, your heart pounding, confusion creeping in through the cracks of your resolve. "What do you mean?"

Seungcheol exhales, running a hand through his hair before stepping closer. This time, you don’t move away.

"I told Director Chun I couldn’t stay," he says, voice steady. "I told him I had a prior commitment, and that I wasn’t going to break it."

Your eyes widen comically. "What?"

His lips twitch into something that’s not quite a smile, but close. "I said no, sweetheart. I told him I had somewhere more important to be."

More important.

Your throat tightens.

"You—" The words catch, and you have to stop yourself from immediately replying, trying to process it. "You said no?"

"I did." His gaze softens, the weight of the moment settling between you. "I told you I wouldn’t let work come between us again."

His voice is quiet, but it carries years’ worth of unspoken apologies.

Of love that had once been misplaced, misdirected, but never truly lost.

Your eyes flicker over his face, searching. And the truth is written in the way he looks at you—open, unwavering, as if he’s willing you to believe him.

And you do.

It’s terrifying how easily you do.

The wall you’d built, the one meant to protect you from this very moment, begins to crumble under the warmth in his gaze.

Your breath shudders. "Cheol…"

His hand lifts, hovering near your cheek, close enough that you can feel the heat of it but not touching. His wide, sparkling eyes look eagerly into yours—giving you the choice, letting you decide.

Your chest tightens at his cute patience, the silent question lingering between you.

The space between you grows smaller.

You don’t know who moves first, but suddenly, you’re impossibly close, the tips of your noses nearly brushing. His breath fans over your lips, and your eyes flutter shut.

He doesn’t move to kiss you, but that’s okay. Because you’re finally ready to cross that line.

Tilting your chin up into him, your lips meet, and the warmth of him grounds you in a way that nothing else ever replaced, or ever could. His lips are so, so, soft, and as he melts into the kiss, he lets out a small content sigh. Everything about him is familiar, and yet, somehow different. It’s charged with a kind of electric buzz, the tension from the past weeks finally coming to a head.

For a moment, the world is still. You only see Seungcheol.

Then, in a voice so soft it almost disappears into the quiet of the stairwell, Seungcheol parts from your lips for just a centimeter, whispering, "I meant what I said. You don’t have to worry anymore. I’m 110% for you, I love you."

You close your eyes, exhaling against his skin, relishing his touch. And you say the next words with a full chest, “I love you so much, Cheol.”

Because for the first time in a long time, you believe him.

Masterlist

Author's Note: did u get the title?? seungcheol's the python bc he makes ur chest constrict and love is hard and hurts us sometimes anywayz happy valentines day <3

Disclaimer: nothing i write is representative of how svt acts off camera, take their names as stand-ins for oc's!!

Taglist: @syluslittlecrows - @junplusone - @fragmentof-indifference - @junniesoleilkth - @woncheecks - @peachypie97 - @viciousdarlings - @11zzyy - @thepoopdokyeomtouched - @dmstoyangyang - @christinewithluv - @snowcake666 - @rjreins - @namk00kie - @homelouisgirl - @slvrstrs - @jimintopiaaaa - @coupshour - @babycaratdeul

2K notes · View notes

twistedteatime · 1 month ago

Text

Super Soldier Theater: The Little Mermaid

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader, Steve Rogers x Reader, Stucky x Reader. It's not specific. No pronouns assigned to Reader past "you".

Summary: Bucky Barnes missed out on a lot while being controlled by HYDRA. Steve Rogers missed out on even more being frozen in ice. Since Sam has made it his mission to update them on music, you decide that it's your job to update them on what they've missed out on in cinema.

Chapter Summary: Deciding that the guys need a break from blood, monsters, and people getting eaten you decide that it's time to start them on Disney's animated movies. So, naturally, you choose The Little Mermaid. Nothing horrifying happens in that...right?

Word Count: 6.5K

Warnings: Mild Language (Steve will deal), warnings that come with The Little Mermaid, Bucky and Steve questioning logic and people's intelligence, Strong reactions to Ursula, Alpine being angry, other stuff I probably forgot.

A/N: Yeah...this...took a turn. Poll for the next movie is at the end. If you notice typos along the line of he instead of the or is instead of his, like a word out of place. It's my keyboard. I do not support my work being put into AI in any fashion

Ao3 Link: Super Soldier Theater: The Little Mermaid

Series Masterlist🍿MASTER Masterlist

Previous Movie:Jaws

Next Movie: Monty Python & The Holy Grail

You needed a break from MythBusters.

You didn’t regret introducing them to the show, but you needed a break from it. Reluctantly they agreed when you promised them it was going to be something completely different. Something classic and kid friendly.

Disney animation. The Little Mermaid to be exact.

You had debated starting with a different movie. Not Snow White. They were familiar with that. You contemplated starting with The Aristocats but decided against it after the mission they’d come back from and after deciding you didn’t need them trying to off the butler by dismantling the tv screen. Same thing with 101 Dalmatians.

Someone making a Poor Unfortunate Souls reference that they didn’t get was what tipped the scales towards The Little Mermaid for you. The fact that it was animation intrigued them both from the moment you mentioned that it was Disney. Still it took a few days for you all to actually be able to sit down and watch it together due to the mission debriefings that kept postponing movie night.

“Finally…a night at home…” Steve sighed as he put his feet up with his bowl of popcorn on one side of you while Bucky nodded with his Cracker Jack box on the other, “That mission was just…”

“Stupid.” Bucky said while handing you the remote.

“It was necessary, Buck.” Steve said but nodded when Bucky looked at him silently, blue eyes locked on blue eyes with a flat, unflinching gaze, “I could have gone without the crazy ferry boat guy trying to hide the explosives in a gas can stuffed with crawfish singing about crustaceans, though.”

“I’m surprised you didn’t jump on it.” You said and Steve sighed.

“The grenade was a dummy.”

“Don’t act like you haven’t jumped on anything else since then.” Bucky replied and you nodded in agreement while getting the movie started and Steve just licked his lips and sighed while shaking his head.

“Alright, enough. Time to watch the movie. Same rules as always. This is Disney so it’s different from the original tale written by Hans Christian Anderson by…a lot, but…it’s got music, pretty animation, and romance. There’s also a very fluffy dog.”

“Mao!” Alpine meowed from her perch on the couch and you reached over to pet her gently.

“You’re better, sweetie, and you know it.” You said, smiling as she purred, “Alright. Ready?”

They nodded so you hit play and relaxed, watching the opening castle sequence and waiting to see how long it’d take before you had to hit pause. You had a feeling you knew when and you weren’t wrong.

Their delighted fascination at the images dancing across the screen before them soon shifted to a glance of expectant knowing on Steve’s face and one of mischievous teasing on Bucky’s when Sir Grimsby’s green seasick face came on screen.

You paused.

“Get it out of your system.” Steve sighed and Bucky chuckled.

“That’d be you on that ship.” He said and Steve just rolled his eyes but nodded.

You said nothing and hit play again.

They were soon enraptured with the animation again. The colors, the fluidity, and the music. It was calming and they watched silently. Relaxed.

Then the seahorse herald announced King Triton’s arrival with his dolphin chariot lighting the chandelier in front of an ecstatic crowd. Steve narrowed his eyes thoughtfully. You weren’t entirely sure what was going to come out of his mouth but you knew it was something. Really you should have expected it.

“Why are those dolphins like horses but the seahorse has the frill thing?” he asked and you shut your eyes while silently chuckling and shaking your head.

“Because it’s Disney, Steve.” You said but Bucky had his own answer.

“Because you’d probly need 300 of those seahorses to pull Triton instead of three dolphins.” He said and Steve nodded.

You just shook your head and hit play again.

They watched the seahorse announce Sebastian excitedly then laughed when his fanfare was then played with a chorus of kazoos. The goldfish pulling him neighing like horses made Steve gesture at the TV again while Bucky narrowed his eyes and nodded in agreement.

“Disney.” You repeated and they gave up for the moment, watching the king and crustacean talk.

“What exactly is Sebastian?” Bucky asked while leaning over.

Steve answered.

“I think he’s a crab.” He said and you nodded and hit play so they could listen to Sebastian compliment Triton’s daughters and Ariel’s singing before complaining about Ariel not showing up to rehearsals.

You then stopped them from asking about how there was paper underwater, reminding them it was a cartoon before they silenced themselves to listen to the song Triton’s daughters sang. All with A names that the pair didn’t comment on.

They did comment on the huge empty clam shell opening up and Sebastian’s face in response along with Triton’s reaction. You paused, knowing this was going to be a more longwinded thing judging by Bucky’s face.

“They remind me of that one teacher we had whenever Steve would get into a fight in school.” He said and Steve thought and nodded.

“Yeah. Panic then anger, but it wasn’t my fault and you didn’t help.” He said and Bucky looked at him.

“Next time you ever have to go back in time make sure you tell my younger self to let you get flattened by Big Jim Bunson and every other guy in school.” He retorted.

“Don’t start.” You warned and pressed play when they nodded so you could watch the introduction of Ariel and Flounder.

They totally agreed with Flounder when he panicked about sharks. Then they stared in horror when it came into view. You mentally sighed.

You forgot about the shark scene.

“I feel so bad for Flounder…” Bucky said and Steve nodded before they both just stared dumbfounded at the screen when Ariel found the fork.

“Have you ever seen anything so wonderful in your entire life?!”

“Yeah.” Bucky said, “S’called a fork.”

Steve nodded and looked at Flounder when he questioned what it was before looking at Ariel when she said she didn’t know, “It’s basically the same shape as you fathers tri-the shark is outside.”

“Hmm…I wonder what this one is?”

“You have worse self-preservation instincts than Steve.” Bucky while shaking his head and Steve was too busy staring wide-eyed at the shark looming up behind Flounder in the window.

They watched carefully, and tensely, as the shark attacked and the chase scene began. Predictably they both yelled at Ariel when she went back for her bag with her things in it. They were relieved at the end when they got away.

They watched Scuttle, both arching an eyebrow but you waited until they looked at you when he declared the fork to be a dinglehopper. You remained silent and just smiled when they looked at you again when the bird described what the “dinglehopper” was used for. Then you paused.

“She has hair.” Steve said and you nodded.

“Her sisters have hair done up in hairstyles.” Bucky said and you nodded again.

“Do they not have combs?” Steve asked and you shrugged.

“I don’t know. I’m not a mermaid.” You replied and hit play and then pause again after Scuttle “explained” the use of the pipe and dated it back to prehistoric times when humans just stared at each other all day.

“I am so glad Sam isn’t here right now.” Bucky said and looked at you sternly when you smirked, “Don’t even say it.”

“Mm…I’ll be merciful. For now.” You smiled and Steve snickered before they watched as Ariel remembered the concert finally and took off.

At least until Flotsam and Jetsam showed up with their glowing eyes and Ursula made her first appearance.

Bucky shook his head back and forth at the screen, “No.”

“She’s a cartoon character, Bucky.” You soothed and he shook his head.

“No. I don’t like her. She’s evil. Why the tentacles?” He asked and Steve looked at you before he kept going, “Did they know? I doubt HYDRA would let themselves be portrayed as evil. I don’t remember anything to do with Disney.”

“Calm…breathe. It’s a children’s movie…” you soothed and he looked at you.

“She’s nightmare fuel!”

“She’s half calamari.” You replied and he calmed down with a deep breath, chuckling as Steve did when they both remembered what you had dubbed the HYDRA logo back when they first met you.

Calamari on Skull Island.

“Yes, she’s evil, but…it’s a Disney movie. They only stopped making the villains obviously different in recent years and they still actually kinda do that so…Ursula.” You continued and he nodded before letting you hit play again.

They watched as Triton scolded his daughter and as Sebastian helped him do so before Flounder attempted to defend her only to get her into more trouble when he mentioned the crazy seagull.

“What’s he got against humans?” Steve asked you and you paused when Ariel swam off upset with her father.

Bucky nodded, “Yeah, I mean…I get we kind of suck but it’s not that great and safe in the ocean. You got Jaws’s relative and then the tentacle lady. Not exactly safe.”

You paused to answer, thinking about it for a moment on how, “Well…it’s kinda complicated. This movie has sequels. Disney sequels…kind of have a reputation as being…crap compared to the originals. Some aren’t as bad as others. One of the ones for this explains why he hates humans so I’m…a bit torn on telling you outright. I’m leaning towards no because I want you both to see this as I did. The sequels took a good while to come out so Triton hating humans was just a thing for a long time that people theorized about.”

They nodded and accepted that answer. Pressing play again you all watched as Triton sighed, moped, and Sebastian complained about teenagers. It also allowed them a moment to see Triton as a concerned father, though you knew what was coming was going to trigger some thoughts from both.

Until that moment, though you watched them both stare flatly at the screen when Sebastian went off on what he’d do if Ariel was his daughter. Then they nodded when Triton thought before shaking their heads when he assigned Sebastian to keep an eye on Ariel.

“Saw that coming.” Bucky said and you and Steve both nodded then watched as Sebastian caught Ariel sneaking off with her bag and followed her, “It is so weird watching him swim…”

“Yeah…” Steve nodded as they watched him swim into Ariel’s grotto and stare at all the human stuff while Ariel sulked.

“I just don’t see things the way he does. I don’t see how a world that makes such wonderful things…could be bad.” She said; Bucky didn’t miss a beat.

“Try living in it.”

“SHH!” Steve shushed him when Ariel started singing.

You were surprised when they both just watched, listened, and thought. Quite honestly you were expecting some sort of comment but they both sat, listened, and watched. At least until you understood that it connected with them in two different ways…but that thought was quickly displaced.

“I betcha on land, they understand, they don’t reprimand their daughters. Bright young women, sick of swimmin’, ready to stand!”

“No.” both of them said shaking their heads and you sighed and paused.

“What?” Bucky asked blinking at you, “We all know that’s not what it’s like. ‘Specially back in the 40s.”

“Yeah. I mean…it’s better now but c’mon.” Steve said, “We’re adults and we get yelled at all the time. Sure we’re men but look at what Nat’s had to go through.”

“Yelena.” Bucky added.

“Peggy was far from typical for the day.” Steve added and Bucky nodded as did you.

“I know, but Ariel’s a teenager idealizing a world she’s fascinated with. Y’know…grass is always greener type of thing? Movie?” you reminded them and they nodded before allowing you to hit play again.

They returned to watching the rest of the musical sequence, enjoying it until Sebastian crashed into everything and started freaking out. Then they watched as she spotted the boat passing overhead and swam off, completely ignoring Sebastian. The question that came next was one that got you pretty good.

“Wait. It’s nighttime?” Steve asked and you nodded slowly, “How’s there light under the water then?”

“Yeah. I thought it’d be daytime. Sure it’s murky but…it’s underwater.” He said and you blinked.

It wasn’t exactly something you’d paid attention to, still you just shrugged and answered as simply and honestly as you could, “Movie logic.”

They nodded and let you hit play again to watch as Ariel surfaced and stared in wonder at the fireworks before swimming towards the boat. Comments on her self-preservation instincts followed. Then comments on the dog when Alpine meowed at the screen.

“C’mere, Al.” Bucky soothed and scooped her up to put her on his lap and pet her, “You’re better.”

“Mao.” She replied and purred, watching with him when Ariel spotted Eric and instantly fell in love.

Then Scuttle showed up.

“Is that seagull drunk?” Bucky asked and Steve thought for a moment.

“The seagull sounds familiar.” He said and Bucky nodded.

“Y’know…yeah. Rewind it.” He said and you rewound it to play the seagull again, and then again, “This is gonna drive me nuts…”

“Leonard Hacker.” Steve said and Bucky nodded, “He was enlisting about the same time we were. He’s not drunk it’s just how he talks.”

You googled it and nodded, “Yeah, Buddy Hackett was his stage name. Served three years in an anti-aircraft battery.”

Bucky nodded, “Alive?”

“No. He passed in 2003.” You explained and they shook their heads.

“Shame.” Bucky said and Steve nodded and you hit play again to let them watch Ariel swoon over Eric then watch Sir Grimsby introduce Eric’s statue of a very over the top statue before complaining about Eric not being about to get married, “I take it back. He’s not you, Steve. He’s Sam.”

“He’s Nat if she got seasick and was a man.” He replied and you shook your head at them then listened to Eric say that when he finds the girl of his dreams he’ll know.

“It’ll hit me. Like lightning.” He said and the clouds in the distance started flashing.

“Hurricane acomin’!”

You saw various questions on their faces when the hurricane was announced yet they didn’t say anything. They simply shook their heads and watched as the storm battered and hit against the boat and the sailors before it suddenly ran aground.

“Y’know. He’s goin’ back for his pet. He’s alright.” Bucky said before sighing as the screen focused on the powder barrel, “Of course they’re gonna blow him up.”

You bid your time and held your tongue. You knew you’d get your opportunity soon.

“Well, at least Ariel’s saving him. I mean, he should be in worse condition than that but…it’s a Disney movie.” Steve said and you nodded while watching the scene shift to the beach where Ariel was tending to Eric, “Okay, how’d she get him all that way out of the water?”

“Probly durin’ high tide and then just…kept hold of him. Or she’s stronger than she looks. She’s a mermaid.” Bucky replied and Steve nodded, eating some of his popcorn before choking on it as he laughed at Scuttle peeling Eric’s eye open then listening to his foot for a heartbeat.

Bucky laughed with him as well and you couldn’t help joining them even as Ariel started singing happily again when Eric started breathing. They calmed as Eric started coming around. Then, when the shot of Ariel looking down at Eric with the sun behind her came on…you couldn’t help yourself.

“So when Steve rescued you from the HYDRA base in Austria was that what he looked like with the light?” you asked and Bucky looked at you while Steve tried not to laugh again.

“I thought I was hallucinatin’ and then I was very confused because he was tall.” He answered and you nodded, smiling, “You’re up to somethin’…I know that smile.”

“Yeah…” Steve said slowly; you just smiled more and kept silent while hitting play.

The urge to point out the similarities between them and Eric and Ariel was strong, but you resisted. For now at least.

They let it go for the moment, watching Grimsby tease Eric about drinking too much sea water. Watching them watch Sebastian go on about forgetting the whole episode they’d been through so he’d stay in one piece you knew a comment was coming as it went in one ear and out the other with Ariel.

Bucky shook his head and glanced at you, “You’re saying Ariel is Steve…and y’know what? I agree. Talkin’ to him about not doing something dangerous is like talking to a brick wall. That whole thing. That was me back in the 40s tryin’ to keep him out of trouble. In one ear out the other.”

“What?” Steve asked with a smile that smile he wore whenever he was being purposely difficult and Bucky just shook his head while rolling his eyes and turning back to the screen when you unpaused it then paused it again when Ariel sang as Eric and Grimsby walked away, “They can’t hear that?”

“Apparently not.” Bucky answered and took a bite from his Cracker Jack box and you hit play again instantly causing him to scowl as the eels showed up and Ursula returned and started gloating about how easy it was before it showed her “garden”, “Ugh…what the hell did she do to them?”

“I don’t know, Buck, but it’s not right.” Steve said scowling at the screen.

“That entire lady isn’t right.” Bucky said and they watched the scene shift to Ariel with her sisters and the one announcing to their father that Ariel was in love, “Huh…”

“Triton took that well.” Steve said and the scene shifted to Sebastian pacing back and forth while Ariel daydreamed and picked petals to determine whether Eric loved her or not, “Well at least she has a plan.”

Bucky nodded then watched Sebastian try to get Ariel to stop daydreaming about Eric before the next music number began. They watched and listened, nodding with Sebastian reminding Ariel that the fish got eaten on the surface. All while Ariel went on unimpressed.

They continued watching as Sebastian went on about all the different fish and Flounder whispered some sort of plan. Sebastian was clearly having fun and they were clearly enjoying the animation and music, but neither were surprised when it ended with Ariel missing.

“Yep.” Bucky nodded, “I know how that feels. Enjoyin’ yourself…then you look over and…where’d they go?”

Steve said just pointed at the screen as it showed Triton happily imagining who the lucky merman to get his daughter was, “Shh.”

Bucky shook his head and scratched Alpine on the ears when she nudged his hand for attention. They both watched Triton question Sebastian and Sebastian try, and fail, not to panic or say anything.

They both then tilted their heads at the sight of the statue in Ariel’s grotto.

“This reminds me…” Bucky started and Steve sighed, “Yeah. Of that one weapons dealer that had a shrine to you.”

“Look, I know it was weird…but…well it was weird and yeah. It does.” Steve said and gestured at the screen, “I wanna know something more important. How’d Flounder get that statue into the grotto? It sinks so it’s obviously heavy.”

You knew he was just trying to divert the attention off of that particularly strange and somewhat uncomfortable mission, but you paused anyway. Bucky was nodding in agreement with him. They were also both looking at you.

“Disney…” you reminded them and they looked at you, eyebrows raised, “Look I don’t know how Flounder got the statue into the grotto. I don’t think it’ll even fit through the skylight. It’s a cartoon. For all we know he had a bunch of his family help him move it. Just watch the movie and stop questioning cartoon logic.”

They both nodded and you hit play. They grimaced at the sight of Triton watching his daughter swim about and cling to the statue of Eric. They watched the argument that took place, both shaking their heads.

Then they both scowled when Triton charged up the trident and destroyed all of Ariel’s treasures. Then Bucky scowled even more when the eels showed up and started talking.

“No.” he said and Steve looked at him.

“I mean, I can see how she’s tempted.” He said and Bucky looked at him scowling, “It’s not the same.”

“Of course you’d see how she’s tempted.”

“Don’t you two start arguing.” You said and hit play and they watched Ariel swim off with the two eels and Sebastian try to stop her.

“I agree completely with everything the crab says about Ursula. Stay the hell away from Tentacle Lady.” Bucky said and groaned when Ariel told the crab off, “Of course.”

“Well at least he’s not giving up.” Steve said and they looked at Ariel’s lair, “Okay she has an evil villain lair.”

“Yeah…that’s not creepy or a warnin’ sign.” Bucky added while petting Alpine, “She’s livin’ in the skeleton of a giant sea dragon thing. Sure. Totally fine. The shriveled-up husks of the Sea Witch’s victims are trying to stop you and you keep on going because this is such a good idea.”

You just let Bucky complain as Ursula talked and you looked at both him and Steve when she started singing. They both scowled. Then they gave her a new name.

“Zola.” They both said and you paused the movie while looking at them and they gestured at the screen.

“You can’t say we’re wrong.” Steve said, “HYDRA scientist. Got arrested. Given a reprieve by the government to start over and work for them. Still completely devoted to HYDRA and evil the whole time.”

Bucky nodded, “Yeah. ‘Oh, Sargent Barnes, you look so weak and tired, here let me strap you to this gurney and make you feel all better with my homebrewed super soldier serum’. That is Madam Zola.”

“She’s a cartoon character, boys.” You reminded them, hit play, then paused again when Ursula gave Ariel three days.

“Three days?!” Steve asked and you nodded.

“Same amount of time in the original story.” You said and they shook their heads and shook their heads when Ursula asked if she and Ariel had a deal.

They then shook their heads again when she asked for Ariel’s voice as payment. They watched in horror as Ursula made the potion while going on about how Ariel wouldn’t need her voice because human men really only wanted quiet women that were pretty and dumb. Both just shook their heads with sighs yet before they could say anything about that they were both face palming when Ariel signed the contract.

The wide-eyed look on their face while Ursula cackled insanely, shaded green on the tv was almost comical. Alpine hissing at the screen was, but you managed to hold it in

They watched as Sebastian and Flounder rushed Ariel to the surface after she was turned human. Alpine watched as well, meowing when the dog Max appeared on the screen again as Eric daydreamed about Ariel’s voice. Steve’s eyes narrowed.

“He’s not gonna recognize her because she can’t talk.” He said and you smiled.

“Mmmm…maybe.” You said and they watched as Ariel marveled over her feet and toes.

Then they shook their heads as Scuttle arrived and tried to guess what was different about her until Sebastian blurted it out angrily then began freaking out and panicking. They watched as he slowly understood when Ariel looked at him before agreeing to help her. Then raised their brows when Scuttle said he was going to dress Ariel like a human.

“Oh this’ll be good.” Steve said and Bucky nodded, petting Alpine when she cuddled into him more as Max barked, “Just a cartoon dog, Al.”

“Mao.” She replied and Bucky nodded.

“Not real.” He said and nodded at what Scuttle dressed Ariel in, “I was imagining much worse actually.”

“Yeah.” Steve nodded, “So was I.”

You nodded in agreement and watched as they watched while Eric discovered Ariel and she smiled at him excitedly.

Then you waited as Eric looked at her, staring into her eyes as if he had a revelation only to say she looked familiar as he looked at her thoughtfully. Thoughtfully but cluelessly and obviously not remembering the person that saved his life.

“Have we met?”

Steve looked at Bucky. Bucky hit the pause button himself and looked at Steve and then you. You tried not to smile, but it was a lost cause.

“Yeeessss?” you asked and he licked his lips, eyes narrowed as he gathered his thoughts and Steve just smiled slowly and full of amusement that bordered on mischief mixed with retribution.

“I’ll get you for this.” He said and you blinked at him as innocently as you could, “Don’t give me that. You’re both telling me that I’m Eric.”

“Yes.” You nodded and smiled more, “And if you start trying to get me back for it…we’re gonna watch Alien next and that will give you nightmares.”

“We already know aliens exist.” Bucky said and you tilted your head with a smile.

“How about the kind that burst out of your chest after hugging your face against your will?” you asked and he looked at you in horror, “Yeah…so…shush and watch the nice animated cartoon movie where you get to be an oblivious prince and Steve is a sheltered mermaid that thinks forks are hairbrushes.”

Steve laughed until he scowled, “I am not Ariel.”

“You are so Ariel.” Bucky retorted and you hit play so they could watch Ariel and Eric interact and watch her try to pantomime an explanation to him that she lost her voice before falling into his arms, “Yep. You.”

“Shut up, Eric.” Steve retorted and Bucky scowled at him.

“Knock it off.” You said with a smile, “Ariel.”

They both quieted down so you hit play again, the scene with Ariel enjoying her first bubble bath playing out with Sebastian being subjected to a scrubbing board and then being flattened. They both grimaced at it then tilted their heads when he was just flattened. A look from you silenced them, causing them to nod and mumble “cartoon, right” before watching as Sebastian landed in the kitchen.

“Oh no…” Steve said and you smiled as Sebastian fainted at the sight of stuffed crabs.

They then watched as Eric argued with Grimsby before staring in awe at how pretty Ariel was when she was presented to him. They nodded as he pushed her chair in for her, clearly approving, then they both shook their heads when she started to use the fork to brush her hair and blew into the pipe. What really got a reaction from them was hearing the chef’s “special” was.

“Stuffed…”

“Crab?”

“Yep.” You smiled, “And now the musical number Les Poissons. Queue the crazy French chef guy singing about how much he loves fish and cooking them…with murderous glee.”

“What?” they both asked and you just pointed at the screen.

They jumped as he started chopping up the fish with hard zealous strikes of his cleaver. Faces contorted in confused horror while Sebastian nearly puked at the sight of it. Looking at them you could see they felt sorry for the crab.

Looking at Alpine you could tell she was getting hungry.

“Hee hee hee…”

“Haw…haw…haw…”

You snickered but didn’t pause.

“Zut Alors! I have missed one!”

“Run Sebastian! Run!” Bucky said and Steve nodded.

“Guy loves his job but there’s something not right in his head.” Steve added, eyes wide as the chef started to prepare the little crab and stuff him, “He’s still alive!”

“Eh? What is this? Oh!”

They both jumped as the music shifted and Sebastian began fighting back and trying to escape. Heads bobbed to the music as smiles spread across their faces. At least until Louis the chef dove headfirst towards Sebastian with the cleaver in his hand.

“I think I’d better go see what Louis is up to.”

“You really don’t want to do that, ma’am.” Steve said and Bucky shook his head.

“No…it’s…gonna be bad.” He said and flinched at the mess depicted in the next scene then stared Steve at the sight of the chef’s torn clothes and disheveled appearance, “You need a new job.”

“I hope they’re not gonna serve her fish…” Steve said they watched Eric gaze at Ariel and Bucky smiled.

“See. He recognizes her. He’s not me.”

“Mhmm…” you nodded, knowing fully well what was gonna happen later and they watched Sebastian scamper across the table into Ariel’s dish she slammed shut before agreeing to join Eric on a tour of his kingdom the next day.

“Wonderful! Now let’s eat before this crab wanders off my plate!” Grimsby said with a smile.

“Too late.” You all said at the same time and laughed lightly then watched Ariel gaze down at Eric playing with his dog only to wave shyly and retreat bashfully into her room when he noticed her.

“And she’s still using the fork to brush her hair…” Bucky said and listened to Sebastian talk about the day being the single most humiliating one of his life then watched Ariel sink into the bed.

Both Steve and Bucky nodded but otherwise were silent while listening to Sebastian go on about what to do the next day to Ariel to get Eric to kiss her. That’s when the silence ended.

“Crabs don’t have lips.” Steve said and Bucky looked at him.

“Cartoon.” He reminded him and nodded when seeing that Ariel was asleep, “Yep. She takes advice as well as you do, too.”

You just shook your head at the two, “Don’t start.”

They nodded and watched as the seahorse ran back to Triton, reporting that they couldn’t find Ariel or Sebastian anywhere. They were clearly conflicted about how they felt about Triton at this point. Seeing a need for them to voice this you paused on the image of Triton sitting on his throne regretfully.

“You lost your temper is what you did.” Bucky said and Steve nodded.

“Yeah, after being a racist jerk, but…I have to give it to him…he at least seems to care about his kids.” He said and you nodded as did Bucky.

“Yeah…just wants to keep ‘em safe. Can’t blame him for that…but…y’know…if he wasn’t so hardheaded this might not have happened.”

“Yeah, but Ursula would have still found a way to interfere.” Steve said and Bucky nodded vigorously.

“Oh yeah. No doubt. She’s still gonna do something horrible.” He said and you nodded and pressed play when they signaled for you to.

They watched as Ariel was given a tour of the kingdom, enjoying the sights, scenes, and activities, including dancing. Bucky nodded with approval, for a moment. Then he shook his head.

“No…no…don’t let her drive! She’s Steve! You don’t let Steve…drive.” He said and shook his head as Ariel took off.

“I don’t drive like that.” Steve protested and gestured at the screen, “Besides they’re fine. See?”

You just shook your head and they looked at the screen when Scuttle said that the scene called for vocal romantic stimulation.

“I do not think ‘seagull song’ as romantic stimulation.” Bucky said with a chuckle Steve shared while shaking his head.

“No. Yes, Sebastian you’re surrounded by amateurs.” He said and tilted his head, “How’d they all know to listen to him?”

Bucky sighed, “Because Sebastian is a famous court composer. I don’t know. Shh, maybe you can learn something about setting a mood for once.”

“What’s that mean?” Steve said and you looked at him.

“Shh.” You said and he sighed and they watched, then watched Eric try to guess Ariel’s name.

“She does not look like a Mildred.” Bucky said and Steve shook his head.

“Rachel isn’t too bad. Wait, he can actually understand Sebastian?” Steve asked and you nodded.

“Disney movie.” You reminded him and they watched as the animals sang and then as the flamingos shut Scuttle up before the kiss was interrupted by the eels knocked them both out of the water.

“I knew it!” Bucky said and pointed at the screen, “Don’t you call Ariel a tramp you over-purpled calamari broad! I hope Jaws eats you.”

“What is she doing?” Steve asked you and you just pointed at the screen.

“Just watch and Jaws isn’t in this movie.” You said and Bucky looked at you still gesturing at the screen as Eric played his flute and moped.

“There’s a shark! That counts!” he said and you nodded then they both glared when Ariel’s voice started playing out of the shell around the mysterious woman’s neck and cast the spell on Eric.

“Oh…hell no!” Bucky growled while staring wide-eyed full of wrath at the screen.

“Shit.” You thought to yourself, “Movie! Cartoon! Calm…down…”

“Did she just brainwash Eric?” Steve asked and you threw a piece of popcorn at his head, “Hey! No throwin’ food!”

“Shut up!” you said and gestured at Bucky glaring at the screen.

“She’s right, Buck. It’s a movie.” He said and Bucky nodded, taking a deep breath.

“Right. Movie. Cartoon. Disney.” The ex-assassin nodded, relaxing then scowled at Scuttle flying in and excitedly babbling to Ariel “He’s getting married…not to Ariel. He’s getting married to that evil b-yep. There she is.”

“Oh no…” Steve said, shaking his head.

“I know and if this were the original story you’d be both very upset, but this is Disney.” You said and they looked at you briefly before scowling at Ursula singing in the mirror, “In the original story he does get married to some princess he thought rescued him, but it’s not the sea witch, though she does try to get Ariel to stab them both with a dagger so she doesn’t turn into sea foam.”

“What?” they asked and you gestured at the screen as Scuttle asked if he’d ever been wrong.

“Yes.” They both said.

“When it’s important?!”

“Debatable.” Bucky said and they watched Sebastian make a plan and put Scuttle to work stalling the wedding after having Flounder tow Ariel, “Okay so the fish is stronger than he looks.”

“Apparently.” Steve said and ate some popcorn, “I wanna see what Scuttle does.”

“Mh.” Bucky nodded as he ate some of his own snack and they watched him squawk and gather the other wildlife, “This’ll be good.”

They then watched as Ursula’s human form kicked the dog Max, scowling. Bucky scowled intensely at the sight of Eric just standing there stock still, responding “I do.” Like a robot. At least until the animals attacked.

Then the most satisfied smirk appeared on his face. Steve chuckled as he looked at Bucky and watched the ensuing chaotic fight, including Max pausing before biting down hard on the “bride’s” butt.

“Good dog.” He said and both frowned when the shell amulet broke until realizing it was a good thing, breaking the mind control on Eric, but both of them frowned as they talked, “Shut up and kiss already!”

Ursula cackled as the sun set and you had to physically sit on Bucky to stop him from leaping at the screen when the witch grabbed Ariel and gloated. Steve launched out of the couch and grabbed Alpine in mid-leap the screen, having let out an affronted growl at it.

“No!” he told her, landing on the floor before holding her as he got up, “It’s just a movie.”

“Movie!” You reminded Bucky as he scowled and pointed his finger at the screen.

“S’not fair! S-she violated the contract! She interfered!” he protested and you nodded as he watched Triton bargain with Ursula to save his daughter.

“I know, Buck, but it’s gonna be okay.” Steve said while comforting the cat.

“That’s not how royal succession works!” Bucky scowled and Steve nodded.

“I know, but movie. Movie.” You said and pointed as Eric stopped Ursula from hurting Ariel, “See, they’re gonna fight back. It’s gonna be a battle, but it’s gonna be okay.”

He took a deep breath but nodded and smirked when Ursula zapped her own eels, “Good. Wait…what’s she doin’?”

“Well…she’s made herself a bigger target.” Steve said and Bucky nodded, watching Ursula brag about her power and bring up the sunken ship.

“Yeah, a very big target for a very big spear.” He said and nodded when Eric rammed the boat straight through Ursula, “Good.”

Steve nodded as well but didn’t question how Eric got to the shore so fast, he was busy petting Alpine, calming her from seeking revenge on the tv for upsetting Bucky, “Yeah. See, princess? The bad lady’s gone. All gone.”

“This better have a happy endin’ or I swear…” Bucky grumbled and you nodded while pointing at the screen as Ursula’s garden captives were transformed back to normal, including Triton.

They watched Triton show remorse, looking at Sebastian when he said kids needed to be free. They both shook their heads at that before smiling when Triton expressed how much he was going to miss his daughter before turning her into a human. Both were emotional as the music picked up and transitioned to the two getting married after kissing.

They then laughed when Louis the Chef returned to chase Sebastian only for the crab to win once again by cutting a rope. They then both watched Triton embrace his daughter before letting her go be with her new husband, sailing off into the rainbow together.

The credit music started playing after the last kiss, you hesitated for a moment, “So…maybe…maybe you’re not ready for Disney movies just yet. That…uh…that had a strong reaction…”

“Ursula is pure evil and shoulda been chopped, fried, and put in some Japanese sushi dish you feed to prisoners.” Bucky said with a scowl and Steve nodded.

“Music was good though.” He said and Bucky nodded, relaxing a bit as the music played again.

“Yeah. Scuttle was funny.” He added and Steve nodded.

“Animation was gorgeous.” He said and Bucky nodded.

“Oh yeah. Absolutely. All of the animation was great. Different from Snow White but still Disney and great.”

“What are the sequels like?” Steve asked and you shook your head.

“We’re not watching the sequels right now. You two need a break.”

1 Week Later

“Bucky…what the hell did you order?” you asked as you set the box down on the table that had just been delivered.

Steve set his coffee cup down to stare at the large box and nodded, “Yeah…Buck…what is that?”

“I ordered some cat toys for Alpine.” He answered and opened the box with one of his knives and you started shaking your head when you saw what it all was.

“Really, Bucky?” you asked and he smiled and tossed the Ursula shaped kicker toy on the floor that Alpine promptly launched herself at to punish followed by two jingling Flotsam and Jetsam toys she smacked repeatedly with her paw.

“Good girl.” Bucky said with a smile and sipped his coffee.

A/N: I couldn't help the comparison between Bucky and Eric and Steve and Ariel. I mean...I only have so much restraint. As for Bucky's reaction, well...he feels strongly about things. Time to decide the next one!

I hope you enjoyed it! Please feel free to let me know! I appreciate all likes, I do because it lets me know you like it, but if you really like it reblog it and if you really really like it comment and tell me, write some tags, send an unhinged gif. It's all accepted and I'm not picky, just let me know.

That is all.

Ao3 Link: Super Soldier Theater: The Little Mermaid

Series Masterlist🍿MASTER Masterlist

Taglist: @maryevm

Previous Movie:Jaws

Next Movie: Monty Python & The Holy Grail

🍿Winner: Money Python & The Holy Grail🍿

#bucky barnes #steve rogers #marvel #stucky #stucky fic #stucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #steve rogers x reader #reader insert #x reader #movie time #marvel fanfiction #bucky barnes fanfiction #steve rogers fanfiction #Super Soldier Theater #stucky watches the little mermaid #fluff

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lordprettyflackotara · 1 year ago

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Chapter Ten || Hitchhiker || The Proxies

tw: mental decline, depression discussed, toby’s a real creep in this one sorry, stabbing, blood, brief descriptions of gore, murder

<— previous chapter

It was not hard to see you were distraught. You stayed curled in your comforter, the safety of your bedroom the only source of comfort you could truly find. The boys tried to provide as much warmth and care as possible, going as far as to take shifts watching you sleep. Even with their watchful eyes guarding you, it didn’t make the nightmares go away. It didn’t make the static go away. It didn’t make the paranoia go away. Anywhere and everywhere you felt like you were being watched. You had disappeared off of the face of the planet, ignoring your job and Nova. The only two other people that cared about you.

You refrained from leaving the apartment, the fear of running into The Operator making you into a recluse. Toby knew there was no stopping it. The damage had already been done. The Operator had a fixation on you, there was no doubt about it. He toyed with the idea of how exactly he would come find you, with you living in a crowded apartment and all. The more Toby thought about it, he tried to put himself in his shoes. If he couldn’t get you out, what else would he do? As Toby’s gaze circled around your bedroom it hit him. He would lure you out.

There was no debate Toby didn’t like Nova. There wasn’t a tiny piece of him that felt any different. But he knew that The Operator would use her as a pawn in his game of chess. He slid off of your bed, his fingertips pushing some stray hairs out of your face. “I’m going to fix this. I-I’m going to fix you,” Toby whispered. You were fast asleep, your slumber only guaranteed for maybe another couple of hours. The insomnia you began to develop was becoming as bad as Tim’s. Toby slid out of your bedroom, tapping Brian awake from his slumber in your recliner. The blonde stood up, yawning briefly. “Where are you going kid?” He asked curiously. Toby grabbed his axe, slinging it over his shoulder.

“I’m g-going to fix this. Like I s-s-should’ve done a long time ago.”

Toby wasn’t nervous as he strolled up to Nova’s office. He knew it was vacant. He knew Nova was working late. Not only based on her beat up Toyota in the parking lot, but he also considered her consequential work ethic. For someone as paranoid as Nova, he would’ve thought she would’ve had better protective measures.

Nova sat in her office, worn down and exhausted. The desk lamp was the only thing keeping her awake, the excessive light blinding her sight from most of the room. In her hand sat a worn out pencil, the graphite scribbling the proxy symbol on a sheet of paper. “I used to draw those too you know,” Toby chuckled. He sat crouched on the windowsill, inviting himself inside once Nova’s gaze landed on him. She reached for her gun, shocked to find her secret spot empty. Toby held it up lazily with one finger, his eyes narrowing. “L-looking for t-t-this?” He questioned. He tilted his head to the side, before tossing Nova her python. Nova had no idea you stole it, her mind raveling as she tried to pinpoint when Toby broke in and took it. Or when he even had the opportunity to.

Immediately Nova held Toby at gunpoint, shutting off the safety without a second thought. “I was right all along. I knew it. You can’t have her Tobias,” Nova growled. Toby raised his eyebrows. “Yeah that’s right. I investigated all of you fucking freaks. Timothy Wright. Brian Thomas. Tobias Rogers. I know it all,” Nova spat harshly. Toby’s neck twitched, a giggle escaping his lips. “You know about The Operator then I ass-u-u-me,” Toby suggested. Novas eyebrows furrowed, as if she could’ve believe what the brunette was saying. Casually he strolled up to her desk, rummaging through the papers. Drawings of The Operator, ominous phrases, and eerie proxy symbols littered the pages.

“Oh b-boy. He sure does like you,” Toby mused, chuckling to himself. Nova readjusted her grip on her gun, brushing her hair out of her face. “How do I get rid of him? Explain yourself. Explain it!” Nova demanded. Toby let out a low whistle. He rocked back and forth on his heels, shaking his head. “There isn’t any e-escaping him. From the l-looks of it he’s embedded himself right in that brain of yours,” He concluded. He leaned forward, poking Nova’s forehead. Nova swatted his hand away, pointing her gun directly at his head. She rounded her desk, placing the metal right under his chin. “It’s not like it m-matters anyways. You’re not really the one he wants,” Toby informed her.

“What’s that supposed to mean you ticking time bomb?”

Toby seemed unnerved to have a gun pointed under his chin. He knew Nova’s trigger finger was growing heavy, yet he seemed unbothered. “Who else knows about us besides you? That’s t-tied into our l-little rebellion,” Toby questioned. Nova’s facade fell, her face growing pale. She lowered her gun. “Fucking hell. Why does he want y/n? Why does he want me?” Nova asked. Toby tilted his head to the side, shoving down his face mask. He delivered Nova a wicked grin, soaking in the fear that radiated off of her once she saw the side of his face. It was chewed straight through, the flesh absent and poorly healed. “I-I’m n-n-not sure. Why don’t y-you eat one of the blueberry muffins I m-made you and maybe it’ll jog my memory,” Toby suggested.

Nova cringed as she looked over at the trash can, piled with discarded papers. But on the very bottom, sat the untouched blueberry muffins. They had been sitting there for over a week, her stomach churning. She collected herself, glaring at Toby. “I don’t think so Tobias. You don’t get to win,” She hissed. She pushed the head of the gun harder against his chin, surprised the brunette had no reaction at all. “Y-you kill m-m-me you don’t get answers,” Toby chuckled. Nova frowned, knowing he was right. Even if she killed him off, thing one and two were one for vengeance. She cringed as she looked at her trashcan.

“I take a bite of the muffin, you give me answers right? Who’s to say you’re not lying?” Nova questioned. Toby shrugged, giving her a sly shit eating grin. “I guess that’s a chance you’ll have to take,” He snickered. Nova huffed as she trudged over to the trashcan. She threw her old coffee cups and crumpled papers aside. She cringed as she dug out the plate of blueberry muffins, the tinfoil now pulled back. Toby watched calmly as she took the paper wrapper off of one, her fingers shaking. “Y-you c-c-can’t possibly be t-that grossed out. You investigate corpses for a living,” Toby said sassily, rolling his eyes. Nova glared at him, shooting daggers in his direction. “I investigate homicides of innocent people you ticking fuckwad,” Nova snarled. She sighed, forcing herself to think of you as she took a bite of the expired food.

Toby took great joy in watching Nova’s face curl into disgust. She could taste droplets of the coffee she had drank days ago. Toby’s grin grew wider as she slowly chewed on the muffin. “Go o-on. Swallow it,” He purred. Nova contemplated shooting him right then and there, deciding against it. Oh, if only you knew how much she adored you. She forced herself to swallow, gagging on the taste as it traveled down her throat. “That wasn’t s-so hard. W-was it?” Toby taunted. Nova wiped her mouth with her sleeve, trying to get the taste out of her mouth. “Get on with it Tobias. I played your game. What does he want?” She questioned.

“What he’s doing to you is very different from what h-he’s doing to y/n. H-he just wants y-y-you to go crazy and kill yourself. But I see you’re a o-one tough cookie,” Toby praised mockingly. He went to grab her cheek tauntingly, Novas hand quick to swat his away. “B-but with her, he sees s-s-so much potential. The w-way she’s willing to die f-for us,” Toby explained. Nova’s eyes widened, her rage clouding her judgment as she repositioned her pistol. She pointed it at Toby’s face, pulling the trigger. Nova was stunned as nothing happened, her Python useless. Toby broke out into a mechanical laughter, one that only enraged Nova more.

“What the fuck?” She muttered. Toby grinned as he took the bullets out of his pocket, tossing them into the air. They scattered across the wooden floor, Nova quick to drop to her knees to collect them. With shaky hands she tried to reload her gun, Toby quick to squat down to her level. He gave her an egotistical grin, watching as she struggled to put the bullets in her python. “There’s a-a chance we can stop The O-Operator’s influence. B-but we can’t do it alone,” He said. This made Nova stop in her tracks, her chocolate eyes wondering over to him. Looking at him made goosebumps roam across her skin, his lack of a right cheek unsettling the closer he got to her.

“S-she’s going to need-d-d you. Even if we dont understand it,” Toby concluded. He rose to his feet, satisfied that he got his point across. Nova swallowed as she rose beside him, her gun now loaded with three shiny bullets. “What do I need to do?” She asked. Toby gave her a wicked grin, waltzing towards the open window. He grinned over his shoulder, sliding his mask back on, “Come with me.”

“I don’t wanna do this guys. This is so stupid,” You protested. Hoodie and Masky had succeeded in getting you dressed up and ready for a nice dinner. What they had failed to account for was your protest. Despite their protection and consistent surveillance, it didn’t subside your paranoia. However, they couldn’t recall the last time you had a decent meal. Additionally, they couldn’t remember the last time they had seen you smile. They didn’t like Nova either, but between her and seeing you go insane, she was lesser of the two evils.

“You’re just going to have to trust us. This’ll be good for you,” Hoodie encouraged. You sighed, looking through the window of the fancy restaurant. Soft golden chandeliers lit each table, a thick white table cloth covering each one. The silverware looked like they were actual gold, each individual inside looking like a million bucks. You nervously tucked your hair behind your ears. “Okay fine. Just this one dinner. Then let me lay in bed for the next ten years,” You huffed. You stormed into the restaurant, Masky and Hoodie close behind you. “They should be here somewhere,” Masky muttered. You were under the impression you were only meeting Toby. “Who else is there? Guys I don’t want to meet anyone new,” You protested. That’s when you saw them.

Toby waved, a bright smile spreading across his lips. He wore a neat jet black tuxedo, his curls bouncing with life. Beside him sat Nova, a dark sapphire dress decorating her caramel skin. Her lips were dark red, smiling just as bright as Toby’s. You practically ran to her, attempting to not trip over your own heels or run into any of the waiters. You threw your arms around her in an embrace, soaking in her coconut scent. “What are you doing here?” You asked. You hadn’t seen Nova since you had ditched her at the hospital, stealing her python before dashing into the night. “Tobias invited me. I think it’s time the five of us have a serious discussion about The Operator,” She said firmly. You glanced at the boys for affirmation, Masky giving you a nod. “You know?” You whispered. Nova nodded, giving you a sad smile.

“You’re not the only person that slimy fucker has been terrorizing,” Nova chuckled dryly. The five of you sat down, your mood feeling evaluated for the first time in forever. You didn’t ask too many questions about Toby or Nova. Or why they both felt possessive enough to sit on either side of you. Toby’s hand sat on your upper thigh, Novas hand holding your own. You felt like you were missing something. Like something happened and they wouldn’t tell you. Masky and Hoodie were strangely transparent about their existence. “So you both only exist due to a series of unfortunate supernatural events that traumatized Timothy and Brian so much they developed you two?” Nova questioned. She poked her fork back into her pasta, swirling it as you nervously chewed on your steak.

“Thats about right,” Masky agreed. He kept his gaze on his own steak, cutting the meat with a sharp knife. “And what about you?” Nova questioned. She pointed her fork at Toby, who was thoroughly enjoying his chicken tenders and fries. “What about me?” Toby hissed. Nova squeezed your hand under the table. “You don’t have an alter so you’re insane right? You had a pretty extensive length of mental disorders according to your record,” Nova shrugged. You shot Nova a dirty look. “Hey lay off of the kid,” Masky intervened flatly. Hoodie quietly nibbled at his salad, watching the whole scene unfold.

You caught his gaze, the blonde subtly cocking his head towards the window. You almost missed what he was referring to, a streak of white dashing out of sight once you looked. “I don’t think I will. They have decent excuses but you don’t Tobias. So, explain it to me,” Nova spat. You removed your hand from hers, feeling Toby’s fingers dig into your thigh. “Nova that’s enough, it’s not your business,” You hissed. She refused to glance at you, her cold gaze still centered on Toby. “Considering he’s been making himself quite comfortable between your legs, I think it is,” She argued. You audibly scoffed, your patience running thin.

“It is not your fucking place to mother me-”

Your spitfire was cut short by Toby interrupting, “The only thing you need to k-k-know is that i’d never h-hurt her. But don’t think-k-k you’re in the same position.”

The table fell silent, your heart pounding as you stared down at your dinner plate. A wave of nausea washed over you, your face going pale. “Hey hey are you good?” Hoodie asked, changing the tables topic. You could feel your stomach churning. Masky rose to his feet. “He’s nearby. We need to go,” He said firmly. He threw a wad of cash on the table, uninterested in the social construct of waiting. You were more important. The five of you hurried out of the restaurant, Nova slinging your arm over her shoulders. Toby followed suit, the two of them helping you follow Masky and Hoodie.

“Staying in town is a negative. We need to leave as soon as possible,” Hoodie told Masky. Masky dug in his slacks pockets, searching for his beloved box of cigarettes. “We need to ditch the car. Too traceable. There’s a train down east street. We can go down south from there,” Masky suggested. You could faintly hear static, your head beginning to spin. “I don’t think she’s going to make it to the train. We need to stop by her apartment. Or mine,” Nova interrupted. Masky and Hoodie shared a look, both of them reaching in their suit jackets and sliding on their mask. It was unusual that someone were to interrupt their planning. Whether they liked it or not, the dynamic of the group was changing with Nova’s addition. You felt faint, gripping onto Toby for support.

“I’m gonna be sick,” You groaned. You tried to hold back your nausea, swallowing when you felt yourself gagging. You could hear Masky and Nova bickering, their voices growing more dull. “Her apartment is a death sentence!” Masky growled. Nova let your arm down, getting in his face. “So is having her get on a goddamn train when she’s five seconds away from passing out!” She snarled. It was then you noticed it, the flash of white from earlier. You tilted your head to the side. Was this an illusion? Was the person you were seeing real? The white was so blinding to you. Why wasn’t anyone else noticing?

You glanced up at Toby, whose attention was focused on Masky and Nova arguing. You tried to understand what you were seeing, your eyes finally able to make out a mask. It was a human shaped figure, running towards the five of you. You tried to make sense of who the target was, realizing that the persons gaze seemed to be centered on Nova. Its head hadn’t cocked in your direction once, despite you looking right at the person. In the dim streetlight you were able to see a flash from a blade, your mouth falling open to say something. Anything. Your body sprung into action before you could warn anyone, your veins pumping with adrenaline.

You shoved Toby away, pushing Nova out of the way as the attacker trudged forward. It all happened so fast, you hardly had time to process the flash of hot white pain that electrified your body. You fell forward, your knees hitting the pavement. The sharp pain lodged into your stomach, your eyes widened so large you feared they were going to pop out of your head. Time seemed to slow, your hand shaking violently as you touched your wound. A kitchen knife was lodged into your stomach, the blood soaking your dress. Your vision became spotty, your gaze finally looking upwards. Toby and Masky were on the attacker in the blink of an eye.

“It had to be done! She’s the target and you know it!” The attacker hissed. Hoodie grabbed her by her hands, shoving them roughly behind her back. Masky delivered a sharp uppercut to her jaw, knocking her mask off of her face. Toby knew Kate to be obedient to The Operator, but he never would’ve imagined she would’ve done something like this to them. You fell forward, choking on your own spit as Nova tried to hold you upright. “Dont touch it. You can’t pull it out,” Nova rambled. She grabbed your shoulders, laying you on your back. She held you against her chest, tears welting up in her eyes. “It’s okay, it’s okay,” She whispered. She brought her hand to your hair, stroking it as you watched the seen before you unfold.

“I’ll fucking kill you Kate! I’ll fucking kill you!” Masky roared. Black spots began to appear in your vision, each movement you tried to make only sending a wave of pain up your spine.

Masky delivered sharp and powerful punches to Kate’s face, a sharp snap echoing throughout his ears. Her jaw hung loosely, blood traveling down her nose. “This is the way it has to be! You know better than this Masky!” Kate argued weakly. She was no longer thrashing under Hoodie’s grasp, instead struggling to stand on her own. Masky grabbed her face, a painful whimper escaping her lips as he glared down at her. “You are so lucky my girl is watching, otherwise i’d gut you like a fish,” He snarled. He lifted his mask, spitting in her face. He struggled to keep his composure, fighting the urge to beat her to death.

“W-wait so you won’t kill me?” Kate questioned. Masky turned around, his devious gaze meeting Toby’s. The younger brunette had taken out a smaller axe he carried on his person, twirling it in his hand. Masky sighed, looking over at you for confirmation. He never wanted this for you. But as the blood pooled around your body, he shrugged off any feelings of remorse or reconsideration. “I won’t, but he will,” Masky replied plainly. He walked past Toby, the boy quick to raise his axe. Masky relished in the sound of the sharp blade connecting with Kate’s skull, another loud crack sending sadistic pleasure down his spine.

—> next chapter

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python333 · 1 year ago

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residual self-image — python³

― ― ― ―

synopsis residual self-image is the mental projection of your digital self; it refers to your own physical appearance that is understood by you, that is projected unto you by yourself. you see yourself as something to be ashamed of. price sees something different.

relationships platonic!captain price & gn!reader.

characters cap. price.

word count 7.6k

warnings anxiety/panic attack [not sure exactly how to classify it; i think it's more of an anxiety attack?], reader takes SSRIs [zoloft/sertraline], suicidal thoughts and almost-suicide attempt, reader is the most unreliable narrator known to mankind, second person pov [you/your/yourself], usage of [name], usage of [c/n] for call sign/code name, bad matrix references/spoilers for the matrix and the matrix: reloaded.

note please please PLEASE let me know if this comes off as me romanticizing having anxiety or taking antidepressants so that i can fix/rewrite it /srs i don't take any form of antidepressants or anxiety medication and i also am not diagnosed with either of those!! nothing i say is final!!! i do not have firsthand experience with what reader goes through in this fic!! sorry i disappeared for a second, have some food as an apology. again, feel free to correct me on anything you think is inaccurate and i will (most likely) change it!! also sorry for like 3k words of backstory oopsies

In The Matrix, Morpheus gives Neo two options: blue pill, or red pill?

He says that if Neo takes the blue pill, “the story ends, you wake up in your bed and believe whatever you want to believe”. But the second option, the red pill, if Neo takes that, he will “stay in wonderland and [he] show [Neo] how deep the rabbit hole goes”. Neo, of course, takes the red pill, and is shown the “real world”.

Neo is thought to be “the One”. With the “O” in “One” being capitalized, so you know that it’s a pretty important title.

In the end, Neo becomes confident in who he is and what he can do, and defeats the “Agents”. Trinity confesses her love to a “sleeping” Neo, their ship is getting attacked by whatever those weird fuckin’ creatures were called, and Neo defeats the last of the agents. The end.

You take pills too. But yours are blue. They’re matte, powdery, baby-blue pills that are branded with the name “ZOLOFT”. It’s sertraline, to be specific, and you’ve been taking it for the past few months. You’re new to pills like these, ones meant to treat anxiety and depression and a number of other medical issues, so you didn’t know how much to take at first. You asked your doctor so many questions. You think about it often, and wonder if, even though it’s their job, that doctor had gotten annoyed at some point because of your inquiry.

These pills do similar things to the ones in The Matrix, though. You take them, preferably at night, and wake up in your bed like you always do. You believe whatever you want to believe, and another chapter is closed at the end of every day, marking another page closer to the end of your story.

Some days, the story feels like it’s going to end sooner than expected.

A side effect of sertraline―or, well, Zoloft specifically―happens to be suicidal ideation. It’s not that common, not that talked about, and isn’t the most well-known. But then again, most mental disorder-treating medicines have some kind of side effect like that, and plenty of people take things like antidepressants without an issue―or so you thought―so surely you could deal with something as simple as sertraline, right?

Wrong. So, so, wrong.

It’s probably really bad for a person who works in a military group to be dealing with such thoughts. You think about quitting sometimes, for the sake of the other people in the task force, because what could happen if the wrong straw breaks the wrong camel’s back while you’re doing an assignment? What if, caught in the crossfire between your team and your enemy, you say fuck it and decide that it’s all just too much? What are the odds of that happening? What are the odds of anything happening? What were the odds of the Earth being created, of the first animals evolving, of the first humans speaking the first languages? Statistics are so important, chance is so important, and odds determine everything. What are the odds of you deciding whether or not you have the will to live? The ability to keep going, to keep the routine you’ve always kept, to keep from taking one of those G19s from the armory and turning off the safety before pulling the trigger? To commit to such a permanent solution, one you’ve deemed as the “s-word”, because thinking about it sometimes is too much.

Or maybe it’d be a rope, your brain continues without your consent, A chain. Anything that will hold your body weight up enough for you to dangle from the fan on the ceiling―an image that makes you lean towards a chain, sickeningly enough, because of the idea of your abnormally stretched neck on display. The purple bruising that would appear, the indentations of each link, the smell of your blood and the metal of the chain unable to be told apart. Maybe your eyes would still be open, and it would look like you’re staring down at anyone who walks into your office. There’s so many possibilities. They add up, and create new odds, new chances. Every time you simply think, you are creating a new way to go about life, and that creation is sometimes stored so deeply in the back of your mind that it haunts you. It comes back around, becomes more common, the chances of it happening go up.

Sometimes the odds feel like they aren’t in your favor at all. Sometimes you wonder how you could’ve ever thought that any part of the universe was against you. It’s not bipolar; it doesn’t come and go in extremes, it just comes and goes. The odds will lower in your favor some days, and you will deem those days “bad days”, and other days they will be so high you don’t even think about “good days” or “bad days”. But those other days are almost as bad as the “bad days”, because they go by so quickly. You take them for granted so easily, too easily, and they leak through the thin lines between your fingers, leaving you with nothing by the end of the day.

Sometimes on “bad days”, your hands go from cupped to praying, and you will plead with yourself to just get better. You never do, on those days, and after taking your medicine you will go to sleep and believe that the next day will be better. Or, at least, convince yourself that the next day will be better.

You would’ve understood if Neo took the blue pill. If he stayed in blissful ignorance, even after all of the weird shit that happened to him. If he continued to wake up every day in a “normal” world, to sell computer systems and hacking programs, to be anyone but “The One”.

Because that’s what you do. You take your medicine, and go on with life as normally as possible, even with all of the things that you’ve been through. You wouldn’t want to be the one responsible for saving the world, or beating up robot-alien-things, or whatever. Just like how you don’t want to be held responsible for really just… taking care of yourself.

Which you’re shit at, by the way, if that doesn’t make things worse.

You take your sertraline and that’s about it. It’s not like it doesn’t work, it’s just underwhelming sometimes. Before you got on it, you would take more things to heart, think about things more, and were probably a little more prone to actually killing yourself. After starting to take it, it was admittedly pretty rough. It felt like your anxiety had increased a little, like your paranoia had only heightened, and everything felt so elevated.

Then, maybe a few months after beginning to take it, everything dimmed out. Like one of those lightbulbs you can dim, everything gradually came back down, and even lowered to a more tolerable level. You were glad, at first, that you had endured those first few months the way that you did because you’re not sure you would’ve even been here to this day had you not. Reading several articles and Reddit posts about Zoloft definitely didn’t help, especially as someone who was taking it partially for anxiety, but still, you managed.

And then you realized that just taking the medicine didn’t do as much as you hoped it would.

It helps you deal with anxious and depressive thoughts, yes, but you still feel like something’s missing. That lightbulb in your mind has dimmed, but it’s only just enough light to see ahead of you. Before all of this, the light was bright enough to blind you, to make you see that dreadful stark-white that still sometimes haunts you―when it dimmed down to where it is now, it was obviously a relief, but you feel like now there’s not enough light.

You understand the whole point of the medicine is to dim that light, to help bring down your mental state to a more “normal” one, but you think that even people who don’t have diagnosed mental disorders feel strong emotions like you used to. Maybe not as strong, but definitely something adjacent to it. You miss that, funnily enough―getting strong enough emotions.

Right now, you’re sitting at your desk in your office, staring down at the plate of mashed potatoes in front of you. You get it almost every time it’s offered, and endure the teasing you get from your teammates, all for one purpose.

To hide your pills in it.

Mashed potatoes are starchy, yes, but easy to swallow without chewing. They’re thick enough to help hide the feeling of the pill going down your throat, and don’t leave that weird aftertaste in your mouth that taking your medicine with water does. You tried taking the pills with water at first, like you would with any other medicine, but with this specifically you just can’t. It’s too easy to notice, they’re too big to just hide with water, and it feels like swallowing a rock every time you take them with water.

So, mashed potatoes it is.

The pill is already mixed into it. You had folded the small blue tablet into the mushed vegetable with a plastic fork, trying to keep it as hidden as possible, making sure no hints of blue bled through the beige-yellow of the potato.

You’re now watching the mashed potatoes, unblinking, as if it’s going to grow legs and run away from you. It’s never truly easy swallowing the medicine, even with the mashed potatoes coating it, but it’s usually easier than it is today. Then again, today was deemed a “bad day” the moment you woke up, so this was to be expected.

You grab the white plastic fork after a brief moment of hesitation and pierce the food with it, hand trembling ever-so slightly as you do―not from anxiety, but from your lack of water intake―and pick up a clump of potato with little strength. The vegetable oddly weighs your hand down the tiniest bit more than usual, but you ignore this in favor of pushing yourself to just force the food into your mouth. You try your best not to chew, your jaw only really moving to chew the side of your cheek instead to satisfy your urges, and eventually manage to swallow the food.

Right off the bat, you can tell the cluster you swallowed had the pill in it. Lucky me, you think almost bitterly, not sure whether you should be happy or uncomfortable, at least it’s over with. It’s not that it’s a bad thing that you got to the pill so quickly, but usually you’re able to get a few bites of medicine-less potato in before the actual medicine itself. Nonetheless, you scoop up another fork-full―fork-full?―of mashed potatoes and try to eat as much as you can to get rid of the weird feeling of having a pill going down your throat.

Just the fleeting thought of having a pill that big going down your throat makes it feel like your esophagus is closing. You feel yourself grow closer to nausea at the feeling, setting down your fork and pushing the paper plate of your dinner aside, just to rest your elbow on the table and put your forehead in the palm of your head. It’s bad enough that you feel ashamed because of the fact you even have to take antidepressants, so it’s even worse that those same antidepressants are throwing bad side-effects at you.

Ashamed because needing medicine to function the same way anyone else does feels so pathetic to you. Maybe it isn’t pathetic. Actually, you know it isn’t; you don’t look at other people who do the same thing and think that they should feel as ashamed as you do. But you still look at your bright orange prescription bottle, labeled with your legal name, and think that you shouldn’t need it.

You think, for a moment, that it’s because of how much you’ve dehumanized yourself.

Dehumanized is such an ugly word, and it leaves a strange bitterness in your mind after thinking about it, but deep down you feel that it’s true. You know that you’re human, obviously, because physically that’s what you are. You are, undeniably, a homo sapien―a person, a living being that is a bipedal primate mammal. You, in a less literal sense, have those same cords attached to you that Neo did when he first went to the “real world”.

But you need those cords, you think, lifting your head so that your chin is resting in your palm instead of your forehead, you need to stay attached to the Matrix.

Because you took the blue pill. You found a way to keep yourself attached to the Matrix, to keep yourself grounded to what you wish you could experience without them. And those cables weigh you down, and that pod you stay encased in limits your movement―sometimes you feel more like the pod than the person inside of it―but it all seems so worth it to you, doesn’t it? To keep believing what you want to believe, to wake up everyday and dose yourself with that fifty-milligrams worth of sertraline hidden under a pile of food, to eat that food and swallow that pill even though it makes you feel like a mutt?

You take a shuddering breath in, your thoughts building up in volume and mass, more questions entering your mind too fast for you to process them all. You feel that familiar rush of adrenaline, the kind that triggers your ‘fight-or-flight’. It lights your nerves on fire and causes them to jump, to electrify, and you feel your fingers twitch with the feeling. It almost feels like there’s something crawling along your nerves, under your skin, and the thought almost triggers your gag reflex. Your eyelids flutter, barely shutting for just a moment before you force them open. Your gaze flits over to the still-mostly-full plate of mashed potatoes.

You’re usually able to finish them, even on “bad days”. But today, with nausea swirling uncomfortably in your stomach, and a too-big pill going through the thin tubes inside your body, you find that it’s much harder to even think about picking that fork back up. You can almost feel your heart beating through your palm, that continuous th-thump, th-thump growing exponentially faster, and your palm getting sweatier by the second. You shift your feet and find that invisible needles are poking at the bottom of them, small pins that push and prod at your skin that leave a strange hot-cold feeling. It forces you to take the pressure off of your feet by holding them up ever-so slightly, the soles of your shoes just barely touching the ground.

You swear your heart rate increases at all the different sensations lingering on your body. You can feel your breathing starting to pick up, and for God knows what reason, you suddenly find it difficult to keep your eyes locked onto one object. Your gaze dances around the room as a surge of chills runs up your spine. A trail of goosebumps rises after each wave of biting cold, passing over the bony projections of your dorsum. After having so many of them, you know instinctively the signs of an oncoming anxiety attack, and know how quick those symptoms escalate from simple shallow breaths to the inability to keep your breathing consistent at all. Yes, they develop slower than a panic attack does, but the gradient from fine to not-fine is hard to view as slow when there’s so many symptoms to keep track of.

At the thought of such a thing happening, your gaze instantly locks onto the prescription bottle sitting on your desk. It’s still uncapped―fortunate for you, because you’re seriously doubting your ability to uncap something with a child-proof cap on it right now―and in your eyes is practically glowing. It’s so tempting, because it’s just right there, so easily accessible, so easy to just grab and pour however many pills you need down your throat. The thought makes you realize how dry your mouth feels, how constricted your throat feels, but your mind is too filled with a flurry of incoherent thoughts to dwell on such feelings.

With your free hand, you grab the uncapped bottle. It shakes with your hand, now more from your building anxiety than your dehydration, and makes the tablets inside rattle. You bring it to your lips, ignoring the chiding voice in the back of your mind telling you how disgusting it is to just put it on your mouth like that, and shake it just enough to get a single pill out of it. The dryness of the pill sticks to the wetness of your mouth, just below the border of your bottom lip. You set the bottle down and poke at the pill with the tip of your tongue, the weird vanilla-like taste of the medicine spreading across the muscle easily.

Your mouth is dry, so you have to use the residual saliva sitting on your tongue to slick the pill up enough to go down somewhat-smoothly down your throat. It’s still rough, and some areas of the pill remain powdery, the feeling of it sliding down your throat enough to make you gag. For a brief moment, the action causes the pill to lodge in your throat―it’s not big enough to make you choke or anything, but it’s enough to make your heart beat faster and your hands grip onto the edge of your desk tightly. Your thumbs are tucked under the edge, the first knuckle at the tip of your finger bent and the flesh of the tips of your fingers turning lighter from the pressure.

You cough once you feel the pill go down your esophagus entirely, and breathe raggedly afterwards. Deep down, you know that the medicine takes some time to work, and that if you gave it a little longer than a minute that you’d start feeling better. But the reeling anxiety that wraps around your throat like a chain seems to pull you impossibly farther away from that betterness, and forces your throat to tighten to a point where your breathing feels limited. You go from breathing through your nose to your mouth, where you can still taste the lingering artificial-vanilla with every inhale.

It’s getting worse, an annoying voice tells you, one that manages to be louder than the others, the medicine’s supposed to help. You’ve only taken a hundred milligrams so far. Another and it’s a hundred and fifty. An overdose is only if it goes over two hundred.

It’s stupid logic but more tempting the more you think about it. It is, after all, only a third pill. You’d be pushing it—

Do you really care all that much that you’re pushing it? What if you want to break that limit? The limits you made, to keep yourself alive, that you still sometimes question the existence of?

―but that doesn’t really compute well in your mind, and you soon find yourself reaching for the bottle again. Each pill shakes with your hand, and with each tremor another wave of tablets hits the sides of the bottle, like a visual representation of the thoughts that bounce off of the walls of your brain. You lift the bottle, and bring it to your lips, the area that makes contact with your mouth cooler than the rest of the bottle from earlier when you had done the same thing. You’re about to tilt it up before you hear a sudden knock at your door.

The noise is startling and makes you drop the bottle, the pills spilling over the edge of it and onto the table.

“Shit,” you curse quietly under your breath, quickly flattening your hand and sweeping all of the pills into a pile, and picking them up in clusters. You manage to get them all back in the bottle before another knock sounds out, and cap the bottle before opening up one of the small drawers on the side of your desk and shoving it in there.

“Come in!” you call out in a strained voice, praying that you’ll be able to keep it steady for as long as the person at the door needs to talk to you. You close the drawer just as the door creaks open.

Much to your horror, you look up to see your Captain.

Your palms are still sweaty as he walks in, so you try to discreetly wipe them off on your pants, and hope to whoever can help you that he doesn’t pay too much attention to the sweat gathered on your forehead. You take a deep breath as silently as you can, attempting to gather yourself before Price can notice anything being wrong.

“It’s a quarter past two,” Price comments once he walks in, closing the door behind him, “why are you still awake?”

You look over to the digital clock on your desk almost immediately and, oh shit, it is exactly 2:15. You look back over at Price, who is busying himself with pulling the chair that was once in front of your desk around it, presumably to sit next to you. You still feel the dreadfully fast pace of your heart, that th-thump, th-thump, th-thump that you can hear blaring in your ears. It makes itself known in your chest, in your wrist, even in the base of your throat―almost every pulse point in your body has forced you to become aware of its existence.

You swallow dryly, trying to ignore said feeling, and reply, “Why are you still awake?”

Price raises an eyebrow at you, pulling the chair up beside you and sitting down in it, “I asked first.”

You look at him with an unimpressed look on your face. “Can’t sleep. Why are you up?”

Price hums and leans back in his seat, arms crossing over each other, “Same reason.”

It doesn’t sound like a lie, but it doesn’t sound entirely true either, in your opinion. It’s not that you don’t trust him, but he just seems like he’s up to something. What that something is, though, you aren’t sure.

“Why the food?” Price nods over to the plate of mashed potatoes, very noticeably unfinished.

Your gaze follows his to the mashed potatoes. You can still feel the moisture on the palms of your hands, the small tremors that wrack your fingers, and Price’s presence does nothing to soothe your flaming nerves.

“Wanted dinner,” you shrug as casually as you can, forcing a neutral expression onto your face―you briefly overthink what a neutral expression looks like, and decidedly just let your face relax the best you can, “I didn’t get any when everyone else went, I was busy with something, and didn’t really want to head over to the mess with so many people over there, plus I was busy.”

You look over at Price after your lengthy explanation, not realizing just how lengthy it was, and watch the corners of his lips quirk up into an amused-yet-worried smile.

“You said you were busy twice,” he points out, before pausing, and pointing out again, “and it looks like you’ve taken a few bites out o’that at most.”

You don’t bother to look at the mashed potatoes again; you know very well how they look, and know how undeniably full the plate looks.

“Didn’t feel that hungry,” you make up a poorly thought-out excuse, that even you can understand is unbelievable.

Price blinks at you, slowly, before sighing.

“Are you alright?” Price asks, looking more concerned than amused now. You should’ve known from the moment that he walked in that you wouldn’t be able to hide anything from him. If not for the fact that he always seems to know what’s going on, then because of the overwhelming presence of your disquietude.

You look at him and try to figure out what to say. What is there to say? You were panicking just two minutes ago, with your prescription bottle in one hand, the other too shaky to hold up the damn thing. You can still taste that vanilla. You can still taste the plastic. The bottle itself never once touched your tongue, but every time your tongue rests in your mouth, the tip of it pokes at the same exact place the bottle made contact with. You expect it to taste of vanilla, like its contents, but it doesn’t; it tastes like the pharmacy you got it at. It tastes like the sterile white of the counter, the fingers of the person who handed it to you, the money you spent on it, and the time it took you to get it.

It’s nothing pleasant. The strange vanilla of the pills aren’t either, but they’re preferable to the bottle itself.

Price notices you zoning out for a moment, and waves a hand in front of your face. Your eyes unconsciously track his hand for a moment before you blink back into reality and look at him. You knew you were fucked earlier, but when you look at his expression, at the look in his eyes as he watches you snap back to reality, you know that he knows. Maybe he doesn’t know exactly what happened, or how it happened, but he knows something. Fuck, he knows.

Or, maybe he does know. Maybe he heard your cursing through the door, even with your low voice, maybe he heard the pills spill onto the desk, maybe he heard the opening and closing of the drawer, maybe he―

He’s staring at you.

―has security cameras set up in here, because he does in every room, every hall, everywhere but the bathrooms and the sleeping quarters―

He’s talking. It’s muffled by the sound of your own heavy breathing.

―or maybe it’s just intuition, a gut feeling he has, where he just knows that something’s wrong, that same gut feeling that everyone seems to get when something isn’t the way it’s supposed to be―

Your palms are sweaty. Your heart is pounding out of your chest. You’re starting to feel a little lightheaded.

―the same “gut feeling” that you experience every day but have to ignore because it’s not a gut feeling it’s anxiety and your real gut feelings feel the almost the exact same way anxiety does so you may never know if you ever get an actual one―

Price grabs onto your arm, though the feeling of his skin on yours can’t push past the skin-crawling sensation that coats your skin.

―but how do you really know that your gut feelings aren’t gut feelings? How do you know that anything is anything? That it’s really Price that’s sitting next to you, that it’s your own office you’re sitting in, that―

“[name]!” Price’s voice snaps you out of the trance you seem to be in, and you sharply inhale at the sound of his voice, his volume much louder than you expected it to be.

You didn’t realize how fast and heavy your breathing had really gotten until this point. You look at Price, a little more on the panicked side now, with restless eyes that can’t stop flitting all over his face. He takes his hand off of your arm before you can even notice it was there in the first place, and leans back away from you.

You try to take deep breaths, but each breath feels like trying to breathe underwater, and each inhale-exhale leaves you shuddering. You look down at your lap, breath hitching and stuttering, and the moment you open your mouth in the hopes of breathing easier, you are all too aware of just how dry it’s become. You’re sure you let out some kind of sound that alerts Price of your growing distress, because he hesitantly leans forward and takes a deep breath.

“[name],” Price keeps his voice soft and quiet, quieter than he’d been just a few seconds ago, his soothing voice a gentle wave crashing against the rock of your mind, “you’re okay. Look at me, soldier.”

Like a remote to TV static, the noisiness of your mind is partially calmed and the waves that wash over your brain provide sweet escape from the overwhelming adrenaline and cortisol thrumming in your veins.

Mindlessly, you do as he asks, his words grounding you and tugging you back down to Earth more effectively than any anchor could. When you look at him, his eyes are clouded with concern and there’s a small frown on his face that almost perfectly juxtaposes his usual quokka-smile.

You know you’re still trembling. You can feel the hairs that stick up on your legs and arms, the weird hot-cold feeling that creates pinpricks of discomfort across your body, the way your heart is trying to escape the prison cell of your ribcage—but none of it compares to the unbelievable dizziness you feel. Your head is a balloon filled with helium and it is slowly deflating, but not fast enough. You feel like you’re no longer in control of your own body—or were you ever in control?

Your stomach is churning. There’s a sense of dread that dwells there. You might throw up.

Cutting through your thoughts is Price once again.

“You listenin’?” your Captain asks, to which you nod after a delay of a few seconds. Price holds a hand out and gives you a questioning look, the question of ‘can I touch you?’ clear enough on his face that you nod lightly and he takes your hand gingerly.

“Do y’know where you are?” Price asks. You nod, and he softly requests, “can you tell me where?”

“My office,” you answer simply, the gravel in your voice making you wince. The warbling that escapes your mouth is nowhere near your usual voice, and for a moment you think you might be right about needing to vomit, but you manage to push it down and pray. Price ignores this and pushes on.

“And who am I?” he asks, as if he doesn’t know.

“... The Captain.” Price purses his lips—he doesn’t really want to accept this as an answer, because he wants you to say his actual name, but he knows what you mean, and you know what he’s doing. He knows that you mean that you’re here, that you’re present, and you know that he’s trying to ground you the best he can.

“Do you know my name?” he questions, to which you nod again, though a little more moderately, seeing as the repetition of nodding your head only makes you more lightheaded, “what’s my name?”

You take a few shaky breaths, ones that are shallow and uneven, ones that hitch enough for it to be so noticeable that Price manages to pick up on it. You open your mouth to talk, but find that your tongue is too heavy to lift to create coherent sounds. The thought somehow heightens your anxiety, something that seems to be noticeable to Price, judging by how his expression shifts to something impossibly softer.

“Here, let me—” Without another word, Price cautiously brings your hand up to the middle of his chest, where his sternum is.

He exaggerates his breathing, taking long, deep breaths in, and similarly long exhales. His chest rises and falls satisfyingly, and it’s clear that he wants you to copy him. You try your best at first, taking that same too-deep breath that he does and fail almost immediately as you choke on the air you attempt to inhale. Price brushes his thumb over the back of your hand and takes another exaggerated breath, breathing in through his nose and out through his mouth. You keep your gaze more focused on the lower half of his face as you copy him, oxygen going in through your nose, and carbon dioxide going out through your mouth.

That one successful breath is followed by an unsuccessful one, then another successful one, then another, and it’s a little rocky but you find that soon enough you’re breathing. There’s air flowing in and out of your body smoothly, with each exaggerated breath you take, almost in sync with Price, until finally he puts your hand back into your lap but continues to hold it. He squeezes it once before letting go, and clasps his hands together.

“What’s my name, soldier?” he asks, and this time you think you can answer him.

“John Price,” his name feels weird coming out of your mouth, especially with no honorifics, but he accepts the answer anyway.

“Good,” Price praises, giving you a small smile, “you’re doing good.”

The approval he gives you helps to calm your nerves the tiniest bit, and you feel yourself slowly coming down from the God awful high that you’d just been on. Again, you’re not sure how he knows, but he senses that you’re calming down―is it because your breathing is steadier? You aren’t nearly as restless? You’re no longer zoning out?―so he leans back in his chair and watches as you do the same.

“Now,” he breathes out, “can you tell me what’s going on with you?”

You look away from him for the briefest moment, sparing a glance at the cabinet you know the bottle of your pills lays in, before looking back at him. If he noticed you pulling your gaze away from him for a split second, he doesn’t mention it nor does he make it known that he did.

“There’s not really anything going on,” you shrug, to which Price scoffs.

“[c/n],” he looks at you, disbelieving, “two seconds ago I had to help you breathe normally. I know that there’s something that’s going on, somethin’ that had to trigger what just happened.”

You stay quiet and he gives you an expectant look. The pressure from his fixed glare makes you feel like you’re about to explode.

Finally, you answer him defeatedly, though vaguely, “I was in the middle of taking my medicine when you knocked.”

Price stays silent, expecting you to elaborate.

“And…” you try to find a way to make it sound less awkward than it does in your mind, though you suppose there’s never really a correct way to go about something like this, “I almost took more medicine than I needed to.”

The silence continues, but now Price looks less expectant, and instead more of a mix between concern and something else you can’t identify. That something, though, is still soft, and still has a hint of pity―maybe sympathy?―to it.

“Almost?” he repeats, “was that on purpose?”

When you think about it, it’s complicated. You didn’t necessarily intend to overdose, you just dismissed the idea of it. Or, at least, you don’t remember trying to overtly kill yourself. Then again, you knew the risks of taking more pills than prescribed to you; had you taken that third pill, you would’ve only been one more away from an overdose, and even then you’d still probably get some kind of health issue.

Price’s face hardens when you don’t answer immediately. He must be taking your silence as a “yes”.

“Not… really,” you answer slowly, “I don’t know what I was thinking.”

He nods, waiting a few seconds before asking, “Have you thought about it before?”

By it, for some reason, you sense that he isn’t asking exclusively about taking one too many tablets.

It’s tempting to be dishonest about it; it’s a shameful thing to you, to use the things that are supposed to help you to harm yourself, to be so careless with your own life. You know that it isn’t necessarily all your fault, but there’s still that small part of you that can’t help but feel guilty for using something so many other people try so hard to get to almost kill yourself with.

After a few beats of silence, you decide to answer, “Yeah.”

Price nods again, and he looks like he expected that answer. “D’you want to tell me more about that?”

You could, hypothetically, go in-depth about all of your weird thoughts about committing. The ones you’d been having just, what, fifteen minutes ago? Thirty minutes ago? The ones about chains wrapped around your throat, stolen guns from the armory, deep purple bruising and a stretched neck. Those thoughts, the ones that try to make ending your life sound pretty, that try to make it sound appealing. It’s not to convince yourself, you don’t think, but rather to help you come to terms with the fact that you were already convinced that you were going to commit at some point. The thought still scares you, because you’re a pussy―terrible, terrible choice of words, a voice at the back of your mind insists, you’re not a pussy, you’re just like anyone else―but you felt like you just knew that you were gonna die by your own hands. That you’d already made the choice, and now you have to understand it, to realize it.

You are in that room full of TVs, with The Architect in front of you, telling you that you have no choice. That, in fact, the problem is choice. You are surrounded by a million other yous, all protesting, all denying that you have no choice but to kill yourself, all yelling “Bullshit!” because deniability is the most predictable of all human responses.

But, you remind yourself, The Architect was wrong. He told Neo that he couldn’t do anything to save Trinity from her “fate”, but Neo did save her. He plunged his hand into her chest and forced her heart to beat.

That’s true.

And, you add on, The Architect is a computer program, tasked with mimicking human emotions, despite never having felt them. He could never understand the power of human will, of the desperation so many humans have to live.

Because The Architect was never alive. He is a sentient computer program, whose job is to create a world in which humans can “live” while they are fed on in the real world, but his problem was his inability to create anything less than perfect. We aren’t expected to be perfect, and are taught that flawlessness doesn’t exist, which is why he came to the conclusion that he needed a “lesser mind” to help him create a better Matrix.

You aren’t supposed to succumb to the idea of having no choice. Because that, in itself, is a choice. Everything you do is a choice. Even if everything you do will only add up to the same ending, to the same fate, why should you waste time not making the choices you want to make? When you assume that you have no choice, you assume that everything you do will go to waste, but that’s not true. You aren’t the only person that exists. You aren’t the only person who makes choices. The choices you make affect other people’s choices, and those choices affect another person, and another, and another. You still have to live through the choices you make, as does everyone else, so even if everything will end the same, why should you make inherently bad decisions when you could be making good ones? Why should you go through things you don’t have to go through, just because you believe that nothing matters in the end?

“Not really,” you answer Price, snapping yourself out of your thoughts, “I don’t… want to think about it too much right now.”

Price looks a little more worried now but he doesn’t protest your decision.

“Is there anything in here that you could use to hurt yourself?” he asks after a moment, “Or that you’ve already used?”

You bite your tongue. Technically, the pills count, you suppose, but those are your meds. You can’t really have those confiscated.

“Other than the medicine, no,” you answer truthfully, much to Price’s relief, as is evident on his face as his hardened expression softens.

“Good, good,” he shifts in his seat.

He’s gearing up for something. You can tell with the way he subtly presses his clasped hands together, the way his face goes through a mix of emotions, and the way the deafening silence of the room really seems to be getting to him.

Suddenly, he asks you, “D’you think you’re going to… ?”

He doesn’t ask you explicitly, but you have a good idea of what he’s asking.

“I was thinking about it,” you respond softly, “before you came in.”

Price nods, having expected that answer. You’re not sure if it was obvious, or if he just assumed you were thinking about it because of you confessing to having thoughts of it before this.

“Y’know I have to tell someone about this, right?” Price reminds you gently, as if you didn’t already know, “Someone up the chain. Might be Laswell.”

You hum affirmatively, because you didn’t expect anything less from him, and know that it��s for the better. It doesn’t make you feel any better, obviously, but you know how to be realistic when the time calls for it, and you know that if the roles were reversed you’d do the same thing. Not because it’s mandatory, but because when you imagine Price in your situation, the thought wraps itself around your heart and twists.

The room is silent for a beat, and you get the feeling that Price is somehow more uncomfortable with the quiet than you are. He shifts in his seat while you stay still, and he clears his throat to break the silence for a brief moment before speaking up again.

“It’s late,” he points out the obvious, before pausing and irresolutely asking, “do you want to head back to my quarters with me for the night?”

His words confuse you for a moment. You open your mouth to ask why, before it suddenly hits you―oh, right, you just basically confessed to being suicidal. He doesn’t want to leave you alone right now.

“Yeah, sure,” you agree, less questioning than Price expected you to be judging by his momentary look of surprise, before he nods and begins to get up.

He pushes his chair behind him, standing up straight, and holds a hand out for you to grab. You grab it gingerly and use it to haul yourself up, your knees cracking as you do after having been sat for so long. You wince at the sound and Price gives a light-hearted chuckle.

“I thought I was s’posed to be the old one?” he teases, making you give him an unimpressed look and let go of his hand. The room falls back into soundlessness.

You both remain silent as Price leads you out the door of your office, turning off the lights and closing the door after you, and continues to lead you down to his sleeping quarters. His are farther down the hall from yours, because of his higher rank, and therefore takes longer to walk to from your office. The long walk is quiet enough to hear a pin drop, but you both don’t mind this, as the atmosphere here is more comfortable than the one in your office.

Eventually, you make it to his room, where he opens the door for you and signals for you to walk in first with his hand. You enter the room and hear him enter shortly after you, and go to sit on his bed before pausing.

“I’m still in my…” you gesture to your clothes, gear-less but still not your “normal” sleeping clothes. Price raises an eyebrow at you as you wave at the state of yourself.

“I’ve seen you sleep in worse,” he points out, “and I think you sleep in this than in your actual sleeping clothes.”

You’re about to ask how he even knows about that, before he answers you before you can voice your question, “I’ve seen you walking back t’your quarters in these clothes and hear you snoring a second later at least ten times.”

You close your mouth and sigh through your nose, before muttering, “Didn’t know I was talkin’ to fuckin’ Sherlock Holmes.”

Price snorts at your retort, “If I’m Sherlock, are you Watson?”

You think about it for a moment, before shaking your head negatively.

“No?” Price toes off his boots and walks over to you, sitting on the bed, “Then who are you?”

You sit down next to him, “I dunno. I’m like…”

“Like Neo,” you continue, ignoring the way Price’s eyebrows immediately raise, “and you’re Morpheus. But less smart.”

“You’re not Neo,” he scoffs, “and I’m not a less-smart Morpheus.”

“I wasn’t askin’ you,” you grumble, shaking your already-loose boots off of your feet and crawling up Price’s bed. You manage to snake under the covers and feel Price’s eyes on you as you do, staring holes into your face.

He hums in acknowledgment, not bothering to answer you verbally, and instead gets up to lift up the covers and get into bed. The bed is small enough as-is, but with two people inside of it, it obviously gets much smaller. Price doesn’t seem to mind, though, and turns so that his back is facing the door and his front is facing you. Directly in front of you is the base of his neck, but if you tilt your head up, you can see him looking down at you with tired eyes.

You let out a soft breath through your nose and realize just how tired you are. Price seems to notice this, because his arm comes up and rests across your side, his hand splaying across the middle of your back. He gives you a comforting sweep of his hand, before settling it on your upper back, absentmindedly rubbing his thumb in soothing circles against your clothed back.

You close your eyes, and he closes his, and it feels like you’ve woken up in the real world and removed the cables from your body.

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winsomeismail · 4 months ago

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One Stop 350+ Python Interview Questions | TCS, ACCENTURE, AMAZON, ETC.

One Stop 350+ Python Interview Questions | TCS, ACCENTURE, AMAZON, ETC. Python Interview Questions Are you preparing for a Python interview at top companies like TCS, Accenture, Amazon, Infosys, Google, or Cognizant? Do you want a one-stop resource to help you crack your dream job? Well, you’re in the right place! We have compiled 350+ real interview questions asked by top tech giants. This…

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phantomrose96 · 1 year ago

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Hey not to go all "tumblr is a professional networking site" on you, but how did you get to work for Microsoft??? I'm a recent grad and I'm being eviscerated out here trying to apply for industry jobs & your liveblogging about your job sounds so much less evil than Data Entry IT Job #43461

This place is basically LinkedIn to me.

I'm gonna start by saying I am so so very sorry you're a recent grad in the year 2024... Tech job market is complete ass right now and it is not just you. I started fulltime in 2018, and for 2018-2022 it was completely normal to see a yearly outflow of people hopping to new jobs and a yearly inflow of new hires. Then sometime around late-spring/early-summer of 2022 Wallstreet sneezed the word "recession" and every tech company simultaneously shit themselves.

Tons of layoffs happened, meaning you're competing not just with new grads but with thousands of experienced workers who got shafted by their company. My org squeaked by with a small amount of layoffs (3 people among ~100), but it also means we have not hired anyone new since mid-2022. And where I used to see maybe 4-8 people yearly leave in order to hop to a new job, I think I've seen 1 person do that in the whole last year and a half.

All this to say it's rough and I can't just say "send applications and believe in yourself :)".

I have done interviews though. (I'm not involved in resume screening though, just the interviews of candidates who made it past the screening phase.) So I have at least some relevant advice, as well as second-hand knowledge from other people I know who've had to hop jobs or get hired recently.

If you have friends already in industry who you feel comfortable asking, reach out to them. Most companies have a recommendation process where a current employee fills out a little form that says "yeah I'd recommend such-and-such for this job." These do seem to carry weight, since it's coming from a trusted internal person and isn't just one of the hundreds of cold-call applications they've received.

A lot of tech companies--whether for truly well-intentioned reasons or to just check a checkbox--are on the lookout for increasing employee diversity. If you happen to have anything like, for example, "member of my college Latino society", it's worth including on your resume among your technical skills and technical projects.

I would add "you're probably gonna have to send a lot of applications" as a bullet point but I'm sure you're already doing that. But here it is as a bullet point anyway.

(This is kind of a guess, since it's part of the resume screening) but if you can dedicate some time to getting at least passingly familiar with popular tech/stacks for the positions you're looking into, try doing that in your free time so you can list it on your resume. Even better if you make a project you can point to. Like if you're aiming for webdev, get familiar with React and probably NodeJS. On top of being comfortable in one of the all-purpose languages like C(++) or Java or Python.

If you get to the interview phase - a company that is good to work for WILL care that you're someone who's good to work with. A tech-genius who's a coworker-hating egotistical snob is a nuisance at best and a liability at worst for companies with even a half-decent culture. When I do interviews, "Is this someone who's a good culture fit?" is as important as the technical skills. You'll want to show you'll be a perfectly pleasant, helpful, collaborative coworker. If the company DOESN'T care about that... bullet dodged.

For the technical questions, I care more about the thought process than I do the right answer, especially for entry-level. If you show a capacity for asking good, insightful clarifying questions, an ability to break down the problem, explain your thought process, and backtrack&alter your approach upon realizing something won't work, that's all more important than just being able to spit out a memorized leetcode answer. (I kinda hate leetcode for this reason, and therefore I only ask homebrewed questions, because I don't want the technical portion to hinge at all on whether someone managed to memorize the first 47 pages of leetcode problems). For a new hire, the most important impression you can give me is that you have a technical grasp and that you're capable of learning. Because a new hire isn't going to be an expert in anything, but they're someone who's capable of learning the ropes.

That's everything I have off the top of my head. Good luck anon. I'm very sorry you were born during a specific range of years that made you a new grad in 2024 and I hope it gets better.

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douchebagbrainwaves · 3 months ago

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HOW ART CAN YOU BUY A BIG DEAL

Of course they do. Design usually has to be is a test. At this point, anyone proposing to run Windows on servers should be prepared to explain how your startup was viral. And that sort of shift can certainly be the result of a presidential election, which makes others want to, which makes others want to, and so on. Everything that came to us through the mass media was a blandly uniform and b produced elsewhere. One question I can answer is why hardware is suddenly cool. Most universities aim at this ideal. Startup investors work hard to find work you love does usually require discipline. A lot of my friends are CS professors now, so I feel a bit dishonest recommending that route. So if you want to do when they're 12, and just glide along as if they were on railroad tracks. The ideas start to get far along the track toward an offer with one firm, it will automatically push you away from things you think you're designing something for idiots, the odds are that you're not designing something good, you have to quit and start your own company, like Wozniak did.

Yes, of course. He didn't just care about playing well; he cared almost too much. So if you want, and then thinking of the answer in the shower in the morning. If you learn how to deal with the consequences. The essay is mostly an opportunity to disqualify yourself by saying something stupid. Each year. There are also two practical problems to consider: jobs, and graduate school.

I found myself thinking of people like Douglas Bader and R. That idea is not exactly novel. I pay as much attention to the author's choices as to the story. Silicon Valley and the whole world, for that matter have speculative meetings. A friend asked what they do is whether they'd do it even if they weren't paid for it—even if they weren't paid for it—even if they had to do without. Some amount of communication is necessary in most jobs, but I'm sure many employees could find eight hours worth of stuff they could do by themselves. But everyone knows this is a recipe for disaster. So it is a huge win in developing software to have an administration that's open to suggestions, I'm going to talk about average quality, because that's what the audience wants.

If there's something people still won't do, it seems as if society just has to make do without. But when someone on the manager's schedule. In 1984 the charisma gap between Reagan and Mondale was like that between Clinton and Dole, with similar results. They're competing against the best writing online. I can't draw. This turns out not to be the last word on work, however. Most of the legal restrictions on employers are intended to protect employees. So if you want to go to school to study A, drop out and get a job. You can't say precisely what the miracle will be, or even for sure that one will happen. Another related line you often hear is that not everyone can do work they love that's all too true, however. Though most print publications are online, I probably read two or three articles on individual people's sites for every one I read on the site of a newspaper or magazine. It lets you take advantage of new insights you have along the way.

Thanks to Kevin Systrom, Karen Nguyen, Peter Norvig, Robert Morris, Trevor Blackwell, Jackie McDonough, and Sam Altman for smelling so good.

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jesswritesthat · 8 months ago

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League of Villains: Biscuits

Fandom: BNHA // MHA — [ Masterlist ]

Summary: ~0.9k, fluff

Warnings: Mentions of crime, injury, death, fire, etc

>>>>——————————>

Everyone had their reasons for joining the League of Villains, some were more open about it than others, but above all there was an underlying level of acceptance. It mattered not where you came from as long as you could do your job when the time called for it. As long as you listened to the orders given, you were free to do as you pleased to further your own motivations.

However, even if it was portrayed as a work environment, comradery became a natural component to the dynamic within the League. Casual conversations began to flow during downtime, meals were shared, items were acquired because they reminded them of a fellow member. None of you would address it as such, but it felt like a friendship or family connection.

That’s probably the reason why you felt comfortable to answer their questions about your past when it randomly came up in discussion one evening after dinner (a variety of instant meals this time).

“I bet you had your pretty little heart broken and you ran away to formulate a massive revenge scheme.” Toga playfully guessed, clasping your hand in hers rather dramatically.

You hummed thoughtfully, now was as good as time as any you supposed, so with a cautious shrug you revealed your history.

“Close, but it was an arranged marriage that I was forced into without my consent. After that I decided such idiocy should be abolished, hence wanting to change hero society alongside you all.”

“A quirk marriage.” Dabi inquired, though it sounded more like a statement, as if he already knew.

“Unfortunately. I wouldn’t have minded if my fiancé and the family were nice, but they…”

“They what?” It spoken in a lower tone, a sense of threat underpinning it so much so that it begged you to look up. The sight unnerved you.

It wasn’t just Dabi whose sapphire irises burned with something sinister, Toga ran a tentative finger along her knife, Shigaraki paused his game, Spinners’ nails tapped in a slow warning motion like an irritated cat, Twice cracked his knuckles, and Mr Compress had a marble dancing across his fingers.

“The things they did… They were manipulative, and cruel, they didn’t care about me - only the heirs I had the potential to create. That was made painfully clear, but I’d rather not discuss it please.” You took a deep breath to stabilise yourself once again, painting on a falsified smile. “I ran for a reason y’know?”

———

It was the next morning that things felt slightly off, you were feeling guilty for disclosing last night and then abandoning the conversation to scurry off to bed far earlier than usual. The League would understand (or not care enough) to treat you any differently than before as you still held use to them.

Though your breath got trapped in your throat when you scrolled through your phone that morning, air constricting you like a damn python when you read the most prominent headline.

[ Hoshikawa Family Estate Burned To The Ground ]

[ …presumed dead… ]

[ …life altering injuries. ]

[ Potential public backlash from the incriminating evidence exposed online last night is suspected… ]

Wait what? You had to properly read the article rather than scanning through it due to anxiety, skipping past the image of aqua flames devouring the building, to find your desired target. The family crimes, abuse, and other incriminating information had been leaked over various websites from an anonymous source. The revelations would be considered evoking enough to incur violent wrath from many - however you knew who took advantage of the chaos, and it likely had to do with your emotions last night.

Your comrades weren’t surprised when you scrambled into the main area in a panic, overlooking a grinning Toga, stifled Twice, and intrigued Compress, when your attention found a bored Dabi.

“You did this?!”

“Huh?” It was so lacklustre you almost threw your phone at him, biting back with picture evidence glaring on your screen.

“Don’t play dumb Dabi, this has your quirk burning all over it.”

The incinerating quirk user came toward you, bending down to pathetically ‘inspect’ the image before shrugging haphazardly.

“Ah you got me Sherlock, Toga and I fancied some s’mores last night. Can’t have those without a campfire.”

“Exactly, it’d be a crime~ We saved biscuits in case you wanted breakfast?” The blonde clapped her hands together, gesturing over to the pile of groceries.

“People died.”

“No, assholes died.” - “Employees were all evacuated.” Twice doubly reiterated, nodding over to Toga who waved to you rather proudly, then licked her lips which told you everything about her recent imposter escapade.

“They deserved better than being ruled by some snobby tyrants so I lead them out to safety.”

The tension within you dispersed slightly, taking in the details of your unbothered teammates (despite the heinous crimes they’d very recently committed) and you breathed words of pure relief.

“Thank you guys…”

You were finally free.

“What’s all the shouting? I almost lost my game because of it.” Tomura slowly strolled in, leaning against the doorframe and sighed painfully. “Oh. Did (L/n) find out about the hacking?”

“Hacking?”

“Bypassing their system security and uncovering hidden agendas was far easier than we expected. Shigaraki made sure the world knew about it too.” Mr Compress addressed with a proud sway to his tone like he hadn’t been involved in the whole thing.

“Eh. It was worth it.” Tomura muttered, taking a bite of pocky.

That’s when you noted the newly opened packet in his hand, and then the additional items littering the hideout now you’d regained your composure.

“Those biscuits…”

“The Hoshikawas’ had a great pantry, and we needed a stock up. It would’ve been a shame for it to go to waste and Spinner had plenty of space in his vehicle.” Himiko replied blissfully cheerful about the ordeal which mortified you more.

“Oh my god, you—“

“Want one?”

These were the moments you lived for now, that flourish of frustration washing away like sea to sand when a packet was offered out toward you.

You smiled, a real grateful smile.

“Definitely.”

<——————————<<<<

#league of villains #bnha #bnha imagines #bnha x reader #bnha scenarios #league of villians x reader #bnha lov #mha #mha x reader #boku no hero imagines #boku no hero x reader #anime x reader #anime imagine #mha imagines #Dabi #shigaraki tomura #toga himiko

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jeyneofpoole · 10 months ago

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hello ro jeyneofpoole boatgirl. The fitzjames news has rocked my world and rotted my brain because I love a historical mystery solved. As a AMC terror and a real life terror fan, what texts would you recommend to someone who just watched amc terror and now wants to read the research on the real thing

i love love love when i get this question ok. if your first exposure to the franklin expedition was the terror i think your best jumping-off point is michael palin’s erebus: the story of a ship. yes he’s the guy from monty python, no he’s not a professional historian, but it’s entertaining and well-researched and a great way to familiarize yourself with the general concepts that other more elaborate texts will touch on. then you just GOTTA read dr. owen beattie’s frozen in time, it’s one of the most iconic pieces of franklin literature and the descriptions of the beechey exhumations are so near and dear to me. some of the lead stuff is on shaky legs now, but this book was revolutionary for the longest time. then there’s may we be spared to meet on earth edited by russell a. potter et. al., which is a collection of letters to and from members of the franklin expedition. after you’ve read the others listed here you’ll be crazy enough to cry over this one.

a more niche read that i just finished was david murphy’s arctic fox, which is a biography of leopold mcclintock and his arctic career. it’s super compelling and mcclintock lived a very interesting life and seemed like a pretty okay guy especially for the time; murphy does a really good job and i don’t see this one recommended at all but it’s actually good. there are some minor issues with some little details surrounding, like, the peglar papers, for example, but that’s what the other books are for. honorable mentions include (ie they’re on my shelf staring me down) ice ghosts by paul watson, unraveling the franklin mystery: inuit testimony by david c. woodman, the man who ate his boots by anthony brandt, james fitzjames: the mystery man of the franklin expedition by william battersby, and icebound in the arctic by michael smith. but do NOT and i mean do NOT under any circumstances read dan simmons’ absolute drivel that novel isn’t worth the paper it’s printed on. just watch the show and read these. ok love you byeeeee

#there are others of course but these i would consider to be the staples #thank you thank you thank youuuuuuu for asking #polar exploration #franklin expedition

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mochacoda · 5 months ago

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[teaser] python | csc

Pairing: Choi Seungcheol x GN!Reader

Content: Angst, Fluff, Comfort | Exes to Lovers | Office AU

Word Count: 8K (est. full)

Release Date: February 14 -> RELEASED HERE

Masterlist

“I hate him,” you seethe, your fists balled up, crumpling your rejected proposal. “God, I hate him.”

Your coworker, Joshua Hong, looks up from his cubicle with raised eyebrows. “Who?”

You breathe in deeply, willing your rage to dissipate at the sight of his confusion. Poor Joshua doesn’t deserve your anger. “No one,” you say, clenching your jaw.

“I’m fine,” you insist, hands uncrumpling the document you had just attacked.

“Uh, okay?” he says with a healthy dose of doubt, elongating the “o” in “okay.”

“I just—” you begin, then immediately shut your mouth. “Ugh, forget it.”

It’s one thing to crumple a proposal up, and another thing to start bad-mouthing your boss out in the open. You throw the tattered outline onto your desk, then plop yourself into your chair. You rub your temples, and then mutter under your breath, “How did I get here?”

“Good question,” Joshua laughs. “Company synergy?”

You groan, “Don’t ever say that word again in my presence.”

“Mmh,” he says, walking over to your cubicle. “You won’t have to worry about my presence in a few months.”

“Don’t remind me,” you sigh, dropping your head in your hands.

Joshua would be leaving the Seoul branch and transferring to the New York branch in a few weeks.

You want to rip out your own hair, at this point.

How did it even get to this? You shut your eyes, thinking back to simpler times.

It’d be better for Seungcheol if you just let him go, freeing him to focus on what mattered more to him. Like work.

He loved you too much to break things off with you himself, so it was better that you did it. For his own good.

That’s what you told him, at least.

────୨ৎ──── Four Years Ago

“Cheol,” you said, teary-eyed. “Cheol, look at me.”

Seungcheol stared blankly at the ground, face frozen.

“Please?” your voice cracked.

“Who are you to tell me what I can and can’t handle?” he suddenly choked out, eyes flashing with hurt. His hands clenched, like he was holding himself back from saying more.

You swallowed thickly, reaching for his arm. “Cheol, I—”

“Don’t call me that,” he said, snatching his hand away from you.

────୨ৎ────

But you had swallowed the real reasons for the breakup.

Something about his actions just felt like he did them to claim that he loved you, rather than because he actually loved you. His actions were laced with a kind of surface level, superficial quality.

You’d been dating a ghost of a man. While you loved him, he tolerated you.

If the two of you stayed together when you went abroad, he’d probably double down on texts, but he wouldn’t really remember anything you’d said if you mentioned details about them in calls.

The pain of watching the love of your life push down his repulsion just to be with you was decidedly more horrifying than the pain of breaking up with him altogether.

Because he only ever cared out of a superficial need to prove to himself that he made the right decision in asking you out all those years ago. Not because he really loved you.

Yes, he probably never loved you, and he would never know the real reason why you ended things.

────୨ৎ──── Four Years Ago

“You give up so easily,” he spat out. “Was I nothing to you?”

Tears were running down your face. “Don’t. Don’t make this harder than it needs to be.”

Seungcheol laughed, then buried his head in his hands. “God, to think I almost—”

He stopped, jaw tightening, then shook his head like he couldn’t believe it.

────୨ৎ────

A hand comes down sharply on your desk, jolting you awake.

“Sleeping while on duty?”

Wide-eyed, with tear-stained cheeks, you look up to face your ex-boyfriend. “부장님! [Department Head!]”

Upon seeing your red-rimmed eyes, Seungcheol falters.

Swiping at your under eyes quickly, you bow your head to him slightly. “I’m sorry, it won’t happen again.”

He swallows roughly, eyebrows furrowing in confusion. He opens his mouth, like he’s about to ask you why you were crying, and your heart drops.

You will crumble if you hear the tone of voice he had used when you broke up with him.

“Excuse me,” you blurt with choked words.

You don’t dare to look at his eyes. Instead, you get up from your seat, then immediately flee to the bathroom.

────୨ৎ──── Four Years Ago

“You can focus on work, now,” you squeaked out.

Seungcheol scoffed again, a cruel sound of disbelief. “What makes you think I give a damn about work right now?”

“Don’t you? Always?” you sniffled.

Masterlist

Author’s Note: get ready for a rollercoaster RELEASED HERE

Disclaimer: nothing i write is representative of how svt acts off camera, take their names as stand-ins for oc’s!!

Taglist: @syluslittlecrows - @junplusone - @fragmentof-indifference - @junniesoleilkth - @woncheecks - @peachypie97 - @viciousdarlings - @11zzyy

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mlmxreader · 6 months ago

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Ask For Your Help | Indiana Jones x gn!reader

『••✎••』

requested by @wandalfnation

↳ ❝ Can I please get 287 with Indy? ❞

: ̗̀➛ Indiana comes asking for your help, and although you're reluctant to even try, you can't resist him whatsoever.

trigger warnings: ̗̀➛ swearing

•───────────────★•♛•★──────────────•

spotlight fundraiser : ̗̀➛ Help save the Alkabariti family of Gaza

•───────────────★•♛•★──────────────•

Indiana looked cautiously at the article of clothing that was hung on your office door; he had seen a few workmen around ironworks and construction wearing them, but had never seen it up close before. It was a new thing, a sweatshirt with a hood sewn onto it and made of a thicker fabric to avoid the cold and the rain; it caught his curiosity as he examined it, his mind racing with all the different ways such a garment had existed throughout time.

Slowly, he removed his hat and hung it up beside your hooded sweatshirt before he turned to you and splayed his hands on the creaky, homemade, desk.

"So," he hummed. "How's the new job?"

You shrugged as you leaned back in your rickety chair. "It's not awful. Pay and hours are shit, but you wouldn't know."

He quirked a brow, head tilted slightly to the side so that there were little dull gold speckles amongst his dark brown eyes. "And what's that supposed to mean, exactly?"

You raised your brows slightly, the answer should have been obvious. "You're never at your actual job. Be honest. You get paid, what? Three times? What I do per hour, and you do less work than me... I ain't had a day off ever, even when I was sick - but you can gallivant off to countries halfway 'cross the world at the drop of a hat and nothing comes of it."

Indiana laughed softly under his breath, he knew so painfully that you were right, but he wouldn't admit it. "Well, adventure calls again. If you can spare the time."

He looked around your office, noting the various animal tanks and how almost everything was either built by yourself or clearly second hand and fixed up; it was the exact opposite of his at the university.

Donned with various, precious, objects and things that he had picked up here and there; the oldest piece of furniture that he had was only around a year old. He was probably the oldest thing in there, actually.

You leaned forward, clasping your hands together on the desk as you licked your lips. "What is it?"

Indiana turned to you, an almost sly grin on his lips as he hummed and fiddled to pull a map from the inside of his pocket. "I'll need someone like you - there'll be snakes and you know how I feel about those... things."

You sighed, all but snatching the map from him and resting it on your knee as you studied it. "What am I looking at?"

He leaned over, his fingers catching your attention as he dragged them along what you could only guess was a cave system. "It's beneath the mountains in a place called Yr Wyddfa, it's said that there's an artifact belonging to King Arthur is beneath the mountains."

"And you think there's gonna be snakes?" You hummed in disbelief. "In a cave system. Where adders and grass snakes don't live."

He shrugged, taking the map back and sitting at the edge of your desk, his side turned to you as he glared softly. "There might be on the way, the entrance is located in what I think is the base near the West of it."

You frowned for a moment, then swiped a hand down your face. "And you think that I'm going to let you take the sword?"

"What makes you think it's the sword?" He questioned with furrowed brows.

"It's always the sword," you pointed out. "Every Tom, Dick and Harry has searched for it, Indy."

"But I have the map," he insisted. "Come on, I'll even pay you for the hours."

You laughed, tilting your head back for a moment. "You can't afford me, Doctor Jones."

"I can," he nodded. "Come on, it'll be like old times."

"You screaming over a few pythons and then nearly whipping yourself because of a few spiders?" You scoffed, daring to smile at him as you shook your head. "Well, I s'pose it'll be entertaining, at least."

"So you'll come?" His eyes lit up with excitement, and when you agreed, he could have pulled you from that chair and kissed you.

But noticing something slithering in one of the tanks, he shuddered, and took an instinctual step back.

"It's just a snake," you told him. "And it's in a tank."

Indiana scowled. "I hate 'em!"

You laughed, daring to cross over to him; your hands settled on the lapels of his leather jacket, and you hummed as your gaze settled on his mouth.

He grabbed your sides by instinct, and when you went to kiss him, he met you halfway; it all fell together a little bit too perfectly, a little bit too well, and you almost forgot that he had essentially told you to quit your job to go off with him.

You pulled away. "I'll talk the time off through with my boss - here, take my hoodie, and meet me by your... what are you using today?"

"The bike," he all but purred.

You nodded, daring to kiss his cheek softly. "I'll meet you by your bike."

He hummed, and fell into step behind you to see you to the door; he made sure to grab the hooded sweatshirt along with putting his hat back on, and threw it over his shoulder before wandering over to his motorcycle. He chucked the garment onto the seat, and stood with his hands in his pockets as he watched you search and find your boss.

Indiana knew him well enough, he was an older man of around seventy with grey hair and short hair; he was always polite, but would often smack the back of Indiana's head whenever he said he hated snakes. Nice guy, otherwise. Indiana didn't doubt, especially after how hard you had been working lately, that he would be more than happy to let you have the time off.

But oh, how great it was that you were finally back at his side again; his partner, his pride and joy. He loved to have you around, and it was even better that he could see you every day before and after at home; he fiddled in his pocket for a moment, and caught your spare key on his finger. He nodded to himself.

He couldn't lose that.

You came back with a slight skip to your steps, and a grin plastered across your lips; the second you were close enough, you put your arms around his neck, and caught a quick kiss.

"Well, Doctor Jones, you have your wish."

"You're comin'?" He asked against your mouth.

You nodded and hummed. "I have got all days off, with pay... on one condition."

"Oh no."

"He wants me to bring back about six adder eggs," you explained, "basically just a single clutch from different nests, and it's so we can see if we can start up a breeding programme and help their numbers bump up a bit."

Indiana scowled and frowned, shaking his head. "I'm not helping."

"I didn't ask for your help."

#mlem writes #indiana jones x reader #indiana jones x you #indiana jones x y/n #indiana jones x yn #indiana jones imagine #indiana jones fanfiction #indiana jones fanfic #indiana jones fic #indiana jones #dr henry jones jr #dr henry jones #dr indiana jones #MY COUNTRY MENTIONED 🗣️🗣️🗣️

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roxannepolice · 9 months ago

Text

Rant 3/phantom pains of Schrödinger's lore in ChibnallWho/"the history between" doesn't mean much to the author. that is, it does. but it doesn't. but it does. but not really. but./can someone in the group chat please read my time sensitive questions I posted 25 hours ago?

Between bracing myself to finally open the advisors reviewed thesis, waiting for anyone at work to give a newbie a hint, and reading a fairly good criticism of the political stance in ChibnallWho, I guess it's a good time to let go off some steam about this era. Now, an important clarification for tumblr: when I criticize the show, I am not in any way bashing on people who enjoy it! Good for you, and that's why I try to tag these appropriately.

But yeah, this is going to go deep into what I mean when I say the writing in this era is just bad, something even its defenders sometimes concede. This often turns into dicussions of political/social messaging in seasons 11-13, which is as fair criticism as any. Yes, it often veered into confusing to downright appalling. But for me, that's not what "bad writing" means. You can make an excellent story about a likeable rapist and murderer. You can make compelling propaganda of pretty much any economic stance (well, maybe except for "the solution to problems with Amazon is to blow up their trucks so now everything has to be delivered on foot I guess", that's something straight from Monty Python). And of course, the "too woke" "criticisms" aren't anything valid like at all.

No, for me the bad writing in ChibnallWho lies in the general sense of confusion as to who exactly is the target audience here: someone who's very well acquaintanced with the lore(s), or someone who's completely new to the show. Now, this is also inspired by some criticisms of RTD2 is that it is too expository, leading into the show-within-a-show theorizing. And of course, exposition can be done well or not-so-well, and there's good argument some parts of exposition in s14 were on the nose. But the thing about a television series, especially one as long as Doctor Who, is that any episode can be someone's first - and the writer's job is to make it so it won't be their last. What this means is that the audience needs to be provided the information necessary to grasp at least the emotional level of the story, if not every bit of earlier lore logic. In the case of Doctor Who there's also a part of establishing which part of the lore is valid to the story at hand, considering that both within the show itself, but also the huge multimedia lore, there are bound to be contradictions. And that's ok! You have a good story idea that will require a retcon for a better pay off, go for it! Like, if you really think the Doctor should get to save Gallifrey for their 50th birthday, then go ahead, just reduce the Time War to a local conflict between Time Lords and Daleks instead of underlining just how widespread across time and space it was, and logistically impossible to contain by removing one party (this is one of the many cases of "I don't like what Moffat did, but I agree the execution is functional").

Basically, Lancelot having an affair with Guinevre isn't relevant to him storming a wedding and killing mortally wounding giving a fleshwound to the bride's father.

So, essentially my issue with ChibnallWho writing is simultaneously trying to cut itself off from lore/earlier seasons, while relying on it for any emotional pay off. To give a counterexample from this very era's one of best written episodes: when the Doctor goes on about what being turned into a Cyberman means and that she won't lose anyone else to that, that's bloody powerful! And it's powerful regardless of whether you know it's specifically about Bill, or just go on the information provided within the episode - that the Doctor lost someone to this. Unfortunately, The Haunting of Villa Diodati is an honourable exception in this and many other aspects.

So, to start from the beginning. There's a frequent criticism that team TARDIS was overcrowded in seasons 11 and 12 with three companions, to which an immediate defense is that it's not the first time there were three companions at once. Fine. But combine this with the following: it's not just three companions introduced at once, it's three companions introduced at once, plus a brand new Doctor, plus a brand new sonic, plus a brand new TARDIS interior (that's absent for nearly full two first episodes). So you're basically left with four strangers and no point of reference in your getting to know them. And by no point of reference, I mean something that I haven't noticed anyone else pointing out: Thirteen is literally the first Doctor since One to have no established elements in their first season, at all (barring the TARDIS and sonic, again, completely redesigned).

It's a bit hard to discuss One to Two regeneration relying only on stills and audio, but Polly and Ben are there to act as audience proxies for this Beatle-hairstyled guy with a recorder being the old man he was a moment ago. Three's first season all revolves around UNIT, established in Two's era. Four inherits UNIT and Sarah Jane. Five inherits Adric, Nyssa, Tegan and the Master for his welcome. Six has Peri. Seven has Mel, the Master and the Rani. Eight's movie is all about the Master. Even the reboot for Nine has the Nastene consciousness as a hello and the whole season revolving around the Daleks. Ten gets Rose and Tylers, and Cybermen, and Daleks, and Sarah Jane, and K-9. Eleven gets the previously established River Song and a Classic Who villain reunion in the season finale. Twelve gets Clara. Thirteen gets.... Twelve's suit that she should have stayed in and Daleks, nearly three months from her first episode.

And the thing is, I understand how this would have appeared to be a good idea on paper! Complaints about the show getting lost up it's own self-referential ass have been around for years by this point, and even Moffat tried to go for a soft reboot in s10. Chibs literally asking him to set the TARDIS on fire is as symbolic a new beginning as they get. A bold, intriguing idea. As is trying to explore Titanic with nothing but a snorkel.

Because in practice it had two fundamental flaws, one more general and one specific to the story as it unfolded. The general one has been hinted at: this is basically why there's the sense of overcrowding on the TARDIS, while also leaving the audience feeling they don't really know anyone on board. Are we getting to know the new Doctor from the companions' perspective? The companions from the Doctor's? The new villain (and a really unfamiliar one, Toothboy isn't a familiar threat like plastic pollution metaphor or pshysically inevitable end of the world) from an alien's or humans' perspective? The new worlds from all of theirs? We sort of end up relating most to Grace, except she dies in the first episode. The thing is, it is in confrontation with the established that we learn most about the characters. Nothing characterizes Nine more than his interactions with the Daleks, going from torturing one to deciding he can't commit another planetary destruction to stop them. Basically, between a kind straight Black navy officer and a White lesbian strangling her wife in a jealous rage, you're likelier to recognize Othello in the latter. Something tells me this is why RTD had Fifteen interact with another Doctor, Donna, Mel, Kate, UNIT, the Toymaker and even toothied Master before sending him on his own merry way.

The second problem has more to do with the direction the story actually went in. Because just from the above, and indeed after s11 it was a frequent praise of the era, it would look like Chibs is going for something easily accessible to new audiences. Great. But then comes s12 and basically all of the emotional pay off comes from the audience's attitude to the the lore! Or, maybe I'll put it this way: all charitable interpretations of it are rooted in not only lore literacy, but specific readings of established lore. And not only is the lore hardly established for the newcomers, but it's also not established which parts are to be cherry picked for the returning audience. Nowhere is it better visible than in Fugitive!Doctor's TARDIS being a police box. This was clearly meant to tell the audience yes, this is indeed the Doctor's TARDIS, but if you know how much of a deal pre-Hartnell Doctors would be, you'd also know the TARDIS doesn't just look like a police box, it was stuck looking like one in 1963. And so we end up with secret third Doctor theories between classic series 6 and 7.

And this is the fundamental problem with the timeless child. It shakes the lore to the core, but without establishing what this lore is, and how the audience is supposed to feel about it. Oh, you can go for post-colonial criticisms, but that relies on you reading the Time Lords as the british empire, a reading not clear to all of the audience, as exhibited by an actual academic article (because yes, I spent my hard earned money on a collection of academic articles about ChibnallWho and no I absolutely won't share a pdf should anyone dm me) written by an author more rooted in feminist than post-colonial critical theories seeing the new origin of Time Lords as replacing a masculine creatio ex nihilo ethos by that of a feminine explorer-scientist [appreciative]. You're basically supposed to get a phantom pain of a lore that's both alive and dead until observed, the presumed intention being that you will have a positive or negative feelings about the cat, without considering most people will be either abstractly impressed by the metaphor, or equally abstractly disturbed by animal abuse. It's criticising the roman empire by debunking it being founded by Mars's children raised by a she-wolf.

And this is also visible in the Doctor's own reaction to the revelation, which I guess you might argue is complex, but I would say it's more shifting from establishing moment to establishing moment. She goes from being shocked by it (again, no part of the text informed me I shouldn't cherry pick her characterization as including calling Time Lords the most rotten civilization in the universe, also is it even established that's the second time Gallifrey was destroyed?), to describing it as empowering, to apparently not thinking about it for 100 years, to having an identity crisis, to stating her identity is about what she does, to bemoaning the could-have-beens, to deciding she doesn't want to know, to her deepest desire being wanting to know it after all (the vision of ttc in potd). Like, come on, not finding your glasses means your room is messy, not complex. The effect is infantilizing more than anything else, I mean it's been what, three months since the last time a villain informed a heroine she has an epic origin that's also very horrible in The rise of Skywalker? Which impression is amplified by the only clue as to the Doctor's personal, not performed, attitude being that she apparently finds the cliche chosen one story of a boy abused by his adoptive family turning out to be a wizard, and a special wizard at that, comforting. Probably not the intended reading that wouldn't even be available if Rowling got cancelled earlier, but there as things are.

And of course, this has a lot of bearing on how thoschei dynamic is executed. On the one hand we have the entire emotional pay off rooted in the "history between them", on the other vague references to Classic Who and expanded universe, on the third characterization of the Master that is rooted more in fanon Freud-for-dummies woobification than anything this character's motivations have ever been established as. Like, between the charitable reading "Thirteen is hostile to the Master because of the events of s10" and the anti-charitable reading of "Missy's development was retconned in the Master's hostility", the answer is, it doesn't bloody matter to the story at hand, or else it's the writer's job to point to it as meaningful (again, as Maxine Alderton did with cybermenification in THOVD). Another case of "I don't agree with Moffat, but I agree the execution was functional", but you can juxtapose this with the way Simm!Master was presented in s10 - yeah, he got cured and kicked out of Gallifrey; that's really all you need to know, because his role in this story is being an unrepentant asshole and no amount of gifs slowing down John Simm turning his eyes down before saying "Eh, you wouldn't understand" will change that. The same goes for "see, the Master didn't destroy Gallifrey over everything that's been done to them, but over Theta being hurt uwu" interpretation - neither the reading this was the motivation, nor anything relating to the Master suffering from the Time Lords have been established in the text, neither as it unfolded nor as a pay off reveal! This basically relies on the attitude that the most charitable reading is by default the intended one, which is how you end up with "op means that Taylor Swift being gay shouldn't make you ignore all other gay women musicians".

A little bit of an aside, but people remember O was an actual person the Doctor met in unknown circumstances, not just a creation of the Master from the beginning, right? Like, this is taken into account in all "he's so desperate to be friends again uwu" readings, right?

So this is why "if the history between means anything" quote falls flat to me. The meaning is rooted in lore that's brushed aside in the same breath. The author relies on it being meaningful for the audience, while providing only the bare bones of "we were friends, but took completely different paths" background, and that by the end of the first act. Just as he relies on the audience having an emotional attachment to the lore without doing anything to create that attachment.

#roxanne's degree pursuit therapy #as always very welcoming discussions!#dw meta #doctor who meta #chibnall critical #tw: negativity

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