#Don’t count yourself out because you think you’re somehow the dysfunctional exception

[hopepunk-humanity]

You are not uniquely bad. You alone are not the ultimate evil or the hopeless failure. Whatever you've done, whatever struggles you're facing, many people have survived it and seen the other side. You will too. Don’t count yourself out because you think you’re somehow the dysfunctional exception

[shyficwriter]

Temporary Home: Chapter 5

Guardians of the Galaxy fanfic | Reader x Guardians (With Yondu and Kraglin!)

Summary: Looks like things might be starting to get better between Reader and the rest of the team. However, Rocket can't bring himself to like you just yet, he's not the most trusting.

Previous Chapter here | Next Chapter Here Or click here to: Start From Beginning

Author’s Note: Thank you to @colormeyondublue, @theambracer88, and @condy-wants-a-cookie for participating in Fic Improv suggestions!

Word Count: 4,695

You didn't return for several hours, long enough for it to start to get dark out and for the others to start to wonder if you'd come back at all.

Gamora was about to suggest she and Peter go looking for you when you came in the back door. The blood from your face was now gone, but remanent drops still stained the front of your shirt.

You were surprised to find everyone in the kitchen as if they had been waiting up for you.

"Where have you been?" asked Gamora. Her voice didn't sound accusatory, despite her hands on her hips. She sounded oddly worried.

"Taking a walk?" you say with a raised eyebrow. You hadn't honestly expected anyone to be worried with your absence. After all, you bit their friend.

"You were gone for six hours!" Kraglin said incredulously. "Who takes a walk for six hours?"

You shrugged. "Took a nap, too. Why are you all looking at me like that?"

Most of them were looking at you like worried parents, except for Yondu who was leaning against the counter looking at his nails disinterested, Drax who looked mildly disapproving, and Rocket who wasn't even facing you, looking like he didn't give one solitary shit if you came back or not.

"Because you were gone for six hours." Drax repeated. "We thought you died."

"You thought I- No. Look, I just went for a walk- like you 'suggested'-" you looked pointedly at Drax and made air quotes around the word 'suggested,' (your gesture only seemed to confuse him), "took a nap, slept the whiskey off, got cleaned up in the river... Why are you even worr- Oh. Right." You roll your eyes. "Fury would have figured something out if I didn't come back, don't you worry," you say bitterly.

Peter grimaced and stood. "No, that's not- Alright. We got off on a bad foot here. We-" He looked at Rocket to try and include in the contrition, "-feel bad about how things have gone, and we just want to talk."

You look at them a moment, considering. "Okay."

"Okay." Peter looked relieved. "First off, we're sorry that we haven't made the best housemates. We're a dysfunctional bunch of dicks, we get it."

"Some of you more than others." you say, looking at Rocket.

"Yes," Peter agreed, also looking at Rocket. "and we're sorry. We've been in your personal space, and it's obviously been tough for you and we haven't helped that and we understand if you want us to leave. We're sure NOVA will understand."

You stare off into a blank space of wall for awhile. "No," you eventually say with a sigh. "You don't have to leave. It's not entirely your fault things have been tense. I can admit I've been a little... less than welcoming." Your eyes drift to the ceiling and you cross your arms. "I shouldn't be taking my frustration with what Fury did out on you." You finally look at Peter. "And I'm sorry I bit you," you say shyly, feeling your cheeks grow warm.

"It's ok. I've had worse. You didn't even break the skin." Peter said, before wincing, "I'm sorry I broke your nose."

"I don't think it's broken, actually. Hurt like a bitch, but somehow not broken."

Peter looked relieved. "That's good- That's it's not broken, I mean."

"I'm sorry I made you leave your house." Drax spoke up. "Gamora told me that wasn't a good thing to do."

"It's fine." You shrug. "I mean, don't make a habit of it... but no hard feelings." Honestly you knew you needed that walk, both to sort you out, and to try and sober up. Again, you bit a guy. Know who does that? Crazy drunk people. You were lucky one of his friends didn't clock you for it.

Drax beamed and approached you, "Great! Then we are friends!" Your eyes widen as he reaches out and pulls you into a bear hug and actually lifts you off the ground. You let out a wheeze as he squeezed the air from your lungs and you thought you felt a couple vertebra in your spine crack.

When he sets you back down you stumble back a bit, caught off guard. "Sure," you say breathlessly, almost laughing as you regained your bearings. 'Well, at least this one doesn't seem to hold grudges,' you assume.

You were wrong, but of course you didn't actually know Drax that well to know that if you had actually hurt someone he cared about, that he would have chased you across the galaxy to have his revenge. Good thing you hadn't had to figure that out.

"So you're not mad at us?" Mantis said hopefully. She was hugging the bear you gave her, little Groot perched on her shoulder, and your face softened. Her expression was just so... hopeful? Like she really needed to hear that you weren't mad and that she hadn't lost a friend. Innocent. That's the word you were looking for. She just looked too damn innocent, and it melted your heart against your consent.

"No s-" you caught yourself before you could call her 'sweetie.' "No, I'm not mad at you." You mentally whipped yourself. What the fuck? What did you think you were doing almost calling her 'sweetie'? Getting attached or some shit? Some of that whiskey must still be in your system.

She claps her hands excitedly, somehow not dropping the bear in the process, and you can just tell she's going to hug you too. Your eyes flick to Peter in a silent cry for help as she bolts up from her chair, and he just gives you a knowing look and a chuckle as if to say, "You should have guessed that would happen," right before Mantis's body crashes into yours.

You stumble back but don't fall, and awkwardly pat her on the back and letting out half a laugh as Groot crawled on top of your head. "Alright, ok. Settle down now," you say, pulling him from your hair and gently handing him back to Mantis.

Yondu watched in amusement. He was sure he heard you almost call her 'sweetie,' and combined with what he had seen how you treated them so far, and having also been told by Mantis about the bear (because she told everyone) and he saw Groot playing with the toy car that could have only came from you, it only confirmed to him that you seemed to have a soft spot for her and the twig.

"Well if everyone's apologizing, where's mine?" Rocket asked, standing defiantly on the table with his arms crossed.

Kraglin looked at him incredulously. "For what?"

"She tossed me out the door like a rag doll yesterday!" Rocket threw his hands in the air, as if Kraglin was missing something very obvious.

You huffed a laugh out your nose. "No. Absolutely not. For one, I'm not sorry, and secondly, did you really think I'd forget that you tried to poison me earlier today?"

Rocket got several looks for that, ranging from surprise to disapproval. Even Yondu raised an eyebrow.

"Rocket!" Gamora and Drax said in unison.

Rocket put his hands on his hips and rolled his eyes. "I wasn't actually trying to poison you! You wouldn't have died or nuttin!"

Peter then explained the situation from earlier that day with the xanti-berries to the others and how Rocket had tried to convince you to eat them, which earned more disapproving looks directed towards Rocket. It was well known among most of them what they did to the Terran digestion. Yondu and Kraglin made that unfortunate discovery early on when they fed them to Peter as a boy, a mistake you don't exactly make twice and a memory Kraglin wished he could have scrubbed from his mind with the same solvents he had been tasked with cleaning Yondu's M-ship bathroom with after said mistake. The rest of the team found out in a much, much cleaner way, having simply been told by Peter when offered some that Terrans couldn't eat them.

Yondu finally spoke up. "If anyone here actually needs to apologize I think it's Rocket."

Rocket looked at him in betrayal, his expression saying, 'Man, I thought we were cool!?' His tail twitched in annoyance. Yondu was supposed to be on his side, not yours,

"Don't give me that look," Yondu said. "Ya know ya've spent nearly all yer time here being a dick, not to mention its yer fault we're here in the first place."

Rocket rolled his eyes and hopped off the table with a, "Whatever losers." and walked out of the room, flipping the bird as he went.

"Rocket!" Gamora called out angrily, but Peter put a hand on her shoulder and said, "Let him go."

After a beat you begin awkwardly edging yourself out of the room as well, saying, "Well, this was awkward. Glad we made up. I'm gonna go wash up for bed. Bye."

They didn't stop you. You had reached an understanding, that would have to do for now. Peter and Gamora knew you all wouldn't just become best friends after one heart-to-heart. At the moment reaching the knowledge of 'Your host doesn't actually wish to burn you all alive' would have to do.

***

You honestly expected the next day to be just as tense, but you were pleasantly surprised. You actually managed to strike up a decent, albeit short, conversation with Peter and Gamora at breakfast.

When you finished you excused yourself to go tend to the garden, but nothing could have prepared you for what you found outside.

You exited the back door, and just before you could put in your earbuds you heard the sounds of bickering. Confused and mildly irritated at the thought of needing to break up yet another fight, you turn your head to the left, where the noise was coming from.

You cocked your head, eyebrow raised. You rubbed your eyes just to make sure you weren't seeing things.

Different emotions overtook you. Confusion. Shock. Disbelief. Then, finally, humor.

Your mouth twitched upwards of its own volition, and your stomach muscles twitched as a huff air forced its way through your nose.

Were you honestly seeing... what you thought you were seeing?

A few meters ahead of you laid Kraglin and Rocket, struggling against what appeared to be your garden hose. What was threatening to pull laughter from your belly, however, was the position they had somehow managed to get themselves into.

You'll never know how they did it, but one of Kraglin's legs was stuck in a sitting position, held in place by the hose wrapped around his thigh. He had one arm pinned behind his back, and another tied to his head with said hose.

That might have done it by itself, but that wasn't all. Rocket was tangled as well, but it was where he was tangled that made you lose your composure.

Rocket's limbs also pinned in crazy directions, but he wasn't tangled separately from Kraglin, no. Rocket was more or less strapped to Kraglin's back, but in a way that his head had nowhere to go but... well... Kraglin's butt.

You attempted to walk towards them, knowing you should probably help them, but once you opened your mouth about halfway there you knew there was no way to hold back your laughter, though you did try.

"What- Ha-How-" You pause briefly to attempt to hold in your giggles before trying again. "How did you-?" More giggling. "How did you-" Even more giggles, "manage that?" You covered your mouth, unable to stop the torrent of giggles that only got worse once they turned their heads in shock and embarrassment to face you. "You- You? What?" You could barely string words together now.

"Oh come now! It's not funny!" Kraglin pouted. Rocket just growled in annoyance.

"I-I'm sorry!" you say, not looking very sorry at all with the way mirthful tears wet your waterline and how you held your stomach from laughing so hard.

Then Rocket threatened to bite Kraglin's ass if he didn't figure out a way to untangle them, and Kraglin threatened to fart on him if he so much as thought of biting him.

That made you completely lose it. You dropped to your knees and laughed harder than you had in a very long time, unable to string anything longer than a mirthful "I'm sorry!" together to save your own life, let alone help untangle them.

Peter and Gamora heard your loud laughter from inside the kitchen, and having not heard anything more than a sarcastic half-laugh from you the entire time they'd been here, wanted to see what had been able to make you lose it like that.

They came outside to see you on your knees in the throws of a laughing fit almost a couple meters from where Kraglin and Rocket lay tangled together.

The scene made them laugh as well. Well, Peter laughed. Gamora was able to keep it to a wide grin and a couple escaped giggles as she mercifully walked over to help untie the pair, with Peter's giggly attempts to help as well, that were actually more of a hinderance than helpful.

At one point you thought you had gotten it together enough to try and help them, but you didn't make it all the way before your laughing fit had you doubled over again. You losing it again only made Peter laugh harder, and Gamora only grinned and shook her head as she worked at trying to free Kraglin's arm from his head, having already managed to free his leg from its garden-hose-y prison.

"Ow! Ow! Fuck!" You exclaim, still laughing. "I think I pulled something!"

Peter looked at you then turned to Kraglin & Rocket and laughed more, pointing, "You made her laugh so hard she pulled a muscle! AHAHA!"

By this point Gamora had (more or less single-handedly) managed to free Rocket from Kraglin and Kraglin was free enough to untangle himself the rest of the way.

Rocket glared at you angrily, "I'll teach you to laugh at me!" He looked like he was about to lunge at you when Gamora scolded out a warning, "Rocket." and he then just muttered angrily and made his way back inside the house.

You had gotten your laughter in to more manageable giggles, until you looked up to see Kraglin had just finished untangling himself and was walking your way before your burst into laughter again. "AHA-Ow! Ow! Haha! I'm sorry- Haha-ow! I'm sorry!" you manage to say as Kraglin pouted and continued on towards the door, his pride a bit bruised. You thought you had pulled something in your ribs, and it made laughing too hard a little sore, but you honestly couldn't help it.

You worked on catching your breath and Peter asked, giggling, "How did they even do that?"

You took deep breaths and answered, "I have no idea." You turned your head towards Kraglin walking away and started laughing again, needing to turn away because it hurt to laugh. Peter and Gamora shook their heads, grinning.

This was definitely better than you being cranky and avoiding them all the time, now if only it would last.

You stated you needed to tend the garden and they took the hint to leave you so you could gather yourself.

Peter couldn't help but think that if you pulled a muscle from laughing, it must mean you didn't do it nearly enough, and he made a mental note to try and fix that while they were there.

***

You headed to the work shed after tending your garden, intent to unclamp and sand down the pieces of the bed you were making for Rocket.

You had almost considered scrapping the project after the whole "attempted poison" incident, but you were in a good mood, and still thought it might quell his whining, so you decided you might as well finish it.

Once everything was sanded to a nice finish you decided you might as well stain it too, and add a coat of varnish. Might as well do a complete job while you were at it.

Or maybe you were stalling.

Either way, you decided you needed to make a run into town. It had been awhile since you checked the mail anyhow.

You locked the shed back up and went inside to get ready to leave.

Before you were about to go, you caught Peter in the hall and told him you were leaving, and as a courtesy asked him if he knew if there might be anything anyone might need from town.

He thought for a bit, not really able to think of anything, one reason being that he didn't know what Terran shops carried anymore that his friends would recognize, let alone need, but then an idea struck. "Hey, do they still make Oreos? If you don't mind- I always kinda wanted to show the others what they were like. They were one of my favorites as a kid."

You smile. Of all the things he could have asked for, and this grown man wanted oreos to share with his friends. It was sweet. "I'll see what I can do," you say, still smiling as you made your way out the door.

***

For the life of him, Rocket couldn't understand why Groot seemed to like it here.

It was boring. Despite all this space, he couldn't blow up anything, and he had been forbidden by the others to try. Something about Terran shit being "extra flammable" or something. Not like he had anything that could make a decent boom if he tried, it had all been confiscated by SHIELD, the bastards. They'd even searched his "back pocket."

To be fair, his reputation had preceded him and they did find some small blast charges and a detonator...

Normally he'd use his resources, pull from the environment around him, but you only had primitive Terran shit that wasn't good for anything fun.

It was like he was being punished, stuck on this Terran prison. Normally he'd just escape a prison, like he had the last 23 he had been in, but this time apparently it was 'safer' to stay in the prison than to leave. As if he even could leave without a ship...

What had he done to deserve this punishment?

Sure, maybe he had insulted their last client... and maybe he had stolen their shit... but they deserved it for being so damn uptight and upitty. Everyone else was thinking it, he was just the only one brave enough to put them in their place!

And look where it got him. Stuck here. In the middle of nowhere, on a primitive hunk of rock floating in the middle of nowhere, with nothing fun to do or see, forced to sleep in a damn crib like an infant. He almost wished Peter hadn't told him what it was that first night. He originally just thought it was a weird fancy little bed, until Peter peeked in and quietly chuckled a comment about, "Aww! Cute! You get to sleep in a crib like a little baby!" Which then prompted him to complain to the SHIELD woman about the sleeping arrangement, but he only got a shrug from her in response as she said stuff about being "crunched for time" and it was "the perfect size" while his friends laughed at him.

And then there was you. As far as he was concerned you were just as bad as their last client. Stick up your ass, skulking around and tossing him out for fighting like you owned the place...

Well, he supposed you did own the place... bit still! Who did you think you were?

Anyone dumber might answer, 'the person who was nice enough to take in eight strangers to keep them safe,' but he knew better. No one was that good. You were either getting paid a shit-tonne to do this, or you had sinister intentions, and any trace of caring was just an act. Maybe both, who was he to say?

"I am Groot?"

Rocket was shaken from his thoughts by Groot's question.

"What?" asked Rocket.

"I am Groot?" he asked again.

"Wha- No. There's no monsters in the attic- who told you that? We would have heard them!" he then quickly added, "Monsters don't exist anyway!"

"I am Groot."

Rocket rolled his eyes. "Ohhh- Of course she would." He could feel his irritation rising. Who the fuck did you think you were, scaring the little guy like that? He looked at Groot and told him you were just being a dick, and he was going to show Groot himself that you were a liar.

"I am Groot!"

Rocket rolled eyes again. "So what if it's locked? I've got my-" He then remembered that his lock-picking set had also been confiscated. Dammit! "I bet there's a key somewhere!"

"I am Groot!"

"We won't get in trouble if you keep quiet about it!" Rocket said irritably. Groot simply crossed his arms in response, a displeased expression on his face.

He placed Groot on his shoulder, and they made their way silently from their room, around the landing, and peered down the stairs before making their way over to open your door. He knew the others wouldn't approve of what he was doing, and he was grateful that he and Groot seemed to be the only ones upstairs at the moment. Well, that was assuming that no one was behind the closed doors of the other two rooms and they wouldn't find Mantis sitting in the room you shared with her.

The room was empty. Good. He wouldn't have to hear anyone complain about what he was doing, although he was certain if Mantis had been in there he could have played it off as Groot wanting to play more hide-n-seek.

Rocket knew you had left the house, otherwise he might not be attempting to do what he was, not looking forward to you possibly tossing him back outside for another 'walk,' or more or less a glorified time out like he was a child. Bad enough he had to sleep in the crib...

However, he knew he should probably be quick about it. You had already been gone nearly a couple hours, and while he didn't know how far away the place you were going was, he knew he should just assume you'd be back any minute.

He paused to listen, he had good enough hearing that he could hear just about any regular movement in the house if he was listening for it. After not hearing anything that sounded like someone getting ready to come up the stairs he got to work.

As quietly and as quickly as he could, he made his way around the room. He had a decent idea of which bed belonged to Mantis and so he didn't bother looking over there.

He checked in your nightstand drawers. Nothing. Just a journal he considered taking a peek at, but decided against it due to being crunched for time.

He checked though your dresser drawers, and aside from one large garment that appeared like a comfy jumpsuit but looked like someone skinned some weird black and white spotted mammal, found nothing but your clothes and under-things.

He finally got around to checking the desk. There was nothing on top save for some pens, a notepad, and what Terrans excused for a computer- a 'lap top' or whatever they called it. He pulled out the bottom drawer from the set of three on the right side, but it was only a bunch of file folders, again, none of which he could be bothered to fully read, only gathering cursory glances of boring titles with stuff like "Insurance," "Deed," and "Obituary," whatever that was.

He quickly abandoned that drawer and moved to the next one up. Still nothing. Just pencils and a book of drawings he quickly flipped through before placing back in the drawer, unwilling to give you even the imaginary satisfaction of even mentally saying they weren't half bad. He gave Groot an unimpressed look when he expressed interest in the pictures.

He reached the top drawer and almost wrote it off as a loss of pens, paperclips, sticky notes and other junk, until he just noticed a glint of metal from under one of the yellow pads of paper.

Jackpot.

He grabbed the key and grinned at Groot before turning towards the attic door.

But then he heard it. The front door opened.

Maybe someone's just going outside? Maybe he still had time?

Nope, the footsteps were coming in, not leaving.

Crap. You were home.

He knew it would only be bad news if he got caught, so he quickly placed the key back in the drawer, saying, "Another time, buddy," to Groot and made his way to peek out the door and make sure he wouldn't be seen exiting your room.

He could just see down the stairs that you were standing in the hall holding a paper bag, and you waved for someone's attention in the sitting room. Peter came and he followed you into the kitchen.

This was his chance, he quickly exited your room, quietly closed the door behind him, and bolted as quietly as possible toward the room he shared with Groot and Drax. It was times like these he was more than glad to be one of the smallest and lightest of the bunch.

***

You arrived home and brought Peter into the kitchen to show that you had indeed found him some Oreos, and a twin sleeve at that!

His eyes lit up when you removed them from the bag. "You got them!" he exclaimed as he accepted the package from you.

You lightly chuckled as he called for his friends to join him in the kitchen.

Feeling it would be awkward for you if he decided to excitedly declare that you bought them biscuits, you excused yourself before the others could arrive, saying that you had some other things to put away in your car and you'd be back when he seemed almost disappointed that you were running away from being social again.

You passed by Kraglin and Yondu on your way back towards the front door, and you were unable to stop yourself from giggling as you laid eyes on Kraglin. You covered your mouth, but of course they noticed.

"What was that about?" Yondu asked Kraglin in confusion, looking back at you as you exited the front door.

Kraglin only pouted and said, "Please don't ask, sir."

***

Rocket answered Peter's call along with everyone else, and was a little surprised to hear that you had picked up some Terran cookies at Peter's request. He ate some, because hey- free food, but he wasn't going to fall for your sugary bribery, which he was sure this was. He certainly doubted you did it to be nice. Hell, if you were nice you would have helped him and Kraglin with getting untangled instead of laughing so hard you couldn't stand up.

Something caught his eye out the window from where he sat on the counter, and he directed his attention to what he realized was you, walking toward that shed he kept hearing loud noses from but couldn't get into because you kept it locked. The windows didn't open either, he tried, nor could he make anything out when he tried to look through them due to the dark interior.

But there was one thing he could see clearly now as you made your way to the shed.

You were carrying chains.

His eyes narrowed as he nibbled on his treat. He knew there was something off about you. What were you doing in that shed? Were those chains meant for him and his friends? To chain up the next person who pissed you off?

He knew the others wouldn't believe him. Until he could prove it to the others that you were bad news, he decided to keep his mouth shut for now.

[jjkpls]

first love (m)

genre : fluff, angst, light smut

pairing : kim seokjin x reader (f)

word count : 4.6k

warnings/content : mentions of sexual intercourse, mature language, infidelity, separated parents, unresolved past relationship, dad!seokjin, mom!reader

Seokjin doesn't mean to overreact. He knows he shouldn't. Knows you hate it. Knows, because he's been told enough times, that these types of reactions are unnecessary and possibly harmful for a child.

He can't really help it when deep down he knows he was meant to be an actor. Right before his actual birthday, his mother had dreamt of giving birth on a theatre stage, for God's sake.

But his father wasn't into it, given his ambitions, his own growing company and all the promising opportunities he envisioned both for him and for his only son. Therefore Seokjin went to law school, graduated with excellent mentions, followed an accelerated program in business development and managing and joined his father exactly where he was expected.

He isn't exactly complaining.

He likes his job, most of the time, likes the money and luxury that come with it especially and appreciates the work safety.

Now, you can't blame him for being quite the drama queen in his everyday life. All that pent up, buried alive passion for the arts of acting need to express, somehow.

That's what he'd say to you when you used to yell at him for starting weeping loudly in your ear when he'd call you to cancel a date last minute because he couldn't come, instead of just, cancelling it, aplogize, get over it like a normal person.

Or when you'd kick him in the ribs because he'd be all wild gestures and screeching screams when he'd teach your son to ride a bike and he would fall, as he should to learn, making the boy cry even when he wasn't hurt, solely from the projection of his dad's fear.

You're not here to tell him yourself but the glazed, annoyed roll of his son's eyes tells him precisely what you would. Those eyes are the worst. The prettiest he's ever seen. The ones he loves the most. The ones you also wear on your own pretty face.

"Since when?" He has a hand pressed to his chest, preventing a heart attack it seems, gaze wide and alarmed. Timothy sighs.

"A while. They were already together for Valentine's Day-" He explains patiently. That kid is sweet. The way he's slumped over, obviously annoyed to have to be the one telling his dad and having to deal with the consequences but still, he's watching over him with a soft eye, mouth torn in a sympathetic pout. He wouldn't mind his parents to get back together even though he is almost sure it wouldn't be a good idea for the both of you. He's heard tales of dysfunctional families, of parents hurting each other and their children and doesn't want that for any of you. He can't imagine it happen. You two are too good for that. That's probably why you had decided to separate in the first place.

Seokjin is quickly making maths in his head. Not really counting the time but situating himself in that time frame. Where was he at when she was out with this guy? What was he doing?

He may have been in Japan when it started. He remembers a call from you, you were asking him to take Timothy for a couple of days. You sounded embarrassed and he didn't know why but couldn't take the time to investigate, he had a flight expecting him and a conference call waiting to start in a couple of minutes. Important stuff. None of it would have mattered if he had known what you were up to.

"You okay, dad?" Timothy asks, awkward but kind. His mom basically.

"Devastated." Seokjin says with the widest grin on his face. He's not devastated. It'd be ridiculous to be for something absolutely predictable, fair and normal. He's not mad, nor disappointed. You deserve to be seeing people, have them desire you and make you feel good. He wishes it were him but if he can't do that, if you won't let him, he's glad you still can allow someone else to do it.

He's surprised though, he can't lie about that.

Honestly. That's stupid. But he didn't expect one second that you were seeing someone. You never mentioned anything and you didn't look like it. If there's a way you look when you're dating.

He remembers rosy cheeks and short skirts. You were younger.

"You think it's serious?" He asks casually, surprising even himself. His heart is in a turmoil but he showed enough to Timothy, acting like he was half dying, gasping for air and all.

"I don't know. She doesn't want to bring him home yet. Like, introduce him to me. I asked." Timothy, not only is he nice, he is smart. He's thirteen, shouldn't know much about Love and adults' matters yet. He's supposed to still be at that stage when one believes children and adults are two very distinctive race of humans, one that depends on the other and the other having it all figured it out, having reached a certain knowledge and expertise on all things and can't really be wrong on accident.

Timothy knows precisely what his dad would love to hear. And he gives it to him. Not to feed him vain hopes. Not even for this tiny hidden greed to have you back together. Simply because it's the truth and if for once the truth is pleasant to hear, then he should give it. Seokjin's smile only gets brighter. He shares a glance with his son, a glint winking his way and Timothy rolls his eyes, unable to hide the lift of the corners of his lips.

"Anyway, I heard you won that science fair at school?" Seokjin has already left his seat on Timothy's bed. He's rummaging through his leather bag and Timothy knows what it means. He has a present for him. Seokjin always has a present for him. Most of the time, he can justify it by some event or some success Timothy had encountered. The thing is they don't see each other that often, therefore, almost systematically, something new has come about and Seokjin can explain why he's brought a brand new console, a new laptop, a TV for his room or that one limited edition of this way too expensive branded pair of sneakers.

You used to get really mad at that. You'd say that he shouldn't, that he didn't need to bring him all these expensive stuff because what he'd like (it was a long time ago when Timothy was too young to have his own opinion and you would speak for him) is for his dad to be here more often. You'd say he wouldn't have to buy him shit for any other times than Christmas and his birthday if only he could be here for him. His dad would be his present.

It caused a lot of drama, a lot of crying. You had made sure not to scream, not to be too angry but Timothy felt from the way you squeezed him hard against your bosom that you were very upset. His dad had apologized, had said the most with his eyes only for you to understand. Timothy was staring, trying to get it too because he was involved, wasn't he? But that was one of those adults moments he wasn't allowed to participate in yet.

From then on, his dad wasn't late anymore when he'd set dates with him, his phone would be turned off when they were together and he would text him more often.

It was really nice. Because at first, Timothy felt that maybe if his dad wasn't so present it was because he didn't want to. For some reasons. He thought maybe he was too much of a coward or too nice possibly, to leave you two altogether, to disappear from your lives and start another one somewhere else, one he would have chosen and shaped as he'd want. Turns out Seokjin really appreciated his son and the time he got to spend with him. The more time they spend together, the more Timothy is met with awed eyes and whistling lips, impressed as his dad is by his smartness, his humour and hidden talents. He just was very busy. You explained that to him. That he was passionate by his work, that it required a sacrificial amount of time in one's life, and that he shouldn't ever take it personally because even he loved you and couldn't give you that time.

It's the conversation that led him to think that maybe his parents are meant to be, except they won't because... circumstances.

In any case, no matter how often they meet now, Seokjin still brings him gifts each and every time. The difference is that he has to think of a reason, sometimes make one up to not be struck down by your fury.

"Yes, I did."

"Of course, you did! Cause my son is the smartest." Timothy waits for the moment he says that his brain and the magic fuel filling it all come from him. It doesn't come. Instead, a neat white box is held in front of his face. There's a pretty tie made of ribbons glued in the middle, to hide the picture of what's inside, but there's no doubt that this is an iPhone. He rips the tie off and surprise surprise it's the iPhone 12.

"Mom is going to kill you." Timothy says first, before even thanking him, heart pounding from excitement and face split in two by the wide banana grin.

"Probably." He shrugs, unapologetic.

"Thanks, dad!" Timothy doesn't forget to add, eyes shiny and toothy grin even shinier.

He hopes so. That you're going to be mad. You two are too old to have petty fights now. You don't waste your energy in screaming and finding the worst things to say to hurt his feelings. You just cross your arms under your tits, clench your jaws and adopt that pout on your mouth, eyelids low and eyebrows high, the embodiment of condescendence and you look sexy as hell. He smiles and winks at you, calls you by an old pet name and you're swooning even though you try to hide it. No one is charming like he is, and no one charms you as he does therefore he's not too worried.

His son was just going around with this prehistorical device you dared to call a smartphone. With the broken screen, and the non-functioning selfie cam and the safari app needing a good ten minutes to charge one fucking page -this was deliberate as you wanted him to have a phone to call and text you and not go and lose himself on the internet or whatever. He's almost fourteen though and he's doing a great job at school and is such a good kid at home, he deserves it.

"I know and I don't care. I don't need you to tell me my son is good." You are infuriated. The perfect picture of you he had imagined, the only difference is that, you've just walked out of work, you seem to have had a rough day and your hair is a mess. With the wild locks hanging off of your bun, framing your pretty face, you look even better. "I don't want him to have something so expensive on him, first of all."

"His dad is richer than Cresus, what do you expect?" The cockiness dripping from every pore should suffice to make you explode. Of course, it doesn't. He has that stupid side grin. The one he's got you with in the first place.

"And what about- internet and even just the darn AppStore? He's too young to-"

"Are you worried about porn?" He frowns, you flush. That's precisely one of the things you think about. You don't want him to fall upon stuff he doesn't need to see -in your opinion for a good ten years at least- or start taking interest in social medias where creepy fuckers could hang out.

You flush because apparently, it's a word complicated still to hear from him. "I've made a parental software installed in it. And a localisation too. Not that we really need it with him but you know."

"Oh." All tension escapes from your torn face and tensed shoulders.

"Oh, wow, my first love is such a good dad." He mocks, voice high, hardly resembling yours, barely biting back a smirk. He even goes as far as swiping the right side of his bangs back, eyes closed, mannerism insufferable.

"Shut up." More flush. A fist to his chest for punishment. Bad idea. Apparently, he went back to the gym.

"You should be nicer because I have something for you too." He says, eyes glancing mischievously as his hand dips in the pocket of his trench coat. "Well. I don't want it." You cross your arms on your chest again which only serves to push your tits forward to him and he wonders what you're playing at. Probably the same game he plays when he winks and smiles and lifts his eyebrow to you.

"Wait 'til you see it." He sees the moment you realize it's a jewellery box. He reads the instant wild excitement, he catches also the gloomy shadow you try to paint over it because you don't want to accept it. How many times does he need to be told to stop? He won't ever stop.

"You can't buy me, Seokjin." You're eyeing the velour box in his hand, a tiny beautiful red in this large pearly white palm. You want it. You always do. You don't dare uncross your arms though because you know that if you even do something as reckless as taking it in your hand, just to have a look at it, you won't be able to refuse it.

"Of course, I can." More of that smirk. You glare, it makes him wheeze as he does.

You have never ever been able to refuse any of his shiny presents. You're not a gold digger, that's precisely why you felt so guilty all the time, accepting to receive from him things you could never afford for him -or yourself. He's born richer than you'll ever be, he loves to spend it on his loved ones -and on cars and designer clothes- and amongst everything else he loves, he adores covering you in shiny little rocks.

No one has ever worn diamonds the way you do. You look beautiful without them, magnificent with them. They were made to enhance your beauty and you were made to give them sense.

"You're such a dick." You say, tone way too monotonous to still have been in total control of your free will. Your eyes are glued to the shine of the two dainty clear earrings nested in the case. He's holding it open in front of your nose, like a hypnotizing stick. He sees your determination wavers. Your arms have just untied. Your hand is getting close. He smiles already savouring his victory.

"Take them, petal, I don't think your new boy could ever afford them." Your hand freezes mid-track, face falling you look up. He's a bit surprised to see guilt in those eyes. Shame and guilt. Even though, you have the right to see whoever you want. Obviously.

"How-" His head tilts slightly towards the hallway, where the bedrooms and the one Timothy is in, probably playing with his new phone. "Great. Bribing our son into giving you off my personal information."

"I gave him the iPhone after he told me." Seokjin feels the need to precise. His son loves him and he confided for this very reason. He wants to believe. He hopes that it's not because he's worried his dad would have a mental breakdown if he were to learn the news the day his mom would invite him to their wedding or something.

You sigh. You don't know what to say it seems. He doesn't want you to feel upset. He's not going to congratulate you either. He can't.

"Take them."

"He could- he's a doctor, you know." You sound like a petty little girl saying that, fingers aiming for the box but mouth reshaped by contempt.

Thankfully, the mesmerizing glee on your lovely face makes up for this last information.

A doctor.

He snorts, huffs and rolls his eyes.

"Are you really being disdainful over the noblest of all professions?"

"I bet he's not as handsome as I am." Seokjin says, staring away into space in a very Vogue kind of pose.

"And it's relevant because your face saves lives too, right?" You add to his clownery, biting on the smile wanting to take over your face.

"Precisely." You're already putting them on, watching your fingers work in the reflection on the microwave door. He's loving it. One is on, reflecting the light coming from the window, bringing a new sense to your whole stance. You don't look tired anymore. You look very fancy. Sexier than before. Your butt sways a little in excitement when you take a new look at yourself, now beautifully decorated and he's reminded of an idea he once had but never got to realize.

He wanted to have a fashion designer make a garter holder made of tiny diamonds. Solely diamonds. It would fit you just right, maybe a bit tight on you, would dig slightly in the meat of your thighs, enough to look fucking sinful and not too much so it doesn't hurt. He was quite young when he had the idea first and was probably not rich enough to make it happen.

He now owns a few palaces perched on the last stage of skyscrapers in three of the most expensive cities in the world and he would sell one in a beat if it meant he could get that for you and see you wear it for him.

You'd probably end up accepting it and then wear it for your new boy so that's out the question.

He doesn't hesitate when he reaches a hand forward, slip his fingers through the tie holding your hair in a bun and slide it off. You don't even flinch, he's still allowed to do that.

"You look beautiful."

"Thank you." You whisper with a smile, both for the compliment and for the present.

"You went to the hair salon." You nod, forcing yourself not to show your surprise. He doesn't need it to throw himself some flowers, "See? I noticed." He adds with way too much pride for so little.

"Your lenses work, congratulations." Sarcasm is the only answer to his stupidity, you both have figured this out long ago. "Is he nice?" Seokjin can't help but ask. He doesn't want to know too much about him. Kind of hopes that it won't be necessary as the guy won't last too long. But he can't resist his curiosity.

"Yes." You say without much of a hesitation. "Last week, he took me to this nice French restaurant in Songpa." You tell, eyes looking away, a bit pensive, mindlessly playing with one strand of your hair. Your face is taken over by that air. Seokjin realizes then that you really like him.

"I used to take you to very nice restaurants all the time, remember?" He's just messing around now. He knows it's not that relevant. Knows it won't get him higher in your regard,

"And I would spend half the date with the waiter while you'll have yours with your phone. I do remember." Especially given you don't recall your common past the same.

He does remember now that you mention it. His memory has been awfully selective and mainly, what he could picture when he thought about those times, is how beautiful you looked, how much he wanted you and felt like even sitting right next to you, he couldn't satisfy that need, was missing you even if you were right there, and the mind-blowing sex too. The later probably happening because he owed to make it up to you because indeed, his job was on the dates too and you hated that. He remembers the late mornings, the lazy ones, you'd make him carry you on his back because your legs and your hips hurt too badly.

"Ouch!" Toppling over, hand on his bosom where it actually really hurts, he yelps in agony, pretending to have been shot. You giggle and slap his shoulder, pester him to stop when you both hear Timothy ask from his room if everything's okay. You'd think he would know by now that his dad is just a clown whose shenanigans shouldn't be taken seriously.

"Are you seeing someone these days?" What a shame, Seokjin really thought for once he'd be solely cool and collected and handsome. Instead, he can feel his ears start to burn in embarrassment, walks a few steps back, pretending to want to throw a glance through the window when really, he'd do anything to not have see you notice.

"Someone?" He huffs. "Some three, actually some four or five. You know how the ladies get with me-" He sounds dumb as hell. It suffices to make you laugh. You've always laughed at his antics. Even when you were going through complicated times, like the pregnancy and the soon to follow break up, he'd try to dry your cheeks and lighten your gaze, heartbroken as he was to see you like that, and it would always work.

"And I know how bad you are with maths." He nods, doesn't look at you, simply stares at the shiny tip of his italian shoes. "You should call me sometimes, Jin." You don't need to tell him, he knows. You say that to him almost every single time. It's just you being kindhearted, the way you've always been. But first, he hates the idea that somehow, to some degree, it's a pity hand you're holding out for him. And secondly, he knows he'll fuck up if he calls.

He won't be able to talk about his job or politics or what's on the dumb tv these days. He'd probably start by asking what you're wearing and end it all by serenading you. What a bad idea. "You don't ever call, only Tim. Which is fine but-" He is lonely, he does miss you, but he's not that stupid. "I miss you too, you know." You look awfully sincere when you say this. There's still a sad shade to your eyes and he suspects it comes from you worrying about him rather than you simply wanting him more in your life. Maybe it's there for both reasons. He can't be mad at you for caring about him still, can he? Ultimately, it's sweet. It's not your fault he tends to be a loser in his very personal life.

He wouldn't know who he is trying to comfort when he strides forward and place a kiss on your cheek. The other one he's cradling in his palm feels warmer the longer he touches it. He doesn't let it go once he backs up and away. You're looking up to him with your eyes looking all round and childish. Quiet and in expectancy. You look like you do when you would wait for him to kiss you. His thumb brushes over your bottom lip and he smirks.

"Expecting me to kiss you?" He asks with an eyebrow raised high. Pretend judgment in his tone, even remonstrance. As if. "How scandalous, when you already have a boyfriend." You know he's just kidding and he can tell that. He wouldn't play with that if he wasn't sure. He doesn't want to hurt your feelings, make you feel wrong or bad in any way. He loves you too much for that. You could let him kiss you and he wouldn't hold you accountable for it. Therefore he does. Because he's dying to since the last time it happened a couple of weeks back. And when your own lips welcome his, with that much willing and tenderness, he suspects you've had too.

He doesn't allow it to go too far. He thought you would stop him, at some point, but you don't. He's the one pulling away when his tongue, instinctively, means to reach out for your own. He knows what comes after that, and what comes after that and after and after. And even if you transpire guilt and shame, he can sense in the way your eyes stare into his that you would have let it all happen.

He's not lacking in desire, he hopes you know that. Honestly, since earlier, and that random flash of the diamond garter holder, his brain is half clouded by the thought of your thighs and his face buried in between them. You used to make the most delicious sounds, pulling at the root of his hair and chasing your high with your hips. Also now that he's met your mouth again and he envisioned what could happen if he just let go, he can't help but think about that dresser in your room. The gigantic thing you wanted him and Timothy to put together as sort of a father and son enterprise to bound or whatever - he ended up paying a guy to do it for them and they played Mario Kart instead but you don't need to know that. Point of the matter is, that massive dresser has a massive mirror on its door and that massive mirror sits perfectly in front of your bed. And all he can think about is how bad he'd like to fuck you on your bed while you'd watch yourself in it. He'd pull back your hair, hold in tight in his fist like he knows you love so you could see your own cute face while his cock would reshape your cunt to its fitting, all this with the pretty little shiny earrings adorning your ears.

Fuck, what a concept.

And it is to say that right now, he knows, you'd let him. He's not that wicked though. He feels your too weak to resist him today therefore he's not even going to chance it. He doesn't want you to do something you'd hate yourself for afterwards.

"I should go, I still have documents to send for a new contract before-" He takes a look at the expensive watch heavy on his wrist, you roll your eyes. "Half an hour ago, great." He offers you a smile that doesn't reach his eyes no matter how hard he tries before he's off to the hallway, giving you his broad back. "I'm going to say bye to Tim."

"It's just- like that, Seokjin." The words are pretty badly chosen. They don't mean much. Seokjin still gets it though. He can picture you behind him, shrugging your shoulders and tilting your head to the side. It doesn't mean much.

"I know, petal. Don't worry." He throws over his shoulder, faux lightness in his tone even though his heart feels raw. It doesn't mean enough, is more accurate. This kiss like every single one of your shared looks and words and bickering and touches, they all mean that you still fit perfectly good together. However, it's not enough because somehow, someday, you came to the conclusion that you were not meant to be. He's confused as to why and how he agreed with you then. Here's the main reason why he never calls you.

When Timothy looks up from his new phone, wearing your eyes and his smile, he feels a whole new range of pain affected to his sensitized heart. How can you not see that you're meant to be?

A/N: Happy Lunar New Year :) this little thingy was inspired by Arsène Lupin and the relationship between Assane and Claire for those who watched it! I don’t know if i translated well the alchimy and unfightable attraction and connection they still have even after having seperated. ANYWAY, hope you all are doing fine, hope you liked this, LET ME KNOW what you thought, tell me about your day, your resolutions if you have any, what’s the weather like where you at etc lmao xoxo

PS: stay tuned for a new upcoming series i’m quite excited about ~~

[lambden]

Here’s some belated Geraskier fic that I finally get to post, as last week’s flash fic challenge has wrapped up! This was originally published anonymously; kudos to those of you who guessed that I was the author. Head to the collection to see the picture prompt that inspired this, as well as view the other works. I've been having a great time participating in fandom events like this; I promise there's more on the way!!! (Read on AO3)

Up To Date

prompt: "You were so hot that when you asked if I was the blind date you were looking for, I lied and said yes. But then your actual date comes up to introduce themselves and I'm so embarrassed."

G, 2.3K words, modern AU, Geralt/Jaskier

It shouldn’t be this difficult to find inspiration. He never used to struggle like this in high school, finding his muse in everyone and everything. Even his mundane trip on the city bus to and from school would give Jaskier hundreds of ideas, for poems too personal to publish or lyrics too deep for his band to use. Back then he had thought he lacked discipline and experience, so the clear choice had been to take his interest in poetry one step further and go to university.

The problem, as he’s now discovering halfway through his second year, is that he maybe hates university. He loves it, of course; he loves the praise from his professors and peers, he loves learning about the history of literature and art. He even loves the academic rivalries that wax and wane every term, and the competitions that ignite a mean streak in him he didn’t know he had.

But his assignments are of worse quality than anything he’s ever written before, and try as he might, they aren’t getting any better. Putting words on the page just to meet a count is impossible for a poet, not when the space and thoughts and images are all supposed to be cohesive. Poems used to flow from him so freely he hadn’t been able to keep track and now his well of motivation has just about run dry.

That’s what led him here, for the third time this week. His creative dysfunction has forced him into the day-to-day habits of an elderly man who spends his days reading in public gardens. It hasn’t helped so far, but maybe this third time will be the charm. Jaskier finds his favorite place: right by the koi pond, next to a strange art installation with ivy crawling along it. He sits at the base of the giant question mark, dropping his backpack onto the bench beside him.

“This better fucking work,” mutters Jaskier to himself and the koi, opening today’s book to a random poem. He refuses to let his mind wander at first, gluing his eyes to the page and reading with intense intent. The first poem he sees is about love.

Groaning, Jaskier flips the page. The next poem is also about love.

The third poem is about war, and Jaskier thinks that might be alright, until he realizes what this long-dead poet is trying to tell him, which is that war is also about love. Because it is, of course, but also of course it is. Jaskier scowls deeply and flips through the book to a random page, hoping to find something to spark inspiration that won’t just make him feel hopeless and single and hopelessly single.

Before Jaskier can get through the title, someone speaks to him, startling him so badly he jumps. “Are you Yennefer’s friend?”

Jaskier scrambles to catch the book by its cover and nearly drops it. He hadn’t even heard anyone approach. “Sorry?”

The stranger audibly sighs, as if Jaskier has inconvenienced him terribly. With all the force of someone announcing their presence at their own death row, he grits out, “I’m here for a blind date she set up. With you.” Jaskier looks up at the man and sees him wearing a blank expression, pointing at the question mark in front of the bench. “By the thing.”

“Oh,” Jaskier says, still looking at the man. It takes a second for the words to sink in because the stranger is perhaps the most handsome person Jaskier has ever seen. He could write a thousand poems and still fail to capture his beauty. He has golden eyes, for one, and a sharply chiseled face. Even grimacing like this, his jaw is set in the loveliest way, and his stern brow is framed by platinum white hair, half-tied up. He’s wearing a fairly gloomy outfit for a blind date, but maybe he told whoever Yennefer is that he would be dressed in black. Regardless, he’s making it work.

The gorgeous stranger is still waiting for an answer, scowl worsening as Jaskier tries to make his decision about how the fuck to handle this. Really, there’s no decision at all— he just impulsively takes the leap. All his best ideas come when he’s stumbling forward blind anyway. “Yes,” he finally says, jumping to his feet. “Yes, um, I’m sorry, you caught me off-guard. I’m Jaskier.”

“Geralt.” They’re of a similar height, but Geralt is so much wider. Jaskier wants to climb him like ivy on a question mark. “I’m sorry I interrupted.”

“It’s fine! I got here a while ago. You know, can’t be too early!” Jaskier has never been early for anything in his life. He sits down again and shoves his books into his bag as quickly as he can. Geralt shifts his weight back and forth between his feet before awkwardly sitting on the bench next to Jaskier, looking out at the garden. “I’ve never done this kind of thing before,” he admits, which is true. His usual lies and schemes are much less chaotic.

Geralt doesn’t reply to that, leaving Jaskier to privately wonder about his dating life. He stares at the plants, giving the impression that he might be hideously nervous. Jaskier has no idea why someone like Geralt would be nervous about anything but it’s an awkward situation, to say the least. Right as Jaskier’s about to suggest they get out of here before Geralt’s real date shows up, the man asks, “What were you reading?”

“I was studying, sort of,” Jaskier says. “I’m a student.” Then abruptly he wonders how much Geralt knows about who he’s supposed to be, and he swallows, pulse racing.

Glancing over, Geralt’s yellow eyes meet his. There’s no obvious doubt there, just a curiosity. “What’s your major?”

“Poetry,” Jaskier grins as their conversation starts to pick up something resembling a rhythm. “What about you, are you in school?”

“No,” says Geralt, cutting his dreams of a normal date conversation short. “Are you any good? At writing poetry?”

What a weirdo. Jaskier’s heart thrums. “I’d like to think so!” This, at least, is something he knows how to talk about. Except, of course, it isn’t really the truth. “Well… recently, I’ve been in a bit of a creative rut. Just waiting for the right burst of inspiration to come along.” Perhaps this blind date that he’s stolen will suffice, but he doesn’t say that. “This place is great for that, actually. I mean, it hasn’t worked yet, but I’m sure any day those fish will sing for me.”

Geralt blinks. Jaskier feels a bead of sweat run down the back of his neck. He tries a different tactic, crossing his ankles and asking politely, “Are you a reader? What kind of things do you enjoy?”

“Nonfiction,” Geralt answers, slightly stilted. His gaze drifts over to the plants once more. “Not biographies, more like… encyclopedias and field journals. I like field journals.”

“Alright,” Jaskier says, shrinking into himself. This is going terribly. “I’ll have to go bribe some scientists for their field journals, then.” The corner of Geralt’s lip twitches, and Jaskier’s stomach flips. Gorgeous and weird and maybe, although he’s trying his best to hide it behind seven layers of nerves, maybe a little amused by Jaskier. Jaskier is going to fuck him right here in the garden. “Do you take journals of your own for work?”

A rather roundabout way of asking ‘what the fuck is it that you do’ but somehow, it lands. “I’m a… researcher,” Geralt mumbles. How very vague. “But I don’t publish my findings very often.”

Jaskier raises an eyebrow. “Do you work… for a company?”

“No.”

“Right. So you’re just keeping all your findings to yourself for no good reason at all.”

“No.”

“Then it sounds like you’re a pretty terrible researcher, actually.”

Geralt’s eyes flash as he turns to glare at Jaskier. “What?”

“Well, if you don’t share what you’ve found with anyone—”

“My… colleagues—”

“Aha! So you have colleagues!” Jaskier pokes Geralt’s side. “You aren’t just holed up in some depressing storage unit with months and months of research just for you.”

Once more, Geralt half-smirks. Not even half— more like a one-fifth smirk. “Years,” he admits.

“Years…” Jaskier tilts his head to the side thoughtfully. “Why do I have the feeling that you’re perhaps a significant number of years older than me?”

“I had the same thought when I saw you sitting here,” Geralt mumbles.

Jaskier snorts. “Seems like something Yennefer should have warned us about, perhaps. I would ask you directly how old you are, but I’m fairly certain that the only response I will get is a very gruff no.”

“No,” says Geralt, nearly smiling.

Making a show of pouting, Jaskier folds his arms over his chest. “Is that your favorite word?”

“No.” Geralt breaks into laughter as he repeats himself, and his whole face lights up with it. Jaskier laughs too, delighted by how joyous Geralt looks. He’s even more beautiful when he’s happy like this, and Jaskier wants very badly for this not to be their last date. “If I tell you my favorite word, you’re bound to judge me for it, as a poet.”

“As a poet, I swear not to mock you,” Jaskier raises his hand to cover his heart, barely restraining himself from grinning.

But before Geralt can share whatever it is, someone else approaches their bench. A second stranger— a woman about his height with short brown hair, wearing a pretty blouse. Jaskier notices her much more quickly than he’d noticed Geralt, and he makes the connection instantly. This can’t possibly end well.

“Oh, Yen wasn’t kidding,” says the stranger, eyeing Geralt. “You are very distinctive!”

Geralt stares back at her, slack-jawed for a moment. “What?”

“I’m Renfri,” Geralt’s date introduces herself. Jaskier wishes the earth would open up and swallow him whole, especially when she glances over at him. Her gaze slides back to Geralt, as does Jaskier’s, and yeah, he is very fucking distinctive with that white hair and those yellow eyes. Damn. “My friend Yennefer set us up for a blind date…?”

As Jaskier contemplates throwing himself into the koi pond, Geralt twists to stare at him. Jaskier can only imagine how mortified he must look right now; his face burns as both Renfri and Geralt look his way. Perhaps Renfri will figure it out before Geralt says anything; she looks like a smart woman.

But Geralt just gets up, dusting himself off and shaking his head. “No,” he tells Renfri, which would almost be funny if it weren’t the weirdest thing Jaskier has ever seen anyone do. Then Geralt leaves, turning to walk away from both of them, leaving Jaskier and Renfri alone together in the garden. Renfri frowns, watching him go with obvious increasing confusion. Jaskier also jumps to his feet, equally confused but determined not to lose sight of Geralt.

He chases the man— and it does feel like a chase, Geralt must be fucking speed-walking away— and finally tracks him down well outside the garden. Geralt is thundering down a set of stairs leading to a parking lot and he doesn’t stop at the sound of Jaskier careening towards him. Only when Jaskier desperately calls his name does he finally stop, slowing until he reaches the bottom landing and then standing there, still.

“I’m sorry,” Jaskier calls down the stairs, breathless. He begins to descend them but Geralt doesn’t turn around. “Fuck, you’re fast! Shit. I’m sorry, Geralt.”

Without looking his way, Geralt complains, so quietly that Jaskier nearly misses it, “Yennefer is going to kill me.”

“I would have fucked off,” Jaskier says quickly, hurrying down the rest of the steps until he gets to the bottom. Geralt still doesn’t look at him so Jaskier slides none-too-gracefully into his space, demanding his attention. He’s hardly red in the face or anything, but he looks embarrassed. Jaskier crumbles. “I’m sorry. I— seriously, I don’t care, I would have fucked off. I should’ve left, I should’ve— You should go back there, she’s beautiful!”

Geralt’s nostrils flare but he doesn’t look away. “Why did you lie,” he demands, flat.

“Well,” Jaskier deflates. “Um. You’re beautiful.”

“Hmm.”

“I really am sorry,” he offers.

Geralt, still watching him closely, says, “You don’t sound sorry.”

“What do you want me to do?” Jaskier throws his hands in the air, breaking away from Geralt’s stare— in the greenhouse, surrounded by bright lights and open, manmade nature, it had been easy to sit under the weight of Geralt’s eyes on him. Down here, at the end of a staircase and the entrance to a dark garage, chest still heaving, it feels too intimate. He puts some distance between them, sighing. “You want me to go back there and explain the whole situation to poor Renfri?”

When Jaskier finally turns around again, Geralt’s gaze hasn’t left him. “I want you to come have dinner with me instead,” he says, slowly but purposefully.

“Oh,” breathes Jaskier. “That’s— well, if you want that.”

“I already made a reservation for two. My name’s on the list.” Geralt is fidgeting with the end of his sleeve at first but when he approaches Jaskier he drops it, striding forward without hesitating. “Table for Geralt and one young brunet friend of Yennefer’s.”

Jaskier chokes on his own surprised laugh. “I don’t actually know Yennefer,” he needlessly explains.

“She’s going to hate you,” says Geralt, half-smirking, and then he adds, “Well, she’ll hate both of us now.”

They get to the restaurant twenty minutes late, Geralt’s hair mussed up and lips a bitten red and Jaskier wearing his backpack and a shit-eating grin. The host sees them and immediately tells them their table has been cancelled, and they end up getting terrible two-dollar slices from a hole-in-the-wall pizza place. They eat on the way back to Geralt’s car and then he drives Jaskier back to campus, kissing him soundly in the door to his apartment until Priscilla comes home and yells at Jaskier to get a room. As they squabble Geralt apologizes, polite and nervous, and kisses Jaskier’s cheek and tells him it was nice to meet him.

Jaskier goes inside and spends the next thirteen hours writing the best poetry he will ever write.

[painted-crow]

Did you model Bookkeeper Badger or Courtier Badger most of the time ?

In regards to the past tense you're using--it's the Badger primary model I dropped. Which, I've held on to some of its ideals, but they're just another part of my Bird primary system, and that feels very different.

My Badger secondary model is still good and kicking though!

I was just gonna write about how I use it (and how I try not to use it) to answer this ask, but then it turned into

Secondary Toast Revolving Door, Part 3

(Badger model edition)

and I'm just gonna roll with it.

I did have an unhealthy way I used my Badger secondary model that was... either extreme Bookkeeper, or it's actually been unhealthy Lion secondary all along and I've been mis-Sorting it and this is why the idea of using Lion secondary wigs me out a little. (It's fine when other people use it, but I find the prospect of using it myself at least slightly terrifying.)

Part of my problem is that I'm way too used to situations where pushing through despite feeling like I was about to collapse was the only option. It's probably got to do with... well, some childhood stuff I won't go into too deeply. My mom was in the hospital a lot. The school situation I was in just made everything worse. It's complicated.

Anyway, if I'm under stress, I dissociate out exhaustion, hunger, emotional distress, and even physical pain for hours or days at a time, and I can buckle down and hyperfocus on work (in what would be panic mode if I were more aware of my emotions during these periods). It sounds useful and badass but it really isn't.

Downside #1 is that I will eventually feel the effects of that panic, and any other needs I've been ignoring--it might be at a more convenient time, but those effects definitely won't be lessened.

Downside #2 is traumatic burnout. Do not try this at home. (I always hesitate to use the word "trauma" for my experiences, but the physical reaction I get to writing about some of this stuff says otherwise.)

Downside #3 is that I don't get to choose when my brain does or doesn't do this. It just happens when I'm under stress. I can't count how many times I've had an actual migraine and not noticed why I was so irritable for hours, when I could have taken something.

Downside #4 is that it works. This is possibly the worst one, because the phrase "do your best" takes on a cold sweat-inducing new meaning. My little "ability" has led to some absolutely buckwild performances under deadline, none of which I want to repeat, and I'm not sure I like knowing how much I can get done if I prioritize not failing over not burning out.

(On that note, if you thought my Badger primary model was Exploded last year, you should've seen it 3-4 years ago. I remember when this Kitten Witch post first went up, because I was like "...what? wait--")

In short, this is a very shitty superpower and I would like to re-roll.

I'm undecided whether this is a Badger flavored emergency mode, or the only Lion secondary I can recall using. I lean towards Badger because I have this pathological inability to half-ass anything, and it does not go away during emergencies. But it's possible that it felt Badger flavored because my unhealthy Badger primary model was egging it on with its self deprecating (...self dehumanizing?) exploded Badger crap.

So, wanna know how I got into these nasty deadline crunch situations where emergency hardcore Badger mode became "necessary"?

(I feel like I should reiterate my trigger warning on this series about now: we're talking about gifted kid burnout stuff and I'm about to sarcastically skewer some of my old thought processes here.)

Adequately warned? Great! Here are the step by step instructions to a real shitty time!

Take on a bunch of work while you're feeling okay, based on how much you think everyone else is doing.

Depression gets inevitably triggered somehow, by life stress or overwork or winter or whatever. Burn Bird secondary because that's been a stress response at least since high school.

Have absolutely no clue about the fact that your "limits" vary drastically and your productivity has huge peaks and valleys due to various forms of undiagnosed neurodivergence, which school/college is not designed to accommodate. So, rather than taking a rest and sorting out the stressful thing, get mad at yourself for "being lazy"!

Continue trying to work. Struggle wildly with executive dysfunction. Panic. Get frustrated and angry at yourself. It's cool, I'm sure this will make your Bird secondary start working again soon. (just kidding lol it's making it worse)

When you've aggravated your depression enough, shut down for a few months! Your work will still be there. Piling up. Taunting you. you're falling so far behind what are you doing everyone else can keep up except you

Get sick for a week. Feel relieved that at least now you have a legitimate excuse to not be working. This benefit may feel like it outweighs the symptoms of the flu or sinus infection or whatever you have.

Go into emergency hardcore mode, complete a ridiculous workload in the week before deadline, turn it all in, be almost too exhausted to feel guilty about doing everything last minute.

me: "I don't have ADHD! My focus is usually fine."

also me: this. ^ what is this.

So, I avoid that now. If I notice when Step 3 is happening and I can switch tasks--maybe clean my living space, do some laundry, get some good food, take care of tasks unrelated to whatever project it is that I'm too freaked out to work on--then Bird will be back in a week or two, assuming nothing else huge and stressful happens, and I'll have another productivity peak that'll let me catch up.

This is not the conventional wisdom. Conventional wisdom says you must never break momentum, you must schedule your work out 6 weeks ahead so you always know if you're on track, you must...!

Totally counterproductive for me. My brain is weird and did not come with a manual.

These days, on top of my Bird secondary, I model a mixture of Bookkeeper Badger and mirroring (a Courtier skill), for a number of purposes. I find work satisfying, I'm not afraid of long projects (that I choose), and that shifting, empathetic mirroring response is my default social mode.

But Badger's most important job is to gently take over when Bird is stressed out, and give it space to recover while methodically fixing anything about my situation that's not helping. It's good for that.

I prefer it to the alternative, anyway.

[dindjarindiaries]

Thunder - Chapter 8: Hail

summary: Time winds down until Frankie has to leave Luciana, and suspicions start to grow as to what’s going on between them.

warnings: anxiety attack, angst, fluff, mentions of death, references to sex

rating: R

word count: 4.82k

masterlist

chapter 8: hail

Waking up the next morning, Frankie’s almost certain he’s ascended to heaven. The warm glow of sunlight’s peeking in through the window of the guesthouse bedroom, bathing the woman who lays asleep on his chest in an angelic light. Frankie feels more at peace than he has in a long time, even with the prospect of what’s to come nagging at the back of his mind. He knows he wouldn’t rather be anywhere else than where he is in this very moment—even in the air.

But then, it all sinks in: he’s still here, with Luciana, in the guesthouse, in the morning—and not with everyone else.

Frankie curses under his breath and gently starts to sit up, stirring Luciana from her sleep. She looks up at him through her lashes, eyes half-lidded in a way that Frankie thinks is adorable but can’t dwell on right now. “It’s the morning, Luce,” Frankie informs her, his voice soft yet panicked. “The guys could be up, and they might be looking for—.”

He’s cut off by Luciana leaning in swiftly to kiss him, her hand brushing over his cheek in a way that makes him forget everything else he’d been worrying about. When she pulls away, she stays close, her nose brushing against Frankie’s as she looks him deep in his eyes. “Relájate.” Luciana adds a gentle kiss on the tip of his nose. “It’ll be fine. We’ll just say we woke up early and decided to go for a walk—and we brought the umbrella in case it rained again.”

Frankie takes a deep breath and nods to agree, earning a smile from Luciana in praise as she kisses him one more time. “You always think on your feet,” he tells her, earning a soft chuckle as she moves off of him. She frees herself from the sheets and stands, and Frankie can’t help the way his gaze admires her body once again. In this light, where it’s brighter and even more angelic, he can see more of the outline he’d tried to burn into memory last night, and he can’t help his heart from beating faster at her sheer beauty.

“Now, don’t relax too much, Morales,” Luciana warns Frankie, pulling him from his trance. “I don’t think we have time for another round before things start to look more… suspicious.”

Frankie ignores the blush on his cheeks as he shrugs, starting to untangle himself from the sheets. “Are you sure ‘bout that?”

Luciana raises an eyebrow at him as she starts getting her clothes from the night before back on. “Don’t insult yourself like that, babe. I’m sure you could last much longer than what we’re being given.”

Frankie scoffs and shakes his head, trying to hide his smile of amusement as he also dresses himself back up. Once they make the room neat to the way it’d been before—including new sheets as provided in the closet of the room—they walk out hand-in-hand to the main part of the guesthouse. Frankie reaches for the umbrella and, before he can reach for the door, Luciana pulls him into another kiss. It’s deep and full of the desperation of not knowing when they can share another, lips parted and tongues dancing like their bodies had during the later hours of the night. Frankie’s hand cups her cheek as they pull away, a thumb brushing over the skin there as he watches the light dance in her brown eyes. “I love you,” Franke confesses in a voice that’s hushed yet honest, “and one day, the whole world will know it.”

“All in time,” Luciana assures him, a phrase that he knows he needs to hear because the guilt of not being more public with their relationship has started to eat away at him. She gives his hand a squeeze and presses a kiss to his knuckles. “I love you, too.”

They share a gaze for a few lingering moments and then they open the door of the guesthouse, making sure none of the guys are around before they pretend to return from a morning spent walking through the trails of the surrounding wood. Thanks to their chemistry not only as lovers but also as friends, it’s easy for them to begin making light and casual conversation, making things look natural as they walk back up to the main house. Once they walk inside, they’re met with surprised exclamations from the guys who sit around the kitchen table, except for Santiago who works some eggs in a pan on the stove.

“We all thought you were both asleep, gonna be honest,” Benny admits, drawing a sip from his water with a raised brow.

“Us? Up later than you?” Luciana lets out a playful scoff as she teases him. “You should’ve known better. We were up early and decided to go for a walk. It’s beautiful around here.”

It’s true, Frankie thinks to himself, wishing he could say it to Luciana. My view this morning was really beautiful.

“I’d say that surprises me, but it doesn’t,” Tom mumbles, a small smile growing on his lips as he looks between the two of them. “One day, we’ll switch it up on you.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” Luciana demurs with a chuckle. “Maybe after you’re done with bootcamp.”

And, as much as that’s meant to be a joke, those are the words that make Luciana’s mind take a darker route the rest of the day.

It continues just like the day before, the majority of it spent down at the dock—swimming, boating, kayaking, whatever else to have fun and cool off in the midst of the summer heat. She’s allowed herself a few extra drinks, which she realizes now likely wasn’t the best choice. Luciana sits here in one of the Adirondack chairs, taking a moment to bathe in the sun as she watches the boys toss a football around in the shallower part of the lake, and lets herself think too much.

She’s the only one being left behind. Luciana will have to stay here while her brothers—including one by blood—go off to serve, losing any kind of the contact she’s had with them ever since they all met and gelled together. This includes the love of her life, a man she’s known for longer than the rest aside from Santiago, someone she’s not sure how to live without anymore. Even before the love bloomed, he was the crutch she didn’t realize she was leaning on, the other half that kept her in check and balanced and excited to grow in life. Luciana knows she’s been the same thing for him. She doesn’t often think about what could happen to him while she’s away—not just in the line of duty, but in his mind and his heart. She knows there’s darkness there that even she hasn’t gotten to fully explore, hurt from the things that’s happened to him that he shouldn’t have to deal with on his own. Now, he has to be alone.

Her gaze jumps from person-to-person as they jump and move around in the water—from “grumpy” ol’ Tom, to young, wild, and free Benny, to less-wild-but-still-kinda-crazy Will, to her dearest and fiercely protective Santi, and finally to her entire heart, the caring and kind Frankie—and she can’t help picturing what would happen if this was the last time they were all together. If something happened and she lost one of them, or even all of them. If this little family of theirs that’s dysfunctional yet beautiful in its own unique way was harmed in any way, shape, or form. Luciana’s not sure how she’d be able to carry on. Picturing a life without them, one without Tom or Benny or Will or Santi or Frankie, is enough to knock the breath right from her lungs.

And that’s exactly what it does. Suddenly, Luciana—the one who’s been revered as never being afraid of anything—feels more fear than she’s ever experienced before in her life, and now she can’t breathe.

I can’t breathe.

Luciana tries to take a deep breath but it stalls. The place where she’s supposed to feel the soft rise and fall of her chest is instead engulfed in burning flames, feeling as if they’re full of sand as she tries to get the air in. A cold sweat breaks out on her forehead as she blinks a few times, trying to compose herself because she doesn’t want to break down like this, to show that she’s weaker than everyone thinks she is. But then she tries to breathe again and she still can’t.

She moves to sit on the very edge of her seat, hoping that’ll help somehow as she tries to expand her lungs. It does nothing. Instead, the heaving of her chest becomes more obvious, the cold sweat providing a glare of the sun’s rays, and she realizes she’s drawing attention.

“Luci?” her brother’s voice calls to her, but it feels far away, much further than the few feet he stands in the lake away from her. “You okay?” Santiago comes closer, stepping out of the water as his brow furrows in concern. Luciana looks at him and sees his eyes widen upon viewing the horror in her eyes and the evidence of struggles that go deeper than he was anticipating.

She shakes her head.

Santiago runs over, now, kneeling in front of Luciana and taking one of her hands in his. “What is it, hermanita?” he panics, his free hand touching her cheek and grimacing at how flushed it is. “How can I help?”

“I can’t breathe,” Luciana manages, the image of her brother blurring before her thanks to the tears of fear, shame, and stress that cloud her eyes, now. “I—Santi, I can’t breathe.”

Luciana sees Santiago bristle with more panic as he turns and addresses something to the boys that Luciana can’t take the time to listen to now, fully capturing their attention.

And when Frankie sees what’s happening, he just about feels his heart drop out into the water. It takes everything in him not to sprint over full-speed and take Luciana in his arms right then and there, instead rushing out of the water with the guys to better see what’s going on. Frankie instantly recognizes the behavior because it’s something he’s not unfamiliar with: an anxiety attack.

“Don’t crowd,” Frankie instructs the guys, shooing them to somewhere further off on the dock. He kneels beside Santiago in front of Luciana, placing a hand on her knee as he looks up at her calmly. “You’re having an anxiety attack, Luce. You just need to breathe in time with me, okay?” He earns a struggled nod at that, and he gives her a smile of praise. Santiago looks nervously between his brother and sister. “Breathe in real deep with me, like this.” Frankie takes a deep breath in, and he watches as Luciana shakily does the same. He holds it for a few seconds before going on. “And now let it out.” He exhales as Luciana repeats his motion. He smiles again. “Good. Keep it up.”

Frankie breathes with Luciana until her heaving diminishes and she’s able to get the air in on her own. A few beads of cold sweat still cascade down her head, though Frankie can only see her gaze looking into his—one that’s full of horror and longing, a longing to be comforted by him. But he can’t.

“You’re alright, hermanita,” Santiago assures his sister, hands reaching for the sides of her face as he brushes his thumbs over them. “Feel a little better?” Luciana just nods at him, eyes flickering between her brother and her lover. Frankie tries to ignore the heavy ache in his chest. “I’ll take you to the house and we’ll get you some peace and quiet.”

Luciana nods again to agree, letting Santiago help her to stand up as they start to walk up to the house. Her gaze lingers for just another moment on Frankie when Santiago stops to place a grateful hand on Frankie’s shoulder, and he feels helpless as he begins to stand up slowly from where he’d been kneeling, wishing more than anything that he could be the one going with her—and needing to know what was going through her mind and heart in this moment. Though, he’s pretty sure it has to do with the words she’d cried to him last night, and that thought alone breaks him into pieces.

Once Santiago and Luciana are further out of sight, Frankie walks himself to the edge of the dock, sitting with his legs in the water as he rips his hat from his head. He kneads the material in his hands, his gaze looking endlessly into the rippling water ahead of him. It’s at times like these when he thinks that she’s worth the sacrifice of losing flying. That maybe he can find another skill, another passion, so that she doesn’t have to be alone here and suffer like this. He’d be more than willing to try for her. But she’d never let him.

This is just the first time of many where Luciana will have to suffer without him—and Frankie knows he has to get used to this feeling of pain.

Frankie’s slightly startled when the dock rocks next to him, his gaze looking up to its source as he watches Will sit gingerly beside him. He lets out a heavy breath before he meets Frankie’s gaze, his brow lifting. “You okay, Fish?” Will asks, his voice full of genuine concern as he folds his hands in his lap.

Frankie offers a nod. “Yeah,” he tries his best to assure him, smoothing a hand over his hair before placing his hat back on his head. “I’m just glad that she’s alright. Anxiety attacks are terrifying.”

“Yeah, me too,” Will agrees, his gaze shifting out to the water. “It was scary for me to see her like that. I can’t imagine what it must’ve felt like for you.”

Frankie furrows his brow, his heart starting to beat a bit faster as he looks over at his brother. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Will looks back at Frankie, his expression of nonchalance never changing. “Well, you’re both really close, wouldn’t you say?”

Frankie looks between the water and Will’s gaze. “Uh—yeah, we are, I guess.”

Will remains stoic for one moment but crashes into soft laughter in the next one. He shoulders Frankie in a playful manner. “Fish, you’re a fuckin’ terrible liar.” Frankie can feel his eyes widening as Will raises an eyebrow at him. “You’re in love.”

Frankie’s mouth goes dry as he seeks some kind of response but can’t find one just yet. When he does, it’s incoherent. “I’m, I-I’m in—what?”

Will laughs again. “Don’t worry. She loves you, too. And that’s why you’re together. As you should be.” Will then offers a smile, one that isn’t cynical or threatening. It’s genuinely friendly and warm, as if Will’s been waiting for this to happen as long as Frankie has. Thinking about it, he probably has.

Frankie’s in such shock that he truly can’t speak, now. His lips are parted, but he can’t even begin to think of what he can say. He thought he and Luciana had been doing a good job at keeping things under wraps, but they must’ve slipped somehow. He guesses it was this morning. He wonders if Will’s the only one who knows.

But, just as any good brother would, Will practically reads Frankie’s mind as he continues on. “We all know—everyone except Pope, and I’m pretty sure that’s only ‘cause he’s in such denial of it happening that he refuses to see it.” When Frankie’s eyes only widen more, Will chuckles again. “It’s alright, Frankie. We saw this coming for years. It’s about damn time.”

Frankie finally thinks of something to say, swallowing hard as he tips his hat on his head. “How did you find out?”

Will looks out at the water, pretending to ponder greatly for an answer. “Let’s see.” He hums, and Frankie can tell it’s all an act as he chuckles under his breath. “Leaving all the parties together? Well, that’s just how you two are. No, it was probably when I saw you two dancing at the bar.”

Frankie nearly chokes on air and he feels his cheeks and neck burn red as he runs a hand over the skin there. “You, uh… you saw that?”

Will looks back over at Frankie. “Don’t worry, Frankie, I didn’t stop and stare. And I was mostly drunk. But how could I forget it? My long-time dream couple finally taking their first step together?”

Frankie shakes his head slightly, trying to hold back a smile that’s growing on his lips. “And you didn’t say anything?”

Will shrugs. “I thought you two would be all lovey-dovey after that, but you seemed… normal. So, yeah, I didn’t.”

Now, Frankie’s too curious for his own good. He furrows his brow as he faces his brother. “What else did you see?”

Will’s gaze drifts up to the sky as he thinks again. “I saw your looks at each other on the semi-formal night. I saw you dancing together there. I think that’s when I really, really knew.”

“And the guys did, too?”

“Oh, yeah. We all talked about it when you and Santi and Luci weren’t around. We wanted to help make it happen.”

Frankie feels a realization hit him as he sits up taller towards his friend. “You purposely made sure Luci was left alone in the house the day of my mom’s anniversary, and threw the party the night before graduation at Benny’s frat house so we could be alone, and covered our asses for Pope whenever we snuck away after that.”

Will nods once to agree. “Yep.” He pops the “p.” “And don’t forget the guesthouse.” He gestures towards the path in the woods with his finger, and Frankie can already feel his face turning more red than the color of Will’s swim shorts. “Going for a walk so early in the morning, huh? On the same trail as the guesthouse? What a coincidence.”

Frankie laughs a bit and sighs in defeat, nodding as he looks at Will seriously. “Yeah. We’re together.”

Will slaps a hand on Frankie’s shoulder. “It’s been a long time comin’, brother.” He then wrinkles his brow in concern. “But why’re you trying to be so secretive about it?”

Frankie lowers his voice, gaze falling to his hands as they play with the hem of his t-shirt. “Pope.”

“I figured. But… why?”

Frankie takes a deep breath, looking back up to meet Will’s gaze. “A little while before that night at the bar, Santi, he uh, talked to us. Luci and I. Separately, of course. But he told us that he doesn’t think we should be together because it’s too risky for the dynamic—you know, our family thing we got going on. He’s afraid that if something goes bad between Luci and I, it’ll tear us apart from him. So he made us promise not to get together.”

“And now, you’re together.” Will finishes the idea for Frankie and he nods. Will curses under his breath. “Shit. That’s a dick move on Santiago’s part.”

Frankie shrugs. “He’s just protective of his loved ones.”

“But that doesn’t mean you should have to hide your relationship in the fuckin’ shadows, Frankie. You two are made for each other. We’ve all known it since day fuckin’ one.”

“Then why do you think he made us promise that?”

Will shakes his head, looking at the lake. “Like you said. He’s probably afraid that the closer you two become to each other, the more you’ll drift away from him.” He looks back to Frankie. “He’s afraid of being alone, Frankie.”

Frankie understands that fear. He’s lived that life, experienced that feeling of being so utterly alone and abandoned in this world by everyone he’s loved. That’s why he can’t bring himself to be mad at Santiago, and that’s why he keeps bending to his will and keeping his love hidden.

“You gotta tell him eventually, Fish. He deserves to know. She’s his twin sister for God’s sake, and you’re the closest brother he has out of all of us.”

“I know.” Frankie feels the guilt from earlier resting heavily on his shoulders, now, a hand wiping down his face as he watches his feet kick in the semi-clear lakewater. “I just… now isn’t the time. We’re about to go to basic training and he doesn’t need this shit in his head while we’re doing all that.”

Will nods understandingly. “I get it, Frankie, I really do. But the longer you wait, the worse his reaction will be—especially when it comes to the guesthouse.”

Frankie’s eyes double in size. “He will not be told about the guesthouse.”

Will laughs at Frankie’s panic. “An unnecessary detail. Your secret’s safe with us.” Will places his hand on Frankie’s shoulder yet again, giving his brother another warm smile. “I’m real happy for you both, Frankie.” Frankie returns his brother’s smile. “Just make sure we’re in the wedding. Alright?”

Frankie burns red yet laughs, standing up along with Will as they walk back towards where Benny and Tom are seated in two of the Adirondack chairs. Benny tilts his sunglasses down his nose upon their arrival. “What were you two ladies gossiping about?” Benny jokes, causing Will to snort. “The fact that we know this man’s fuckin’?” He gestures to Frankie who just about adapts red as the permanent color of his face at this point.

“Now Benny, what did I tell you about reducing the state of their relationship to sexual intimacy?” Will retorts, raising his brow at his brother.

Benny blinks a few times at his brother. “Was that English?” he finally asks.

The guys laugh, and Will nudges Frankie’s shoulder again. He points up to the house. “You should go check up on her,” he says lowly. Frankie nods to agree, the ache for his lover still prominent in his chest as he starts off towards the pathway that leads to the house. “Tell Pope we’re ready for another round of tossin’ if he’s up to it.”

Frankie holds up a thumb in acknowledgement, refusing to do anything to slow his movements towards Luciana as he heads up to the house. Once he’s made his way inside through the sliding glass door, he sees Santiago standing by the fridge in the kitchen, pouring a glass of water that’s no doubt for Luciana. He doesn’t see her around, though, and he wonders where she’s gone.

“Hey,” Frankie greets gently, not wanting to startle his brother. Santiago looks at Frankie with eyes still panicked for his sister, but they relax a bit upon seeing Frankie. “How’s she doing? How’re you doing?”

Santiago shrugs as he closes the fridge door, resting the glass of water on the counter as he crosses his arms over his chest. “She’s alright, I think,” Santiago informs him. “Good enough to not want her twin brother fussing over her anymore.” Frankie chuckles softly at that, as does Santiago. He then grimaces, though, a sigh falling from his lips. “But she said it was because she’s worried for us, Frankie—all of us. That makes me feel like shit. I don’t want to have to leave her behind.”

Frankie’s own heart breaks apart at his words. “Me neither, Santi. None of us do. But she’s strong, and a moment like this doesn’t change that. I’m sure that once everything falls into place, we’ll all be a little more at ease.”

Santiago nods to agree. Frankie hates the way his brother seems so down and guilty still, so he walks towards him and holds out his arms, accepting him in a tight hug as he pats his back a few times for reassurance. No words are spoken as the two brothers share a moment of strength, trying to comfort each other over the same woman—to one a dear sister, and to the other a passionate lover. Frankie has a feeling everything will be okay even as he pulls away from the embrace, smiling at Santiago.

“Will said they’re ready for another round if you are,” Frankie informs him. “I can keep an eye on her if you want me to.”

Santiago returns his smile. “That’d be great, Frankie. She’s sick enough of me already.”

Frankie chuckles again, shaking his head as he takes the glass of water off the counter. Santiago steps outside and heads back down to the dock, and Frankie tries to compose himself for what’s to come as he looks around for Luciana. He assumes she’s upstairs, now, and so he heads in that direction with the water in hand. When he comes around the corner of her room, he gently raps his knuckles against the doorframe.

“Santi, for fuck’s sake, I already told you that I’m fin—.” Luciana cuts herself off when she sees Frankie’s image appear in her doorway. She’s since slid on a sweatshirt following the incident, her arms hugging over her stomach as she sits with her legs criss-crossed on the bed. Her brown eyes twinkle at his presence. “Frankie?”

He doesn’t speak just yet as he walks closer to her, setting the glass on the bedside table as he seats himself on the edge of her bed. He reaches a delicate hand to brush away a loose piece of hair from her face, and she leans into his touch without ever breaking his gaze. Frankie can feel his eyes softening at her. “You alright, baby girl?” he finally says, his voice so soft that he wonders if she’s even heard it.

But she must, since she offers a light smile in return. “I’m fine,” Luciana assures him, one of her hands covering the one he still has on her cheek. “I just… got a little too lost in my thoughts.”

Frankie shakes his head at her. “You don’t have to keep it all in here, Luce.” He takes his free hand to gently tap his finger against her temple, earning a larger smile from her. “You have me, too. And Santi. And your other brothers.”

Luciana sighs. “I know. I just don’t want to look…”

“… weak to them?” Luciana nods, and Frankie shakes his head again as he holds her face between his hands. “Luci, having anxiety like that and thoughts like those doesn’t make you ‘weak.’ It just proves how caring and protective you are over all of us. We’re all feeling the same things you are even if we’re not vocalizing them. You being able to say them aloud would prove that you’re actually much stronger than all of us.”

Luciana grabs one of Frankie’s hands to press a kiss to his palm upon hearing that. “Thank you.” Her voice is quiet but never falters, her mesmerizing gaze settling in Frankie’s as she continues smiling at him. “I love you, baby.”

Frankie beams and his heart warms at her endearment. He leans forward to press a gentle kiss against her lips, one so soft that it can barely be felt. He pulls away and rests his forehead against hers. “I love you way more.”

With those words, he wraps his arms around her and shifts his position on the bed, encouraging her to lean into him as he strokes her hair softly. Frankie hopes it can bring her even more peace that she so desperately needs right now—as does he. Yet, he also knows he needs to get his recent conversation off his chest and inform Luciana of what’s been said.

“By the way, Luce… the guys know.”

Luciana lifts her head momentarily from Frankie’s chest, her brow furrowed. “About what?”

Frankie’s eyebrow lifts. “Us.”

Luciana doesn’t even look surprised as she lets her head rest against his chest again. “Oh. Yeah, I figured.”

“You did?”

“We’re not very good at being secretive, Francisco.”

Frankie chuckles at that. “I guess you’re right, Luciana.” Luciana wrinkles her nose upon hearing her full name. “But… your brother deserves to know. Soon.”

“Like I said this morning, babe… all in time.”

Frankie nods to agree with that, planting a kiss in her hair before resting his chin against her head. He continues to stroke her hair as he closes his eyes, absorbing the touch and close intimacy while he still can. The future’s unclear as of now, between his flying and her working and whatever the hell Santiago’s gonna do when he finds out about this, but he knows one thing for certain: Luciana will always be there. “All in time.”

thunder tag list: @youhavereachedtheendofpie @charmantbarnes @theindiealto @fangirl-and-stuff @phoenixhalliwell @maybege @housekenobi @seawhisperer @mrsparknuts @saltywintersoldat @softpedropascal @i-hide-inside-my-head @sunshinepascal @domino-oh-damn @thirsty-flygirl

permanent tag list: @mikahid @bestintheparsec @stilllivindue2spite @givemethatgold @xbrujita @mandalorianspace @blushingwueen @sevvysaurus @myakai13 @thisis-theway @beskars @rachelloveseveryone @theindiealto @hiscyarika @burningsoulbloodyheart @wickedfrsgrl @synystersilenceinblacknwhite @bookwafflefangirl @charliepeaceout @cable-kenobi @ezraslittleblondestreak @hdlynn @your-pixels-are-showing @b0n-chann @javier-djarin​ @mistermiraclee​

[dreamwritesimagines]

Once A Year 16- Unexpected [Billy Russo x Reader]

A.N: Thank you so much for your patience my loves! Here’s the finale! <3 Your messages make my day, please keep them coming! <3

Summary: Sometimes, fairytales end differently.

Characters: Billy Russo x Reader, Frank Castle x Karen Page

Warning: Explicit language, abuse, violence, dysfunctional relationships, cheating, murder. As usual, I don’t condone any of the messed up stuff happening on the show or in this story.

Word Count: 2862

Due to the linking issue, the previous chapters are on my masterlist<3

You really hated funerals.

Except for this one. This one, somehow, gave you a rush of relief. He was gone, locked away in a coffin, never to leave, never to find you ever again.

“Aldrich Killian was a successful businessman.” The priest said “But more than that, he was compassionate.”

Right. Keep talking about shit you don’t know, buddy.

You kept your eyes on the coffin, barely paying attention to the speech, or the way Carter looked almost frozen, blinking so hard as if trying not to cry.

Closed casket funeral.

Happens when you leave a corpse for almost a month.

Fits you, asshole, you thought, And hey, who could’ve thought those crime shows were right, huh? The killer always attends the funeral.

“He was taken from us by a cruel twist of fate,” the priest said and you tried to keep your expression stable.

Not exactly true, is it Aldrich? I took your life. I ended you. I made you suffer, just like I promised myself back then.

And there’s nothing you can do about it.

Your phone buzzed in your purse but you ignored it, still staring at the coffin.

“In times like these, it may be hard not to lose faith.” he said, “But we all know that those who were responsible for it will face justice.

It had been almost too easy to frame Billy’s ex boss Rawlins. Now it wasn’t only Billy and Frank but also the police were looking for him, and you were almost proud of yourself for coming up with that idea. Two birds with one stone.

Or better yet, two bodies with one bullet.

Ah well.

Carter took a shaky breath beside you, and you stole a look at him, then squeezed his arm in a supporting manner.

“And it is important to keep in mind that Aldrich Carter will be remembered.”

No he won’t be. I made sure of that.

Finally, they started to lower the casket into the grave and you pursed your lips to make sure you weren’t smiling, and soon enough, people started to go back to their cars. You checked your phone, then looked up at Carter.

“Hey,”

“Thank you for coming,” he muttered, “I know it must’ve been hard for you.”

You smiled slightly, “I’m here for you Carter, not him.”

Liar liar…

“To think that the last thing I told him was….” Carter trailed off, then shook his head, “Anyway. I know he was a terrible person, his death doesn’t change or excuse what he did to you.”

You shrugged slightly, then started walking beside him slowly.

“So um- how have you been?”

“I’m good,” you nodded, “I’ve been pretty busy lately.”

“Yeah, I heard you sold the gallery.” Carter said “I thought you liked that place.”

“I did. I do. It’s just-“ you heaved a sigh, “I think a clean slate will be good for me.”

“So what will you do now?”

“Early retirement.” You joked, making him smile, “I don’t know. I’m going away for a while actually. I’m- I think I’ll make a home for myself somewhere.”

“I thought New York was home for you.”

“I don’t really think home is an actual place for me anymore.”

He hmmed, “Billy then?” he asked, “I assume he’s coming with you?”

You nodded again as you reached your car, “Yeah. He is.”

Carter thought for a moment, “Are you happy, Y/N?”

You didn’t even stop to think, your answer was natural and for the first time in your life, sincere.

“Yeah,” you said, “I am. Weird, huh?”

Carter tried to smile, “Nah not weird, just good.”

“And you?”

“Ah, you know,” Carter shrugged, “I’m just…trying to be.”

“Carter,” you told him, “I need you to listen to me. You’re the nicest guy I’ve ever met. Don’t let what happened with me keep you back, okay?” you cleared your throat, “It was selfish of me to drag you into that. None of it was your fault, and I betrayed your love and your trust. Don’t let me change you. Please, please don’t make me turn you into….me.”

He thought for a moment, then shot you a mischievous look, “You turned out just fine,” he said, then pulled you closer to hug you tight, and you patted his back before you pulled back.

“I’ll see you around Y/N.”

No you won’t.

“See you around, Charming.” You said softly, then got into your car and drove away.

                                               * * *

The road to airport was almost peaceful. You checked your wristwatch, then looked around and made your way to the café Billy had told you they were in.

“Hey babe,” Billy stood up to peck you on the lips and you winked at him, then sat down next to Karen who sat across Frank and Curtis drummed his fingernails on the table.

“Hey guys.”

“Today is just sad,” Karen mumbled, resting her chin on her fist and you grinned,

“Nah, it’s okay. You guys are among the very few people who will have my new number, it’s not like we will lose contact.”

“It’s beyond me how you’re willing to move away with this asshole.” Frank pointed at Billy, who punched at his arm,

“Don’t make her see sense until it’s too late, brother.”

“I know right? It surprised me too.” You grinned at Billy who shook his head slightly, “Anyways, you guys are totally invited.”

“I’ve never been to Tahiti,” Karen wondered out loud and Curtis nodded,

“Me neither.”

“See? One more reason to visit.”

“I mean I could use a vacation,” Frank stated and you motioned between them,

“There you go,” you said and turned to Curtis, “You too, you know? I can’t handle him alone, I need help.” 

“I know, I know...”

You checked your watch, “Bill.”

“Yeah, I know, it’s almost time.” He downed his coffee, then stood up, Frank and Curtis following him suit. You turned to Karen.

“Plane tickets on me.” You smiled before you pulled her into a hug, and she chuckled in your grip.

“Deal.”

“Don’t be a stranger, yeah?” Frank said as soon as you pulled back and cocked his head in Billy’s direction “Keep my boy out of danger, he’s an idiot.”

You let out a small laugh and nodded after hugging Curtis, “Don’t upset blondie over there and we have a deal. Oh, speaking of-“ you reached into your bag, “Karen?”

“Hm?”

“Catch.” You tossed her your car keys and she caught them mid-air, then shot you a quizzical look.

“What-?”

“I’ll mail you the papers when I land, consider it my thanks for putting up with my bullshit,” you clicked your tongue, “I may or may not have checked you out while Frank wasn’t looking too.”

“Hey!”

“She’s hot man, and I’m a sucker for pencil skirts!” You defended yourself and Karen gawked at you,

“Y/N, you can’t just give me your car-“

“Yeah I can, I’m rich.” You said, making Billy chuckle and shake his head fondly, “Take care, okay?”  

Billy threw a hand over your shoulder, then pulled you closer as you started walking to the private hangar. You entwined your fingers with his and he pressed a kiss to the top of your head.

“You okay?” he asked, “The funeral….?”

“Yeah,” you said as you heaved a sigh, “I just- um… I don’t feel guilty. Is that normal?”

“Our normal.” Billy said, “Others are expendable, remember?”

You nodded slowly as your phone buzzed in your hand, making you stop walking and you checked the screen.

Dad

You hesitated for a moment, then declined the call and put it back into your bag.

“Skittles?”

You let out a breath, then shook your head,

“Just-“ you swallowed thickly, looking around, “I never want to come back to….this. Any of this. Promise me I won’t have to.”

He seemed to understand what you meant, because he pulled you closer, his hands cradling your head before he kissed you.

“Never.” He whispered, “Let’s go home.”

                               *A MONTH LATER*

You were one hundred percent positive that you would never get tired of Tahiti. The scent of the ocean, the fresh air, the faint sound of waves hitting the shore as you dangled your legs over the wooden porch railing you were sitting on, eyes closed, with a warm cup of coffee in your hands.

This was what happiness felt like.

This was what home felt like.

It almost felt surreal.

Your eyes opened as a pair of arms wrapped around your waist and you smiled softly, looking up so that Billy could press a kiss on your forehead.

“Morning.”

“Hey,” his voice was raspy, still laced with sleep, “Why aren’t you in bed? It’s early.”

“I like watching the sunrise.” You said, “It’s… calm.”

“Well, I had a less calm activity in mind when I woke up.” He mumbled into your shoulder, making you giggle.

“Oh is that so?”  

“Mm hm,” he kissed your shoulder as you ran your fingers through his hair, which was longer than before. He let out a noise of content, making you smile.

“I still think I will wake up someday.” He mumbled and you frowned, then swung your legs over the railing and turned around so that you could face him.

“Hm?”

“This…everything.” Billy ran his fingertips down your bare arms, waking goosebumps. “All of this. It feels too good to be true.”

You shook your head, “Bill, it’s not a dream.” You said softly, “It’s our happy ending.”

“Guys like me don’t get happy endings, Skits.”

“Girls like me do.” You shrugged, “You got lucky Russo. Deal with it.”

He chuckled, “Sometimes before I fall asleep I think I will wake up next morning and…not find you there.”

“Hey,” you cupped his cheek so that his dark eyes would find yours, “Never going to happen. You’ve been stuck with me ever since I stole your candy, remember? Sorry to let you know, it’s the rest of your life.”

Billy nodded, as if trying to convince himself and keep the bad thoughts at bay, “It is, right?”

“I mean,” you trailed off playfully, “Not like I have a vintage marquise diamond rose gold band ring, which you could find downtown on the fifth street right across that restaurant we ate last night.”

That finally made him chuckle, “You would think you didn’t reject me when I asked you to marry me.”

“Um, you didn’t ask me to marry you dickhead, you said and I quote, You know I will marry you right? Which in all honesty is a terrible-“

“I also asked you on our first night here.”

“Okay, pillow talk proposals don’t count, everyone knows orgasms mess up with your mind- also to repeat, no ring Russo. Beyoncé taught me better.”

He nodded solemnly, “Third time is the charm.”

You couldn’t control your expression anymore so you burst into a laughter, shoving him slightly, “So, what did you have in mind again, when you woke up?”

He grinned at you, then lifted you up bridal style, making you let out a squeal and carried you back inside, both of you laughing like crazy.

                                          * * *

Time just flew by when you were happy.

It was so strange, normally –especially when you were in New York- every single thing you were going to do was planned, and each and every hour until you went to bed you had something. But now, it was as if you were free.

Now to think of it, you were.

“Okay, keep your eyes closed,” you said, still walking him until you reached the door of the empty shop. You had just finished dinner at a local restaurant, and you had basically dragged him outside afterwards, your heart beating in your ears. You unlocked the door, switched the lights on and turned to him, “Ta daa!”

Billy opened his eyes, then looked around before he turned to you with a quizzical look in his eyes.

“An empty shop?”

“My new gallery!” you couldn’t help to rock back and forth on the balls of your feet like an excited child, “I bought it!”

“Wait, really?” Billy raised his brows, “It’s uh… cozy.”

“I know, it’s smaller than the last one, but hear me out,” you licked your lips, “So I was walking downtown the other day, and it just occurred to me, what if I get this gallery to…to support the local artists? I made some research, and um- before, it was all about like general profit, and how much it’d push me up, and my bank account, that’s why I kept dealing with all those pretentious assholes, but now I don’t have to. I can actually use it to help people, and to support art, and- isn’t it amazing?” you finished, your voice going a pitch higher and that seemed to make Billy smile and nod.

“Wow, look at you babe.”

“I already talked to some street artists, and I think- Billy, it’s going to change their lives. I will be a part of that, I can make a difference here!”

Billy’s smile widened and he pulled you by the hand to get you closer before he tilted your chin up to kiss your lips.

“What do you think?” you asked, “Be honest. Brutally honest.”

“I think it’s a pretty good idea.”

“You’re not just saying that to get laid tonight?”

“You and I both know I’m getting laid tonight regardless.” He stated, making you giggle and steal a kiss, “But no, Skits it’s a really good idea.”

“And it won’t be as heavy as before, I can make my own rules here.”

“Mm hm. Once a boss, always a boss.”

“Yeah, keep that in mind buddy.” You grinned and let out a breath, “I’m excited!”

“I can see that,” Billy smacked your butt, making your jaw drop and shove him slightly,

“It’s a place of business, Russo!” You exclaimed as he chuckled and you pulled him by the hand outside, then locked the door.

You couldn’t stop talking about your new project all the way home. You had never even thought you could actually use your degree to help artists, it was all about money before, as your parents had drilled into your head, but now it was like a new horizon for you. You felt so energetic, so awake, and contrary to New York, you weren’t going to work to death.

It was just going to be perfect.

“So then I talked to him, and he says he had never even thought about being paid for his art which is insane, like I think he can get to places if he has a little push, and the gallery is close to the beach, so more tourists when you think about it.” You said as Billy pulled over in front of the house, then turned to you.

“You’re actually glowing, you know that?” he asked you with a fond smile, “Jesus, you’re even prettier when you’re happy.”

“I’m going to change lives!”

“Not a first for you Skits, you changed mine.”

You awwed, then leaned in to kiss him, “Come on, let’s get inside.”

“You go ahead babe, I’ll be there in five,” he pulled out his phone “I gotta call Frank, he said there was something he needed to talk to me.”

“Oh?”

“I’m sure it’s nothing,” he said and you nodded.

“Well, I’ll go inside and hop into the shower, and you’re welcome to join.”

Billy grinned, “I’ll be there in two minutes, I’m sure Frank can talk fast when he wants to.”

“That’s brotherhood for you,” you scoffed a laugh, then pecked him on the lips, “I love you. Don’t be late.”

You pushed open the car door, then went to unlock the front door and got inside. Humming a song, you made your way to the living room, switched the lights on and gasped, the fear hitting you with its full force.

Rawlins. Billy’s former boss, the man whom you heard was referred as dangerous and psycho by both Billy and Frank was standing right in front of your living room, pointing a gun at you.

“Hi.” He tilted his head, “Y/N, right? Russo’s girl?”

You could feel the whole room spinning, the panic making your mind work in full force. Your phone was in your bag, there was no way you could reach the door before a bullet hit you, and-

Billy was outside.

Oh God, he was outside.

“What do you want?”

He shot you a look, “You’re pretty,” he commented, “I can see why he wanted to settle down with you. But you see, framing me for a murder you committed made my life pretty difficult.”

“I-“

He tsk tsked, “And Russo…. Well. I’d say he’s had enough of this peace don’t you think? Working with Castle behind my back, and then pulling this shit? That’s not gonna fly. Maybe seeing your brains on the wall will make him remember that there are some lines he shouldn’t cross.”

Your heart was beating so fast that you thought it resonated through the room, as you heard footsteps and the front door opening,

“Skittles?” Billy called out and you opened your mouth to scream, to tell him to run away, to do anything- but before you could take a breath, Rawlins raised the gun and pulled the trigger.

There was a loud noise, louder than your heart.

Then, darkness.

                                    The End.

     Special thanks to: @theskytraveler @iblogabout-stuff @marauderskeeper  @asongofmarvelanddc @mellxander1993 @papercloudx @noisyinfluencerstrawberry @superwolfchild-fan  @anxietysucks @finnickfoxes @luminex3 @rhabakoli @fictionalthrill  @redrxbel  @maelloute @we-are-all-wild-things @evilturtlemonkey @xinyourdreamsx @demoncrypt1066 @go-crybaby @i-am-always-famished @delicatelilyflower  @mamaraptor  @rmwest9 @writeyourmindaway  @becs-bunker @bubbleself @flaboyance @binbonsadoration @propertyofpoeandbucky @alwaysadreamingoptimist  @lisa-stilinski @denimandcabernet @tofadavidson @seriouslynogood @mixed-imagination @broken-pieces @lettersofwrittencollective @binbons-is-theloml @thinemineours @cutie-bug  @random-quartz  @malik-payne @gollyderek @ariminiria @lucielandss @tofadavidson and lovely anons! <3 You’re awesome! 

[greykolla]

*SPOILERS FOR THE UBRELLA ACADEMY*

I NEED TO VENT, DUDE! THIS IS JUST MY OPINION PLEASE DONT GET MAD AT ME. GOD BLESS YOU IF YOU LIKED IT. THE WORLD IS BEAUTIFUL CUZ WE ARE ALL DIFFERENT.

I haven’t read the comics or know anything about this franchise other than the Netflix show that I just finished! So I’m just ranting about this as a tv show.

Man, I had been so ecxcited for this show! It looked so cool and different and fun! A dysfunctional family with superpowers that need to stop the world from ending!? That sounds awesome! (And that cute character with the beard and eyeliner is already my favourite!) I was ready for some supporting family scenes! Siblings counting on each other after being raised by this asshole dad! They all look so cool and interesting, I can’t wait to see them intereact with each other! Since it’s probably focused on the family there might not even be a stupid boring love subplot! I can’t wait!

Yeah no.

what I got instead was:

People being constantly mean to each other, always thinking about themselves and not ever, ever put aside their problems to help another person. Especially not if they are their siblings, then they just somehow make it about themselves. “I feel bad cuz my mind is filled with ghost voices” Normal response: “I am so sorry, that must be very difficult. I don’t like that you try to block it by using drugs, but I understand why. I hope you know you can talk to me about it.” BUT WHAT INSTEAD HAPPENS: “OH MY GOD GROW UP! we’re all hurting! Me especially! Have I mentioned that I’m sad too! You’re not the only one that dad messed up! You should just pull yourself together you weak baby!” Or even this messed up mentality that they seem to have: “Fuck You! Are you seriously sad that you didn’t get hugged once when you were little!? Didn’t ever get love or felt loved by your parental figure?! You have scary powers, and the only way to practice or control them was to lock you up somewhere dark and scary!? And a monkey butler told you that it was only done to protect you!? Cuz obviously the only way to do that is to emotionally scar and destroy a 5-10 year old CHILD!? CHILDREN NEEDING LOVE AND POSITIVE ATTENTION TO GROW UP INTO FUNCTIONAL ADULTS IS A MYTH! AND YOU SHOULD ALL BE THANKFUL FOR WHAT YOUR FATHER DID FOR YOU! HE LOVED YOU ALL IN HIS OWN WAY SO ITS FINE!!!!! stop being a baby and grow up right this second without any human affection unless it’s from someone you can fuck! AAAAAAAAAA!!”

So I’m just so mad. I know they are supposed to be emotionally stunted and dysfunctional, but they don’t frame it like it’s a horrible thing. Like it’s something they need real help with from other people or each other. They also always say: “They are my family. I love them. They love me. I need to save them. They would do the same for me. That’s what a family is. we hate each other, fight constantly and say horrible things, don’t talk or support each other, never have any fun together or positive scenes of us all bonding or making good memories. We ignore the hell out of those of us who really need help, and are actively drowning in front of us. Especially if they have SERIOUS DRUG PROBLEMS or WERE EMOTIONALLY ABUSED AND IGNORED ALL THEIR LIFE BY US AND OUR FATHER.....but we love each other and I would be destroyed if anything happened to them.

I SERIOUSLY DONT FEEL ANY LOVE BETWEEN THESE Characters! They also are almost never all in the same room, and many of them don’t even ever talk! I would have loved to see how Klaus and Vanja get along! Or Nr 5 and Vanja! Or Just ANYONE IN THAT FAMILY WHO MIGHT BE NICE TO VANJA! And not just Allison because she’s her sister and only sisters can be friends blah blah blah! Luther can go die in a deep hole. SHE CAME TO YOU GUYS FOR HELP! THE WORLD IS ENDING BECAUSE YOU ARE ALL TO FAR UP YOUR OWN ASS TO HELP ANOTHER PERSON! NONE OF YOU EVEN TRIED TO TALK TO HER! (except Allison and she lost her voice cuz fuck you) HER POWERS ARE NOT “TO BE EVIL” SHE WAS NOT DESTINED FOR THIS! Your dad was a fucking idiot who thought: “Goodness me! This BABY is not responding well to me being angry and demanding of her!? SHE MUST BE LOCKED UP IN A SPIKY BOX THIS INSTANT! MAKE SURE EVERYONE IGNORES HER TOO, SO SHE’LL FEEL LONELY ALL HER LIFE! I THINK THAT WILL GREATLY HELP WITH KEEPING HER SAFE! I AM A GOOD PARENT AT THE END OF THE DAY!”

JUST.....! Fuck these people. (Except for Vanja, Klaus, Agnes and Hazel....and nr 5 was kinda alright. I liked him a bit.)

I hope to god they get better in the next season. This is all over the place sorry. 😅

[queen-of-the-avengers]

Something Mischievous Going On

Characters: Loki x Reader, Thor, Steve, Natasha, Clint

Word Count: 2,395

Warnings: Just fluff

Summary: You have some fun with Loki in the game room on your day off.

Square Filled: Loki Laufeyson

Author’s Note: This is for @marvelfluffbingo . If you have any requests, please send them in! I would love to hear what you have! This is unbeta’d and any and all mistakes are all on me.

Feedback the glue that holds my writing together

Tags at the bottom

What most people don’t know is that when the Avengers aren’t working, all they are doing is playing. When you and the rest of the crew aren’t out fighting crime, you’re in the tower goofing off. It’s something that helps everyone wind down and it’s a good time to spend some quality time together.

One of your favorite things to do is to spend time in the game room. In this room, Tony so graciously decided to put a hockey table, pool table, foosball table, several outdated arcade games, a flat screen TV, and several other high-tech gadgets.

You always found yourself in this room at least 3 times a day, if not more. It was something that calmed you and there were times some of the other Avengers would play in here with you. You all had a good time together and that’s really what being an Avenger is really all about.

You saw Steve, Natasha, Tony, Clint, and Bruce on a daily basis. You knew them pretty well and you got along with every single one of them. You were all one big dysfunctional family that worked really well.

As for Peter, you only saw him when Tony invited him to come over to the tower or when he butted in on some of your missions. He was a nice kid, but he had a habit of causing trouble which you or someone else had to clean up.

The only people who you missed when they left was Thor and especially Loki. They came down to the tower every once in a while, and when they did, you had a blast with them. More so with Thor than Loki. Thor was like a big brother to you, always trying to cause mischief and hide things from Tony. You connected with him in a way you didn't with anyone else. The only problem was Loki.

You always clamored up whenever he came around. There was something about him that set your nerves on fire. When you looked at him, all you saw was the icy exterior he put up, but you knew that wasn’t who he really was. When he looked at you, you felt him trying to read your inner most thought, opening you up like a book so he could learn all your secrets. You believed he knew more about you than you did about him.

You wanted to talk to him and to show him friendliness, but it was really hard to go up to him when all he did was stray from the group. He didn’t like to be near everyone when he came to visit. Not many people liked him but you did. You just wished you could show him that because he deserved someone to always be there for him, to take care of him. You just hoped that one day you would be able to show him that he could trust you, and only you.

“Guess who’s coming today?” Steve said after he popped his head in your room. You looked up from your laptop and gave him a smile.

“Who?”

“Thor!”

“What about Loki?” You asked, pushing your laptop to the side so you could sit up.

“Yeah, he’s coming too.” Steve shrugged. You smiled and got up before walking over to your friend.

“That’s awesome! I can’t wait!”

“You really like him, don’t you?” Steve gave you a knowing smirk.

“Who, Thor? I mean, yeah he’s like a brother to me.” You chuckled nervously, knowing full well Steve didn’t man Thor.

“Come on, you know that’s not who I mean. You like Loki!”

“Would you keep your voice down? I don’t need everyone knowing!” You hissed.

“Does he know?”

“No one knows because I don’t like him.” You sighed, rolling your eyes at his behavior.

“Okay, then I guess you won’t mind me asking him when he gets here.” Steve threatened.

“No!” Your eyes widened. “Okay, fine, you win. I do like him, sort of. Just don’t say anything, okay? You’ll scare him off.”

“Y/N, the last thing I can do to someone like Loki is scare them. Good luck.” Steve winked before leaving your room. You huffed out and looked around your room before cleaning it. You wanted your room to look nice just in case Loki somehow finds himself in here.

“Cheer up, brother, we have arrived.” Thor smiled at his grumpy brother. They only arrived a few minutes ago and they were walking into the building.

“Oh yes, let me just beam for joy at the thought of spending time with a bunch of people who hate me.” Loki rolled his eyes but followed his brother inside. The real reason he decided to come to Earth was for you. No one knew but he liked being around you. He liked how you tried to involve him like he was someone important. Plus, it didn’t hurt that you were so beautiful.

“They don’t hate you, they just don’t know you.” Thor tried to make the situation better.

“My mistake,” Loki said sarcastically. When both brothers walked into the room, everyone greeted Thor with open arms, welcoming him. No one barely looked at Loki except for you.

You were in the corner of the room with a book propped on your lap but you weren’t staring at the book. You were staring at Loki. You blushed when your eyes met his and you quickly shut the book before walking over to Thor.

“It’s good to see you!” You smiled and hugged Thor tightly before letting him go.

“It’s good to see you too, Lady Y/N.” Thor smile. You looked at Loki and walked over to him before blushing even more.

“Hi, Loki.”

“Hello Y/N.” Loki nodded his head to you politely. You looked behind you to see Thor with the other Avengers, doing whatever they wanted. You turned back to Loki and bit your lip before speaking.

“I heard from Thor you like to read?”

“I do like to read, yes. Why?”

“I got some new books and I don’t have enough space on my shelf for more, so I wanted to get rid of my old ones and wanted to know if you want them. They might not be the things you read back on Asgard but they’re really good. I like them.” You rambled.

“Sure, lead the way.” You nodded and looked back at your friends to see Steve smirking at you. You rolled your eyes and lead Loki to your room. You walked in, glad you decided to clean it before he came, and headed straight to your bookshelf.

“Um, here they are.” You pointed to the books. Before you had a chance to move, Loki walked over and stood right in front of the bookshelf, blocking your only way out. You blushed and stayed still, watching as Loki stared at your books. You stared at him, scanning his entire face. He was so beautiful and had so much potential, you wished that the others saw what you saw. The only thing odd was the wave of warmth you felt coming from his body. You thought he was a Frost Giant.

“You’re staring.” He mumbled, not taking his eyes off the books. You blushed and looked away before clearing your throat.

“I thought you were a frost giant.” You blurted out. Loki turned away from the books and stared down at you. You had no choice but to look back in his eyes.

“I am, why?”

“I can feel your heat, um, and I thought you’re supposed to be cold.” You stuttered, biting back a blush. Loki chuckled and he stepped back from you, giving you a little more space to breathe in.

“That’s just what I want you to feel. I am actually quite cold but I didn’t think you wanted to feel it.”

“Oh, yeah, duh. I knew that with you being a God and all. Um, d-did you want any of my books?” Loki smiled and he backed away some more.

“I think I’ll give them a try.” He nodded. You broke out into a big smile and took a few steps towards him.

“Awesome! Like I said, they’re really good and I know you’ll like them.” You grabbed the off the shelf and put them on your bed so you can pack them later to give to him. You hoped he was feeling more welcomed here.

The rest of the day was spent with everyone playing games in the living room. You and Loki didn’t speak to each other since he left your room, but you did receive knowing stares from Steve. You were having a good time, just enjoying each other’s company but you were starting to get bored. Right now, Natasha and Clint were having an arm wrestling match to see who was the strongest even though Natasha was winning.

You loved these guys but you really wanted to do something else. You watched as Natasha beat Clint, asking for more volunteers to match against her. You looked up to see Loki staring at you. You knew he wasn’t having any fun here which made you think of the one place you knew he would.

You got up from your spot and kept eye contact with him while walking to the arcade room. Its door was right in the living room so you didn't walk far but you opened the door and motioned for him to follow you. Walking into the room, you immediately went to the pool table and set up a game. The door opened and closed, signaling that Loki was inside the room with you.

“So, I noticed you weren’t having any fun and maybe this might be better than watching Natasha beat a bunch of guys in arm wrestling.” You chuckled, holding up two pool cues. Loki just smiled and walked to you, grabbing a cue from you.

“I do have to warn you, I am very good at this game.”

“Look, around here, Natasha may beat all the guys in arm wrestling, Steve may outrun everyone else, but you know what I do?” You asked, walking closer to him.

“What’s that?” Loki whispered, glancing at your lips just as you wet them with your tongue.

“I beat everyone at pool.” You smirked before stepping back from him and chalking the end of your cue stick.

“We’ll see about that, darling,” Loki smirked, getting chalked up as well. The first game went well, you actually beat Loki by one ball. The second game, he won but that was because he was distracting you with his good looks. He knew what he was doing to you yet he still did it anyway.

“Okay, it’s a tie. Whoever wins this game has to take the loser out.” You said, taking that leap of faith. You knew there was something between you and Loki, you just hope you didn’t interpret this wrong. You stared at him, wondering what he would do next but he just smiled.

“You’re on.” You smiled and got ready since he let you go first. The first half of the game went by smoothly. You were winning and you weren’t afraid to let him know.

“You’re going to lose.” You sang before lining up your next shot. You hit the cue ball, watching as it bounced off your striped one. It was rolling towards the pocket you aimed it at but something made it move and it missed. You gasped and looked at Loki who just stared at you innocently.

“You did that.” You accused him before standing up straight.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. My turn.” He smirked and lined up his shot, taking it. You watched as the cue ball rolled towards one of your balls but at the last minute, it rolled around it, heading straight for his solid ones. It hit it and made it right into the pocket.

“Loki!! You can’t use your powers! That’s cheating!” You playfully glared at him but he just smiled.

“I don’t see it as cheating.” Loki shrugged.

“Oh yeah, then I can do this!” You set your cue stick down and walked to the table before grabbing one of your striped balls and pushing it towards a pocket. But just like last time, something made it move and it missed.

“Loki!” You accused and swiped your hand across the table, messing up all the balls.

“Now you’re going to get it,” Loki said before taking off. You screamed in surprise and ran away from him, keeping the same distance between you.

“Don’t come near me!” You smiled and ran across the room to dodge him but you forgot the extent of his powers. He shimmered away and appeared right in front of you. You crashed into him and he toppled on the couch, bringing you with him.

You laughed and tried to get away from him but he wouldn’t let you go.

“Fine! You win!” You laughed and looked into his eyes, not realizing just how close you two were.

“I win?” He whispered.

“Yeah, you win.” You licked your lips and leaned closer to him. He was thinking the same thing and leaned up but before your lips could touch, the door to the arcade room slammed open and Steve came in laughing. You jumped away from Loki and straightened out your shift, looking at Steve. Loki sighed but sat up on the couch, staring at the intruder.

“We’re all bored here and wanted to go out. You in?” Steve asked the two of you. You looked at Loki and he looked at you, letting you decide. You knew the moment passed between you two but it would arrive shortly after.

“Uh, yeah, sure.” You nodded and walked towards the door just as Steve disappeared.

“So, I’ll pick you up tomorrow night?” You stopped walking and looked at Loki before smiling. You bit your bottom lip and nodded.

“Yeah.” You stared at each other for a few more minutes before leaving the room.

“Told you he liked you,” Steve said as soon as you shut the door.

“Screw you, Rogers.” You laughed and pushed him away. You walked with Steve down the hallway but turned to look back at the arcade room. Loki was standing there, watching you go, something mischievous in his eyes.

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@dragonrider10  @007zada  @likiyoshi-lijie  @lonelycaffeinateddreamer

[janiedean]

While i hate antis and their bullying everytime they shaming a fictional ship because i believe that "Fiction is not reality", I also agree that fiction can be a good role model for the real world for example : Diana's characterisation in Wonder Woman to show us more variety of strong woman character or Theon's PTSD scene to how us what REAL PSTD scene looks like (and we're mad when people keep saying that Theon just being coward in that scene). How should we balance the two, in your opinion?

okay, so, first thing, I think we need to make a basic distinction and state that fiction influences reality and people might be influenced by fiction do not mean the same thing whatsoever.

then we have to make another distinction ie there’s such a thing as massively consumed fiction and less consumed fiction/fandom and both are also different.

then we also have to state that one thing is emulating characters, one thing is finding them interesting or recognizing yourself in them.

last thing that instead is valid for everything, one thing is good things being represented in fiction, the other is bad things being represented in fiction.

let’s go from easier to hardest.

easier: massively consumed vs fandom. now, what people on tumblr fail to realize is that most of the planet doesn’t not give a fuck about fandom or engages with it. I mean, if you’re into it you would, but I know a bunch of people who are nerds/into fandom who don’t ship nor are into fanfic. fanfic/fanart/whatever influences people maybe on a fandom-level, but if you assume that people at large might start thinking incest is fine because thor/loki exists (which is a purely fanon thing) or because jaime/cersei exists (actual mainstream stuff but not as large as idk SW), you’re frankly deluding yourself because only thor/loki shippers give two fucks about thor/loki and not counting a few people I can think of, no one thinks jaime/cersei makes incest okay nor abusive relationships okay. thor/loki isn’t even represented in fiction, it’s fanfic, jaime/cersei is represented in fiction, but no one would think either thing makes banging your brother okay whether it’s dysfunctional (t/l) or just downright abusive (j/c). in that case assuming that if you’re into t/l or j/c you want to bang your brother is the bad case which assumes that whichever fiction in existence influences reality directly.

that said, no one is actually wanting to make a social justice point while having jc being a thing or t/l being dysfunctional. it’s dynamics that are interesting to explore.

wonder woman giving more variety to a strong female character instead is extremely mass-consumption media which would show a lot of people that different type (because a lot more people watch DC movies than GOT) then you show them differently and they might start thinking differently about strong female characters. or idk black kids seeing the new star wars and liking that there’s a black lead (same for the mcu and falcon/black panther) is also an extremely mass-consumption thing, because of course most people watch star wars and know what the hell star wars is. in that case you have fiction making a positive impact on reality (or maybe reflecting reality) but it’s also, like, reasonable. because sw-the-movies have impact and normalize that the leads in the story can also be not always white blonde men with blue eyes, but the star wars fandom - and I’m just talking about the part that produces fanfic/fanart and not about the people cosplaying stormtroopers and so on - influences shit. no one is going to make people think force-choking someone is going to be okay because k*ylux fic exists, same as no one thinks that killing a bunch of children is okay because anakin did it in the prequels and no one is ever gonna think you’re a psychopath because you stan k*ylo ren same as no one who watches star wars (IN GENERAL) sees kylo and thinks WOW HAVING SUCH A BAD VILLAIN WILL BE A BAD INFLUENCE TO CHILDREN, because a generation or two grew up thinking vader was cool but no one ever thought what vader did was right. I mean, people who don’t have issues distinguishing the two facts (and usually the people who do are radical SOMETHING, conservatives or antis or whatever) are entirely aware that reality lets itself being influenced by fiction to a certain degree when it’s about positive things, not for negative things at large.

now obviously you have exceptions like fifty shades of gray which is a bad fanfic that has turned mainstream (relatively) and so now there’s a bunch of people convinced that it’s real BDSM TM, but that’s because in society people don’t get educated about how abusive relationships work or toxic relationships work so they don’t recognize it in shitty fanfic turned mainstream, but that’s where you focus your efforts and educate people, you don’t say that since fifty shades is shit then you can’t write books or make movies about bdsm period, which is what the idiots seem to want.

now, moving on to point one: as stated above, *fiction* as a thing doesn’t influence reality or every kid who’s ever read HP would have committed suicide trying to fly off the window on a broom, which is a thing that we know doesn’t exist irl and cannot exist irl. and mainstream fiction can influence reality as much as we let it for positive things, because honest, who’s ever turned violent because of videogames? no one, but since we all have violent instincts buried somewhere maybe killing people in a videogame lets you blow off some steam and whatever because you know it’s fake. of course there’s the matter of age appropriate content, but if a parent lets a seven year old watch GOT or play GTA and then that kid is traumatized it’s their parents’ fault, not the fault of the media which was clearly labeled for adults. or I mean, I read/watched media that was above my age when I was ten but I was ready for it and my parents knew it, if I wasn’t they wouldn’t have let me.

also, on the ptsd angle: in the punisher there’s plenty of examples of realistic ptsd post-war, but I haven’t seen anyone yet say anything sensed on what was to me the most realistic and well done character in that sense (lewis wilson) because people kept on saying he was *white terrorist* and that the show didn’t excuse his action with *mental illness* without knowing that having ptsd post-combat is like, being mentally ill. that show was excellent rep in that sense, but have people in fandom caught up on it or understood it? meh. people outside it yes, and maybe some people on here, too, but not as many as I’d like. same goes for theon - WITHIN FANDOM because the ptsd thing was fairly understood OUTSIDE IT. which means that the real world is getting more sensitive to that narrative, tumblr isn’t. in that case, the real world is letting himself be influenced or touched by that narrative, tumblr isn’t. what do we know.

so, tldr for this part: fiction only influences X as far as you let it and people in general do know that if wrong thing is depicted in fiction it’s wrong. I mean, I never heard of anyone becoming a pedophile after watching or reading mysterious skin, which is a really fucking good movie which doesn’t romanticize the subject at all. 

now, about the last part ie personal identification/emulation: now, never mind that emulating a character is usually done by the time you’re ten and before then you pretend to be batman while playing with your friends but you know you’re not batman, and past five you do know that if superman can fly, you a regular human being can’t. the point is that fictional people are written by real people, so if they’re realistic and the writers write them well, they’ll be relatable, and if they’re relatable they might influence you as a person or make you find shit out about yourself that might change you, and in that sense it does influence reality somehow, or if you use it to cope with trauma then it surely helps you, but who you relate to isn’t what others might. we can say that we have basic level, representation level, using-it-to-cope level.

now I’m gonna go use myself as a template since I’ve for good and for bad have used fiction to cope with shit for my entire life, so. under the cut because this is long and the next part is all personal shit so people should have the right to scroll past it xD

basic level: when I was fifteen I was having a shit time, I read the dark tower, I ran into my Favorite Character Ever, the guy used shitty humor to deal with crap all the time, it was a tendency I already had and I went like ‘okay if it worked for him why didn’t it work for me’ and today I’m someone who deals with about anything by using shitty humor or joking about it and it’s helped me tremendously honestly, if I took everything too seriously I’d be a terrible person. also, that helped me with self-confidence to a point and blah blah blah it made my life tangentially better. but that was just, like, about me. and I didn’t certainly try to emulate the guy’s worst flaws, because that wasn’t the point. anyway, I found the guy relatable but I didn’t see him as, like, representation or anything.

representation level/slightly coping level: I read asoiaf when I was twenty-two. I am sad I didn’t before because when I ran into brienne I was slammed with a brick in the face that was saying OH HEY THAT’S SOMEONE WHO’S ACTUALLY LIKE YOU/HAD YOUR EXPERIENCES. I don’t just relate to brienne, I identify with brienne to a fairly bad degree, and I’m really sad I didn’t run into her before because I might have gathered a great deal of self-confidence from seeing that there was a main character somewhere who was ugly/seen as ugly by anyone else and still was an a+++ person who could do worthwhile things and was a viable love interest for Hot Guy. (idk if it shows when I write jb fic but it’s there, so.) did brienne change my life? not as much as she could have if I had read acok when it was released, but she did give me some hope that with GOT becoming mainstream not-conventionally-pretty women would get some mainstream rep, because sure af there wasn’t much when I grew up. if that happens? fiction did influence reality, but in the wonder woman/good kind. again, no one (me or anyone else) would want to be like brienne by GRABBING A SWORD AND KILLING PEOPLE, we’d rather probably just get confidence/inspired by what she does. because she’s a well-written character that entirely gets it.

except that a lot of asoiaf fans think that she’s boring or useless or see nothing in her. which is fine - it’s not their target I guess, but again, a character who’s extremely important to me means nothing to other people and certainly doesn’t influence them.

coping/potentially badwrong coping level: so, as a person I’m really not into badwrong/dysfunctional dynamics that don’t make people better. as such, I tend to ship healthy couples/dynamics where the two people make each other better.

which is why I never was remotely interested in thor/loki as a thing in my entire life until two months ago - WAIT - and for all my time in the mcu I always felt a visceral dislike for loki I never really dwelt upon while at the same time whenever I saw thor bashing (ie he’s an idiot or he’s a bully or he doesn’t understand loki and the likes) I always felt a visceral distaste in my mouth like NO DON’T IT’S NOT LIKE THAT, but since it wasn’t even my favorite mcu franchise and thor isn’t my favorite mcu character I never, like, thought about it. I just went with the obvious ‘everyone likes loki because ANTAGONISTS which I don’t get and I get angry on thor’s behalf because he doesn’t deserve that shit’. all good until I watch ragnarok which is, like, COMPLETE CRACK ON A STICK AND NOT A SERIOUS MOVIE AT ALL and which probably did not mean to be a psychological textbook and at the end I’m like ‘fuck okay maybe I ship it a bit and now that loki’s done with the angst maybe I can tolerate him’, and then not long later or so I get hit with another ton of bricks in the face and realize that of course I always had that feeling, that was because thor and loki had the exact same dysfunctional dynamic I had with my former best friend of fourteen years that I haven’t talked to for at least seven years and which is like the root of 70% of the issues I have. all of them. and like, loki was like her except Much More Extra and on a larger scale, thor was me except Much More Extra and the more I think about it the more it just fits 100% and you don’t even wanna know how I’ve spent this last month, because I had no idea I spent six years with those feelings about that dynamic because of that, I had no idea I actually found thor that relatable on a visceral level and I still have Unresolved Issues with that person and I can’t solve them with them personally for reasons. if I actually end up writing them fanfic where I, uh, subtly address personal issues and it works, then that badwrong-ish fic has influenced me for the best (and says all that I realized it just when they reconciled, I didn’t let myself do it before). but like, that wouldn’t mean that I wanted to bang my ex-friend or that I suddenly approve of incest - because sure af I didn’t want to bang her and sure af I didn’t turn into PLEASE DO BANG YOUR SIBLINGS WHENEVER YOU WANT (ew no). that’s the damned difference. thor and loki banging in whatever fanfic won’t make anyone excuse incest and won’t influence anyone outside thor fandom on ao3 - hell, at most it’s going to influence me because if I do it I’m doing it to work through my issues. it doesn’t change reality at large.

like, fiction can be a model for something you want to see more of or you can find characters role models or relatable and it can present you a view of the world, but at the end of the day we all know that it’s not real and we only use it to filter reality and/or ourselves through it and it helps us doing it, which is why something that makes sense to me - ie that thor is extremely relatable - won’t make sense to someone who finds loki relatable for reasons I couldn’t even begin to imagine. maybe the same piece of fiction/media both influences us, but it influences us very differently because we see it through different lens. and the thing is that if you conflate the two things and start emulating characters past the age of four then you have a problem distinguishing the two things and you need to get over it/get help/whatever, because to everyone else it’s normal to see the world through fiction or part of it. if you do because I know people who think fiction is merely fiction and don’t understand the point of relating to a character in the first place. 

so like tldr, fiction influences you as much as you let it and it’s something you use actively and that is there for everyone to interpret, but it can’t, just existing, influence anything especially because if no one reads it or watches it then it’s useless. and since most **problematic** stuff is consumed by people who actively look for it and know what they’re doing - again, no one reads tentacle porn on ao3 if they don’t like tentacle porn - you can’t say that by existing, incest fic or badwrong fic normalizes abuse, because it only does if you let it and if you don’t know what abuse is and you can’t recognize it for what it is. like, a piece of fiction doesn’t need to spell THIS IS WRONG for you to know that I dunno t/hramsay fanfic is not what you should want in a relationship, you have to know that, and that’s on you, not on something that’s not mass-consumption - because badwrong fic and stuff is usually written by badwrong fans for badwrong fans, not by hired disney writers for star wars movies that have to be good for children, adults, nerds and the mass audience at large.

you balance the two by knowing that badwrong stuff is wrong irl (and it’s not a stretch) and by looking at the world through the lenses of whatever not badwrong fiction you enjoy/like/relate to, which can also be badwrong of course (see the thor/loki rant above) but like the fact that it does it to us singularly doesn’t mean that all of a sudden THE ENTIRE WORLD IS INFLUENCED BY THE EXISTENCE OF FAKE THINGS.

nor that WE SHOULD PUT THAT MUCH IMPORTANCE on fake things, because one thing is all of the above, another is saying that a piece of media is trash because it doesn’t have the representation you want in it or thinking that since something exists in fiction then you won a social justice battle. again: fiction is a tool, it’s not the ending nor the beginning of anything. having more black people in media won’t be what stops black people go to jail in the US at a higher rate than white people for the same crimes, but it might help making people relate to someone who’s different and so normalize some stuff... if you watch/consume that media and choose to engage with it. (ie, brooklyn 99′s boss is a gay black man in a stable relationship with a white professor and it’s not what you usually see on tv and it will work for casual watchers, but I doubt someone who usually watches fox news then also watches b99 - you can’t win your wars through fiction, to convince the fox news watcher to not vote trump you have to talk to him and not show him a sitcom. and mind that this can be reversed ie all the anti-russian/islamic propaganda in the US which tends to normalize russians/muslims as The Bad Guy - it works along with other things, not just on its own) the key is in knowing that fiction is made by people and consumed by people and eventually begins and ends with the people who make it and consume it in whichever way, and not in thinking that it’s above us and is something divine that changes the world just by existing.

[donvex]

Paper Mates - Chapter Two

Fandom: IT (2017)

Pairing: Reddie ( Richie Tozier / Eddie Kaspbrak )

Word Count: two chapters, 2.9k

AO3 Link

Tumblr Chapter: 1

Summary:

The quiet nights are the worst, when Richie has no one but himself, caffeine, and tv show characters. It’s endless isolation and practicing, as if that will somehow prove himself. The good days, though? The days where he gets to meet up with Stan for weekly brunch? The days where he and Mike and the rest of their band get to perform for the grimiest people in Philadelphia? Those days are worth living for. The music, the smoke, the bullshit. It’s almost perfect, and definitely worth being alive for.

Then Stan’s boyfriend is transferring, and bringing with him the cutest human being Tozier has ever seen, and oh god is he fucked.

(But then, maybe that’s just him preparing for a whole lot more of the good days.)

Chapter Two : Saturday Brunch

At some point in the night, (or does some time past 5:00 am count as morning?) Richie finds himself in the shower. He thinks he’s there because it’s warm, and that’s enough. It’s warm. The simple term plays in his head on loop, warm , but he can’t crawl into bed and fall into a blissful slumber surrounded by blankets, so he settles for water and atmosphere and movement.

He drops his rings onto the counter, even though he has a glass jar clearly marked for his jewelry. It’s filled with quarters instead, and pencils, and everything else that he forgets to pull from his pockets before going to the bathroom to shower.

He doesn’t empty his pockets this time, though. It’s mechanical, the way he drops his clothes and steps into the spray. Unsatisfying. He only stands there for a minute, maybe two, before he’s dropped down to sit in the bathtub. The shower spray is in his eyes, but it doesn’t matter. It’s something. It has to be something, because if it’s not enough, nothing will be.

Mostly he just aches. He doesn’t have to check his phone for the time. He knows it’s well past six am, and he knows that he should never have allowed himself to stay up this late to begin with. It doesn’t matter if it isn’t his fault, what matters is that he’s there, sitting in his shower, counting down the time until he has to force his body to wake.

He can feel himself slowing down, though. He thinks, briefly, about masterbating - just to do something. But he’s not aroused, and he’s exhausted, and just the idea is actually altogether unpleasant. He fumbles with the faucet instead and turns his shower into a bath, sitting back against the wall and watching the water rise against above his toes.

There’s no point.

It’s warm, objectively. But it isn’t comforting. It does nothing to break through the numb shell that seems to have wrapped itself around him. He thinks it might be better to shut the bath off, but doing so doesn’t prompt him to move. He just sits, his thick curls bleeding cold water onto his back. He’s acutely aware of his breathing - shallow, sickly breaths that come and go unevenly. The water drains past his feet, and Richie knows the tub was barely filled to begin with, but it still feels like it goes to quickly. It passes him by, and then he’s there, alone, in an empty tub.

He wills his body to move, but it won’t. All he can do is stare at the heels of his feet and wonder when his executive dysfunction took over his life.

━━━━━

It's almost 12:20 pm when Richie walks up to the corner cafe that his date is at. The door itself is directly on the corner of the street, angled sideways and with white paneling around the frame. A small window box sits above it and small vines pour over the side, the roots almost long enough to drape over the top of the door. Dark cherry wood walls extend from the white entrance, and the windows are almost opaque after years of freezing over.

A small bell rings as he opens the door, a familiar comfort that Richie associates with Saturday mornings.

"Look who actually showed up."

Richie looks in the direction of the voice, knowing exactly which table it’s coming from. He grins in Stan’s direction and saunters over, hands thrown to his sides and shoulders shrugging, all of which is supposed to be creating an innocent look for him. "You say that like you don't know what time I'm gonna show up, Stanley." It doesn’t really work.

"I do it on principle."

Stan cracks a smile, though - until Richie pulls out a chair and flips it around to sit on it backwards. His arms are loosely crossed in front of him and his head is tilted, like he’s waiting for Stan to say something but knows that nothing said could ever touch him.

“You’re incorrigible.”

“It’s endearing, pal.”

The waitress brings over their food soon after that. Richie smiles at her and thanks her, as if she isn’t used to his antics by now. He doesn’t even need to question how she got his order right without offering them menus - she knows them both, and if she hadn’t, Stan would have known what to order for him.

God, does he love having friends.

He breaks the amicable silence that builds up while they eat with what’s supposed to be a question. “I have a proposal for you, Stanley.”

“Oh, good. Your proposals always go so well.”

“Now don’t get all up and in a fuss, good chap! This one is top notch, I tell you,” Richie says, sitting up straighter and scolding his face into an almost pouty, serious expression that’s supposed to match his terrible British accent. He even adds a raised eyebrow  for dramatic effect.

“So help me god-”

“That’s not really your cup of tea, is it?” The awful comeback is even worse when paired with the horrible accent, and Stan can feel a headache coming on already.

“Stop with the god damn British accent and I’ll let you tell me this proposal, Richie.” Stan’s holding the bridge of his nose between his thumb and his pointer finger, eyes closed tight.

Richie all but leaps up excitedly. “Deal!” Stan is, fist and foremost, grateful that the British accent is actually gone, and that it wasn’t replaced by an even worse accent. “So, I had this idea, well, I had this thing planned a few days ago and that gave me the idea-”

Stan doesn’t even look up. “Get to it, Tozier.”

“I want Bill to design some posters for Tower of Babble .”

Stan tries to look displeased and disinterested every time he hears the name of Richie and Mike’s band, but there’s always a sliver of a smile shining through the hard downward press of his lips. That’s what he’s doing now, suppressing a smile. The name is too perfect for even Stan to pass up. The historical reference for Mike is obvious, but then you attend one single show and you realize how babble is spelt and you think to yourself oh god, does Richie Fucking Tozier ever shut the hell up.

So it’s pretty perfect, and Stan knows so.

But then Stan processes what Richie’s asking, and Stan sort of cringes at that. To his credit, he looks more sorry than disgusted, and Richie tries not to let himself look disappointed already. “I really think Bill is above doing work for exposure, Rich.”

“We’d pay him.”

Stan looks a little stunned at that, and a little pleasantly surprised, too. Like he wasn’t expecting Richie to ever say something so grown up. “But you already have someone who does them for free.”

“Yeah, and they aren’t good for anything except slapping up on a wall. I love basement gigs, Stan, you know I do,” Stan gives him a very unfortunate nod, “but we have a real gig coming up in a month or so, and I want that to work. I want there to be more of those.”

“Can’t say I thought you had it in you, Richie.”

“Yeah, yeah, don’t get soft on me. Is a month in advance enough notice for him? Especially with the move?”

Stan shrugs, not seeming bothered. “I don’t really know his process well enough to tell you, but I can ask. I do know that he’s going to want to actually see one of your shows before he makes the poster, though.”

Richie’s entire face lights up. “Bring him next Saturday! He’ll be here, right? He doesn’t need to be unpacked to come to a basement gig.”

“You know I don’t go to those.”

Richie throws his head back and sighs dramatically. “Fine! You don’t have to come. Have Bill bring the roommate he’s dragging with him all the way from Maine.”

Stan’s expression is pinched. “I really don’t think it would be ‘his thing’ if’ I’m being honest.” Stan, bless his heart, actually makes finger quotations in the air as he speaks. But he doesn’t say no, and that, to Richie, is a yes.

“Just ask! It’ll be great, I promise you.”

“You’re shit at keeping promises, you know.”

“Yeah, but it’s the thought that counts?” Stan throws a balled up napkin right into Richie’s face, and Richie doesn’t even stop to readjust his glasses before firing back. The rest of their brunch passes quickly, and Richie leaves the cafe with his hands in his pockets and a smile on his face.

Something productive. At least today he did something productive.

It would have to be enough.