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a-lil-perspective · 4 years

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70 Encouragements/Tips For The Writer:

A/N: Rules don’t exist. These are real and personal and stem from a deteriorating, exhausted Writer who is here to tell you (and herself) that you are amazing and keep going. I hope you find some encouragement within.

Your mental health comes first and foremost.

Indulge and embrace your creative writing pieces when they come (and when they don’t). Especially when they don’t.

Suffering from Writer’s Block or fluctuating hyperfixation? Me too. So is your favorite author. Welcome to the Writer’s Block Party (all my uwus if you see the pun).

Did you spend five hours on this one segment, forget the last time you ate, develop chapped lips, dry eyes, and a stiff back (time to get up and move), bang your head on the wall, laugh, cry, fidget, take your ADHD meds, deviate to watch YouTube, have an epiphany, curse in frustration and wonder why the hell you do this to yourself? Congratulations, you’re a Writer.

Embrace all the not-so-glamorous sides of writing, and accept the fact they’re going to happen time over again.

When you say “just one more line” and it’s 2:00 AM, I’ll be here to remind you to “go to sleep” (because I’m also depriving myself lol).

Actually, sleeping helps your mind feel refreshed, and it’s good for your health. If you’re struggling with a particular segment, one of the best things you can do is just put a cap on it for the time being, put in a placeholder, and get some shut eye. I know you don’t want to. But you will feel so much better and have more clarity and energy to continue when you wake. Trust me.

More often than not, those words you “just didn’t write down fast enough and now forgot” end up revealing themselves to you later in a much more profound way. Give the words time to get ready. They’re just spiffing up before coming to visit. :)

Be proud of yourself and your prose. Writing is an amazing part of who you are.

That trope has been written 1000 times before? Make it 1001.

You’ve already written this scenario? Write it again.

You’ve just written a single sentence. Now sit back for moment and think: you just wrote something brand new, never before seen. Nobody out there will ever write that sentence or formulate those thoughts the exact same way. You are a unique, mind-blowing, awe-inspiring human being.

Bask in the excitement that comes with a completed piece. Reflect on what you learned throughout and celebrate the little victories.

Don’t be afraid to ask for feedback, but also understand that you might not always get it, and that is OK.

Please re-read your work. Be gentle with yourself. You had to write that very first piece to get to where you are now. Love the process.

Your personal writing success is not based off of kudos or likes or reblogs.

There is no right or wrong way to write.

There is no such thing as “good” writing.

Improvement is becoming of everyone so get comfy, strap in. The journey of a Writer is a lifelong one. Here’s to many more works ahead.

Don’t mourn the words you did or didn’t write. Celebrate the ones you will.

One day, you’ll read a piece that will blow you away—and it will be yours.

There is nothing “shameful” about reblogging your own writing works.

I promise you’ll find your “wow” piece—either in something you’ve already written, or something yet to come.

Baby. Please don’t write out of spite. You’re better than that.

You are just as valid/deserving as the next Writer. And you do belong.

If you feel sad/unworthy when sharing your works or interacting with others’, get to the root of why. Writing should be fun, rewarding, and relaxing. Not shameful, embarrassing, or a chore.

Writing (fanfiction, specifically) is labeled as “transformative works”. Self-explanatory, right? However, if you notice the transformative part begin to have a personal effect on you—a negative one—it’s time to take a step back.

Right now, I can name a single quality you possess: diligence. How do I know? Because you’re a Writer, and the two go hand-in-hand.

Got that single scene in your head but you haven’t completed or even began all the chapters preceding? Bruh. Jot that down right now. You don’t need 20k words beforehand.

Embrace your writing mood swings. The stray, sweet and condensed blurbie. The ideal, bridging drabble. The solid, substantial oneshot. The hefty, elaborate 10k word chapter. Appreciate everything in-between, and that you are capable of all of it.

Nobody remembers that extra word or typo or stray speech mark back all the way back in chapter 3. Tell the little monster in your head to go to hell.

You’re not a weirdo for making facial expressions and mulling through your dialogue aloud. You. Are. A. Writer.

It’s OK if the Readers can’t always see exactly what you envisioned in your head, or the full extent of the picture you painted. We all see colors differently.

Don’t be afraid to experiment with your writing.

In fact, challenge yourself to dabble into a new plot/trope/concept every day, even if only for a few minutes. You may discover you love writing it.

There’s no rush to finish/begin any written work. If you take your time, you will make your mark. You’re not falling behind or running late. Slow down and wait for it. :)

Three cheers for hiatus.

Listen to your body and mind, know your limits and when it’s time to take a break.

Actually take a break. :)

If you feel like you’re falling stagnant in creativity, looking to/revisiting other forms of creative media can help encourage the flow.

Ask for encouragement, and be at peace with asking.

Take shelter in fellow writers. Uplift each other always.

You are/will be someone’s favorite author. :)

You don’t have anything to prove. You have something to share.

Someone is thinking about your work right now.

Someone started a series because they drew inspiration from you.

Personal writing style can reflect a lot on the state of one’s mental health. Try to always be attentive to that of your own.

Self-validation must be cultivated early on or nothing will ever work.

Freestyle every once in a while. Write a snippet, timed, and go—without editing. Write the first thing that comes to mind and go from there. Do it all the way through the set time. When it stops, you’ll find yourself unable to. 3,800 words here we come. :)

Not everything needs an outline. :)

It is completely normal to write your story out of order.

Create guidelines for yourself. If they aren’t working, toss ‘em.

Word vomiting can help you feel better (it’s just how it sounds). By clearing all those jumbled thoughts and scattered concepts, you achieve a clearer objective. Try it sometime.

A rough draft is supposed to be rough.

Sometimes the words come to you quicker than others. Be patient. That is merely the construct of a Writer’s mind. You’re a beautiful enigma.

A sentence written is a story progressing.

Writing is an endurance sport. You must pace yourself and exercise it daily.

You are still a Writer even when the words aren’t on the actual page.

You’re not obligated to a writing/posting schedule.

As you progress in your journey and gain more awareness, don’t sacrifice your style. Those beginning works are what define you. Hold onto them and don’t ever let them go.

You’re the only one cringing—

Remember that sometimes words are elusive and you don’t always have control over them, and that is OK. Sometimes they write themselves. Sometimes your characters come to life and break out into dance across your page. Dance with them. You can wrangle them back when the music stops. :)

There is nothing condemning or embarrassing about asking for a beta. Allow someone to help carry the load.

Allow people to cheer you on—even if they don’t read your work.

It’s OK if your writing style isn’t someone else’s preference.

Be your biggest cheerleader. Sometimes you are all you have.

You don’t need anyone’s approval except your own.

You love that trope/concept/story you just wrote? That’s all that matters. The end.

You will never write good. You will write you. And that is good.

Above all else: remember to write for you.🤍

#writers #fanfiction writers #writing encouragement #writer appreciation #writer support #writer struggles #writing motivation #writers tips #for writers #omg am I struggling.#hope these help you beautiful people #my writing #it’s a lil thing

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chainofclovers · 3 years

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Ted Lasso 2x11 thoughts

For an episode that ends with a journalist Ted trusts but has (understandably) recently lied to warning Ted that he’s publishing an article about his panic attacks, it was fitting that this episode seemed entirely about what all of these characters choose to tell each other. And after most of a season of television that Jason Sudeikis has described as the season in which the characters go into their little caves to deal with things on their own, it turns out they are finally able to tell each other quite a lot.

Which is good because, um, wow, a lot is going to happen in the season finale of this show!

Thoughts on the things people tell each other behind the cut!

Roy and Keeley. I absolutely loved the moment during their photoshoot in which they bring up a lot of complicated emotional things and are clearly gutted (“gutted”? Who am I? A GBBO contestant who forgot to turn the oven on?) by what they’ve heard. We already know that Keeley and Roy are great at the kinds of moments they have before the shoot begins, in which Roy builds Keeley up and tells her she’s fucking amazing. From nearly the beginning of their relationship, they’ve supported each other and been each other’s biggest fans. But their relationship has gone on long enough that they’ve progressed from tentative arguments about space and individual needs into really needing to figure out what they mean to each other and how big their feelings are and what that means in relation to everything else. Watching these two confess about the uncomfortable kiss with Nate, the unexpectedly long conversation with Phoebe’s teacher, and—most painfully—the revelation that Jamie still loves Keeley didn’t feel like watching two people who are about to break up. (Although I could see them potentially needing space from each other to get clarity.) It felt like watching two people realize just how much they’d lose if they lost each other, which is an understandably scary feeling even—or especially—when you’re deeply in love but not entirely sure what the future holds. Not entirely sure what you’re capable of when you’ve never felt serious about someone in quite this way, and are realizing you have to take intentional actions to choose that relationship every single day. I’m excited to learn whether Roy and Keeley decide they need to solidify their relationship more (not necessarily an engagement, but maybe moving in together or making sure they’re both comfortable referring to the other as partner and telling people they’re in a committed relationship) or if things go in a different direction for a while.

Sharon and Ted. I’ve had this feeling of “Wow, Ted is going to feel so intense about how honest he’s been with Sharon and is going to end up getting really attached and transfer a lot of emotions onto the connection they have and that is stressful no matter how beneficial it has been for him to finally get therapy!” for a while now. And Sharon’s departure really brought that out and it was indeed stressful. But the amount of growth that’s happened for both of these characters is really stunningly and beautifully conveyed in this episode. Ted is genuinely angry she left without saying goodbye, and he doesn’t bury it some place deep inside him where it will fester for the next thirty years. He expresses his anger. (I also noticed he sweared—mildly—in front of her again, which is really a big tell for how much he has let his carefully-constructed persona relax around her.) He reads her letter even though he said he wasn’t going to, and he’s moved. I don’t think Ted has the words for his connection to Sharon beyond “we had a breakthrough,” but Sharon gets it, and is able to firmly assert a professional boundary by articulating her side of that breakthrough as an experience that has made her a better therapist. And is still able to offer Ted a different kind of closure by suggesting they go out before her train leaves. No matter how you feel about a patient/football manager seeing their therapist/team psychologist colleague socially, I appreciated this story because IMO it didn’t cross big lines but instead was about one final moment in this arc in which both Ted and Sharon saw each other clearly and modeled what it is to give someone what they need and to expect honesty and communication from them. I liked that Ted ends up being the one saying goodbye. (The mustache in the exclamation points!) I like that whether or not Sharon returns in any capacity (Sarah Niles is so wonderful that I hope she does, but I’m not sure), the goodbye these characters forge for themselves here is neither abandonment nor a new, more complicated invitation. It’s the end of a meaningful era, and although the work of healing is the work of a lifetime, it’s very beautiful to have this milestone.

Ted and Rebecca. So, maybe it’s just me, but it kinda feels like these two have a few li’l life things to catch up on?! (HAHHHHHaSdafgsdasdf!) I really adored their interactions in this episode. I maintain that Biscuits With The Boss has been happening this whole time (even when Ted’s apartment was in shambles, there’s biscuit evidence, and I feel like we’ve been seeing the biscuit boxes in Rebecca’s office pretty regularly too), even if it might have been more of a drive-by biscuit drop-off/feelings avoidance ritual. It was really lovely to see Ted on more even footing in Rebecca’s office, joking around until she tells him to shut up, just like the old days. And GOSH—for their 1x9 interaction in Ted’s office to be paralleled in this episode and for Ted to explicitly make note of the parallel in a way Rebecca hears and sees and understands?! MY HEART. In both of Rebecca’s confessions, she is not bringing good news but it is good and meaningful that she chooses to share with Ted. In both situations, Ted takes the moment in stride and offers acceptance equivalent to the gravity of what she has to confess. And in both situations, he’s not some kind of otherworldly saint, able to accept Rebecca no matter what because he’s unaffected by what she shares. He is affected. When he tells her about Sam, you can see a variety of emotions on his face. Rebecca is upset and Ted is calm, and even if I might have liked for him to try to talk about the risk the affair poses to the power dynamics on the team or any number of factors, I also really liked that he just accepts where she is, and—most importantly—does not offer her advice beyond examining herself and taking her own advice. A massive part of being in a relationship with another person (a close relationship of any nature) is figuring out how to support that person without necessarily having to be happy about every single thing they do. It’s so important that Ted connects what she’s just told him about Sam back to what she told him last season about her plot with the club. These both feel like truth bombs to him, and he is at least safe enough to make that clear. These are both things that impact him, things that shape how he sees her and maybe even how he sees himself. He cares about her and is capable of taking in this information; he has room for it. But it’s not something he takes lightly, and neither does she. See you next year.

Tumblr user chainofclovers and the TV show Ted Lasso. My brain is going wild thinking about all the ways the next “truth bomb” conversation could go in 3x11 or whatever. Maybe they go full consistent parallel and Rebecca confesses something else, this time about her and Ted or some other big future thing that impacts him as much or more as the other confessions have. (The same but different.) Maybe the tables turn and Ted has something to confess to her. While the 1x9 conversation ended in an embrace and the 2x11 conversation ended with a bit more physical distance (understandable given the current state of their relationship and the nature of the discussion), the verbal ending of both conversations involved voices moving into a sexier lower register while zooming in to talk specifically about their connection to each other, so I have to assume there will be some consistencies in s3 even if the circumstances will be completely different. I don’t really know where I’m going with this and I obviously will go insane if I sustain this level of anticipatory energy until Fall 2022 but I have a feeling my brain and heart are going to try!

Sam and Rebecca. I know there’s been a lot of criticism about whether this show is being at all realistic about the power dynamics and inevitable professional issues this relationship would create. On some level, I agree; I like that pretty much everyone who knows about the affair has been kind so far, but you can be kind and still ask someone to contend with reality. But I also think that in nearly every plot point on this show, the narrative is driven by how people feel about their circumstances first and foremost. (It’s why the whiteboard in the coaching office and the football commentators tell us more about how the actual football season is going from a points perspective than anyone else.) This episode reminded me how few people know about Sam and Rebecca, and how much their time together so far has been time spent in bed. The private sphere. I thought this episode really expertly brought the public sphere into it, not—thank goodness—through a humiliating exposure or harsh judgment but through an opportunity for Sam that illustrates not only all his potential to do great things but how much Rebecca’s professional position and personal feelings are in conflict with that. Could stand in the way of that. I don’t have a strong gut feeling about where this will go, but I do think Sam’s face in his final scene of this episode is telling. He started the episode wanting to see Rebecca (his most recent text to her was about wanting to connect), and Edwin’s arrival from Ghana really exploded his sense of what is possible for his life. If he’d arrived home to Rebecca sitting on his stoop prior to meeting Edwin, he’d have been delighted. Now he’s conflicted, and whatever decision he makes, he has to reckon with the reality that he cannot have everything he wants. No matter what. And Rebecca—she has taken Ted’s advice and is attempting to be honest about the fact that she can’t control Sam’s decisions but hopes he doesn’t go, and even saying that much feels so inappropriate. And I’m not sure how much she realizes about the inappropriateness of the position she’s putting him in, although maybe she’s getting there considering she exits the scene very quickly. I’ve honestly loved Rebecca’s arc this season. I think it’s realistic that she got obsessed with the intimacy she thought she could find in her phone. I think it’s realistic that her professional and personal ambitions are inappropriately linked. (They certainly were for Rupert. It’s been years since she’s known anything different; even if she’s done some significant recovery work to move on from her abusive marriage and figure out her own priorities, she’s got a long way to go.) I know there are people who will read this interaction between Rebecca and Sam as a totally un-self-aware thing on the part of “the show” or “the writers” but what I saw is two people who enjoyed being in bed together and now have to deal with the reality that they’re in two different places in their lives and that one has great professional power over the other. If that wasn’t in the show, I wouldn’t be able to see it or feel so strongly about it.

Edwin and Sam. I really enjoyed all the complexities of this interaction. Edwin is promising a future for Sam that doesn’t quite exist yet, though he has the financial means to make it happen. He offers this by constructing for Sam a Nigerian—and Ghanaian—experience unlike anything he’s found in London. Sam is amazed that this experience is here, and Edwin’s response is to explain to him that the experience is not here. Not really. The experience in Africa. Sam has of course connected to the other Nigerian players on the team, but this is something else entirely. I’m really curious if Sam is going to end up feeling that what Edwin has to offer is real or not. That sense of home and connection? So real. And so right that he would want to experience that homecoming and would want to be part of building that experience for others. But at the end of the day, he went to a museum full of actors and a pop-up restaurant full of “friends,” and is that constructed authenticity as a stand-in for a real homecoming more or less real than the home he’s building in Richmond? (With other players who stand in solidarity with him, and with well-meaning white coaches who say dumb stuff sometimes, and an a probably-doomed love interest, and a feeling that he should put chicken instead of goat in the jollof, and the ability to stand out as an incredible player on a rising team.)

Nate and everyone. But also Nate and no one. Nate’s story is so painful and I’m so anxious for next week’s episode. For a long time I’ve felt that a lot of Nate’s loyalties are with Richmond, and a lot of his ambitions are around having given so much to this place without getting a lot back, and having a strong feeling that he’s the answer to Richmond’s future. But now I’m not so sure; his ambitions have transferred into asking everyone he knows (except Ted, of course), if they want to be “the boss.” But Nate is all tactics and no communication. When he wants to suggest a new play to Ted, he hasn’t yet learned to read Ted’s language to learn that Ted is eager to hear what he has to say. And while Ted has been really unfortunately distracted about Nate and dismissive of him this season, he clearly respects Nate’s approach to football and was appreciative of the play. Nate just can’t hear that. The suit is such a great metaphor of all the things Nate is in too much pain to be able to hear clearly. Everyone digs at him for wearing the suit Ted bought him (including Will, who’s got to get little cuts in where he can, because he’s got to be sick of the way Nate treats him), but when he gets fed up his solution isn’t to go out on his own and find more clothes he likes; he asks Keeley to help him. And then crosses a major line with her...and no matter how kind she was about it, she was clearly not okay. Everything is going to blow up, and I’m so curious as to whether Nate will end up aligning himself with Rupert in some way or if he’s going to end up screwed over by Rupert and in turn try to screw over his colleagues even worse than he’s already done. Or try desperately to make amends even though it could be too late for some. Either way, I’m fully prepared to feel devastated. (And there’s no way I’m giving up on this character. If he’s able to learn, I truly believe he could end up seeking forgiveness and forging a happier existence for himself. Someday. Like in season 3 or something.)

Ted and Trent. Trent deciding to reveal his source to Ted is a huge deal, and I’m torn between so many emotions about this exposé. I’m glad it’s a Trent Crimm piece and not an Ernie Loundes piece. I’m glad that Trent made the decision to warn Ted and let him know that Nate is his source. I fear—but also hope—that this exposure will set off a chain reaction of Ted learning about some of the things he’s missed while suffering through a really bad bout with his dad-grief and panic disorder. The things Ted doesn’t know would devastate him. I wonder if Ted will want to figure out a way to make Nate feel heard and reconcile with him, and I wonder how that will be complicated if/when he realizes Nate has severely bullied Will, gets more details on how he mistreated Colin, etc. I wonder if Rebecca, whom Nate called a “shrew” right before she announced his promotion, will be in the position of having to ask Ted to fire him, or overriding Ted and doing it herself. So many questions! I have a feeling it’ll go in some wild yet very human-scaled, emotionally-nuanced direction, and I’ll be like “Oh my GOD!” but also like “Oh, of course.”

This VERY SERIOUS AND EMOTIONAL REVIEW has a major flaw, which is that none of the above conversations include mention of the absolute love letter to N*SYNC. Ted passionately explains how things should go while dancing ridiculously! Will turns on the music and starts gyrating! Roy nods supportively! Beard shouts the choreography like the Broadway choreographer of teaching grown men who play football how to dance like a boy band. Everyone is so incredibly proud when they nail it. I love them.

I cannot believe next week is the end. For now. I’m kind of looking forward to letting everything settle during the hiatus, but I’ve really loved the ride.

#ted lasso #ted lasso s2 spoilers #ted lasso 2x11 #meta by me #ALL THE FEELINGS!!!!#a lesbian watches ted lasso

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troubatrain · 3 years

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good for you - t. jost (part two)

a/n: apparently the only things i can finish are smut which is honestly on brand for me. this part is a bit of filler but to be fair this entire fic is smut with barely a plot so i meannnn but anyways, let me know how you guys like it :)

big shoutout to @hookingminor because nothing gets posted around here without ilyana fr fr

part one

warnings: it's smush time (smut)

So you fucked?

Mat was confused, posted up in his hotel room in Philly trying to navigate the bits of information he’d been getting out of you. You’d barely spoken to him all week, your classes were already killing you and you’d been missing the nightly Facetimes you promised when you moved. Mat thought there was another reason you were ignoring him, the evidence that you did the diry with Tyson was obvious. He was pretty sure you did, the mark on your neck wasn’t as hidden as you seemed to think it was, and you had a pep in your step that you only got after a good hook up.

“Yes Mat, we fucked,” You sigh, pressing your hands against the cool countertop and staring at Mat through your laptop screen, “This is your fault.”

“Oh it’s my fault two consenting adults had sex? Did he stay over?” Mat asks, trying to grab onto as many details as he could.

“No I kicked him out after a second round in the shower,” You admit, covering your eyes so you wouldn’t see the shit eating grin on your best friend’s face, “I kind of want to do it again.”

“Three’s the limit,” Mat reminds you of the golden rule of hook ups. You both came to the conclusion one day, if you fucked someone more than three times, you had more feelings than you realized and it was time to run or let yourself get hurt. Mat seemed to do just fine with it, and most of the time so did you, but Tyson was tempting you.

“Oh my god, he’s calling me,” You panic, Tyson’s contact flashing across your screen. Mat went to open his mouth, some sort of roast about how nervous you were would probably have followed if you hadn’t hung up on him. You waited for one more ring, not wanting to seem too eager to answer his calls, “Hi?”

“Hey,” Tyson drags out his greeting, pacing around his own apartment trying to figure out what the hell he thought he was doing. He wanted to see you again, clothing optional if he was being honest with himself, he just needed you to know somehow that you weren’t just a booty call, “What are you doing?”

“Drowning in homework already,” You whine, rolling your eyes at the chaos around you. The city has been jackhammering outside your place since the day you moved in, stalling you every time you tried to do anything.

“Everything alright?” Tyson asks, his voice was laced with concern by the crashes coming from your end of the phone.

“Yeah, sorry they’ve been doing construction outside since I moved in,” You sigh, rubbing a hand over your forehead, “I really need to get these done-”

“Bring your stuff over here,” Tyson blurts out, grabbing onto the opportunity to see you. He could handle hanging out while you studied, you were sort of friends before, how hard could it be?

“You want to spend time with me while I study?” You question, genuinely curious about what kind of dude you’re fucking wants to do nothing while you actually get some studying done.

“Yes Y/N, I want to spend time with you,” Tyson chuckles, shaking his head at your shock. Of course you didn’t do that with anyone hooked up with, but you’d never hooked up with anyone you knew outside of the bedroom either. Keeping both of those worlds separate kept your heart safe, “C’mon, I’ll even buy you dinner.”

Okay fine, I’m on my way.

***

This was much harder than Tyson thought.

It was easy at first, you came over a little while later and Tyson thought he could control himself. You settled on dinner a few minutes ago, and that’s when things went south. It was the pout, the way you looked at when Tyson said he wasn’t in the mood for sushi. You batted your eyes at him, a small pout on your face and the words Tys please following. Tyson was a goner, calling up for sushi almost immediately while you smirked at him for giving in so easily.

Now, Tyson was just watching you, and not even in a way you wouldn’t notice. Your nose was tucked into your notes, it’d scrunch up every once in a while and Tyson assumed that meant you got to something you didn’t want to deal with. Your cardigan had fallen down your shoulder, leaving a spot where Tyson’s lips could have just landed easily. Your feet were across his lap, Tyson’s large hands on your legs while his thumb rubbed along the fabric of your leggings. His hand was creeping up slowly, your lip between your teeth while you watched him, “Don’t get distracted princess.”

“You’re making that a little hard,” You whine, just as Tyson’s finger slid under the waistband on your pants, “Tys-”

“No keep reading,” Tyson reminds you, humming when you let his hands slide your leggings off. His lips pressed softly against your hips, your eyes far more focused on Tyson’s head between your thighs, “I’ll stop if you can’t focus.”

“Don’t do that,” You sigh, feeling Tyson’s smirk against your skin. Tyson chuckled, a finger sliding your panties to the side.

“This wet already huh? Physics must really get you going,” Tyson teases, glancing up at the book in your hands. His breath was hot against your core, “Smart and pretty is a dangerous combination princess.”

“So I’ve been told,” You let out a gasp, Tyson’s tongue lapping at your pussy slowly. Your hand fell from your book, pulling at Tyson’s curls. His mouth unlatched from your core, forcing you to let out a whine, “Tys that’s not fair.”

“I told you keep reading, can’t have you failing on my watch,” Tyson laughs, laying his head on your hips. He had you in the palm of his fucking hand, every bone in your body was on fire and you hated every second of it. The way you were whining for Tyson to touch you was uncharted terrority, a craving you couldn’t satisfy and it was going to get you into trouble. You focused on your work, a small hum came from Tyson before his finger slid up your folds, “Good girl.”

Your eyes were fixated on the words in front of you, retaining as much as you could while Tyson’s fingers were teasing your entrance. He was moving slowly, loving the way your body reacted to his touch in a way he could have only dreamed. One finger slid in, curling against your g-spot and pulling a moan out of you, “Fuck, I’m almost done-”

“Finish pretty girl, go ahead,” Tyson pushes, smirking to himself at your reaction. His mouth moved to your core, swirling his tongue around your clit and sucking on it. Your breathing was heavy, chest rising and falling while you finished the last paragraph before you were seeing stars. You tossed your book on Tyson’s coffee table, throwing your head back and grabbing his hair.

“Faster, Tys, please,” You beg, your hips lifting off the couch. Tyson slipped in another finger, tongue working against your core. He fingered you through your orgasm, fingers moving lazily in and out of

you when you finally came down, “Tyson, holy shit.”

Since when was Tyson this cocky? His smile was smug when you finally met his eyes, the same sparkle in his eye from the first time

you fucked. You pressed your lips to his, grinding your hips against him, “Your turn.”

Tyson’s eyebrows raised, a wave of shock over his face while you lowered yourself off the couch. You weren’t going to let Tyson just get off with a smile that smug. If Tyson wanted to play that game, you

needed to remind who he was playing it with. Your fingers slipped under his sweats, pulling down his boxers and letting his cock spring free. Tyson’s hand ran through your hair, a finger tracing your jawline while his thumb ran across your bottom lip, “You’re so fucking hot.”

“I’m aware,” You tease, licking the underside of his cock. You moved slowly, teasing him just as much he did to you. Tyson’s hands went to push your head down faster, so you pulled back with a smug smile that matched his, “No touching Tys.”

“C’mon, princess, that’s not fair,” Tyson’s hands flew back, a giggle falling through your lips at his whine. You swirl your tongue around the head of his cock, taking his length into your mouth until you couldn’t anymore. Tyson groans, his hands balling up into fists to keep himself from touching you, “Fuck, your mouth babe-”

The echo from Tyson’s doorbell bounced through his apartment, reminding you both of the food you were supposed to be waiting for. You pulled away, a smirk on your face, “I think you need to get that.”

“You did that on purpose,” Tyson groans, collecting himself enough to open the door for your food. You waited patiently, watching the way Tyson snapped back into the incredibly kind man you’d always known. If he thought you were dangerous, then he was absolutely lethal with the way he could speak to you as filthy as he did and smile as kindly as he does to others. He closed the door, watching back over to the couch where you were still sitting in just your panties and a tank top, pressing a quick kiss to your lips, “Let’s get you fed babe, I’ve got plans for us.”

“Hm, how about you eat it off of me?”

“I swear Y/N, you’re never leaving this apartment.”

#tyson jost #tyson jost imagine #my writing #nhl imagine #nhl imagines

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moon-light-jukebox · 4 years

Text

see? - [Reid x Reader] - Chapter 3

masterlist

previous chapter // series index // next chapter

Summary: Months after Reader left, Reid has tried to put his life back together. He’s never stopped trying to find Reader, but he may find her in the worst way possible.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 3.3k for Chapter 3

Content Warning: Normal Criminal Minds stuff. Mentions of drug addiction. This series has a villain, and he harms women. There is no s*xual assault, but there is brief talk of torture, and then the death of the victims. Spoiler: Our unsub targets pregnant women, one of the infants does not survive. Reader and her baby are fine. I don't go into detail, but if you need to skip this, I understand.

A/n: How can I ever thank you all enough for being so patient with me? That being said, this chapter does end on a cliffhanger that you probably saw coming if you read “River” by @yours-truly-r. She shared this plot with me, so this is my version. I’ll try my best not to make you wait too long for chapter 4. Chapter 3 & 4 are in Spencer’s point of view, but the remainder of the series will be in Reader’s POV.

-- Linear Progression --

(Spencer’s POV)

The night we came back from my first case with the BAU, Morgan declared that he was going to a bar near his apartment to "get lucky." When I pointed out the fact that it was almost 2 am, he had told me, "time is an illusion, Pretty Boy."

That was the first time he called me pretty boy, along with the first time I tried to explain a theoretical concept he had no interest in hearing.

He was right to a degree. The way we understand time is an illusion. Time doesn’t happen in the linear way that we as a society perceive it to. The physics of time are still widely debated, but the running hypothesis is that everything that has ever happened is still happening right now. Every single moment in time is happening all at once, and it always will be.

Morgan didn’t “get lucky” that night, but he did give me a ride back to my apartment. I think that was the beginning of our friendship; I had never been able to understand the social constructs of relationships and friendships, but I think he felt some sort of responsibility for the skinny kid with glasses who was babbling about the physics of time at 3 am.

My friendship with Derek Morgan was one of the most important of my life.

Which is why I wasn't going to murder him for banging on my door at 7 am.

“Open up, Pretty Boy!”

Grumbling, I got out of bed and padded down the hallway towards my living room where Morgan was pounding on the door so hard, I was concerned it was going to fly off its hinges.

“If you break my door, you’re gonna fix it,” I muttered out when I finally pulled the door open.

The man who was the closest thing to a brother I had just smiled at me. “I restore houses, kid. It’d be an improvement.”

Smirking, I waved him into my apartment. In the months since…Since February, Morgan had made it a habit of coming by several times a week whenever we were in town. I don’t know if the rest of the team knew he did it, I don’t know if they were as worried about me as he was, but it wouldn’t have surprised me.

“Coffee?” I asked, making my way into the kitchen.

"We'll grab some on the way," he said, flopping down on my couch. "We have a case; I told Hotch I'd swing by and get you. It's wheels up as soon as we get there and finish the briefing."

I frowned. “I didn’t get any message.”

“I know. I asked Garcia to let me wake you.” He turned his head around to look at me. “You haven’t been sleeping, kid.”

He wasn’t wrong. “It’s…I’m trying, Derek.”

I didn’t need to say it, because he knew it. Much like time, recovery isn’t a linear process. You start, you stumble, you go back, sometimes you go up then down. It’s an imperfect journey because there isn’t a finish line; addiction can’t be beaten, only beaten back.

Derek Morgan had been beside me through every step of my recovery.

Lumbering off the couch, he walked over to stand before me. “Reid, you’re doing the best you can. Everyone stumbles.”

I shook my head. “It’s different. I can…I can still see it. I can still see it all, Morgan.”

I could still see the look on Ben’s face when he found the vials of Dilaudid I had hidden all around my apartment. I could still remember the look on Hotch’s face when he told me she was gone. I could still see the anger on Garcia’s face when she refused to help me find her.

Most of all, I remember how y/n looked when I told her I would kill her, give up her precious life, for one more moment with Maeve. Every morning, right before I wake up, that memory flashes behind my eyes.

I’ve called in every favor I’m owed, reached out to every connection; no one could find her. She vanished.

I quickly realized the only way she could vanish like that is if she had help from inside the bureau, and if I had to guess, I’m sure I know who helped her. If she went to all these lengths, she didn’t want to be found, least of all by me.

"We'll find her, Spencer," Morgan said gently, pulling me from my thoughts.

He said the words to comfort me, but even he knew they weren’t true. No one would find y/n y/l/n until she wanted to be found.

Nodding my head, I made my way back towards my bedroom to get ready for the case.

Making amends is very big in the recovery process. I wanted to make amends to y/n, and while I wanted that to be in the traditional sense, I settled for a symbolic one.

I tried to make myself into the man she thought I was before that night. Every time I felt the itch crawl up my spine, I thought of her face. It didn't make the craving go away; it just made it easier to bear.

I didn’t deserve to have her back in my life, but I wanted to be someone who did.

After I had finished getting ready, I made my way over to my bedside table to pick up the coin I carried with me everywhere, running my fingers over the edges before placing it in my pocket.

Two hundred and forty-seven days sober, and each one of them was for her.

We never made it to the bullpen that morning. Hotch called and informed us that it was wheels up "immediately," and that we would debrief on the plane. Morgan and I were the last members of the team to arrive. He took a seat on the couch beside Callahan while I opted to sit at the table across from Hotch and JJ.

“Garcia is going to be out for the remainder of the week. She has the flu,” our unit chief informed us, his eyes fixed on the tablet in front of him.

Morgan toyed with his phone, no doubt trying to text his ‘baby girl’ before take-off. “Who is going to be running things from here since she’s out? Kevin?”

Hotch nodded, but I couldn’t help but notice he seemed distracted. “He’s the most familiar with Garcia’s systems.”

“Is that what they’re calling it these days,” Rossi muttered just a bit too loudly, earning a mock glare from Hotch, a confused look from Kate, an eye roll from Morgan and JJ, and a soft huff of laughter from me.

“Let’s get started,” Hotch ordered, drawing all of our focus back to the present. “The Oregon State Police have requested our help.”

I couldn’t help but wrinkle my nose at the tablet in front of me, further proof Garcia wasn’t on this case. Despite how mad she was at me over Y/n, she still always accommodated my wishes for paper files.

The state police?” Morgan asked. “Not the locals?”

"No," Hotch answered, right as I brought up an image on my screen. "He's not sticking to one county."

I heard a strangled gasp from JJ, but I didn't need to look up to know why. “How many?” I asked.

“When the original request was made two women had been abducted. Both of them were pregnant, days from giving birth, and both from the same town of Silverton, Oregon. The first victim was Iris Jenkins. She was a 31-year-old woman, and she was 40 weeks and 2 days gestation when she was taken by the unsub. The M.E. estimates he held her for less than 24 hours before she died.”

“The baby?” JJ asked, her voice thick with emotion.

“He was left outside of a local hospital in Silverton. He was completely unharmed. The next intended victim is Nancy Williamson. She was abducted outside her workplace. Also 40 weeks pregnant with a boy.”

“Could that be a coincidence?”

Hotch still didn’t look up from his tablet. “It could have been before the latest victim.”

“But Nicole Williamson escaped?” Morgan asked. “That’s lucky. Did she give a description of the guy?”

“No, she said he kept her blindfolded and bound to a chair.”

That caused me to pause. "That doesn't make sense. Why would the unsub blindfold them if he plans on killing them anyway?"

Rossi spoke for the first time. “Psychological torture? Sensory deprivation?”

I thought about that as I swiped through the crime scene photos; pausing when I saw a photograph of a letter on the screen. "He makes them write letters?”

“Just the first victim and the third. The one that got away was only held for 12 hours.”

I frowned. “Is this blood? Or just red ink?”

“The first is red ink, the second letter is still being processed.”

It was obvious based on the letter spacing and how many loops were in the letters that a woman wrote this letter. Based on the contents of the letter, I could also assume she was under duress.

Hotch spoke again, pulling my focus. “Morgan, I'd like for you and JJ to drive up to Silverton. Visit Miss Williamson and ask if she's up for a cognitive interview, then visit the M.E., ask him if he remembers anything about the first victim.”

“Where was the…” JJ’s question trailed off when he got to the same image Kate’s hand had been frozen over for the last 47 seconds, the same photo that was described in the incident report that Hotch had on his screen.

My unit chief, my friend, cleared his throat before he spoke. “Kayla Whitmore was found an hour ago in Eugene, Oregon. The autopsies are already underway, and the scene is being processed.”

“The cause of death seems pretty apparent,” Morgan said with a look of disgust on his face.

"The time between this most recent kill and the last abduction is much shorter. We need to move fast," Hotch said, his voice grave. "Kate, I'd like for you to come with me to the FBI satellite office in Bend, that's where we're landing. Kayla Whitmore's credit card was used to buy gas right outside the town limits. Rossi, I'd like for you and Reid to ride out to Eugene. It should be undisturbed."

"I already don't understand this guy," Rossi muttered. "The first baby survives, the third doesn't. The second victim is blindfolded, but it doesn't appear the others were. He makes them write their own letters. Then he uses the third victim's credit card. This behavior…it's erratic."

“Is the message on the wall the same in both crime scenes?” I asked, already knowing the answer.

“Yes.”

The media hadn’t named our unsub yet, but I was sure it wouldn’t be long, especially once word of Kayla Whitmore reached the public. This type of violence always draws attention.

Rossi was moving around the room, silent, but his eyes moving rapidly over everything. “He’s a cocky son of a bitch, I’ll give him that.”

I nodded. “Do we have the original note?” One of the deputies brought over an evidence bag, inside of it was the wrinkled piece of paper. “Have we analyzed this yet?”

The man nodded. “It’s red ink, just like the last.”

"It makes sense; blood might start to coagulate and make it more difficult to work with. Rossi, come here." I called, offering him the note.

“Give justice to the weak and the fatherless; maintain the right of the afflicted and the destitute. Rescue the weak and the needy; deliver them from the hand of the wicked,” he read. “It sounds biblical.”

“It is. It’s Psalm 82, verses 3 through 4.”

“Was the first note biblical?”

“The first victim was made to write, ‘Take no part in the unfruitful works of darkness, but instead expose them.’ That’s from Ephesians. There are similar themes in both letters.”

“So, he’s perverting the bible to fit his own fucked up narrative? How original.” The older man handed the paper back to me. “We have to find out how he’s choosing them.”

My gaze moved over to the right wall of the room. "Did the unsub leave any prints when he wrote on the wall?"

It wasn't the first message I'd seen written in blood, but I don't think it's something you ever get used to. “’Do you see this, son of man?’ could be another biblical reference. It’s Ezekiel chapter 8, verse 17. “Do you see this, son of man? Yet you will see still greater abominations than these.’”

“So, are the children abominations? Or the mothers?” The deputy said quietly.

“The mothers,” I answered. “He doesn’t harm the children. I think it must go against his…moral code.”

The deputy scoffed behind me, and I was inclined to agree; the idea that someone could do something like this and have a moral code was almost impossible to imagine.

But devils hide in plain sight all the time.

“His rage is escalating,” I pointed out.

I heard the deputy ask Rossi what that meant.

“This guy is a bum,” the man who developed the art of profiling explained. "He can't get a girlfriend, and he has this idea in his mind that it’s the women’s fault. He thinks women owe him sex, love, whatever he wants.”

I walked away from the wall, turning to face the two men. “He thinks they’re dirty, unclean. It’s why he makes them write the note. By making them say they deserved what he did to them, he’s humiliating them even after death.”

The deputy’s face was pale as he survived the scene around him. “Why does he make them leave the messages in their own blood?”

“Only one message is from them,” I replied, gesturing to the evidence bag. “The message in the blood is from the unsub.”

Before we exited the room, I turned back to that message again, feeling the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.

Both victims had been discovered in the exact same way. The women were naked, stabbed multiple times, but with no signs of sexual assault. They were positioned in the middle of the blood-soaked mattress, their arms spread wide.

He had left the same message on the walls of the room, written in the blood of the woman he killed.

“Do you see this, son of man? Do you see?”

“The media is calling him The Prophet.”

Rossi scoffed. “I bet it was that wet behind the ears deputy who leaked the note and told him the kid’s biblical theories.”

Rossi and I had arrived at the FBI office in Bend, Oregon about an hour ago. Kate and Hotch had already set up; JJ and Morgan were on their way back from Silverton now.

“So, what do we know about this jag-off?” Rossi questioned, staring at the evidence board.

Hotch came to stand at the head of the conference table, his eyes sharp, his voice clipped. "Reid, Dave, what did the M.E. say about the Eugene autopsies?”

"He said he suspected it was a botched c-section. Kayla was just over 40 weeks pregnant, but he said it's not uncommon for first-time mothers to go up to 42 weeks.”

“I know that’s right,” I heard JJ mutter from the speaker placed in the center of the table.

“Indicates a lack of medical knowledge,” Morgan offered. “Because we know this guy isn’t squeamish.”

I agreed with my friend but didn't comment on it; my mind already on another topic. "What's interesting is that Kayla had an anterior placenta, meaning it attached to the front of her uterus. Usually, the placenta attaches to the posterior wall, meaning it's more towards her back. Because of the unusual placement of the placenta, I think that the death of this fetus was accidental."

“It wasn’t a fetus, Reid,” Kate snapped. “It was a baby.”

I cleared my throat, meeting her angry gaze. I knew Callahan was the guardian of a young girl, and based on my years working with fellow agents who were also parents, I knew it was best not to argue about definitions and semantics. "I'm sorry, Kate," I murmured.

Her gaze softened. "It's fine. Sorry. This case is just…this is a lot." She looked down to swipe across her tablet screen. "This child was a boy too?"

I nodded. “All three of the victims were pregnant with boys.”

“So, he wants boys?”

Rossi turned to Kate. “He wants mothers of boys. Probably his way of killing his mother over and over again.”

“But how does he know the babies are boys?” JJ asked.

“So, what do they have in common?” Hotch asked. “Let’s add Nicole Williamson into the mix too, what do we have?”

“There were quotes from the bible in the two complete notes. Those specific verses are often referenced when they speak about protecting children,” I said, my eyes moving over the files. “The women were all in their 20’s. They were all at least 39 weeks pregnant, and...huh, there’s not a father named in any of the medical charts.”

“But how does he know that!” JJ huffed again in frustration.

“And are we sure this unsub is a guy?” Callahan questioned. “There was no sign of sexual assault.”

“If we follow statistics, women take babies, and men take children. With that in mind, it would be safe to assume this was a woman, but the amount of rage we’re seeing makes me think it’s a man.” I turned my back to the team, my eyes moving over the crime scene photos. "The letter was written under duress, but the language is very misogynic. Based on the information Kevin gathered about Kayla's online life, she had a normal amount of self-esteem. It's out of character that she'd talk about herself this way. By all accounts, she was excited for the baby. It's also incredibly difficult to stab someone 54 times. All the women would have fought him until the end. He'd have to be stronger to subdue her. It's a biological instinct, mothers' will stop at nothing to protect their children."

Hotch had pulled out his phone before I finished speaking, dialing Kevin Lynch to give him the criteria of the person we were searching for. "We need women in the Bend, Oregon area that are close to giving birth. There will not be fathers listed on the medical charts. She'll be at least 39 weeks into her pregnancy."

“Alright, so that would leave us with…” Kevin wasn’t able to finish his sentence before an alarm started blaring over the speaker, almost drowning out Kevin’s yelp of surprise.

“What is it?” Hotch asked. “Did something happen?”

"I…I don't know, sir," Kevin answered after he had finally gotten the alarm to quiet. "I was running the search, and…it triggered some sort of system-wide alarm. It completely locked me out of Penny’s system.”

Morgan clicked his tongue. “That doesn’t make any sense. Penelope wouldn’t set some alarm without a reason.”

“Wait. Kevin, was there any sort of message that came up when you triggered the alarm?” Hotch asked, his tone urgent.

There was a weird tension on Hotch’s face while he waited for Kevin to reply. “Yeah, uh, just a dialogue box that says ‘Nightingale.’”

“Nightingale?” Kate asked. “Isn’t that the…”

Hotch didn't reply; he hung up abruptly while Kevin was still speaking. I felt a chill run down my spine when I noticed his hands trembled slightly.

“What is it, Hotch?” Rossi asked urgently.

But he never got a chance to answer; a deputy stormed into the room. "We just got a report of an abandoned car outside of a grocery store about half a mile from here. It's registered to a young woman, and there was an empty infant car seat strapped in the back."

Hotch took the paper from him but didn't look at it. His eyes were screwed shut, and his shoulders were tense.

I heard when the voice spoke on the other end of the line. I heard the deep breath Hotch let out before he spoke.

“Penelope, I need to know where y/n is.”

----------

Permeant Taglist : @rachelxwayne @pinkdiamond1016 @sickeninglyshoujo @justagirllookingforherplace @nanocoool @andiebeaword @imjusthereformggcontent @rainsong01 @violentvulgarvolatile @mys2425 @al3xmnd @imfalling-inlove @cielo1984 @shadyladyperfection @kissingvalentino @goofygubler14 @levylovegood @diesinspanishbcimhispanic @criminalmindzjunkie @addie5264 @hopefulfangirl24 @vellichor01 @ellegreenawayapologist @mcntsee @eevee0722 @peacedolantwins2 @ashwarren32 @goldencherrymooon @pumpkin-reads @mood---board @gublersbooblers @lesbian-emilyprentiss @badkittybang @quxxnxfhxll @jessayln-jpeg

All Spencer Reid: @mediocre-writer @haihappen5 @harrystylesdoesntknowiexist

See? Series taglist: @bluegoopplaidsalad @notasofti @bisoner @haylaansmi @ameliamonster @amirahroronoa @gredvb @riley-the-pan-nonbinary @solangeltorres @gwendolyn02 @sallyjacksontheweirdauthor @fangirl-nonsense @immahotmess @falcon-arrows @obsessivereaderchick @flor-sin-petalo @rexorangecouny @keomoon @hermanthewormman @sakurashortstack @criminallminds @boiled-onionrings @sierraraeck @t0xicllama @thequeerishere555 @lexiessimagination @blameitonthenight21 @abbyg217 @lil-roaster @wooya1224 @faesyl @tessa-laurel @little-blue-fishie @fandomyfangirl @youaremyfiveever @evelyncade @sunshine-ncs @maikanna @wishiwasabook @swiftingday @thelastfirerbender @alligatorrampage @notebookgirl30 @forever-a-cynical @alligatorrampage @samayoshito @readandreid @mvlanchqly @odetobeetlebum @notebookgirl30 @meowiemari @calm-and-doctor

Let me know if you’d like to be on any taglist.

#Spencer Reid #Criminal Minds #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds fan fic #criminal minds angst #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid x reader #dr spencer reid #Spencer reid fic #Dr Reid #Reid #Spencer Reid x y/n #Spencer Reid x you #Reader insert #Dr Spencer Reid x Reader #Reid x Reader #Spencer Reid imagine #Criminal minds imagine

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paper-n-ashes · 3 years

Text

sparks and embers - chapter 4

Characters: Poe Dameron x Original Female Character, Kylo Ren x Original Female Character

Story Tags: Explicit (18+), Canon Compliant/Divergent (Set after TLJ), First Person POV, Love Triangle, Slow Burn, Enemies to Lovers, Porn with Plot, Hurt/Comfort, Kylo Ren hates Poe Dameron

Chapter 4 - Fun

Words: 5.7k

Chapter Tags/Warnings: The biggest warning I can give is that this was my first ever attempt at smut - ever. Mutual masturbation, one party technically unconsented.

Read on AO3 or Start from the beginning

It was paradise and torture, all rolled into one.

He looked unbearably delicious sitting on the ‘fresher stool, facing away, towel draped carefully below his waist. Steam rose in swirling clouds from the floor around him, making the air heavy as I drew in slow, measured breaths.

Poe didn’t look up as I moved past the open curtain, and I could only assume it was because he felt as uneasy as I did. Without much control over myself, my eyes traced the droplets wriggling down his back over his now unwound muscles, wanting nothing more than to draw my fingers over, to feel his smooth skin on the tips.

It was all so enticing, and the throb in my centre becoming harder to ignore. I was forced to put more thought into my movements as I stepped towards the shelf in front of Poe, wondering if he noticed the side glances I attempted to get a better view.

Now is not the time Alexys.

The remark shook me back into sensible thinking, realising Poe was in a vulnerable position, and he trusted me enough to see him like this. He wouldn’t want to be gawked at - he genuinely needed assistance.

With a newfound sense of responsibility, I took the shampoo from the shelf and rounded back behind Poe’s head, his hair glistening with moisture, looking at nothing but my hands. He was silent along with me, probably bracing himself for this stranger to mangle their fingers awkwardly into his hair.

I squirted a stream of liquid shampoo on his head, the icy temperature of it making him tense for a moment, noticing when he raised his bandaged hand to grasp the side railing of the chair. Timidly I began to run my fingers through the portion of I’d covered, building the soap up into a foam, continuing to spread it through the rest of his wettened mop.

There was a warmth that soon arrived, spreading through my chest as I drew my fingers in and out, a warmth that felt less salacious and more… kind. And it would have stayed that way if Poe hadn’t hummed a low moan.

Oh maker, you are not making this easy.

As soon as it bristled past his lips he bolted upright.

“S-sorry,” he stuttered, evidently surprised himself at the sound he’d made. “No one has washed my hair before, I mean if you don’t count my parents when I was a child. It just felt... nice.”

I didn’t respond, making the air hang thick with our silence. Nothing I could say was going to make the moment any less awkward for the both of us.

After briefly stopping the twirling movement of my fingers following the… sound, I continued my lather over his scalp, making sure every particle of dirt, sweat and most likely blood was caught in the froth of soap.

When content with my work I reached over his shoulder and unhooked the detachable shower head, my eyes still trained on anything other than his bare skin. After angling it down, I pressed the start button on the handle, the flow of water hitting my bare feet as I made sure the water was an acceptable temperature before letting the cascade of soapy water rush down his spine.

With my hand I began to guide him to tilt back so I could safely wash out the soap just above his forehead. In this position I could see more of his face, his eyes squeezed tightly shut, eyebrows wrinkled like he was uncomfortable.

“Is the water too hot?” I peeped, pulling the shower head away.

His eyes opened in a flash, startled by my question. “No! Not at all! I was just lost in thought about… Uh… How to fix BB-8. It’s fine, really.” He shifted in the chair, his bandaged arm still gripping onto the rail while his casted arm rested rigidly over his lap. As I moved the water stream back to his hair, his eyes closed again, this time without the tautness I’d noticed before.

After all the shampoo had been thoroughly rinsed I began the process again, only this time with conditioner. I didn’t ask if he actually wanted it, since it was more out of my own habit, but he didn’t stop me when I grabbed the bottle and jetted the thicker liquid into his hair, continuing to slowly massage it into his tresses.

It became somewhat relaxing, methodically weaving my fingers to evenly spread the silky lotion to every strand. He moved uneasily again, and I noticed the hand holding the rail was clutching tightly, his bicep tensed hard.

Maybe I’m terrible at this.

Deciding it was time to finish this embarrassing experience, I started up the water and rinsed Poe’s head free of conditioner, again seeing the strain washing over his face as he leaned back, like he was trying to conceal it from my view.

I rustled a fresh towel over his scalp, leaving his hair only slightly dampened. “I’m sorry if I hurt you,” I mumbled. “I’m not used to washing patients’ hair.”

Poe immediately twisted his torso, looking up to my face. I gritted my teeth as I registered his contracted abdominals. “What are you talking about? You didn’t hurt me.”

My eyes flickered to his arm. “You just seemed really... tense.”

“Uh,” Poe mouthed, the sound muted. I watched his eyes move down my chest, pupils swollen against his brown irises. He didn’t continue. He seemed lost for words.

I followed the trail his stare had made down my torso, sucking in an alarmed breath. I’d diverted so much of my thoughts towards Poe I hadn’t recognised the spray of water that’d soaked through my white cotton shirt, my bra now starkly visible through the dampened fabric. The cloth clung tightly to the curves of my breasts, leaving extremely little to imagination.

Of-fracking-course.

I laughed. A body shaking cackle that bounced off the tiled walls around us.

Any embarrassment in me simmered to hilarity at the thought of Poe’s face with my chest readily on show. His illuminating smile continued to flash as he chuckled along with me, and I couldn’t help but relish in it for the moments in which we continued to snicker.

When my laughter died down, I sighed, not exactly attempting to cover myself. He’d already seen what I had on display. “Well I think I’ve done just about as much as I can,” I jested, a smirk still drawn on my lips. “Do you think you can get yourself dressed? There are more night-clothes in the cupboard behind you.”

“I think I can manage,” he grinned back, seemingly relieved at the disruption from whatever tension had risen during this whole endeavour.

And with that, I sauntered out from the ‘fresher, closing the door gently behind me. My heart pounded to the beats of memories dashing into my mind, barely able to strangle a coherent understanding of everything I’d felt. It was all I could deliberate on as I entered my living quarters at the end of the hall and changed into new shirt - navy blue this time. My mind desperately tried to collect all the emotions I had experienced in the last 30 minutes and render some form of comprehension from them.

It was clear, I’d grown unprofessionally attached to Poe, so quickly, and more than any other human I’d encountered.

You like him.

It was a simple answer, yet it felt childish, to have developed a juvenile-like crush so soon after our meeting. I knew it was more to do with his appearance than our limited interactions, even though they were still somewhat endearing. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d experienced any of this heart fluttering emotion.

There were a few men that littered my past, but I had yet to experience the all-consuming, overwhelming need for someone that made people do irrational things, and I was sure no-one had ever thought of me in that way.

Only fleetingly had I endured any type of loneliness during my time on Raxus, and it usually passed as I woke to a new day - my work and my patients being wonderful distractions. I’d become so independent, so self-sufficient, that I never yearned to have someone become the centre of my universe.

Come now Alexys. You know that is not the reason why.

I gripped the sheets at the edge of my bed I had found myself sitting on.

You cannot let anyone too close. Not unless you want them to die along with you.

Before I could let the voice cause me to dive into an ocean of panic, I heard the ‘fresher door click closed.

“Alex?” Poe called from the hallway.

My feet planted onto the floor as I stood, letting the anxiety dissipate into the air around me. “Back here Poe.” I listened to his footsteps plod along the floor as he limped towards my living quarters, along with a few quiet huffs of effort. When he came into view at the entrance he still looked as appealing as before, even without his bare skin on show.

“You live in your clinic?” he questioned, looking around the apartment style quarters I’d constructed with the help of a few locals.

It was simple, efficient. The sizable room had everything a normal home would contain, all pulled into one. Kitchenette and dining table to the left, living room with a small two-seater sofa at the back wall, and my bed and closet to the right. A door leading to an ensuite ‘fresher was in the far right corner, one I only used if an overnighter patient was with me.

“It’s so I can still monitor a patient’s condition when they’re unable to return home yet. Remember, I’m the only doctor for thousands of kilometres.” I motioned to the holoscreen on my bedside table that would usually be displaying the vitals for any patients connected to monitor lines. There were only flat lines and zeros there now.

Poe cocked his head. “You don’t ever stop do you?”

“What do you mean?”

“Being a doctor, looking after people. Even in your own quarters you’re still in that mode.” He hobbled further into the room, taking in the space around him.

“I’m sure you’re the same with your work for the Resistance.”

“True,” he conceded. ��Being in the middle of a war tends to do that to people.”

I couldn’t hold back a cynical snort.

His eyebrows crinkled together. “What did that mean?”

Kriff. I wish I hadn’t done that.

“I didn’t mean anything by it.”

“Just tell me,” he grumbled.

I pressed my lips into a hard line. I didn’t really want to start a heated discussion about the futility of this war with a Resistancepilot. But from the interactions I’d had with Poe so far, I doubted he was going to let this go.

“It’s just… Don’t you see the pointlessness of it all? Even if you overcome the First Order – how long will it be before another enemy rises up, or your new leaders become the same ruthless dictators themselves?” My voice grew less apprehensive, straightening myself into a more confident pose. “People are fickle. They change. Their emotions rule them beyond anything else, and because of that they can be manipulated so easily. People who swore fealty to one side can be dragged onto the other. The cycle never ends. There will always be more war, more fighting, more innocent deaths.”

Poe stared at me, bewildered. “You think it’s pointless to fight back against the First Order? People who conquer or destroy planets simply for more power? You’d rather we let them do as they please, letting billionsof innocent people die?”

“No of course not-” I started, already regretting every word I’d said.

“But that’s what you just implied, isn’t it? How can a doctorhave such a bleak view of the galaxy?”

I sighed, more at myself for opening my big mouth. “I’m just a realist Poe. People fight, we can’t help it. And those with the most power will fight to keep it, no matter how. I’ve just… I’ve seen too many people die, or damaged for the rest of their lives, for me to think war can ever generate peace.”

Poe’s eyes narrowed, his demeanour darkening. “You don’t think I’ve seen people, my friends, die or horribly injure themselves? You don’t think I’ve seen what war does? I still want to keep on fighting. I haveto. For the people that I’ve lost, who gave their lives for the rest of us, and the people I could save. Because people deserve a galaxy without a tyrant like Kylo Ren deciding who should live and who should die. Somehow, in your eyes, you think it’s pointless to even try?”

I didn’t have any type of acceptable answer. It was rude of me to point out the flaws of war with someone who had risked their life, and most likely come close to death because of it. “I’m… sorry Poe,” I insisted softly, settling back down on the edge of the bed. “It’s not my place to give my opinion on matters like this. I truly apologise if I offended you.”

I glanced up from twiddling fingers to see his delicately confused expression. He exhaled loudly, as he wobbled painfully to one of the chairs of the circular dining table across the room, straightening his injured leg out to rest it.

“I’m sorry too," he said, exhaling. “I’ve been living my life with the Resistance for so long I forgot there might be people who don’t believe in the cause like we do.”

“It makes sense,” I remarked. “Sometimes you get caught up in the bubble of the world around you, it’s hard to see beyond it.”

He nodded. “That’s very true.”

We sat in silence for a moment, both letting the heated exchange dry out into passing memories. Poe continued to peer around the room, his eyes scanning with a subtle scrutiny. “So what do you do when you’re not being a doctor?” he asked, the fierceness from before completely replaced by his normal cheerful tone.

“You mean in my free time?”

“Yeah. Do you have anything that keeps your mind away from all that... doctor work?”

I felt my face crinkle into confusion. “I… I don’t really.”

His expression mirrored mine. “You don’t have any hobbies? Something you do just for fun?”

“Uh…” I started, raking through my brain for anything I did outside the realm of my work. “Huh. I guess I don’t. I may just be the most boring person alive.”

Poe chuckled, and shook his head. “That’s definitely not true.” He met my eyes, flashing me a comforting grin. “You’re just hyper-focused on your work. Trust me, I get that. Sometimes all I even dream about are war council sessions and my ship interface. But you’ve got to switch off eventually, otherwise you’ll go insane.”

I was slightly dubious at that sentiment, since I’d made it over 4 years without slipping into insanity, but Poe’s question made me take check. Truthfully, I couldn’t remember the last time I had fun, when I felt joy in something other than making ill people better again.

Poe could see my face begin to fall. “Hey come on, let’s try now. You’ve only got me as a patient, and I am in no need for your treatment right now. Think of something you used to do, or always wanted to, and we can have a go of it together.”

His sudden eagerness to help made my heart swell. “Uh... sure. Okay.”

Poe nodded once without speaking, urging me to search through my mind for an idea. But it was hard to think when I kept looking at his face, now melted into an enthusiastic smile. I made my eyes glare at my feet, since they would be significantly less distracting while I attempted to think of a supposedly fun activity.

Even when I’d finished my work for the day, on the rare occasion I had no overnighters staying with me, I simply returned to these quarters to have dinner and prepare myself for sleep. In the moments between, all I tended to do was read over current news and research on my data pad, sometimes flicking through medical texts if I was stumped on how to deal with a patient’s condition, especially when it came to rarer alien species. Generally, I would be so tired from the day that I never needed to pass my time with anything remotely hobby based. My focus would be to eat, use the ‘fresher and settle into an easy slumber.

And in this singular moment, I realised how monotonous it all was.

Poe saw me struggling, although probably not knowing it was at the realisation that I had no idea what fun was anymore. “Okay, how about games? Surely you’ve played at least one holo or card game in your life?”

“Well yeah, but that was years ago, and I don’t have any-” I stopped mid-sentence, the flicker of a memory rising into my mind’s view. “Wait here a second.” Hopping up from my bed, I made my way to the office, switching on the light. A large wooden desk sat in the centre, littered with old patient notes I had been in the middle of updating when my life had been so suddenly interrupted with Poe’s appearance.

I ignored them to walk towards the storage cupboard behind it. It took a few minutes of rummaging through stacks of files and old pieces of obsolete medical equipment to find what I’d come in here for - a small, rectangular metal case the size of my two hands, snatching it from the shelf I’d mindlessly placed it on nearly 3 years ago.

Bringing it back with me into my quarters, I quickly sat at the dining table next to Poe, who turned to face me with a look of intrigue. I opened the case, exposing the contents inside. “An old patient of mine gifted this to me, promised to teach me how to play. He… never got the chance to.”

My mind wandered in the memory of the older gentleman who had been struck down with Quannot’s syndrome, only lasting a few days before his unavoidable death. I recalled how much I mourned his passing, distressed at how little I could do to ease his pain before he left this world.

“Sabbac!” Poe burst, interrupting my sombre reminiscing.

I shook myself back into the current reality. “You know how to play?”

“Of course, almost every being in the galaxy knows how,” he scoffed. Only after he noticed me shifting awkwardly in my seat did he realise what he’d said. “Uh, sorry. Come on, I’ll teach you.” He continued to pull the cards out of the case, laying them out face up in a specific order. “Okay, so this is the Flask suit...”

If we were playing for real money, Poe would have put me in the red.

“23? Again? You’re definitely cheating,” I grumbled, huffing into my seat, not for the first time of the evening. After I’d grasped the basic concept of the game, we’d played for hours, time passing quickly in the midst of bluffing and strategy.

Poe was evidently enjoying the immaturity of my tantrum, laughing softly as he pulled the last of my chips towards his already immense pile. “I guess beginner’s luck didn’t really work out for you in this case,” he sniggered.

I pouted, watching him stack the chips neatly in coloured towers. “Well, I’m out. You took me for all I’ve got.”

“But didn’t you have fun?”

I nodded and grinned, conceding even when I’d been horrendously beaten, but was a combination of both him and the game we’d played that made me feel an unfamiliar contentment warm my body. I eyed him marvelling his chips, an expression of pride filling his features. “You really like winning, don’t you?”

“Being with the Resistance, you kind of get used to savouring the wins when they occur. Doesn’t happen exceedingly often.” His thoughts seemed to drift away, and in his face I knew he was pondering over the state of affairs back at base with him missing.

“I have no doubt they’ll be searching day and night for you,” I soothed, hoping I guessed correctly.

Poe attempted a smile, but it dissolved when a large sigh breathed past his lips. “I’m doing my best not to worry. The people there, they’re all smart and capable, but we had a plan… and I haven’t been able to see it through. We were running out of time as it is. I can only imagine how concerned they'll be after not receiving a report in over two day cycles.”

“It’ll be okay,” I said softly, tentatively placing a hand on his upper arm, above where I’d placed the plastic cast. “I know it sounds kind of naïve, but when I’m overwhelmed, especially in my work, I break everything down into smaller problems, and try to face the most pressing one. The big picture doesn’t matter, it’s all about solving the most concerning challenge at the time. And little by little, the whole situation becomes… easier.”

“It does sound a little naïve. But… I like it.”

“It worked for me when I was trying to save you.” I gave his arm a reassuring squeeze.

Poe didn’t respond. He seemed to ruminate in his own mind, his mouth in a forced, hard line. I watched as his eyes glanced down to where my palm rested around his bicep, then back to me.

His gaze was suddenly heated, smouldering, so intense it locked me into place, a ribbon of flames darting through my veins. I noticed the speckles of gold hidden through his irises, as it occurred to me how close our bodies had become during the time spent sitting at the dining table. The air around felt dense, the only sound I could register my own gradual breathing.

Poe's vision wouldn’t move from mine, his blazing stare a stark difference from the rest of his softened features. It felt as if his movements were in slow motion, the way he lifted his bandaged arm, a hand reaching up to my face.

I remained unmoving, even when my entire being began to flicker with electricity, igniting sparks at every nerve ending on my skin. Fingertips finally touched my cheek, grazing over it so delicately, yet still making the energy glowing through me intensify, as if trying to break free from my body.

Poe began to lean closer, and unconsciously I mirrored his movement, wanting nothing more in this moment than to feel his lips on mine.

Stop this Alexys. Stop it now.

The voice caused me to jerk backwards, pulling myself away from Poe’s touch, rising abruptly out of the chair. “This is… this is inappropriate,” I peeped, rushing directly to my ensuite ‘fresher, clicking the door closed. With my back pressed against the door, I slid slowly down until my rear hit the tiled floor.

I could still feel the heat of Poe’s fingertips on my cheek, a painful reminder of what I’d run away from. But the echo of what the voice had demanded still rattled through, and I knew it was right. I knew I couldn’t let myself get too close - I couldn’t give in to the sudden desire that had shimmered inside my chest.

It would cost me my safety, my work, my purpose of being. I’d risked everything to get here, given up all I knew of home. I wouldn’t let it all be in vain on the whim of my emotions.

There was no way to stop it, the lone tear that strolled down my cheek. It was a mere fraction of the sobs I wanted to express, both despair and frustration gripping me in a strangling hold.

With shaking palms held front of me, I traced each creased line in the flesh with my eyes. Not for the first time, I cursed at the energy that flowed through them, unlocked from the depths of my consciousness and healed those who needed it the most, those who would have otherwise died when even the greatest medical care couldn’t save them.

I’d kept it hidden for my whole life, the Force I’d been born with and couldn’t escape from. I’d concealed it from everyone, including my parents, keeping a far enough distance to hold my secret within my mind.

Only two outcomes came with exposure. One being I would be recruited, trained as a Jedi and guilted by the Resistance to join a war I didn’t believe in. The other being hunted by the Sith, or any kind of dark side user, and killed for showing any type of prowess with the Force like so many younglings before, or swayed into the war to fight on their behalf.

There was no way either side would allow me to slip from their grasp once they knew. They would never tolerate my neutrality and let me stay here in the countryside of an Outer Rim planet, doing exactly what I wanted to do. Heal.

Why me? Why did this have to happen to me?

Because you do not want it.

That’s cruel.

Such is life.

I wasn’t sure how long I spent sitting on the ‘fresher floor, ceaselessly on the verge of tears, yet never allowing the emotion to fully break. A creeping feeling of humiliation had started to filter in a short time ago as I recounted over and over how abruptly I’d run from Poe.

My eyes hadn’t caught the glimpse his face after I wrenched myself away from his hand, yet all I could do was imagine it now, features struck with shock and rejection. I’d barely heard him leave my quarters after I’d shut myself away, faintly recalling his right leg still making a larger thumping sound when he walked into the hallway, closing the door behind him.

That memory had taken place hours ago, and my body was beginning to ache after another large portion of time connected to hard tile.

The only thing I wished for now was the comfort of my bed, to sleep away this evening and wake to a fresh day. But I couldn’t. There was still a patient to look after. I needed check on Poe’s condition, update vitals, make sure his wounds were still healing. For my own benefit, I would rather wait for the morning when some of the lingering awkwardness would have dissipated, but there was no possibility of sleep without being sure he was still in good health.

Plus, I hadn’t told him about the food supplies waiting in the clinic cupboard. Being so distracted by playing cards I'd never made us dinner, and he needed all the sustenance he could get to heal properly.

With a fragile resolve to get it done and over with, I peeled myself from my sitting position, joints popping at the movement after being inactive for so long. I peered slowly through the door, on the small chance Poe was out there waiting to greet me, but it was just the empty quarters that filled my view.

For a reason I couldn’t discern, I began to tread lightly towards the hallway door, the stillness of night sending a quick shiver down my spine. Before opening it I glanced back at my chronometer on the bedside table.0200.

He was probably asleep by now.

Hesitation washed through me, knowing if that were true I shouldn’t go poking him awake just to assess basic vitals. But the urge was too strong, pushing me to step into the hallway, tip-toeing cautiously over the floor.

I was halfway down when I heard Poe’s low exhale echo through the passageway.

Hm, maybe he was dreaming.

My movements halted, waiting for another sound to confirm my guess. Soon enough, a louder sigh floated towards my ears, tainted with an emotion I couldn’t name.

I continued to tread ever so lightly towards the clinic entrance, noticing the lights had been shut off except for the lamp at Poe’s bedside softly illuminating the room. I shifted carefully closer, almost at the doorway, Poe’s relaxed breaths still filling my ears as I took nimble steps towards the noise.

When a low, breathy moan swirled into the air, my body froze.

The fire in my lower abdomen crackled to life at the sound, making my limbs heavy, locking me where I stood, hidden from view.

Another moan, louder this time, rumbled past Poe’s lips, and I savoured the way it hit my body. My hearing strained to collect every wavelength of sound coming from just outside the hallway entrance. There was movement, a rustling of fabric of some sort, a slight creak of the bed frame.

I could feel my throat growing tighter, fearful of my breath alerting him to my presence, as the realisation of what was happening - what he was doing - finally dug its claws into my skin.

Poe groaned in pleasure as I began to recognise the sound of a repetitive slippery motion over flesh, the flames inside bursting into an inferno, the fever hottest between my legs.

I leant my back on the hallway wall closest to Poe’s hospital bed, fearing my knees would buckle underneath me. His breathing became faster, more passionate, as the pace of his movement grew more rapid.

Inside my mind, I was bombarded with hypothetical images of his body in the next room, a strong hand gripped tightly around the shaft of his length, shifting up and down. The gasps he continued to make fell into time with my imagination, the sound of skin making a slicking friction keeping rhythm with the urgent pumping of his hand I visualised with impeccable realism.

My fingernails scraped at the wall, eyelids shut tightly while Poe’s delicious moans sent shockwaves through my circulatory system. I’d never felt so much lust in my life, knowing if I caught any other male in this vulnerable position I would have scuttled away quickly, mortified. Yet the reality of Poe touching himself a few metres away, not knowing I was here listening to his rising pleasure, made an urgent craving throb between my legs, one that needed to be relieved. Now.

Little care had been paid to my sexual needs in the last 4 years on this planet. Suddenly, it felt like I had to give into it otherwise I might die.

Poe’s breath hitched, a sharp inhale indicating he was getting closer to his peak. The singular noise made me slip my hand down past the border of my leggings and under my panties, sliding a finger down in between my folds. A slick moisture was waiting, more than I’d ever felt in previous encounters.

Dragging two fingers through it, preparing myself, Poe’s groans became hungrier, desperate. As soon as I began the motion of relieving the ache below, fingers gliding gently over my swollen clit, the flames fizzled, only to be replaced with an immense sparkle of electricity radiating from low in my core.

I inhaled sharply, like Poe had done, and hoped he was too lost in his own pleasure to notice the sound I’d made. When the steady noise of his hand running smoothly over his shaft continued without pause, I knew I’d not broken my cover.

My thoughts intensified to him, envisioning his arm tensing as he held himself within his grasp, his chest bare with muscles contracting along with his movements, a thin layer of sweat glistening on his skin.

Fingertips slid quickly back and forth over my pleasure point as I pictured his face contorted in both effort and enjoyment, his mouth opening only slightly as luscious groans seeped from his throat. I grit my teeth to stop from moaning myself, an undeniable bliss growing stronger with each swirling motion. My chest heaved through silent breaths I couldn’t articulate with noise, mind muddled with overwhelming images of every part of Poe’s body I so desperately wanted to see with my own eyes.

But I refused to move. I didn’t want to break the course of the moment, wishing for nothing more than to hear the sound of his release, knowing it would push me into my own. He wasn’t rushing into it, almost as if savouring this time alone, moans rising only to fall as he slowed his pace again.

I didn’t do the same.

The circling over my clitoris continued to accelerate, tiny instances of my waiting climax peeking their way out every so often, telling me I was getting closer to falling over the edge.

My legs were shaking, being held up by pure resolve to prevent any noise resonating from my body. Poe was speeding up his movement again, but this time he didn’t slow, stuttered sighs escaping his chest, and it hastened my climbing pleasure. I was close, I could feel the tipping point bubbling under the surface of my skin.

Slowly, I heard him growl a few barely comprehensible words.

“Ugh… Alex... yes...”

My release abruptly exploded through me at the sound of my name on his lips, pleasure pulsing in overflowing waves over every portion of flesh. Front teeth bit hard into my bottom lip, preventing the whine I desperately wanted to set free. It was the most intense sensation I’d ever felt, sparks flickering in both the deepest part of my core and the nerves of my limbs, making me shiver in delight.

Quickly, I was all too sensitive, pulling my fingers away, eyeing the sheen of moisture that covered them. My attention was again caught in Poe’s moaning, as he too reached his peak, muted gasps coming in jolts as he finally came, obviously attempting much like me not to make any excessive noise.

Eventually he began to heave in relief, breaths hissing gradually through his teeth. We both stayed in our positions for a minute or so, relishing in the afterglow of our separate orgasms, the flames I’d felt down below settling into smouldering embers.

I was mulling over the pleasure I’d gone without for years, when I heard Poe rustle in his bed, feet softly plodding on the floor. It took two steps for me to finally realise.

He’s coming this way.

Next Chapter

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blankd · 3 years

Text

Thoughts on The Mitchells vs the Machines

I watched it a while ago and kept forgetting to post my thoughts on it, but some posts here on tumblr recently reminded me.

I disagree with the majority takeaways I see but is that not the spice of life?

As a standalone movie its inoffensive and the writing of it will likely exit my brain in a few months. However I can appreciate that the visual style was different from the typical fare and the mixture of 2d elements for visual embellishments were mostly enjoyable and well-suited for Katie as the POV character.

It's a bit "hyper" for my liking, but that's fine, it's likely intended for an audience that's accustomed to the flood that is the current norm of the internet. It was probably made with GIFable moments in mind and that is the most frequent content that is shared about it, so it certainly succeeded in that regard.

My more critical take is that jokes are delivered at the expense of what could be more authentic themes. Quips are made that draw attention to character flaws or undercut questions the movie should try to answer, but inevitably they are ignored to move onto the next joke or story beat.

The rest would fall more into spoiler territory, so read more for that.

--"They Were Both In the Wrong"

I personally disagree heavily with the thrust of how "both sides" were wrong when the degrees are disproportionate.

I've seen claims that Katie was "as in the wrong" as her father, but she's incredibly patient to the man who does her material harm.

I've yet to have seen someone say specifically what Katie did *wrong* to her father that is at all on par with the *years* he at best hasn't been able to interact with her or worse, actively refused to engage with her interests.

I would generously venture that her flaw was that she was more willing to communicate her feelings to strangers, but she easily talks to her mother and brother- her brother even helps her with her movies and she happily engages him with his own interests, which pivots the point back to how her father is physically/emotionally unavailable and led to the erosion and distance between the two of them.

Due to this, MvM comes across more as Kaite having to do so much more to guide her father rather than a more mutual learning experience for the both of them.

--"Technology that [Dis]Connects"

It's probably beyond the scope and intent of the film, but I was surprised there was no examination about why technology can be more alluring than interacting with physically present people.

For better or worse, the internet can be used as a means of supplementing the validation and acceptance of family. It can also lead to no longer connecting to people around them because of the validation high of appealing to a constantly 'awake' sea of strangers- the spotlight is warmer than the cold reality that they are not the internet image they have cultivated.

For example, the rival 'perfect' family was never revealed to be a carefully constructed highlight reel that Mrs. Mitchell envies, they really were actually that perfect- because that provides an easier punchline than an examination or acknowledgement of how the internet can create unhealthy expectations.

I also can't expect MvM to acknowledge the reality that LGBTA+ people who are rejected by their family resort to seeking a new one through the internet because it would be much harder to redeem/rehabilitate a man defined by being tethered to "old values" if he was homophobic instead of "overprotective" and apprehensive at his daughter's departure from home and her dubious art career.

But hey we got that quick line at the end that Katie likes a girl, so that's a diversity win or something.

(To be clear I'm not expecting a whole parade or even an A or B-plot dedicated to it, but I think it should be acknowledged that this kind of "surprise inclusion" is very easily erased with a change of audio and would be completely unsurprised if this were the case for countries that are homophobic. People can be happy about it, but it is dishonest to pretend that this is a bolder statement than it is.)

In that sense, I do and don't hold MvM to taking a "safer" route about how family always has your back, but this still feels like an important omission considering the focus on technology and its dynamic with the Mitchells.

I will also say that it was also bizarre, to me at least, that the obvious route that her father sees the value of home videos didn't become an active point between him and Katie. Or that Mr. Mitchell's carpentry never really amounts to anything despite having a sentimental wooden moose.

Lastly, I think it's an unintentional, but it's interesting that Katie going to college to pursue her passion is viewed as a Terrible Thing by her father even though if he had his way, he'd be ostensibly living in the woods away from everyone else except his wife.

This isn't a problem, people are a collection of contradictions, but It's fascinating to see what the *narrative* treats as a difficult sacrifice while simultaneously pulling at heartstrings when PAL cites how children ignore their mothers. There's an unexamined comedy that Mr. Mitchell's losing out on his 'passion' to live in the woods away from people is treated as tragic despite the movie's insistence on staying connected with your blood family.

--"The Inconsistent Personhood of AI"

PAL is rightfully angry at being discarded for something new; it's provided as a glimpse of what Katie will do when she finds 'her people' at college.

This in of itself is a good hook, because there is no one universal answer to when a flawed relationship should be mended with compromise or if it's better off being broken for the wellbeing of the ones involved. Family and relationships are not programming, it's a choice and a gamble for whatever it brings but is nonetheless something that must be mutually worked upon.

Initially I thought that PAL was being set up as an exaggerated parallel to Mr. Mitchell. PAL and Mr. Mitchell did their best to provide for their family. PAL and Mr. Mitchell are in different stages of being 'discarded' by their family. PAL and Mr. Mitchell both retaliate at their lack of power in the scenario by using the power granted by their roles to infringe on the autonomy of others for selfish reasons.

PAL even gives a 'chance' for her plan to be halted with, I had assumed this was being set up as the thesis of the movie, about humanity and the value of family, relationships, etc. being used to help someone who is already hurting.

But despite Katie looking at the camera and explaining herself, it is never actually directly resolved or challenged because a punchline was deemed more desirable for this narrative climax.

This begs the question of why PAL bothered with the pretense that she could be reasoned with, especially since this is not some question leveled at all of humanity, just two people.

I'm curious how the writers came to the conclusion that this was the best execution of the scene or if Katie's speech was considered immune to any challenge from PAL. Would anyone have accepted this outcome if PAL were not an AI but instead a person?

It's not necessarily bad writing they went this route, but I doubt anyone would consider this good writing either.

By the end of the movie, PAL is no longer a 'person' who was betrayed and is lashing out, she is an object to be destroyed because the movie has to wrap up. No compassion or chances are spared to this AI that did literally everything asked of her except take being discarded quietly.

Did PAL deserve a redemption arc? For this length of movie, probably not. But it could have concluded with a commitment to doing no further harm. Instead it is an accidental glimpse at how easily the pretense of compassion can be quickly discarded and mostly unexamined with the right framing.

A likely unintentional example is the conditional humanity given to Eric and Deborahbot who are adopted as "family" while the rest of the robots are mowed down without another thought. Some are even beaten and broken while begging for mercy, because again, it is a funnier punchline.

Far be it for me to advocate that the murderbots needed 'a second chance uvu' but for a movie whose conceit rests on 'sticking by family' and 'giving chances', the writers certainly made a choice in deciding which AI get honorary humanity and spared violent death- perhaps PAL had a point about humanity's callousness after all. Bad robots are discarded, good robots get to live.

Even the CEO who realizes he enabled this mess (easily the most unrealistic part of the movie, honestly) is given another chance and he manages to take away a completely wrong lesson.

Speaking of-

--"Maybe I Shouldn’t Have Used Tech Like This"

There's a particular image/gif set posted about MvM with the CEO apologizing for the machine uprising, attributing it to unchecked technology and monopolies. I've always seen it accompanied by people congratulating the scene as if any of this is at all relevant to the movie.

Charitably, these are people who haven't watched the movie and don't know that PAL is a phone AI single-handedly doing this, but most take the stance that this scene is proof the movie is not saying technology is bad, only corporations are.

The speech isn't technically wrong but it is so utterly divorced from what happens in the movie that it's surreal to see people congratulate it as anything but a moment of soapboxing.

None of the datagrabbing was used at all as part of the takeover. It's all magical kid-friendly terminators with no relevance to what anyone's browsing history is. If the company was one that produced robot assistants instead of a being a super tech monopoly, there would be no narrative difference.

The closest to a predatory tactic that is used in MvM is the offer of free wifi which is used to lure most people into their cells which they happily comply with. Curiously this... commentary of people’s mindless addiction to technology is not acknowledged by the Tumblr Court with the same intensity as the CEO’s speech.

But more constructively, I do feel it’s a missed opportunity that Katie who's supposed to be an extremely online person apparently never said any bad things about her family or made any petty vent films for PAL to weaponize. Instead an in-media audio at one of the outskirt locations was used to accomplish its Traitor Revealed moment.

IN CONCLUSION

MvM is a movie that involves topics that ought to be touched on and explored properly in media and chickens out on all of it due to possible concerns with age-appropriate handling or because it was more committed to its comedy than whatever it has to say about family, change and how technology affects people.

It also reminded me that I hope media will finally graduate from the trope that if you spec into any ‘outdoorsy’ hobby you are incurably afraid of technology.

#the mitchells vs the machines #let me ramble to you #text post #hot takes probably

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hansolmates · 4 years

Text

jjk; angel’s trumpet [04]

summary; one second, your life is flashing before your eyes and the next, you’re transported into a world exactly like your own. but the jungkook you meet in this world isn’t a renowned singer or your former almost-lover, in fact he has no clue who you are and why you know him so well. as you work to find your way home lost and confused, you conclude that you’re either dead or in the middle of the most wicked drug trip of your life. pairing; idol!jk x reader (f), alternatively film producer!jk x reader genre/warnings; fluff, angst, supernatural, idol!au, non-idol!au, alternate universes, themes of fate, language, alcohol consumption, mentions of smut in future chapters w.c; 5k a/n; lot of angst in this one!! if your heart aches i urge u to do what i do and hug some stuffies (my current fav stuffie is my bt21baby cooky) i hope u enjoy more of w1!jk, ty for all the love pls share and like if you enjoy!

[03] [04] [05] -> masterpost

W1.

Jungkook is strongly advised not to visit you.

Jungkook has been strongly advised over the past two weeks not to visit you, despite the fact that visitors have been allowed since two days ago considering the fact that you are confirmed comatose.

A coma. You’re in a coma. It’s weird how much the notion echoes in Jungkook’s thoughts, constantly nudging the back of his mind like a petulant child wanting an out. He’s never met anyone who’s been in a coma before, the condition only reserved for late night melodramas and medical movies.

And in all of those shows, the person bedridden until further notice always looks like a wreck. He feels like ripping his heart out at the thought of you with tubes and liquids going in and out of your body, face ashen and devoid of any thought other than pain. He needed to see you, to support you even if you didn’t know.

After days of persistence and Namjoon’s inability to say no to Jungkook, Namjoon agreed to let Jungkook swing by the hospital after his solo recordings. He couldn’t get there fast enough, knowing Namjoon is already there and probably taking care of you.

He takes slow steps to your room, as if trudging through a sea of molasses. Careful to not let his combat boots strike the linoleum, he catches the tail end of a conversation. Your room is large enough for two patients, but so far you’re the only one checked in. There are three other people in your room, concealed by a thin curtain revealing them as shadows. Jungkook lingers behind, staring intently at the shadow of your figure laying in bed.

“How inhiberated was your friend the night of the incident?” Jungkook’s presuming it’s your nurse, going over protocol.

The second voice is Sehlyung, the bubbly coordinator who immediately befriended you the week you got hired. Her voice is no longer chipper, but strained and weak, as if she’s been crying for days.

“I don’t know exactly how much,” she sniffs, “but it was a lot. She had a rough day, I—I just wanted to help her forget a little,” her soft cries reverberate throughout the white-walled room. “I should’ve, I should’ve helped her upstairs. I knew how messed up she was and I left her alone!”

Jungkook’s fists clench beneath his hoodie, familiar moisture creeping into his eyes.

Sehlyung’s words felt like a jab to his form, already aching at the wounds in his own heart. It isn’t the answer the nurse wants, but it seems like the poor woman has been holding in a lot of pent up stress. Namjoon’s trying to placate her, and Jungkook can see the way he’s patting your friend’s shoulder in a gesture of comfort. “No one’s blaming you, so please don’t blame yourself,” Namjoon’s words are like a balm to the proverbial wound, “Nurse, is it possible to project how long it’ll take until she wakes up?”

“Hard to say,” your nurse replies, and has the decency to sound sad, “it could be weeks, or even months. Judging by her high amount of brain activity however, she’s predicted to awake with very minimal brain damage.”

Brain damage?

“Eventually her insurance will run out however, the longer we need to sustain her will depend on how much her cosigner—”

“Money will not be an issue,” Namjoon cuts in smoothly, almost sounding insulted that the nurse would even bring up such a thing. “We can’t put a price on our precious friend’s life.”

As much as Namjoon’s words alleviated Jungkook’s initial anxieties, the question still stands. Will you come out of this the same person you left? How long will that take, weeks, months, years? He’s extensively Googled before this, reading way too many WebMD articles that he probably shouldn’t have, effectively skewing his perception on the matter.

He fiddles with his hands in the kangaroo pocket of his sweater, clammy from the heat. You’re suffering, and just like Sehlyung, he’s trying very hard not to blame himself.

•━━━━━━»•»💮💮💮«•«━━•••

W2.

Angel’s Trumpet Scientific Name: Brugmansia Order and Family: Polimonailes and Solanaceae Summary: A higher order of nightshade, the Angel’s Trumpet is a show-stopping pendulous flower that hangs like bells. In myth, they were prized as chimes holding magical properties. In modern use, Angel's Trumpets have occasionally been used to create recreational drugs, but the risk of overdose is so high that these uses often have deadly consequences.

So you’re either dead or in the middle of the most wicked drug trip of your life.

You push away from your MacBook, rolling over to your bed to mull. It’s near two in the morning, and you’ve channeled both your love for Buzzfeed Unsolved and your poster making skills in order to construct The Timeline.

Using your somewhat solid memory from the past two weeks and Hoseok’s own timeline from his daycare shift, you spent the entire night plotting as to why you’re in W2 and how you can leave.

Your plan of action is minimal, definitively so because there are no leads other than Sehlyung’s wine dealer, and Jungkook.

Something must’ve been in the angel’s wine, something dangerous. You remember the sky flickering that night, wondering if you were hallucinating or very drunk. Scientifically speaking however, if you really are under the influence of this flower, the hallucinogens should’ve left your body by now.

Unless it’s magic that brought you to this world. As absurd as it is, the notion of magic gets easier and easier to cite as the days go on.

And if it is some form of magic, something tells you that Jungkook has something to do with it. But why?

One: Jungkook’s birth flower, you muse. You think back to how vivid the ink appeared on Jungkook’s skin, how precious the design meant to him. It made you think back to your Jungkook, who couldn’t stop fidgeting as he was so excited to get some serious ink done when visiting a friend in Jeju island. How bright his face glowed after it healed and how proud he was to show it off.

Two: The last thing Jungkook said to you. How coincidental must it be for him to specifically cite your relationship could work in “another world”?

You’re definitely overheating your brain at this point, and you trudge yourself out of bed to make something to eat. If you were going to spiral, you were going to spiral with a full stomach.

The pot as the water starts to boil, crackling and bubbling angrily because you are impatient and cranked up the heat to high. An open ramen block sits on the counter, ready to be softened. Suddenly, the door unclicks and you point your fork at the door. Panic fills you, wondering who could be visiting at this hour.

“Home sweet home!” Taehyung cries, swinging the door open so hard that it reverbs and hits him in the forehead. However he is unfettered, flashing you a toothy smile as he dumps his luggage at his feet. “Care to open another ramen packet for me, roomie?”

You lower your fork, remembering that Taehyung’s due to come back sometime this week. “Welcome back,” you exhale, forcing a smile as you watch Taehyung arrange his mess in a corner, “did you have a good trip?”

“Yeah, Busan’s nice,” he replies easily, dumping his body on the couch. He looks the same, shaggy brown-black hair and mischievous chocolate eyes. He still has an affinity for earth tones and long coats that make his shoulders look good. Despite the fact that you always expect that their counterparts will look alike, it baffles you how easy it is to forget you’re not in your world. “What about you? Why’re up so late?”

“My thesis was bugging me,” you lie easily, “I’m gonna work on it in the library tomorrow.”

“Ah, is that why you’ve been ignoring Jimin’s texts?”

You stop swirling the noodles in your pot, looking up from your spot at the counter. “He told you?”

Truth be told, you haven’t been exactly comfortable conversing with Jimin. You feel a little bad if your alternate self had a thing for the young man, but you know in your heart you definitely did not hold any romantic or sexual attraction towards him.

“Duh. You’ve hurt his heart.”

You scoff, dividing the pale yellow noodles and soup between two bowls. “Jimin’s a big baby, that’s why.”

“C’mon, you love that big baby,” Taehyung jests, “have lunch with us tomorrow during his break,” his eyes are glued to the bowls in your hands, as you carefully walk over to place them on the coffee table. Like an eager puppy, he scrambles off the couch and onto the floor, joining you in your meal.

You bite back a sigh, stuffing your face with hot noodles to give yourself some time. It still grossed you out that you supposedly hooked up with Jimin on the regular, but at the possibility that you were potentially messing up your alternate universes’ life still held you back for telling Jimin to kindly stop sending dick pics.

“If you pick me up from the library tomorrow I’ll come,” you concede, “just don’t make it weird, okay? I’ve had a hard week.”

“Done,” and that became that.

Taehyung and you cite the silence as being exhausted from today’s events, and you two quickly scarfed down your meal and headed off to bed. Another day gone, and another day longer it takes for you to return to your world.

•━━━━━━»•»💮💮💮«•«━━•••

“Your life’s totally an anime movie,”

As much as you love Hoseok’s support, the fact that he’s so excited is a little unnerving.

“You’re like an alien! Or Phil of the Future who’s trying to get back to his timeline!”

“Hoseok…”

“Right, right. Sorry. But think about it,” he jabs a finger in your notebook, citing the pastel pink sticky note where it’s crossed out. “If you fall in love with W2 Jungkook like W1 Jungkook implied, it’ll fulfill your prophecy and you can go back home! And then when you go back home, W1 Jungkook will realize he was being a pussy and then grovel at your knees for forgiveness and—”

“Please stop,” your head is throbbing. The fact that you’re talking about two Jungkooks is terrifying, because it was hard enough for you to handle one Jungkook on their own. “Even so, what’s to say that Jungkook and I really aren’t meant to be? It’s not like W1 Jungkook was wrong. He has a busy life and I know a romantic relationship could add extra stress on him.”

A little part of you felt good to tell another person about your struggles between Jungkook and yours’ unnamed relationship. Of course, you had to catch yourself sometimes when you delve a little too much. Hoseok after all, doesn’t know either Jungkook. You also forget yourself, often muttering a variant of “shut up Hobi you absolute Fruit Loop” when Hoseok gets too giddy. The Hoesok next to you is still just as new of a friend, not this co-worker you’ve spent the better half of two years with.

But back to his theory, while there was no symbolic chime that signaled the start, it grew into a slow, easy love, at least for you. As your and Jungkook’s feelings grew, the more your panic bubbled to the surface. Was it a risk you were both willing to take? Evidently not, from the way Jungkook had slammed the door in your face.

Another reason why you’re hesitant to test the falling in love theory—it’s too easy to fall in love with Jungkook all over again. It scares you. Without his music career in the way, what’s stopping you?

Hoseok squeezes your hand at the way you stare so intently into your timeline, sending you a tender smile, “Don’t think so hard. Even so, a little date won’t hurt, right?” he whispers, picking up his things, “text me if anything happens. My kids are coming soon.”

You give him a halfhearted wave, leaving him to his shift at the daycare. You were so engrossed with the influx of information yesterday that you failed to ask Jungkook for his phone number. This meant that you had to do some intense social media stalking in order to find him. If he’s anything like W1 Jungkook, you’re going to have a hard time finding any updates from him.

“Excuse me? Professor?”

Tilting your head from your notepad, you notice an undergrad had replaced the seat that Hoseok previously occupied. She’s a pretty thing, with long raven black hair and almond shaped eyes. You suddenly feel very ratty and underdressed as a professor, the leggings and oversized sweater with a questionable stain really giving off baked-potato vibes.

“Do… yeon?” you say, remembering her from an email thread you sent a while ago.

She beams, “Yeah! I’m so glad I found you. I know Professor Kim said he’d be absorbing your classes since you’re on leave, but I really need help with my final draft. Professor Kim tried to help me and…”

“Let me guess,” you smirk, “his thoughts were way too convoluted and you need me to get straight to the point.”

Doyeon snaps her fingers, “Exactly!”

While apprehensive with medical knowledge, you can still find confidence in your essay grading skills. You spend the next half hour looking over Doyeon’s paper, pointing out how things she could improve on or articles she could cite. Soon enough, Doyeon texted two other members for her study group, saying that it’s a once-in-a-semester-offer to get some time with you.

And you’re baffled at how easy it is to fall into this professor role. It makes you believe that if you really wanted to, being a professor would also be a perfect job for you. The students are buzzing around your table, excitedly whispering how happy they are to work with you after so long, and that they miss the way you teach your lectures. For two blissful hours, you forget your circumstance and keep your focus entirely on your students.

A loud, obnoxious cough breaks you and your students out of their work bubble. Taehyung is tapping his Valentino loafers impatiently, holding a very large back of what seemed to be you and Jimin’s lunch.

“Sorry kiddos,” Taehyung sing songs, already stuffing your work stuff in your bag, “she promised to go out and have lunch with mature adults.”

“We’re literally like, a couple years younger than you,” Chan scrunches his face, sending you a pleading look.

“Sorry Chan, I did say I was going to have lunch,” you concede, “but please email me if you have any more questions. Otherwise, you’re right on track!”

You wave at the thankful students happily, and Taehyung literally has to drag you out by the arm and shove him into his Uber before you could relent.

“Damn girl,” Taehyung chuckles, relieved to finally get you out of the library, “you didn’t hear me the first three times I was calling you. Chan looked like he was about to rip my head off!”

You shrug lightly, “What can I say, the time really flew with them.”

•━━━━━━»•»💮💮💮«•«━━•••

What a coincidence, you’re in the same place he is, again. More specifically, his new workplace.

How is it possible that you have so many handsome friends? Jungkook is baffled by the way Park Jimin and the dark-haired friend feed you fries like you’re their precious daughter. In response, you scrunch up your nose and push them off, instead deciding to shove five fries in your mouth all at once.

As much as he wanted to ask you out since you admired his tattoos yesterday, he can’t find it in him to go up and interrupt your lunch. Besides, he has work and he doesn’t want to complicate things if Jimin finds out he was the one responsible for nearly running you over the other day.

If he walks fast enough, he can avoid any awkward interaction and make it to his office so he can give the day’s full report—

“Jungkook! Get your cute butt over here and meet my friends!”

Crap.

Trying not to glare daggers at his new co-worker, he places a thin smile on his face as he moves to your table in the corner of the cafeteria. He lets Jimin give the whole spiel on how he hired him, and Jungkook decides to hover awkwardly while the rest of you are sitting. The sun filters its way through the windows and bleeds brightly onto your body, making his throat dry and constrict in awe. Your expression is definitely more positive since that time at the library, and he wonders what he has to do to reach that level of contentment you’re sporting.

“Guys, this is Jungkook. I just hired him last week. He’s like my son.”

“Ewh,” the dark haired guy upturns his nose. “But hi, I’m Taehyung.”

While Jimin goes into detail about how amazing he found his work, he can’t help but notice the fond smile that melts upon your face as you listen intently to Jimin. Jungkook wants to archive that expression on your face and save it to memory, the way you look so pretty with your chin nestled in your hand, turning your head slightly to gaze at him with a look of what—pride? Affection?

“You sound like quite the artist,” you muse, “I would love to see some of your work if Jimin says it’s that good.”

He rubs his head bashfully, clutching the camera hanging on his chest like an anchor. “Oh no, I’m just starting out,” he replies shyly, although he would be lying if he said he didn’t crave the attention you were bestowing on him.

“He’s actually going out to Dongdaemun to get some stuff done for his portfolio,” Jimin pipes up, “hopefully get some good content for the commercial he’s filming.”

“Oh, do you mind if I tag along?” you ask, picking at a hangnail, “I’ve always been so curious about the producing process.”

Jungkook’s eyes dart between Jimin and his friend, noticing the telepathic conversation they’re exchanging between you two. Jungkook’s palms start to sweat, not because Jimin definitely wants to probe, but because you made the first move. You pay no mind to the boys, nonchalantly pushing in your chair as you practically float to Jungkook’s side.

“Wait,” Taehyung recovers first, “you know him?”

You agree with a vague wave of your hand, “we work in the same area.”

Jungkook knows for a fact that’s not true, as you only started appearing in his life when he almost knocked you out. But Jungkook can only nod like a bobblehead, not wanting to get into the nitty-gritty.

“I promise to stay out of your way,” you say, “but don’t feel pressured if you don’t want me to go at all!”

“No no, I want you to come!” and Jungkook raises his voice a little too high to be deemed mannerly, and he watches you step back a bit at the sudden intrusion. His face is on fire, especially when there’s a little smirk grazing your lips.

“Well if you want me, you’ll have me.” you flirt, gesturing for him to take the lead.

Jimin and Taehyung’s faces have fallen flat. There’s a stray bit of limp lettuce hanging sadly from Jimin’s lip as he watches Jungkook escort you out of the building. Meanwhile, Jungkook is swallowing the biggest smile on his face. He’s going to spend the rest of the day with you. He doesn’t know if he’s going to get a decent shot in because you’re a definite distraction, but it’s totally worth it if he can get to know you a little better.

You mention that you haven’t walked around Seoul in a while. Jungkook wants to ask more about it, but as open as you display yourself, there’s definitely something guarding you. Jungkook wants to chalk it up behind the whole fiasco of mistaking him for someone else the other day, so he doesn’t want to step on those eggshells again.

But Jungkook is here to work. So he tells you to walk on and lead the way to Dongdaemun while he gets ample footage of the city.

He’s taking pictures of you along the way, but he decides to leave that part out. He likes the way your long red dress swishes in the breeze, the tail end of the fabric brushing against his legs whenever he gets too close.

You stop in front of a pet store, face glowing as you point to their aquarium tank. “Look!” you cry, tugging his sleeve over as if you’re long lost friends, “it’s my boi Nemo!”

He cracks up at your joke, as you excitedly shout to Jungkook that “you found your son!” and it spurs him on to continue his peals of laughter. The joke isn’t that funny but it’s humorous enough coming from you and the smile on your face is enough for him to return one equally as big.

“C’mon,” his fingers brush over the bare skin of your forearm, sending sparks straight to his heart, “it’s getting dark. Just keep swimming.”

Jungkook manages to get some good sunset content before the sky turns navy. He’s not a big fan of photographic tourism spots, but Jimin insisted that the big boss wanted a specific style for their company and he needed to get used to making the usual seem unique.

Looking over his shoulder, he sees you swinging your legs on a nearby bench. You’re munching on a bubble waffle, cheeks puffed as you concentrate on the Cheonggyecheon stream, water babbling.

He’s about to ask you if you want him to take a picture of you, because he thinks you would look beautiful with your dress billowing as you hop over the stones, but he notices the sadness in your face as you gaze at the water.

Lowering his camera, he sees the way your chewing slows, as if you don’t feel like putting anymore effort in the action. Your dimmed gaze seems to peer into a different world, as if you could dive right into the water and transport yourself far, far away from here.

Jungkook takes tentative steps, crouching down from your space at the bench so he would have to look up at you. His hand hovers to balance himself on your thigh, but he thinks better of it and decides to hold onto the wood.

“Can I ask you something?”

He doesn’t comment on the strain in your smile, “Sure.”

“Do I remind you of y’know, him? Your Jungkook?”

Your smile increases, and he doesn’t expect it. Shifting over, you pat the space next to him. It’s a tight fit, and your thighs brush his. “Yes and no. It doesn’t hurt or anything, really,” you answer softly, and you reach for his hand, pulling the long sleeves apart to reveal his tiger lily tattoo. He doesn’t believe your excuse for a damn second, but decides better than to speak against you. “He’s still around, even if he isn’t here. I guess I was just thinking about how we could never go out like this.”

He tenses under your ministrations, and you immediately pick up on it like a sixth sense. “I’m not trying to replace him,” you add, and he tries to relax as you trace the petals on his arm, “I’m sorry if you felt that way. But it’s... impossible to compare you to him, really.”

“So, would you be interested in seeing me again?”

“I’d be upset if you weren’t, Kook.” you manage to pout, and you slide your hand down to thread your fingers between his. “Can I take you out on a date?”

“Only if I can take you out on one after.”

And it’s easy for the both of you to forget your circumstances, at least for tonight.

•━━━━━━»•»💮💮💮«•«━━•••

Jungkook drops you off at your apartment soon after, and it feels nice to kick off your shoes and place your bare feet on your soft carpet.

Your roommate’s feet are propped up, covered by a fuzzy grapefruit-colored blanket. Taehyung stretches his head from the couch to throw you a teasing smile, “Sooo, how was your night?”

Instead, you point a finger at the flatscreen playing some Korean drama. “Is that Jin?” you balk.

Taehyung cranes his neck to where he paused the drama. The man on the screen is definitely Kim Seokjin, judging from the plush lips and irritatingly symmetrical face. He looks absolutely comical in his Joseon get up and mustache, and you’re not surprised that he made it to the acting industry.

“Kim Seokjin? Yeahhhh,” Taehyung melts, relaxing into the couch, “that man is so fine I just want him to bend me over that little well and—”

You physically gag, causing Taehyung to break into peals of laughter, forgetting about his fruitless celebrity crush. Only you would never forget this interaction, the words currently searing into your memory at the thought of seeing Seokjin and Taehyung in the same room when you manage to return. “So?” he goads, “Jungkook? He looked like a scared bunny when Jimin glared at him.”

“It was… good,” you settle as an answer, reaching over to ruffle Taehyung’s messy bed head. “I like him, Tae.”

“That’s good,” Taehyung nods, “you deserve more happiness in your life.”

“You think so?”

“I know so!” Taehyung jerks up, punching his fist in the air. You giggle at his antics, and he ushers you over to the couch, “good things are coming, y/n. I can feel it.”

You don’t tell him, but you can feel it too. Sharing his blanket you snuggle further into the couch, asking questions about the famous actor Kim Seokjin and his litany of dramas he’s filmed under his belt. Tonight, falling asleep next to Taehyung, you have the best night’s sleep in weeks.

•━━━━━━»•»💮💮💮«•«━━•••

W1.

Jungkook sits in your sickness.

Namjoon says he doesn’t have to, doesn’t need to stay the night. You’ll be fine, your family will come in the morning and care for you. For once, Jungkook tucks his tail and says he wants to, even compromises to bring his work so he doesn’t miss a deadline.

But he can barely get a bar in because he’s too focused on you, your form all-encompassing as he makes sure you’re well-taken care of. Sehlyung dropped off your things from the apartment, carefully packed neatly in a duffle bag you’ve never used.

Soft, lo-fi hip hop plays from his computer speakers as he takes the time to nurture you, care for you. It’s dark outside, the only light emanating from the hallway and a dim desk lamp. He’s done his research, making sure to keep you as clean as you would like to be. He brushes your hair, takes the time to remove the tangles and pin it out of your face. His hands are slightly greasy when he’s done, and his hand falls to your hospital sleeve.

“I wonder how I should wash your hair,” he says aloud, “maybe I can get a small basin or something? It’s not the first time I washed your hair, remember when you sprained your arm after we snuck around in Dongdaemun?” he smiles at your peaceful expression, neutral, “you were such a baby, didn’t feel like shampooing with one hand.”

Talking is also good, too. They say that sometimes the patient can hear and recall conversations family and friends have shared. It’s a little jarring to them, almost like they’re drowning in their heads and unable to bubble up to the surface to reply, but it’s still reassuring to hear familiar voices.

He massages your limbs with lavender scented baby lotion, making sure your body isn’t wasting away and stretches your fingers and toes. You’d have a fit if you didn’t do your whole lotion routine daily, wanting to be soft and huggable at all times of the day. He puts on a pair of pink bunny socks, making sure your feet don’t get too cold in the sterile room.

Running out of things to talk about, he settles for singing along to his playlist, knowing how much you loved to fall asleep to the sound of his voice. He’s tired and he doesn’t feel one-hundred percent, but he hopes you appreciate the sentiment either way.

Weaving through the wires and cords that sustain you he places your hand in his larger one. Jungkook wishes he could care for you everyday like this, treat your body like a temple and wait for you to wake up. Resting his head on the mattress, his soft locks brush against your thigh unkempt as he focuses on tracing words on your palm.

Lavender. Chicken. Netflix.

Your nurse steps in, giving Jungkook a polite wave as she does her nightly rounds. He mumbles a half-hearted greeting in response, immersed in working between the lines on your soft skin as he traces character by character. Your nurse is quick with her work as she checks things off on her iPad and checks the machines that keep them informed. As if she’s intruding on an intimate moment, she types her findings faster.

JK. y/n. Still with you. Sorry. Love.

Your hand twitches in his grasp. It’s minuscule, a brief curl of your fingers. The pad of your thumb barely brushes his knuckle and Jungkook’s reeling. It’s only half a second, but Jungkook cries “whoa!” and sits up straight, startling your nurse, “she’s moving!”

Your nurse smiles sadly at the sparkles of hope in his eyes. “It’s only muscle spasms, Jungkook. It happens sometimes,” and she catches herself before Jungkook’s shoulders deflate and sink into the floor, “but see her eyes?”

He blinks, watching as the nurse gestures to your face. She’s right, your eyes are movie, flickering back and forth. Your lids may not be open, but the movement is there.

“She’s either dreaming or really listening to you, Jungkook,” your nurse murmurs fondly, “make sure you keep her entertained, being in a coma is awfully boring.”

Jungkook thanks her, sending a terse smile as she whisks herself away. He squeezes your hand firmly, wishing you would give him another sign. He feels like he’s chasing you now, reaching out to you, talking to you in hopes you’ll reply. It’s ironic, considering this time he’s not sure if you’ll turn around this time, bounce back as you once were.

Wiping the wetness from his eyes, he tucks you in and scoots his chair closer to your bed. “Wake up soon, yeah? We’re waiting for you,” he whispers, holding your hand next to his head as he tries to fall asleep.

Tonight, he’s dreamless.

#jungkook fic #bts fic #goldenclosetnet #jungkook fluff #jungkook angst #jungkook scenarios #bts scenarios

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animalluvr999 · 3 years

Text

Willex Week: Music Day

*crashes through wall* I’m sorry did someone say it’s Music Day???? my time has come

Yes hello I have a Willex playlist that is 7.5 hrs long and I don’t regret it one bit

It is also 64% Taylor Swift songs (which is honestly less than I expected so that’s something)

I’m gonna explain my whole thought process behind it (because it has a ~narrative~) under the cut

Ok so we start out with songs that I feel describe/follow their canon relationship. Enchanted/Everything Has Changed is when they meet, Fearless is when they scream in the museum, and for Delicate through Starlight they’re at the HGC (ep 5). You get the idea. Forever & Always and Haunted are specifically when Alex is angrily drumming (right before the Chemistry Scene, ep 7)]. Afterglow is the start of ep 8 [special mention: Rewrite The Stars (with Alex as Zac Efron and Willie as Zendaya) happens at “I still would’ve followed you” (3:12 in the song is when Alex gets jolted)]. Don’t Want an Ending is their last conversation (in ep 9).

Then we get into Sad Willie Hours (which is in between canon and post-canon). (true pain is imagining Cornelia Street as a sad song)

And then we get into the whole narrative I have constructed in order to tie the playlist together. A narrative consisting of 100 songs. (It’s not clownery if they’re in love)

This Love: Alex comes back! The topic of so, so many fanfics. They finally start dating! I’m not exactly sure of the timing here, but relatively soon after they start dating they both panic and get worried that they’re too “messed up” for a relationship (Alex’s anxiety, Willie’s Caleb-owns-his-soul problem). They don’t break up, they assure each other that it’ll be okay, but that definitely introduces some doubt? I guess? Which sets us up for our next plot point...

Now or Never: ok so the next plot point in this narrative is that Caleb is defeated (? or at least is no longer going after Julie and the boys) and the band is signed for a tour. Alex and Willie talk, Alex suggests maybe they take a break since either long-distance or dating while touring is gonna be hard and Willie deserves to get to be free rather than have to follow the crazy schedules of touring. And maybe Alex kind of wants to tour with his band and be there for them rather than constantly running away to be with Willie. Plus with the whole “are you sure you wanna date me” (see peace) both of them agree that maybe taking a break is for the best, and if they wanna get back together when tour is over then they can.

And then it’s time for Sad Willie Hours part 2 (me: I love Willie, my happy sunshine boi. Evil Kermit: make Willex break up so that you can have Come Back... Be Here in your playlist)

it’s time to go: so Willie’s just been moping around LA for a couple... days? weeks? Who knows, that’s for you to decide. But he finally decides to head off to NYC in order to have some fun, maybe try to get over Alex and go sightseeing or whatever. And essentially he has a whole Hot Girl Summer moment.

Stay Beautiful, Superstar, and Superman: Willie realizes he’s definitely not getting over Alex, but he’s just gonna chill and have fun and admire Alex from afar. He’ll be patient and wait until tour ends.

The Way I Loved You: now we get Alex POV. He is definitely missing Willie, but has maybe also found someone? But he isn’t feeling it, he wishes Willie would spontaneously come and ask for him back or something. Which Willie does! (betty)

Then they get back together. Are there 13 songs that all revolve around “they get back together” (as in fit within the conversation of ‘I want to get back together with you’ and the emotions associated with that convo)? Yes. Am I going to change that? No.

From here (Call It What You Want) to the end of the playlist, they just get to vibe (and by vibe I mean be happy and in love)!!! Not a whole lot to explain here.

(other than two semi-out-of-place clumps:

So It Goes, Come & Get It, and Don’t Blame Me are there because I have a pole-dancing au where Willie dances to them and I couldn’t not include them oops

seven and It’s Nice To Have a Friend: so I read a songfic of seven so now it’s a Willex song for me so I couldn’t not include it so I put INTHaF with it so that these two songs could vibe as an AU for my AU, but INTHaF could also just be them as ghosts rather than a childhood-friends to lovers thing. Idk just let me have my songs))

#julie and the phantoms #jatp #willex #willex week #willex playlist #taylor swift #please come scream about these songs with me

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astrovian · 4 years

Audio

Richard Armitage interview on BBC Radio Northampton for Uncle Vanya (26/10/20)

Full transcript under cut

So he’s won awards for his role as Lucas in Spooks, as the dwarf prince Thorin Oakenshield in The Hobbit, and earlier this year he had us on the edge of our seats as the lead role in the brilliant Netflix series The Stranger. I love The Stranger. Did you see it? I thought it was absolutely brilliant. He’s brilliant in everything he does, I love Richard Armitage. Such a nice guy as well. Well with the pandemic interrupting it’s sold out West End run, Richard is part of an all-star cast bringing Chekov’s iconic play Uncle Vanya to our cinemas and homes as part of a brand new production. Ahead of today’s show I spoke to Richard about the play, and a bit about what it’s like to be a stage actor in Covid Britain.

---

How you doing?

Very well, thank you. This is an absolute honour to speak to you. Congratulations on a wonderful production.

Thanks! Did you see it?

I did! I did! Um-

Amazing.

-if I describe my morning to you, I woke up with a slight whisky hangover pondering my place in the world, and the first thing I did was open my laptop and watch Uncle Vanya, and *laugh* I have to say it was quite-

Oh, how was Vanya on a hangover? That’s probably like most of the characters in the play have a hangover, don’t they?

*Laugh* Well this is the thing – I found myself thinking ‘this is quite life-affirming’, because I was reflecting how human experience hasn’t really changed that much since 1897, and I just wondered as an actor whether Chekov’s understanding of human feelings – it must appeal to you, hugely.

I think that’s why actors go to Chekov, and actually he wrote so few plays compared to other playwrights that what he did do was really define how we approach character. Really, I mean he worked with Stanislavski, it’s the root of, of Western theatre and, and how we construct characters because he’s focused on the lived experience, rather than the plot so much. So most people kind of say “what’s Chekov about?”, and it’s really hard to describe what it’s about. But it’s about human beings and how they – how they bounce off each other and how they attract and how they repel.

Is it completely mad for me to say that, that watching it, it was my first introduction to the play and my first introduction to Chekov, I, I found myself thinking ‘well, this is almost like Big Brother’. It’s like watching a group of people relate in various ways in a claustrophobic lockdown, getting on each other’s nerves, and digging into old wounds, and then I found myself thinking this is, this is so timely for the, the Covid world we’re living in. Did that strike you?

It’s – uh, I, I guess until we started to experience what lockdown was like, suddenly again the play took on a relevance. I mean the last week of performing, when the, the sort of talk of the virus was, was emerging y’know in, in our world, and y’know I’d been speaking these lines for ten weeks as the doctor talking about a pandemic, and he’s turned to drink and he can’t deal with the trauma of losing patients, and suddenly the relevance was, was very high. But also in lockdown, I suddenly realised ‘now I understand what these characters have been going through’. So the – the chance to come back and, and sort of bring all of that experience into y’know, the re-staging of the play film was, y’know, it was really special to be able to do that.

It was really moving at the beginning, because you see your fabulous co-cast members returning to the theatre in face masks, and it was quite easy to find yourself a bit choked. What it a very emotional reunion?

It was because I was not able to be there. *Laugh* ‘Cause I’d just flown in from New York like with, with literally hours to spare before I had to lockdown for two weeks quarantine. So I couldn’t do that, I – I had to join a read-through on a computer via. a Zoom call, so I felt like I was being held back away from my friends and fellow actors. Which was useful for the doctor, ‘cause when he comes back into that house, that’s sort of what’s been happening to him. But every moment there was something to hang on to in terms of the emotions and, and what we’ve all been through.

The – the dialogue is so brilliantly natural, especially from a, a newbie to this world. And I, I think you describe yourself at the beginning, as Dr. Astrov, as feeling a bit wonky-

Yeah.

-and then we hear Toby Jones’ Uncle Vanya complaining about various people wanging on, and-

*Laugh*

-it’s brilliant, it’s moments that make you giggle, and I just wondered how important you think these linguistic touches are to help the drama engage a new audience?

Well it’s always gonna be a translation because we’re not performing in the original Russian, and y’know, that depends on which playwright decides to tackle it, and we were so lucky with Conor McPherson, ‘cause there’s a little bit of the Irish kind of glint in his eye that comes through that dialogue um, so these, these little touches make it feel like we’re just – it’s just us, it’s not y’know, characters a hundred years ago in a stuffy drawing room. These are, these are – it’s us y’know. We’re still the same, and we’re still dealing with the same problems, um weirdly within the state of – within the space of three months those same problems seem to be sort of really prominent, and rather than watching people dealing with a pandemic in a collapsing environment and thinking ‘Oh, that was an interesting history lesson’, it feels like ‘Oh, this is now, these are still things that we are having to, having to navigate right now’.

Whilst I’ve – I’ve read that you don’t necessarily identify as purely a, a method actor, you have talked in the past about how deeply you try to embody the characters you play, and I just wondered how difficult it was to come back after the break and once again put on this skin of the frequently despairing Dr. Astrov?

Um, I came back with, *laugh*, with a taste for vodka that I’d-

*laugh*

-I’d maintained from doing the play, um I came back with no haircut, so y’know, I was – I was sort of *laugh*, I hadn’t put him down really to be honest. I’d, I’d thought about him a lot, and during the course of my research I’d found this diary of a doctor who had worked through his life and through various epidemics, and was really at the end of his tether as to what the point of medicine, and uh, I used a lot of his references to, to sort of try to understand what maybe our NHS workers were going through, and still are going through. Y’know, how do you – how do you go home at night after seeing people in such, y’know, such extreme circumstances without a cure. Y’know, that’s something that we find very difficult to get our heads around because there’s always a pill for something, there’s always a remedy. And these Russians were – were dealing with tuberculosis, for which there was no cure, and typhoid and, and having to, to y’know, having to deal with the fact that most of the time they were death sentences, and we – we have lost that, y’know, we – we have quite luxurious existences compared to them. So to, to be living with something which people don’t have answers has, has really shaken us up I think, and that’s contained in the play.

At the end of the production the matriarch, uh, Anna Calder-Marshall’s Nana, blows out the candles that light the stage and it, it felt to me as though she wasn’t only putting the – the play to bed, she was almost putting theatre life to bed in some way until this bleak winter is over. I just wonder how sad it is for you to see the way the arts are suffering in this pandemic.

It is really, really sad, and I – I, y’know, I’ve been able to carry on doing various kinds of work, but I, I know that there are a huge amount of people out there who work in those theatre buildings that only work in theatre, that can’t go back to work right now. But at the same time, I’m – I’m an optimist, and so I look towards Sonya’s speech about work, and we will endure this and we will come back. Y’know, it might be the middle of next summer, who knows, but I think when we’re – we’re all waiting to have those dust cloths pulled off us, y’know. Um, and we will see diamonds in sky and it, it will come back to us. But in the meantime we’ve just gotta find a way to survive this period, and most people that work in the arts do have ways of doing that, because there are periods of time where you find yourself not working and you have to be very resourceful. And I just hope people can hang on and they’ll – they’ll return when we all do.

Richard Armitage, I – I’m not surprised the run was sold out, Uncle Vanya, and my first experience with the play, my first experience with Chekov. It was absolutely brilliant and I loved every minute of it. I’m, I’m going to get my – my wife’s gonna watch it this weekend, and uh – I hope everyone takes the time to experience it, and just thank you so much for being on the program.

Thank you for having me. And just let me say that it’s the 27th of October and thereabouts for various screenings in your cinema, and going to the cinema is not a terrifying experience, I’ve done it. It’s – if you play by the rules and wear a mask, it’s, it’s actually like a little bit of normality.

Perhaps even sneak in a vodka *Laugh*

*Laugh* Absolutely.

Thank you, Richard.

Thank you.

---

Ah, Richard Armitage, such a legend, lovely guy to speak to. And I’d really recommend it, I’d, I’d heard of Uncle Vanya, and of course I’ve heard of Chekov, but forgive me being a bit of a film philistine, it’s not something I would’ve taken the time to investigate. It’s REALLY good. It’s really funny, it’s really fresh, it feels like a – it’s not a history lesson y’know, it feels, as Richard said, like you’re enjoying character speaking to each other now, and all the issues that they raise feel very current and contemporary. I loved it. Um, you can go to unclevanyacinema.com to find out where it’s playing, but it does certainly look like the Odeon Kettering and the Savoy in Corby will be showing it.

#going to see it tomorrow!!! so excited #richard armitage #uncle vanya

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tellerford13 · 3 years

Photo

MO ASTOR- CHAPTER 36

We don’t own the bikes, brothers, or any “related” Sons of Anarchy, trust us, if we did we wouldn’t have the time to write. No money is being made from our stories. So, please don’t sue. It’d be a fruitless endeavor indeed. That being said, Harley, Journee, and any other newbies are ours, and we don’t share. :Whispers in creepy voice: “My precious.” The universe This reality is a mix of cannon, and our own ideas. We strive to keep the boys cannon, but since we will be shifting around some of the events, that will reflect in our writing and their personalities as well. It’s our goal to provide you with quality fiction, and solid, fleshed out OFC. We appreciate constructive criticism and love LOVE reviews, they are a writers life blood and definitely help encourage us and inspire us. A/N: Oh My God We’re Back Again. It’s been a long time, but we never lost our love for Mo Astor. We’ve been plotting, and writing, and editing behind the scenes. We’re back to posting once a week. Thank you to all the readers who’ve left comments, favorited, and waited patiently. Grab a drink, sit back, and get ready to become lost in the world we’ve created.

Mo Astor Chapter 36

Jax

It’s been a long time since it was just me and my baby sister. I’m looking forward to the one-on-one, though I’d never admit it out loud. She’s been my rock through some hard times.

I imagine she’d say the same for me. When life around you is constantly shifting, you look to each other to remain stable. That’s something most don’t understand. That bond you have with someone who holds you down through all the bullshit is lifelong. It doesn’t break when you do jail time, have a difference of opinions, or get busy with life. So yeah, I guess civilians right, we ain’t like them.

“Morning,” I call as I walk into the house and disarm and reset the alarm.

“You’re making me regret giving you a key.” I follow her voice into the kitchen.

“You love it when I visit,” I retort.

“Did you tell the incubator I’m coming with you?” She asks cutting straight to the point.

I snicker. “Believe it or not, she prefers you.”

Journee scowls.

“Proves how fucking stupid she is,” she mutters.

“Jesus, Baby J. hold a grudge much?”

“Pot meet kettle. Mr. Let’s measure our dicks with Kick.” She finishes rinsing off her dishes, and piles them into the dishwasher.

“That was setting boundaries.”

“Riiight. Whatever you need to help you sleep at night. At least I own my crazy ass tendencies.” She pouts.

“’Cause that’s better?” I lean against the counter beside her.

“Oh, yeah bro. Always best to know yourself.” She winks

“You’re full of shit.”

“Guess that’s why my eyes are brown, huh? Wait that can’t be true. Cause your eyes are sky blue, J.”

“You’re supposed to be coming along for moral support,” I reminder her wryly.

“I am.” She pats my cheek as we head out of her house towards my bike. “I’m breaking you down to build you up stronger.”

“That’s some fucked up Gemma logic.” I mutter.

“She did raise us to be like her.”

“You say that with a straight face and it becomes a scary story.” She laughs.

“I know.”

“Such a little shit.” I’m smiling as I say it. Like a true little sister, no one can get away with more bullshit than her, and she knows it. It reminds me of the year she and Tommy were as thick as thieves. He was a lot like her in many ways—more soft spoken and thoughtful. As an only kid she had a crazy patience for him, reading him books, and letting him trail along beside her.

Part of me wondered if they’d have ended up together if things were different and she’d be a Teller for another reason. Especially with how things ended up for me and Lee.

I push the thought out of my mind. What if’s did nothing but drive you crazy.

“So, what exactly did I agree to go to anyway?” she asks.

“Don’t you think you should’ve asked that beforehand?” I tease.

She shakes her head. “You know I’m your ride or die.”

“I do. Basic check-up, and then lunch. I get the feeling she’s got some new man.”

She whistles. “Damn that fast?”

“Hey. If it keeps her from dicking with me and Lee, and doesn’t affect my boy, let her be happy.”

“All kidding aside.” She shuts the door to the dishwasher and turns to me. “ I’m proud of you, big brother. You’ve come a long way.”

My neck grows hot. “We both know Lee had a lot to do with that.”

“Your, opening your eyes and seeing what was in front of you did that. You and Lee were always just a matter of when not if.” She starts the wash cycle.

“So sure.” I roll my eyes.

“I could see it. Over the years you got so close, but something always kept you from clicking.” “Deep down I knew in order to keep her I’d have to get my shit together, and I wasn’t ready to do that. So I stayed back ‘cause fucking things up between us wasn’t an option, you know?”

“Things came out the way they were meant to.”

“You really think that?” I glance into her soft brown eyes, and she gives me that Madonna smile that makes me feel like everything is going to be alright. I can always be real with my sister because I know she’s going to give me the truth. Wither I want it or not.

“I do.” She reaches over and places her hand on mine. “You both had some work to do before you could commit to forever.”

“You think I have it in me? Forever and kids and all that?” I ask cautiously. So far, I’m screwing up the baby thing with my first born. It’s scary thinking of another person depending on me, let alone a child. It changes everything, and our life is unpredictable.

“You are your father’s son. Is there even a doubt?”

“Naw.” I lie, trying to fake it till I make it like I always do.

“Didn’t think so. You’re paying for lunch right? ‘Cause I’m starving.”

I laugh.

“You about to try to put a hurting on my wallet?” I hand her my spare helmet before climbing on my bike.

“Better than putting a hurting on your ex.” She says with a shrug, clipping the helmet on.

I chuckle, pulling my helmet on.

“You have a valid point. Damn you are our mothers’ child.”

She blows a raspberry, before mounting my bike. Little sis knows since she’s doing me a favor, she has the upper hand—and she’s going to milk that shit for all it’s worth. It’s the Teller way.

~~~~~~~ I’m pleasantly surprised and slightly bewildered by the manicured lawn and uncluttered space by the garage. The large black garbage cans are lined up neatly by the curb on the street.

Pulling into the driveway, I remove my helmet and pause to take in the freakish cleanliness it’s lacked in prior visits. This is above and beyond the duties we assigned the prospect keeping tabs on Wendy’s house.

“Well. This is different,” Journee whispers.

“Yeah.” I frown and turn to look over my shoulder.

“Maybe Ma sent over multiple prospects to tidy up.”

“Nu-uh.” Journee shakes her head.

“She said this was your mess to handle.” I purse my lips. “Which means it’s up to me to help you out with the pile of shit you’ve landed in.” Journee sighs.

“I feel the love.”

Journee shrugs. “I’m only speaking the truth big bro. You choose poorly for your first baby Mama. I told you how I felt about her long before you decided to give her your crow.”

I scowl. “No need to rub it in.”

“I’m just reminding you to listen to me. Sometimes I know things.” She flicks my ear and climbs off the back of my bike gracefully.

“Let’s get this torture session over, please.”

“You think it’s bad for you? I got eighteen years of this bare minimum.”

Storing our helmets in my saddlebags, I wrap an arm around her shoulders. “Come on, be my buffer.”

“I should let you go up in flames,” She mutters.

“That’s not sisterly,” I say with a grin.

“Jaxass.” She mutters.

We climb the steps, and the door swings open to reveal Wendy before we can even knock. My jaw drops at her appearance. I glance over to find Journee equally shocked.

She looks like a fucking Stepford wife in a pale-yellow sundress complete with a flared skirt and heels. Last time she dressed like this a waffle iron came flying at my head.

“Jackson. Cat got your tongue?” Wendy smirks.

Journee growls. “Aaaah, the little cocoa sidekick.”

“You know it only takes nine months to bake a baby, and you’ve got what...” Journee taps a finger against her cheek. “Less than three months left?”

“Nice to know you can count,” Wendy sneers.

This is a new woman in front of me. I’m glad that she’s gotten the idea of us getting back together to be a family out of her head, but this one-eighty makes me uneasy.

I scan her body, and notice the thick strips of white medical tape over her entire right forearm.

They stand out against her nineteen-fifties get up.

“The fuck.” I grab her arm. “What are you hiding?”

“Your mark. Which meant nothing.” She spits, tugging her arm away.

“Let me see.”

“Fuck you, Jackson.”

Journee moves forward, blocking the doorframe with her body to keep me from dragging the smart-mouthed bitch out.

“I swear to God. If you’re using again.” My breath quickens, and my visions tints red as rage builds up inside me like an inferno about to blaze out of control.

“You can take it off on your own. Or I can make you,” Journee says softly.

“One of these days, someone is going to put you in your fucking place. You don’t even belong here,” Wendy growls.

Journee climbs up another step, getting in her face.

“I know exactly who I am, where I belong, and where I’m wanted. You could never say the same, could you? Poor little lost girl, with loose legs begging to belong.”

Wendy blinks and turns away. Her hands tremble as she unwraps the tape and thrusts her arm toward me. “Look your fill. You dick.”

I peer down at the unmarred skin, and my knees nearly go weak with relief. “It better stay this way.”

“I have someone to take care of me now, Jackson. I don’t need your bullshit concerns.”

“The minute you give birth to my baby you can do whatever the hell you want. Until that time, your business is mine.”

“It’s my baby too.” Her tone makes me stand up straight.

“What was that Wendy?” My voice drops an octave. “Is the junkie with no job trying to tell me she thinks she’s the better parent?”

“Inside.” Journee whispers.

Of course, We always have to keep up appearances here in town.” My mother’s voice plays in my head.

The fresh scent of cleanser and scented candles greets me. The house has never looked this good.

Who turned her into June Cleaver? I search the place for clues. The laundry basket resting on the couch has t-shirts that are far too big for Wendy, and the black boxers are a dead giveaway.

I don’t feel anything for her. I haven’t for far longer than I care to admit. But I do worry about the company she’s keeping with my boy still in her belly.

He’s not a junkie. Shit’s too put together for that.

“Going somewhere?” Journee asks, nodding toward the kitchen.

I spot the half-packed boxes and bare spaces on the counter.

“I don’t want to stay in this house of lies.” Her dark eyes burn into mine.

“And where do you plan on going?” I ask. She looks away.

“Do you really want us to have to find you?” Journee asks.

Wendy crosses her arms under her breasts, pulling the material tight around her waist.I take in the bulge that’s grown over the past month.

“I’m just preparing.”

“You’re not supposed to be lifting heavy things right now.”

“I have help,” She snaps.

“You aren’t the only person who’d ever want me.” Her hands ball into fists. “If you can move on, so can I.”

“No one is saying you can’t, you crazy bitch. Calm the fuck down before you distress my godson. There’s no reason for everyone to get all worked up. We get it. Wendy bagged herself a new man. Good for you. We’re here to get our report on the baby, and we’ll be gone. The quicker you update us, the sooner we’ll be out of your hair.” Journee holds her hands out like she’s wrangling two high school kids about to fight.

Huffing, she stalks over to the large chair and sits down crossing her ankles, like some kind of proper lady. I’m in the fucking twilight zone. I lean forward with my arms on my knees, drinking up her reports. My boy is growing properly and healthy. It’s more than I could’ve hoped for, considering how fast and hardcore we were living when she got knocked up.

We were both empty shells looking to fill up spaces neither of us could ever fit into.

It’d been fun for a while, but it had never been built to last. She wasn’t even a consolation prize post-Tara tear down— Wendy was a pretty thing to warm my bed and play by the club rules without question. Now I’m paying for my poor choices.

“You satisfied?” Wendy asks. Journee looks at me, and I nod.

“For now.” Journee nods her head, and we both rise.

“Same time next month, Case.” Journee drawls. Such a little shit. Makes a brother proud.

She scowls as we leave.

“What. the fuck, Jax?” Journee whispers.

I shake my head. “Not sure, but if he keeps her shit together for the next 2 and half months, I don’t much care.”

~~~~~~

Sitting down at the table in Hannah’s, I wait for J to finish most of her meal before bringing up the main reason I wanted to go out to lunch after.

“All right Baby J, so…I gotta admit there's another reason I brought you along today.” I begin, wiping my hands off with my napkin. She rolls her eyes playfully at me. “Of course there is. So, which of my skill sets will you need for this favor? I've got a few spots saved in the woods for disposal and Hap gave me an amazing cleaner kit for my birthday.” She says with an excited grin and a bloodlust in her eyes. She is so her father’s daughter. I can't help but chuckle, shaking my head in Disbelief. By looking at her you'd never guess what she was capable of. But with her dad the Sergeant at Arms of Grim Bastards, and her mentor Happy Lowman…there’s a side to her that I never want to get on the bad side of. “Well I do need your skills, just not those ones.” I say, taking a sip of my water. She raises a curious eyebrow at me before smirking.

“Sorry bro, my other skills are only allowed to be enjoyed by my husband and my wifey. As kinky as my old man is, I don't think we're ready to swing just yet.”

She teases with a wink and I damn near spit my sip out. “Jesus J, not that either! Shit little sister, I’ve only just begun playing in Lee's pussy myself. No other dick is going to be poking around in her till it’s been claimed to completion.” Her eyebrows shoot up.“Already planning on making her your second baby mama?” "Second and final. But not just yet. I just got her to say I love you to me. If I plant the seed too soon, I'm worried she'd rip out the roots.”

She rolls her eyes. “Naw Bro, Lee'd never terminate.”

“Oh I know, I wasn't talking about the baby. I was more concerned with her going Loreena Bobbitt on me.” I say honestly, shifting in my seat at the imaginary pain. She bursts out laughing, nodding her head in agreement. “Yea, that uh, that might be more likely.” She says between adorable little snorts.

I nod my head in agreement. “Exactly and seeing is how I ain't planning on changing my singing voice anytime soon, I'm real careful how I'm navigating this one.” Feels like the story of my life right now. It’s been a unique experience having the girl be hesitant with me.With Tara and Wendy, we went full steam ahead, and the crows afterwards all but jumped on my dick the minute I looked at them.

Lee is different. And being with her like this has shown me just how special she is.

She’s worth the time and the energy to make this work for both of us.

J offers me a soft, approving smile. “That's good to hear.” I nod. It’s a relief knowing how much baby sister supports us. None of this would’ve happened without her, and I know she’s got my back to help me navigate these new relationship waters. “Besides she's got that IED thing in her arm.” I add.

She bursts out laughing again and this time I'm a little confused.

“It's an IUD dumbass. Lee doesn't have a fucking bomb implanted in her arm.” She teases and I can't help but chuckle.

There's a joy in her eyes I haven't seen since before the whole Kyle debacle. I'm not the least bit surprised her old man helped put it there. I've known about his crush on her for years, but I knew better than to say shit. I figure if Chibs was taking his time there had to be a reason. Brother was one of the most strategic mother fuckers I knew. I was fifteen when he patched in, and after losing my old man, I saw him like the big brother I never had. There was no one I listened to and trusted more than Filip Telford.

I loved Ope and, there would always be a lifelong bond between us, but when he met Donna, we both felt something sever between us. He became a family man almost overnight, and I wasn’t done sewing my wild oats. Plus, the way the whole thing went down with him hurting J, it never sat right with me. Those two had been headed in a direction that would’ve been something real special. But then Mary got involved, dragged him away and he came back with Donna.

I can still feel my anger at the look of heartbreak he’d put on Journee’s face.

He’s been out a few months now and I rarely see him. The separation has been painful, but he’s trying to go the way of the straight and narrow for his family. Donna’s laid out the rules damn clearly. If he gets into trouble again, she’s out. Should’ve had brown babies Ope. This was the real danger of marrying and procreating with a Civi. They never fully understood our world, and few respected the price that sometimes must be paid to be apart of it. I don’t resent Ope for finding love, but I do resent his love for taking him away from his family.

“All right, Well then I'm lost Jay boy. If it ain’t cleaning and it ain’t playtime…what could you need from me?” She asks, taking a sip from her drink. My stomach flutters excitedly. I reach into the pocket of my cut. Producing the crinkled, early stages of a sketch I’ve been working on, I slide it over to her.

“Need the artiste in you little sister.” She glances at me and then opens the paper. My excitement turns to nerves as I watch her eyes studying the picture presented to her. "What am I looking at here J?" She asks and I scowl slightly. "I mean I know I'm not a great artist like you, but you can tell it's a crow.”

She chuckles. “I mean I know that, but I’m wondering why I'm looking at crow?”

"Right so, I need your help J. I want to design a new crow for Lee. After the shit with Kick, I need her inked. I want everyone to know she's claimed.” Her eyebrows shoot up again. “Wait what? A new crow, but your dad designed the first one. Why do you want to do new?” “I know dad designed the first one, but he designed it for my mom. And then ya know other old ladies got it and it just sort of became trademark.” I pause. “But there's nothing trademark about my old lady. I want her to have one just for her, cause she's damn special to me and she deserves something that represents not just me but us. Like you and Chibs did. Seeing the crow designed specifically for the two of you made me realize, I don't want her wearing the same generic shit that both Tara and Wendy got. Lee is never gonna be an ex, I know she's my forever and I want this crow to be more than just the generic SAMCRO trademark.”

I explain my thought process to her watching the smile tugging at the edge of her lips.

“So, that's what I need your help with. No one loves Lee as much as me and no one knows her better. I've got an idea and I can explain what I want, but I need your help executing my vision and making it something that represents us both and that she'd be proud to wear.”

I wait for her reaction. She studies the sketch and runs her fingers over the lines. “Where are you thinking she wears her brand?” I can’t help but remember before we were together, standing in my dorm room at Journee's engagement party. Journee running her slender fingers over Lee's chest saying how sexy a chest piece would look. I lick my lips and shift in my seat before clearing my throat. “Depends what we come up with. I know I’m definitely going to want her to get a chest piece so anyone who looks knows exactly who she belongs to, but I also know she's gotta be careful with size given her business dealings in the upper crust. So maybe just property off Jax across her chest so she can cover it up if need be. But this crow, HER crow...I don't want to worry about size. Maybe her shoulder or tricep for when she's in tank tops. After we design it and I give it to her, I'll let her decide where.”

Journee nods thoughtfully. “All right so explain to me what you're thinking.” She reaches into her oversized satchel she almost always has with her, and pulls out a small sketch book and pencil. I chuckle at her. She shrugs sheepishly. “Hey I'm an artist, never know when inspiration might strike.” She says flipping the book open to an empty page. “So I like what you have going here with the crow but what if you go with a two headed crow. Sort of like you and her becoming one.” She explains, masterfully sketching out what I'd already drawn and adding on to it. “Now, tell me what else you're thinking.”

By the time we’re finished, the idea is a fully formed tattoo. The two crows each have a wing.

A bleeding heart in the middle of the crows speaks to our passion and dedication for each other. One crow clutches an A.K. 47 for the club, and the other crow clutches an olive branch to represent the peace she brings me. With her, I’m completely balanced. Journee’s thrown in a few other hidden easter eggs to symbolize Lee. My name sits above the entire thing to let everyone know who my old lady belongs to. I love that in a way Journee is woven in there. There would be no me and Lee without her wonderfully “subtle” match making ways. We stand to leave, and I toss 20 extra bucks down on a 24-dollar bill. SamCro always makes sure to tip extra well in town. Keeps our business running and our business owners happy to have us. As we're walking out my phone rings and I can't help but grin when I see Lee's name on the caller ID.

“Hey beautiful, I was just thinking about you.” I say answering the phone. “How'd your meeting go?” I ask as we walk towards my bike. "Hey baby, went good. I think your mom and I were able to nail down the last of the details for the taste of Charming festival coming up.” I can hear the relief in her tone.

“Glad to hear it Darlin. J and I just finished up lunch. Headed back now.” I pause.“I mean, headed home.” I correct, winking at the smirk J gives me. “Glad to hear it darlin.” She mocks on the other end. J and I get to the bike and she grabs her helmet. “How’d your meeting go with Wendy?”

“Went good. I’ll tell you more about when I get there.”

“Okay baby.” I can hear her hesitation for a moment.

“Something wrong?”

“No, not at all. But umm Sack came by this morning with a few boxes of your stuff. And I hope you don't mind that I started unpacking some things. You know I hate boxes.” My heart damn near soars at her words. “Of course I don't mind Lee. You know how I hate unpacking, so unpack away. I can't wait to see it. My shit mixed in with yours. Bet it's gonna look amazing.” I say honestly. After our bathtub wall breaking session we both wanted as much of my stuff into her house as soon as possible.

Mostly cause I didn't want her changing her mind on me. “I think you'll like it. I’m headed back to the house now. You done for the day or you got Club stuff you gotta do?”

“I got some free time babe. I'll head over after I drop J off.”

I mount my bike so J can get on while I finish up my phone call. “Okay sounds good Jax.” She grows quiet for a second before a sweet "I love you Jackson," comes through the earpiece. I can't help the smile hearing her initiate the L word that been circling my head for months.

“I love you too Harley.” I say sincerely, picturing her bashful, smile on the other end.

“I'll see you soon babe.”

“Okay, bye baby.” She says before disconnecting the call. Journee is settled in her seat behind me and I can practically feel her smile. “How'd that feel?” She asks learning forward to wrap her arms around my waist. “Pretty Amazing, I’ll never get tired of hearing that from her.” I answer honestly, pulling my helmet on. I can always be honest and real around J. “I know the feeling.” She says giving me a squeeze. She leans forward to place an affectionate kiss on my check.“I'm so happy for you Jackson. For both of you.” She says.

I thread my fingers in her course curls and cup the back of her head. After Pressing a firm kiss to her cheek, I rest my head on top of hers for a moment. “Thank you, Journee. For everything.” I sincerely say.

There is no doubt in my mind if it hadn’t been for my baby sister I wouldn’t be in this amazing stage with Lee.

Knowing me I would’ve fucked us up by now. She gives me a squeeze before situating in her seat. “All right, enough with the chick flick moment. Take me home chauffer, time for me to go see my old man.” She says like a little kid getting ready to open presents as soon as she gets home. “Yes ma'am.” I tease starting my bike and heading out. ~~~~~ A/N: In case ya’ll were wondering this was what Tellerford was thinking Lee’s Crow Looks like. It’s based off a Design the show produced and was tweaked to fit our image lol. So we thought you might like a little glimpse into what’s in our head.

#sons of anarchy #sons of anarchy fanfiction #Jax Teller #chibs telford #Mo Astor

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gallickingun · 4 years

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gallick’s blog writing rules

Hey guys, gallick here! As I expand my writing parameters, I thought it would be good to make a rules post. I ask that you please read this prior to requesting, because it has my preferences, request status, and content info included.

Please be aware: I reserve the right to delete any and ALL requests/asks that do not conform to my rules.

My inbox is always open for thirsting [defined below], questions, conversation, venting, and advice. See the remaining rules below the cut ―

·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ ·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ ·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ ·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ ·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ ·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙

【CONTENT INDEX】

what is a... ✰ 『thirst』this is usually when you send in your thoughts on a certain character in a certain situation. My responses can be anything from a jumbled up paragraph to a full on thirst drabble (~250-500 words), depending on whether I’m on mobile vs. desktop, as well as if I jive with your thirst. That being said, don’t ever feel ashamed of the thirst that you want to send in! Even if it’s not my thing, as long as it’s not on my no-no list [see below], I’ll at least post it with some sort of response! See examples of thirst «here», «here», «here», and «here». Thirst can sometimes turn into full on fics depending on how I feel about it!

✰ 『drabble』this is a “fic” that is generally more in depth than a thirst, but not as plot-driven as a full on one shot or fic. I usually keep drabbles between 500-2,000 words. They are normally given their own post instead of replying to the ask itself, but I will respond to the ask with a link to the drabble once I’ve posted it.

✰ 『fic』this is usually a one-shot piece, which means it is a stand-alone fanfiction work. These are at least 2,000 words in length, and I do not put a limit on them as I have no self-control and will write huge fics with no regard to my personal sanity. These will always be posted as their own text post, and will more than likely be {sporadically} uploaded to my ao3 account as well. If the fic is inspired by an ask, I will answer the ask with a link to the fic once I’ve posted it.

✰ 『multi-chap fic』this is usually a piece that spans at minimum two parts, connected via the plotline that runs consistently through them both. As of now, I do not have any multi-chapter works, but I do have a couple planned for the future! These will always be posted as their own text post, with links to the prior part as well as the future part, once it has been posted.

【WRITING RULES】

✰ All characters are aged up to at least 20 years of age no matter whether the situation is sfw or nsfw. The only times I will write “high school” types of works will be in flashbacks, not full length fics. I always try to explicitly state within the work that they are of age - whether that’s referring to them a Pro Heroes (BNHA), Pro Athletes (Haikyuu!!), etc. If I ever discuss “dorms”, I am always talking about college dorms/apartments.

✰ This is my blog, and therefore I get to choose what I do and do not want to write. I apologize if that means I have glossed over your request, but I cannot force myself into writing something I do not feel like I can do, because then it’s not genuine and even though it gets the content out, it’s not content I’d be proud of.

✰ I do NOT close my requests. I feel like it’s pointless, given a lot of people don’t pay attention to the open/closed titles anyway. With this being said, I do receive a lot of requests. If you feel that yours has gotten buried, eaten by the tumblr ask monster, or ignored, please feel free to send it in again. Also keep in mind that I might have deleted or ignored your ask in favor of another that sparked more inspiration. That doesn’t mean I won’t come back to yours later. Be patient with me!

✰ Please be kind. I don’t ask that you fawn over me when you send in a request, but be courteous when you send me an ask. If you just send me a blunt ask, I might not understand what you’re really asking for, or what you actually want, which can stunt the creative process and possibly end up with me deleting your ask. I understand that not everyone speaks English well, so I try to be patient with the more forward requests. Just be aware that I am not a writing machine here for your pleasure. This is a hobby, a fun way of escapism for you and me both. The moment it feels like a job, I will stop.

【DO’S AND DON’T’S】

『 My writing is usually male character x female reader, unless specified otherwise. I do accept female character requests, though. As I do try to keep my appearances of reader relatively neutral, I know that is not always the case. I am constantly trying to learn and evolve my writing, but reader content can be difficult to nail down with all the scenarios that I’m writing or requested to write, given that they are very specific in nature. Please be kind and constructive if you choose to criticize, but criticism is always welcome. 』

『 I always put warnings in my tags above the fic post, so please read the warnings prior to diving into a piece. As stated below, sometimes I will use kinks or tropes or categories/genres that make people uncomfortable or triggered, and I want you to keep yourself safe rather than reading my writing just because it’s mine. I use warnings, tags, and a read more on my posts - if you choose to read the post anyway, then that is your own responsibility and I will not respond to any asks shaming me for what I have written, or blaming me for you being triggered. Please let me know if I have not correctly tagged or warned a post and I will make corrections as soon as possible. 』

― The CHARACTERS I prefer, and who will get priority over others are... My Hero Academia ✰ Bakugou Katsuki ✰ Kirishima Eijirou ✰ Tamaki Amajiki ✰ Todoroki Shouto Haikyuu!! ✰ Sugawara Koushi ✰ Bokuto Koutaro ✰ Kuroo Tetsurou ✰ Oikawa Tooru ✰ Sawamura Daichi ✰ Kageyama Tobio Dragon Ball ✰ Vegeta ✰ Piccolo ✰ Gohan ✰ Trunks

― The GENRES I will write... ✰ Angst (mostly happy endings bc I’m a sap) ✰ Fluff ✰ Smut ✰ Alternate Universe ✰ Hurt/Comfort - this can include things such as anxiety, depression, etc. but will always end with the comfort in mind. ✰ Alpha, Beta, Omega dynamics (bare with me, I’m learning)

― The CONTENT I will NOT write... ✘ Suicide (reader or character) ✘ Minor x Adult ✘ Vore, Gore, Intense Violence ✘ Piss or Shit Kinks ✘ Incest, Pseudo Incest, anything relatively familial in nature. ✘ Ass Play (in detail - i.e. pegging, fingering, etc.) ✘ Cheating ✘ Crack Fics (i.e. overly humorous or satirical content) ✘ Character x Character - this is a loose rule, but currently I don’t have any CxC ships that I am writing for, or feel the need to write for. ✘ Poly relationships - this is another loose rule, but I am not overly well-versed with polyamorous relationships, so they can be difficult for me to nail down. If I feel inspired, or if I open poly requests, I will let you guys know.

【TAGS】

『If there is any type of content you do not want to read, I ask that you please blacklist it. I will do my best to tag all asks/posts accordingly, but I am only human and might miss one here and there. Feel free to send me a quick message letting me know that I have missed something, but please be kind.』

『I believe it is your responsibility to monitor and improve your online experience. If you don’t like Bakugou, please blacklist my Bakugou tag(s). If you are a minor, and do not wish to interact with my nsfw content, please blacklist my smut tag. I will not be tagging things directly as “nsfw”, because this can get you taken out of the tags entirely, and I do also write sfw pieces in addition to my nsfw pieces.』

『I do NOT tag generic posts unless they are triggering. This includes all reblogs - graphics, fics, etc.』

『Here is how to blacklist tags on desktop and mobile.』

『I always use three versions of the “character” tag(s), with their surname only as well as their given name, and then their full name. I.e. bakugou x reader, katsuki x reader, bakugou katsuki x reader.』

― Writing Tags ✰ #character x reader ✰ #character smut ✰ #character thirst ✰ #OC: Belle Marie Sinclair - (Bakugou OC) ✰ #OC: Lilith - (Kirishima OC) ― Trigger Warning Tags ✰ #tw: dubcon ✰ #tw: noncon ✰ #tw: suicide ✰ #tw: self harm ✰ #tw: degredation ― Personal Tags ✰ #morgan.txt - my original text posts ✰ #morgan-gets-mail - answered asks ✰ #morgan-has-friends - mutuals interactions ✰ #morgan-does-commissions - commission-related posts ✰ #morgan-has-a-patreon - Patreon-related posts ✰ #morgan-says-read-it - Fic recs ✰ #morgan-says-look-at-it - Art recs ✰ #morgan-says-listen - Audio recs

【FINAL THOUGHTS】

I reserve the right to delete any of the asks sent into my inbox. This includes... ✘ Hateful Asks ✘ Baiting/Leading Asks ✘ URL referencing Asks (i.e. “I heard gallickingun did....”) ✘ Rule Non-Conforming Asks

【LINKS】

✰ desktop masterlist «here» ✰ mobile masterlist «here» ✰ general writing tag «here» ✰ archiveofourown «here» ✰ wattpad «here» ✰ commissions interest form «here» ✰ ko-fi «here» ✰ patreon (coming soon!) «here» ✰ bnha bookclub (discord server + fic archive) «here»

This is all subject to change, hence the read more.

#gallickingun #bnha x reader #haikyuu x reader #dragon ball x reader #my hero academia x reader #blog rules #mod post

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malthemagnifisent · 4 years

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Plot: Leo returns to the hospital after resting for what he thought would have been long enough, after all he’s a doctor and the hospital is where he should be, so why is he still so afraid of an empty room?

Note: sorry I had to repost, I noticed a mistake and for some reason I couldn’t edit it, thanks a lot tumblr! ok I’ve never actually written a fanfic before so there is a good chance this might suck, so if it does please feel free to offer constructive criticism! I know I really need to improve, but I tried my best and what more can you do? P.S. It’s so hard to write two guys cause I say “he” or “his” way too much and I end up using names far more than I should

Tags: @aokamitahafu

Leo’s steps faltered as he exited the elevator, his eyes darted a few feet to his right and stopped on a patient room, the very same room that not too long ago he had been poisoned in, the same room he had broken down and kicked a bed when he thought he was going to die, the same room where he had cried and held onto Ethan, praying that it wouldn’t be the last human contact he would get.

He took in a faltering breath and almost turned around to flee right back into the elevator, but after a second he clenched his jaw, held his patient chart tightly against his chest and turned to walk down the hall, hoping to just get past the room as soon as possible.

A part of him understood why his chest was feeling tight and his hands were subtly shaking at his sides, but another bigger part was screaming at him that he was being stupid, that it had been weeks since he was confined in that room, shrouded with plastic and weighted down by fear.

His steps faltered right in front of the door and he peered into the room, ‘go inside’ his mind whispered, ‘you shouldn’t be so scared, it’s just a room and after all you survived, you lived, Danny and Bobby didn’t get that luxury’

He took a small step forward, his hand coming up to brush against the doorframe, that gentle touch was what did it, such a simple thing seemed to break him.

All at once he was stumbling back and hyperventilating, he couldn’t focus with the panic suddenly running through his head, screaming at him to move, because that room wasn’t safe, it wasn’t clean, it was filled with gas and oh God he couldn’t breath, that was where he had laid and cried, accepting death because it had already claimed Danny and Bobby, why wouldn’t he be next?

He didn’t even register the clattering of the chart he dropped, he didn’t fight his instincts and just turned and bolted down the hallway, racing towards the closest closet and barging inside, slamming the door behind him and immediately collapsing to the floor.

He let out a barely restrained sob, the sound tearing from his throat and filling the small room, he reached up and clapped a hand against his mouth, hoping to muffle the noise that was trying to escape.

His eyes burned as tears filled them and spilled over his cheeks, dripping down his hand and down towards the floor.

He rushed removing his hand for only a moment, to forcefully tear off his coat, the fabric suddenly feeling suffocating and the texture causing his skin to itch.

A fresh wave of panic washed over him when he realized that he was indeed itchy, that had been one of the symptoms hadn’t it? He vaguely remembered being unbearably itchy as he sat on the hospital bed, consumed by fear.

He whimpered and sat up straight, his hand coming down to scratch roughly at his neck, it was back, the itch was back and he couldn’t stop scratching.

He no longer even attempted to quiet the loud cries that were coming from his mouth, all he could focus on was the itch and the tight feeling in his lungs.

He leaned heavily against the wall and tried to breath, but all that came out was heavy wheezing and although the itch in his neck was fading he couldn’t stop scratching, his hands becoming wet from the years that still flowed down his face and now neck.

His nails dug harshly into his own skin as he cried, each breath he took seemed to burn his lungs and throat, a pain that had become so familiar.

His panic only increased when the door slid open a crack, light spilling across the floor “Leo is that you?” A slightly fearful voice asked.

It immediately clicked in Leo’s mind who was coming in, it was Ethan, but Leo knew he couldn’t, he couldn’t let Ethan come in, not if he was somehow infected again, not if he was a danger to people.

So he did what he knew was needed and reached over to slam the door back closed “don’t come in!” He tried to tell, but the hoarse feeling in his throat caused it to me more of a pathetic croak.

“What? Why? Leo what’s going on?” Ethan’s words were becoming panicked, the door handle rattling as he tried to enter the closet despite Leo’s warning.

Leo let out another broken sob and leaned heavily against the door, bracing himself against the floor to keep it closed, keeping Ethan away so he wasn’t in danger.

Because he couldn’t put Ethan at risk, he couldn’t let him be exposed to this, not when he knew what it was like, not when he was sure he was going to die.

“It’s happening again” he whimpered, “I’m sick again, I went in the room and I couldn’t breath, I have to be sick again” his voice cracked and he vaguely registered that his nails were once again scratching along the now sensitive skin of his neck “I won’t get you sick, I already got Danny and Bobby killed, I won’t let you die!” he sobbed.

Ethan’s voice left behind his frantic tone and lowered to softer concern “Leo, you’re not sick” he said, a sudden sadness leaking into his words “you're not sick, you’re just scared”

Leo shook his head and curled into himself “I am, I can’t stop itching, I can’t breath, Ethan I can’t breath!” He cried out, “those were the symptoms, I was itchy and I couldn’t breath when it happened!” He knew his voice was rising to a level that was inappropriate for a hospital, but he couldn’t seem to stop, he was scared and Ethan wasn’t leaving, he wasn’t getting help.

A moment of silence followed and for a moment Leo thought Ethan had left, gone to get help, to find someone who could quarantine Leo, he could once again wrap him in plastic and prod him with needles, but then Ethan’s voice floated through the door again and it was softer than Leo had ever heard it.

“Leo I promise that you aren’t sick, do you think I would ever lie to you about that? you’re just scared and I need you to let me in there” he said, in a gentle tone that Leo had only ever heard when they shared stolen moments alone.

Leo opened his mouth to protest, to say it wasn’t safe, that he must be sick, because if he wasn’t sick then he was just being stupid, he was just crying and hiding in a closet because he couldn’t handle walking past a room, but his words died when Ethan interrupted “if I wear a hazmat suit will you let me in?” He asked.

He paused for a moment before answering with a weak “yes” as he curled up into himself, trying to fight back even more tears, because he didn’t want Ethan to see him like this again, he didn’t want to be seen at all, but at the same time he didn’t want to be alone.

A few minutes passed before there was a gentle knock on the door “come in” he muttered weakly, scooting himself away from the door so it would open fully.

The light was briefly blocked out as Ethan entered the closet, the crinkling of plastic filling the small space, he had put on a hazmat suit and the bulky suit made more noise than Leo remembered.

Leo swallowed thickly and looked up at Ethan, his eyes burning again as more tears welled in his eyes, he quickly lifted his hand to scrub at them, hoping that Ethan wouldn’t say anything and instead would just sit with him.

His hope however was lost when Ethan felt along the wall and flicked on the closet light, something Leo had failed to do in his panicked state.

The light flared to life and Leo hissed, screwing his eyes shut and looking down, the bright light burning his eyes, which had already grown used to the dark closet.

“Leo what did you do?” Ethan’s shocked question was enough to get Leo to lift his head and stare up at him, wondering what Ethan could be referring to, was it the scattered bags that held syringes that Leo must have knocked carelessly from a shelf without noticing, was it the coat that lay a few feet away, tangled around the leg of a shelf.

But Ethan’s eyes didn’t even glance at those things, his gaze was fixed on Leo with a mild horror “let me see” he whispered, dropping to the ground beside Leo and reaching out.

Leo scotched back and shook his head “you shouldn’t touch me” he whispered, glad that he no longer needed to raise his voice to be heard “I might be sick again”

Ethan clenched his fists and suddenly reached up to yank the top from his suit, he ignored Leo’s cry of protested and just dropped the helmet to the floor “you’re not sick and even if you were I would be exposed now” he said before gesturing towards Leo’s neck “I need to clean those” he added.

Leo momentarily forgot his panic at Ethan removing his suit and blinked in confusion “what?” He asked, his hand coming up to brush over his neck, he pulled his fingers back when he felt a sudden sharp pain, he looked down and froze when he saw his hand was stained a coppery red, coated with a thin layer of his own blood.

He had been so caught up in his own panicked thoughts that he hadn’t realized when his nails had broken skin, when they had drawn blood and mixed with his tears.

A soft “oh” was all he managed to get out before the tears returned and he was curling in on himself again, silent sobs racking through his tired body.

Leo startles when a gentle touch brushed against his arm and he was being pulled against a strong chest, he felt Ethan’s fingers running something softly along his neck, whatever was being put on the scratches caused a slight burning sensation, but Leo found himself reveling in the feeling, because it wasn’t the itching from before.

He blinked as a few more tears fell from his eyes, the drops soaking into Ethan’s shirt, but he didn’t move away, he just continued to care for the injuries adorning Leo’s neck.

Leo swallowed thickly and slowly brought his arms up to wrap around Ethan’s body, holding onto him so tightly it must have been uncomfortable and yet still Ethan didn’t move or protest, he let Leo cling to him and cry against his chest even after he finished cleaning the cuts that Leo had caused himself.

They remained like that for a few minutes, neither of them speaking, Ethan with his hand resting on Leo’s back and Leo’s face resting against Ethan’s chest, his hands tangled in the back of Ethan’s short, fisting the fabric repeatedly.

After a few more moments of silence Leo opened his mouth to speak “I’m sorry” he whispered, still refusing to move his head from where it rested on Ethan’s body “I freaked out, it was so stupid and I’m sorry” he choked out.

A feeling of shame was curling around him as he spoke, his head was pounding like it always did after he cried and his neck ached, but he had to say this, he had to apologize, because he was sorry, he was sorry for crying and hiding in a closet, he was sorry that he couldn’t even walk into a room without panicking and thinking he was dying, he was sorry for so many things and he needed Ethan to know that.

But his apology was cut short when Ethan’s arms tightened around him and he was being pulled impossibly closer “Don’t apologize, please don’t apologize” he said, his lips suddenly pressed against Leo’s hair “Leo it’s ok, what you went through was traumatic, you almost-“

Ethan stopped mid sentence and shifted around in an attempt to situate Leo more comfortably “you almost died” he finished, choking out the word like it physically pained him to say.

“You’re not stupid for being scared, when you were still in the hospital recovering I got scared every time I went to check on you, scared that I would go in you’re room and you would be sick again and scared that you would die” Ethan was talking slowly, the confession coming out like he was ashamed of it.

“If I reacted that way when I went in the room, then I can’t imagine how you feel even being back in the hospital, let alone the room where it happened” he continued, all while brushing his hand softly along Leo’s back, hoping to bring some semblance of comfort to his terrified colleague.

Leo drew in a shaky breath and felt his lip tremble from another wave of oncoming tears, this time his cries were silent, muffled against Ethan’s body and quieted by Leo’s own guilt of crying.

He thought Ethan was finished talking, having offered all the comfort he could manage, but he was proven wrong when Ethan’s voice filled the small room once again “earlier when you were crying you said that you already got Danny and Bobby killed and that you wouldn’t let me die as well” he whispered, “did you mean that?”

Leo swallowed thickly and slowly nodded his head “It’s my fault, I should have figured it out sooner, if I had just realized what Travis was doing sooner, I could have stopped it”

Ethan sighed and shook his head and rocked Leo back and forth “that’s not true, if it was then I would be just as much at fault as you, I was treating the senator as well and I didn’t connect the dots to what Travis was doing” he murmured.

Leo furrowed his eyebrows and struggled to sit up straight, locking eyes with Ethan “but even after I did figure it out I was stupid-“

“No, no Leo stop, you are not to blame for anything that happened, you are a victim, nothing you could have done would have stopped Travis from doing what he did” Ethan’s words were frantic as he tried to reassure Leo.

Once again Leo felt the uncomfortable tightening in his chest and he took a long, deep breath to try and keep himself from descending into another spiral of panic “I think logically I know that, but a bigger part of me feels so responsible for what happened that I can’t stop thinking about it, I can’t get this guilt out of my head”

Ethan’s grip tightened around Leo and he leaned his head back “I hate that man for what he put you through, for what he did, I don’t know if I’ve ever hated someone as much as I despise Travis” he admitted, his fingers tangling into Leo’s soft black hair, “When I went to see him, to ask what was in the canister, I was standing over him and he was in so much pain, he begged me for more pain medication and I gave it to him, but for a moment, for a single moment I seriously considered walking away and letting him suffer”

Leo’s eyes widened a comical amount at the confession and he struggled to sit up, his face mere inches from Ethan’s “are you serious?” He asked, a look of shock painting his tear stained face.

Ethan closed his eyes so he wouldn’t have to look at Leo’s disappointed expression “I know it was unethical to even consider it, but Leo all I could think about was you and how scared you looked, how terrified you must have been just sitting in that room and wondering when you were going to die”

Leo lifted a shaky hand and placed it against Ethan’s cheek, his thumb brushing along the soft skin under Ethan’s eye “I hate him too you know, but we’re doctors Ethan, we can’t go around letting people suffer just because we don’t like them”

Ethan chuckled quietly and opened his eyes, turning his head to press a chaste kiss against Leo’s hand “I know that, but I was so angry at him that for a minute I forgot and I just wanted him to hurt”

Leo leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss to Ethan’s lips, savoring in the feeling of having Ethan close to him, of being held like this.

Ethan let out a quiet hum and smiled into the kiss “do you feel well enough to come out of the closet? I can drive you home” he suggested, a gentle smile adoring his face that he reserved for Leo’s eyes only.

Leo pushed himself away from Ethan and reached across the floor to grab his discarded coat “I’ll come out, but I’m not going home, it’s my first day back and I can’t just leave”

His protests were met with a thoroughly unimpressed look for Ethan “do you think I’m going to let you work after what just happened?” He asked, “no, not happening, I’m taking you home”

Leo opened his mouth to continue his futile protests, but was cut off with a sudden kiss “if you don’t want to be home alone then you can come to my place, but you are not staying here”

After a quiet moment of contemplation Leo just nodded and held out his hand for Ethan to help him up “ok, but I’m coming in tomorrow and I promise I won’t freak out”

Ethan stood up and took Leo’s hand in his own, helping the young doctor to his feet and pulling him closer to him “if you insist upon coming in tomorrow then I won’t stop you, but Leo no one will judge you if you decide to extend your break”

Leo smiled and rubbed his tired eyes “I know, but I need to get back to work soon, I can’t live in fear of the hospital my whole life”

Ethan nodded in understanding and reached out to open the still shut door of the closet “well whenever you’re ready is when you should come back, not a moment before” he told him gently.

They stood there for a moment longer before Ethan leaned down and gave Leo a last kiss, opening the door right after and ushering him out “come on let’s get going, so you want your place or mine?” He asked.

Leo smiled brightly and reached over to squeeze Ethan’s hand “your place please, your bed is bigger”

Ethan rolled his eyes, but nodded nonetheless “your wish is my command Rookie” he grinned, their steps leading them past the room that caused all this panic in the first place and into the elevator.

Leo looked at Ethan in surprise before letting out a bright laugh “you haven’t called me Rookie in months, I missed it” he said with a soft smile adoring his lips.

Ethan smiled along with him and looked down at Leo with the gentlest expression that had ever adorned his face “well I’ll have to bring it back into rotation if it makes you smile like that”

Once again Leo laughed as the doors of the elevator closed and their decent through the hospital began.

Note: alright for a first ever attempt at a fanfic I don’t think I did too bad, but like I said at the beginning feel free to offer criticism! 🥺

#play choices #mine #pb #playchoices #choices #mc x ethan ramsey #open heart #ethan ramsey #open heart fanfiction #open heart 2 #ethan ramsey x mc #male mc #fanfic #my writing

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sherlockfanficwriting · 4 years

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Sherlock “Dangerous Love” (x reader)

Summary - You were always as smart as your brother, Sherlock, however you functioned....a little bit more normal. Breaking into your sister’s psychiatric prison brings forth danger, making you and Sherlock susceptible to it. Will Eurus’s tricks and aid of Moriarty fail to overcome your combined intelligence and skills, if so, will it come with a price? What sacrifices will be made?

Warnings - blood, violence

A/N - I’m certain most of you will love this story as from the feedback from the sibling stories. It’s something you’ve been waiting for. I kinda added some more things to eurus too. Enjoy. @redheaded-hobbit @fanfictionsilove love all u huge credit to @bakerstreethound for basically giving me an amazing dialogue and action scene with Moriarty and the shot, couldn’t have done any better. Check out her works if you love Sherlock ❤️

You skipped up the steps to Sherlock’s flat and burst through the door. He sat on his usual chair. John stood next to him, pacing. Your brother locked eyes with you.

“Did you know?” He asked.

You shook your head. How could you know you had a sister? You’ve had no memories. All you remembered were your brothers, much smaller.

“Did Mycroft tell you anything else?” You asked, walking closer to him. Sherlock’s eyes gave way into his thoughts. He was concentrating, processing a plan.

“I know where she’s at. I got a summary and went on from there.” He squinted his eyes. “Did you get anything else?”

You pursed your lips. “Maybe. Tell me what you have first.”

Sherlock breathed hard. “Master mind. She’s connected with Moriarty. Went to Sweden then the states on multiple jobs, developing a base. In prison now. She was a scientist, worked in chemistry.”

“Like you,” John said, looking at Sherlock.

“She’s involved with Moriarty, however I think he’s tricked. Multiple disguises. You’ve seen her already,” you faced John, “you have too.”

A confused look spread across his face. “I have?” He asked.

You nodded. “She’s good at this.”

“I don’t doubt that she was behind some of Moriarty’s plots. Lestrade has a hit on something else. Threats on the prime minister. They’re talking about a bomb. I went over and spoke with him. It’s Moriarty’s work.” Sherlock said, looking up at the ceiling. He was stumped, which was quite odd for him.

“We have to stop her. Break the connection. Find out her motives. We couldn’t possibly know.” You said. John sighed and lightly cursed under his breath.

“Threats to the government. Perfect,” John huffed.

“She’s using him,” you added. You already knew it. Moriarty was merely a puppet. His only flaw was his trust. It was too easy. She offered him momentary pleasure. He was easy.

“We’re going to go see her.” Sherlock said, standing up and walking to the kitchen. You followed him.

“How?” John asked.

“You’ll see.” Sherlock said, putting on his coat. You walked out the door with Sherlock. John followed behind. He called for a taxi. One came sprinting by and you hopped in with everyone.

“Waterloo station.” Sherlock said.

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

The train took you from London to Wales. The skies were dark with dismay. John still looked confused.

“I’ll see you there?” You said to your brother.

He nodded. “Stay on time.”

You began walking off.

“(Y/N)!” Sherlock called. You turned around.

“Be safe.” He said. You smiled at them. You weren’t exactly the best at being safe.

Danger was in your blood. You could sense almost everything, but you couldn’t always sense danger. Most times, you placed yourself in it. You didn’t know why, but thinking about it led you in a loop, undiscovered.

You continued walking onwards from the station and turned around. Sherlock and John went the other way, their bodies soon became lost with the people. You called for a taxi which took you further up the bay, closer to the water. You toyed with your nails, couldn’t refrain from thinking about Eurus. Did you share any traits with her? Were you similar? Was she like you? You knew about her disguises, but you never knew what she looked like. She was manipulative. You could only elaborate on that. You were eager to find out more, pieces together the missing remnants of your childhood. You hopped out of the taxi after paying the driver. You were much closer to the water now. Dark waves hit the stone supports harshly. Small boats were on the water. You scanned the abyss.

“Got it.” You said to yourself.

The small distinct cargo ship you were told to look for was parked and getting ready to leave. You quickly looked around and saw a construction vest and a few jackets hung over a rail near the ship. You walked to it and swiftly grabbed the vest, putting it on in one move. You messed up your hair a bit and shirt, trying to look worn. You were wearing a pair of black palazzo pants and heels which made you rethink your plan. You walked up to the side door of the ship. A man stood pacing around on his phone, smoking a cigarette. He looked up at you when you walked inside.

“I left a few tools in the back from before. Management asked me to get them real quick.” You looked at him and smiled, trying to radiate your charm.

“Sure, sweetie. We leave soon, just so you know,” The man said.

“I’ll be out before you know it.” You winked at him which caused him to shake his head and blush.

You began walking around near the back, pretending to know where you were going. You opened another door, which lead to a series of steps to the keel. You closed the door and walked down. There was ship machinery in every corner. You wiggled through some engines and sat down on a spot between two. You were certain no one would see you here. You waited six whole minutes until you felt the ship start moving. You sighed in relief and patiently waited. Trying to pass the time, you tried to envision Eurus which was difficult. All those deceptive things she did made you question your lineage. You were nervous for what you were about to do. Spying, solving cases, software, criminals - it was all in your blood, but you felt particularly nervous today. You hadn’t done anything like this before. Your mind went over to Mycroft. You decided that he wouldn’t be much help to this. Thinking about Sherlock and how you were on the same waters now comforted you. You leaned your head against the engine behind you. Your eyes closed, but your unconscious intuit didn’t subside.

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

You woke up from a quick doze, hitting your head on the engine you were against. The ship stopped, causing you to move forward.. You quickly stood up and walked up the sharp stairs. You had to be careful. You couldn’t be seen.

You opened the door and poked your head out, scanning your surroundings. Seeing that no one was nearby, you walked out and opened the main side door. No one was outside yet, which gave you time to run out. You sprinted across the sand and nudged your body on the side of a cliff, hidden. You took off your vest. You didn’t look at the prison in details, but you noticed the sad stone walls. The prison was on top of the mossy stretched cliff.

You peeped your eye out of your hiding and saw a man walking out of the ship. You didn’t see him before. He carried boxes and wheeled a larger box out. You knew they were all supplies. The man boarded back on the ship which started the journey back under watchful eyes from the security. You put half of your body out of the cliff and waited until a few men walked out to pick them up. They were security, but acted casually, now that the ship was out of sight. They walked up the steps. You sneaked up behind them and stepped to the side before they stepped in. After the last man walked inside, you grabbed the door handle right before it closed. You angled your body to reach the combination code pad. You squeezed it a certain way, just how you’ve done countless times before, which enabled it to open and reveal the colorful wires activating it. You stretched your body further to spark two wires. Immediately after doing so, red lights and a light buzzer began flashing and going off inside and outside. You opened the door and walked inside casually. A few security guards jogged down the hall. You walked past offices and an occasional guard, who paid no attention to anything except his cell phone. You maintained a confident posture and gaze. No one even saw you.

You didn’t know where Sherlock was, but by analyzing the design and structure of the building, you had an idea where Eurus’s cell was. You walked down the staircase and through the hallway. As you were walking down, a door slammed open immediately and out came Sherlock and Mycroft - Mycroft? A second later came John and a man with a suit. Sherlock noticed you first.

“Well done. I was getting worried. As soon as I heard the alarm, I knew.” He said. Sherlock was in a better mood. You knew he was alert. Highly alert. He was excited. It was as if he was almost built for this, and you as well. The red lights and alarm stopped.

“Mycroft? What are you doing here?” You asked, trying to maintain your composure. He wore a suit, directly coming from the London.

“I-.” He started.

“Enough with that. He had full intention to come here on his own to handle this situation by himself.” Sherlock said.

“You’re unbelievable. You don’t trust us. What would your plan be to get around this?”

“This is what I was trying to avoid. I am the government who is taking great care of those threats. How did you even get in?” Mycroft asked you, scoffing.

You rolled your eyes at him. “Do you not know anything about me? You always do this.”

Mycroft sighed and seemed sincere. “I’m sorry.”

Although Mycroft and you were different, you still shared similarities, and it wasn’t only blood. He was always tender to you and didn’t usually yell, like Sherlock. Mycroft never really treated you like mutual. You were still trying to find out why, possibly because you were merely his sister.

“There are memories.” You said.

“Blank ones. I’m aware. I’m sorry. Surely, you can try to understand why.” He replied, rubbing his temples.

“There are more important things to do. I know,” You added.

“I’m leaving.” Sherlock called out. You looked at Mycroft again, then ran up to Sherlock and followed him. He walked up the staircase and down the hallway, making a turn to the right. He opened a door which led to a blank room. Your heart began to beat faster. You knew what was through the other door. You beat him to it and swung the door open. There, in a glass wall was your sister, Eurus, playing a violin. You stood still, wrapping your head around her. Your mind naturally tried to analyze and inspect everything, but you couldn’t figure anything else out about her. Sherlock moved you aside and walked inside, next to you.

John came inside, but Mycroft wasn’t here. Eurus stopped playing and looked at everyone. She locked her eyes with you.

“Sister,” She said. “How much you’ve changed.” Her voice was soft. She possessed a kind demeanor, but underneath it, you sensed desperateness. Evilness. Intellect. Eurus looked at Sherlock.

“Hello, Eurus,” Sherlock said. Eurus’s expression didn’t change.

“Where is Mycroft?” She asked.

“Not here.” Sherlock said.

“No, silly. I know he’s here.” Eurus turned around and began walking in a circle.

Sherlock walked closer to the glass. “Eurus, what are your plans?”

Eurus walked closer. “Don’t you know them?”

“You’re with Moriarty. Why? What can you give him?” Sherlock asked. He thought hard. “I know about your plans with the government.”

Eurus looked at him. She wasn’t surprised. “It’s mutual. I gave him ideas.”

“Ideas?”

“Are you thinking about Redbeard?” Eurus asked. Sherlock didn’t say anything.

You were finally starting to understand everything. “You can give him something else.”

Eurus looked at you and smiled. You knew it all.

You walked out of the room and began running as soon as you entered the hallway and sprinted up another flight of steps. You passed by a glass office, covered by an entirety of glass walls and windows. The abyss of the ocean lay idle in your vision. There, you saw Mycroft sitting on a chair. You opened the door. He looked up at you, but didn’t say anything. Something’s wrong.

“What is it?” You asked. He didn’t look up. You walked closer to him and breathed hard when you saw what was on the floor. A man, recently shot, was dead. Blood poured from his stomach.

“What happened?” You asked him. Mycroft stayed silent. You put your hands on his shoulders and shook him. He looked up at you finally and stared you in the eyes. Then you knew.

Moriarty

You turned around. There he was. He wore a casual silver suit and had a glimmer in his eyes. He was confident, ready, excited. He stood by the door straight up. You scanned him without even moving your eyes. He had a gun, but he didn’t hold it.

“It’s so great to see you here!” He exclaimed. You didn’t say anything. Your mind moved quickly, planning your next move. You knew his intentions.

“I’ve finally outsmarted you.” He said.

You stood up and walked closer to him.

“(Y/N),” Mycroft said. You ignored him.

Moriarty adjusted his shoulders and stood up straighter. You kept eye contact with him.

“What are you going to do?” You asked him, trying to make him think you were ten steps behind.

“What would be the fun in giving that away?” He leaned closer to you, touching your neck.

You opened the door and walked out. Just like that. You knew he wouldn’t shoot you. He was enjoying this. You walked by an alarm and stopped. You opened the alarm case and sparked two wires, the same process you did earlier. You punched in a code. An alarm went off, fulfilling your next plan. You ran downstairs and walked into the room where Sherlock and Mycroft originally were. You knew there was a weapon somewhere. Emergencies. You looked up and down everywhere. You placed your hand under the table and smiled when you felt the cold metal, just where you thought it would be. You hid the gun in your waistline then walked into Eurus’s room. Sherlock rushed out, almost bumping into you, but stabilized you with his arms. A worried look spread across his face when he looked into yours. He didn’t have to ask you anything to know what was going on. He ran out with John.

You opened the door to see Eurus standing in the middle of the room. You knew what you had to do. Your mind was thinking. You acted fast and quick. No emotions played through you. You opened the glass door and entered her room.

“I never got to know you.” She said.

You pulled out your gun. She didn’t react when she saw it. You held the gun up at her.

“We were never similar,” you remarked. “I don’t want to know anything about you. I already know what I need.”

Eurus laughed at you. “You won’t win this. You do realize that?”

You shook your head. “I’ll win. I know that it comes with a sacrifice.”

She scoffed. “You give up that easily? You never did know how to think, did you?”

You walked closer to the glass and kept your gun to your side. “I know more than you think I do. You wouldn’t have a slight idea. Here you are, thinking you’re a mastermind. A perfect place to be, a prison, filling everyone with delusions. You call that winning?”

Eurus walked in another circle. “It’s working. Isn’t it? If you kill me, you’ve still lost.”

You opened the glass door and held your gun to the level of her head.

“You’re insane. Does it look like I need you? You think I do, but that’s great, cause I don’t.” You pulled the trigger, shooting her in the head. Instantly, a red dot formed and grew larger. Her lifeless body fell down immediately. Eurus underestimated you. Although you seemed more human, you weren’t. Your mind was full not even near capacity of concepts and secrets she wouldn’t be capable of attaining or understanding. She was confident you wouldn’t kill her. That’s where you outsmarted her. You knew where Moriarty’s was and his next move, but you were right before. Sacrifices had to be made. Just thinking about it caused your stomach to twist in knots.

You put the gun inside of your pants, on a hinge of your waistline and ran upstairs. You walked up the steps to see Sherlock standing away from Moriarty. Moriarty was saying something. Mycroft still sat down on the chair. John stood behind Sherlock. The alarm wasn’t on anymore.

Moriarty turned around to face you. “The gang’s all here!” He said cheerfully, pulling his gun out casually.

“Each one of you has ruined my chances of success and hadn’t even thought twice about it.” His voice shrilled. “That’s it.” He was right. We have. Delusional. You saw how Eurus messed with his head.

Moriarty walked around in a circle. “Who wants to die first? I have all the time in the world!”

“Moriarty!” John cried out. Sherlock placed an arm blocking him.

“Mycroft, stand up.” Moriarty demanded. Mycroft slowly stood up and walked out of the office, cautiously. You knew they didn’t know that Eurus was dead. You would shoot Moriarty now, but there wasn’t any more bullets left.

“I’ll save the best for last,” he said. Moriarty pointed his gun to John. Sherlock couldn’t do anything. Mycroft wouldn’t. John shrunk down in horror.

“You don’t have to do this,” John said. He was terrified. You couldn’t take a chance with your gun.

You knew your plan.

Sacrifices.

You were the smartest one to initiate the approach. John dying first would mess it up. Without any hesitation, you began running to Moriarty. You jumped up on him and tried to throw him on the ground. He overpowered you and swung you across himself hard, throwing you down on the cold floor. Your body ached, but this was the first step.

“Don’t do that again!” Moriarty screamed. You lied on the ground, motionless.

“She’s dead,” you said.

Moriarty looked at you, shocked. You were pleased. “What did you say?”

“She’s dead. Are you....slow?”

Moriarty gripped his gun tightly and pointed it to everyone. He grew angry and looked at you with pure resentment in his face. He fled down the stairs, not looking back. Sherlock ran to your side. John stood near you. Mycroft walked closer, but he began pacing.

“I have a gun.” You said.

Sherlock didn’t speak. He pulled it out of your waistline. He sighed.

“None left. It might help you”

“I’m lost, but I’m thinking,” Sherlock said.

“We’re all dying today,” Mycroft added.

“Sacrifices. You know what to do. You all do. Go,” you demanded.

Sherlock was puzzled. “Sacrifices? You can’t surely mean-.”

You rose your voice. “I know. I do. It will work. You know what to do. You have time, just go.” Your voice was soft, full of reality.

“Don’t talk like that,” Mycroft said.

“She’s right,” Sherlock added. Mycroft didn’t understand nor did John. It was as if you and Sherlock shared thoughts. He got up from your side and kissed your head before he left. He motioned the others to follow him. You leaned against the glass window. The waves smacked against the cliffs hard.

You heard quick foosteps up the stairs. Moriarty came up. Anger filled his eyes.

“You didn’t think I would do it.” You said.

“I don’t need her,” he replied. He tried to make himself believe that. Moriarty grabbed your neck, but only lightly squeezed it.

“I was saving the best for last,” he said. It was all working.

“If you kill me, what will you accomplish?” You asked, going along with your preset plan.

Moriarty chuckled. “You’ll find out.”

“Will I?” You stalled. You saw out of your eye, Sherlock’s shoes come into your vision. You didn’t look away. You stared into Moriarty’s eyes.

“You killed everyone here, for what? Eurus is dead. You want to kill us. Solid plan.”

He shook his head. “I don’t understand you. You were always there, silently judging me! You ruined me! It was never Sherlock, it was you! Justice for what?!” He screamed.

“You’re weak. You rely on others to do your work. You can’t even manipulate anyone, you’re so bad at it. You are an awful criminal.” You spoke nonchalantly which angered him even more. As much as you were scared, you felt brave.

Moriarty snarled, cocking the gun, the hot metal pressed against your skull.

“You’re no smarter than you sound.”

Here we go

You swore you could feel your heart rate spike as you saw Sherlock’s shoes moving quickly met your eyesight in the split second. He stood to the side of Moriarty, behind him, working efficiently. You felt he was far away, but trusted him. Silence passed but for a moment, a silent bomb ticking with each breath that exhaled. Finally, as if it were a fine orchestration, a man you knew all too well sprinted, his mass of curls wild as he bolted to you, not before the shot rung out, slamming you harder against the wall, aiming the gun away from your head. Your mind began to spin, pulling your hands away only to look at the crimson coating your hands. Your eyes fell on your stomach, now a pool of redness. Your life played in slow motion. You saw Sherlock’s body move through the air and slam Moriarty into the glass window, causing it to shatter in pieces. Your body began to fall backwards, but strong arms pulled you back up. As your body twisted in the moment, you saw Moriarty’s body fall through the opening. Your senses came back to you. Pain filled your mind.

“(Y/N)!” Sherlock screamed. You met his eyes. He was panicking.

You looked into his eyes. “We did it,” you said. The shock numbed your pain. Mycroft and John ran to your side. Their voices were all mixed together. You felt blissful. Your mind flooded with happiness and peace. Is this really death? You doubted it felt like this. You went in and out of your senses a few times. Sherlock picked your body up, your head was snudged in his elbow. He ran fast. The ceiling changed from glass to stone as he ran quickly. Rain droplets fell on you as he ran outside.

“Where’s the boat?” Sherlock cried out. His voice was scared and cracked. You couldn’t see Mycroft. “It’s supposed to be here!”

“Where is the helicopter?! You had precise instructions!” Mycroft’s voice boomed through the phone. Your vision began to blur. It was weird. You didn’t know how you felt about this. You had no control over your body. Memories from your childhood, high school, college rushed through you. Sherlock placed you on the ground and firmly pressed on your stomach. You felt John do the same.

“(Y/N), I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” Sherlock cried. You heard the others sob. You tried to say something, but you couldn’t. You were in bliss. You managed to move your hand and squeezed Sherlock’s jacket. He held your hands. Someone else hand your other; you couldn’t tell who. Everything happened so quickly. Memories of crimes, computers, spying, all came flooding back. Exciting times of your life - moments where you almost died, you remembered it all now.

“(Y/N)!”

Your vision started to turn bright white and by doing so, your body shifted through a trance of euphoria. You felt proud. Dying with dignity - it never sounded as good as it felt. You accomplished what you needed. You knew there had to be sacrifices. The whiteness grew brighter, almost as if it was blinding you. You felt welcomed as if you belonged here. Your body was gone, but your mind was undecided. You chose to stay in this state for a bit longer. You continued to hear your siblings cry for you. Sherlock slumped his body over you and hugged you tightly. In the distance, you heard a helicopter. You didn’t know how you were doing it. If you hadn’t been the person you were, you could never manipulate death.

All you felt was peace

Part 2? You’ll find out

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aqvarius · 4 years

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With people comparing Namba and Matsunaga (both older, both have an ex which feels redundant plot wise, and having moments of being laid back but also stern), which of the two do you think is the better?(Though I'm not sure if rmd will go beyond the 2nd epilogue since all the backlash from LC and we'll probably never see any more character development from each guy)

hmmmMMMM okay so i still have thoughts about the future of rmd (which i’m still working on slowly to try and get all my Thoughts in order) pending for another ask BUT i actually still haven’t read namba’s adversaries so i feel like i can maybe make a decent comparison without namba having too much advantage

so matsunaga and namba are REALLY similar. the sad thing is that matsunaga’s history with his ex should tie into the plot but it really doesn’t (or rather the link between ex and the plot comes out of literally nowhere) unless you’ve read all the right heart scenes (i’m just presuming this, it might also come out of nowhere even if you’ve read all the heart scenes and also i don’t know which ones exactly bc i didn’t wanna spend any hearts on this route lol).

CUT FOR BIG SPOILERS

i do actually think that matsunaga’s route had more potential to weave in some more complex themes but ultimately ended up being a bit more basic(?) in terms of its core message. while yes, it is groundbreaking for voltage for them to write a bi love interest, i felt the way they tackled sexuality in this route wasn’t the most thoughtful. i mean, for the patient to basically go nuts (honestly don’t even remember his name bc this route made so little impact on me and i didn’t enjoy it enough to save screenshots lol) and murder his ex because he chose to preserve his public image as a celebrity and date a woman just felt like (1) not the most thoughtful character construction for a non-straight character and (2) just a way to (dare i say tokenistically) shoehorn in matsunaga’s sexuality without making it a genuinely impactful part of his personality and the development of his relationship with the mc.

for one, i have to reiterate that it really did come out of nowhere. most of the route focussed on matsunaga’s health issues (frankly unnecessary imo). for me it felt like the health issue thing was a way for matsunaga’s backstory (particularly in relation to kasumi) to be written in, and then the thing with his ex was the way for his character to relate somewhat to a seemingly unrelated case (the actual medical/patient case aspect of the route), but they honestly threw that in so last minute and it was such a passing thing as well? like i feel like matsunaga’s route and his character were developed more from the whole downplaying his health issues thing than his sexuality. however, because the climax of the route was about the patient going berserk, they kind of were like let’s diffuse this situation with a dramatic reveal about matsunaga’s sexuality and that GENUINELY felt like all that was used for. like all of the “getting closer” moments were related to his health issues or hanging out the pomeranian lol.

also honestly the ways in which both the patient and the female patient dealt with the singer’s death was exactly the same (i.e. wanting to die bc what’s the point in living if he’s no longer there) so i didn’t really see the point of there being two of them aside from setting up for a more dramatic ~gasp the singer was bi~ moment which in itself was just a setup for a more dramatic ~gasp matsunaga is bi~ moment right at the end. i also felt like they could have addressed the idea of fear of social discrimination in a more nuanced and thoughtful way? essentially i wasn’t a fan of the whole “he was afraid of being in a publicly gay relationship with me so i killed him bc he broke up with me to be with a woman” thing. and in my opinion, matsunaga contributed NOTHING to that entire theme aside from just saying “i had a boyfriend and we broke up for the same reasons except i didn’t become a murderer” which like........ you could have used this opportunity to actually explore the pain and difficulty of needing to hide your relationship because of social taboo or being discarded because your partner chose public image over you rather than just write this character off as a vengeful gay ex vs the good bi guy (matsunaga who just accepts injustices like ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ que sera sera). i thought it would have been a stronger and more sophisticated story had they either focussed on either one theme or the other in this one route (health/life expectancy issues vs sexuality) instead of kind of having both be treated a little half-heartedly. the feeling i got was that the first step to getting closer (and i say this laughingly bc honestly the distance between them even after 30 chapters is GAPING) was the pomeranian and then the topic that gave their relationship a little more depth than “we’re just hanging out with your dog” was the revelation of his health issues.

also the idea that people live on through your memories of them felt a little like... overdone/simple? or that it was lacking a more sophisticated engagement with the idea of death, legacy and memories. i’ve read school life shoujo manga that deals with that theme in a more interesting way. so for me, it felt a little ingenuine that it was treated by as a perspective or way of thinking about death that was like a mindblowing new way to look at life ahead, especially since the characters involved are in their 20s, not early teens.

so anyway i think that matsunaga has potentially a deeper character? namba has more or less ‘healed’ or at least learnt to cope with his issues enough that you wouldn’t know anything is up but it’s clear that matsunaga still has a lot of personal issues to work through, so there was genuine potential to overcome some of that boss-subordinate power imbalance through having genuine connection between just humans or to develop him as a character whose prioritisation of others is maybe a flaw. i just think that they crammed so many things in that none of it really got addressed or developed properly lol.

i will say that i find matsunaga is way less fun than namba? namba is more of a “my pace” kind of guy - he’s more random/eccentric which i enjoy. matsunaga’s persona is more just like a regular nice guy? you would NEVER find matsunaga just on the street in costume pretending to be a fortune teller for no reason but to give you random love advice?

but on that same note, i definitely feel less chemistry between matsunaga and his mc compared to namba. maybe this is just bc i only read matsunaga’s normal ending in which she confesses and asks him out and he literally SAYS NO AND IT ENDS WITH HER GETTING REJECTED (and i’m p sure they still aren’t together even in the happy ending or the epilogue), but the whole time i feel like there was only ever a parent-child relationship between them. i never felt like matsunaga treated her any different than how he treats literally anyone else in the EICU. i actually think he treats kasumi the best out of everyone, including his mc. the weird thing is that rmd actually had way more time and potential - i mean they literally SET THE TWO CHARACTERS UP IN AN EXPLICITLY ROMANTIC CONTEXT and there was still NEGATIVE amounts of romantic chemistry??? HOW? namba and his mc literally were in a boss-subordinate dynamic the entire time and they still had more chemistry and genuine interpersonal connection without it feeling like the mc is a small pet vying for her owner’s attention the entire time while also somehow simultaneously trying to mother him? i’m not kidding when i say that namba and his mc are more fun in 10 chapters than matsunaga and his mc are in THIRTY.

ALSO namba’s (consistent lol) berating of his mc makes sense with his character and the context and is justified every time because his mc is a thoughtless noob (but one with potential that he sees his old self in). on the other hand, matsunaga has one moment when he scolds his mc for... some reason... but because she’s supposed to be this superstar student, she doesn’t really make the mistakes that allow her those learning opportunities. and then matsunaga basically just lets her do whatever she wants re: dealing with patients.

oh and also the plot of namba’s route is better.

in short, matsunaga’s route had potential but i feel like the missed potential and the lack of thoughtfulness in cramming in too many themes and not making the most of them are huge negative factors. namba has a more fun character, there is SO much more romantic chemistry between him and his mc, the plot is better and more interesting and has a twist without it feeling forced, namba’s comments about his age/their age gap make more sense for his character, his sprite is more attractive (lmaoooo), the relationship development is more organic, even the moments of rejection feel both more earned and heartbreaking. tl;dr: namba wins

ALSO sorry it took me so long to reply!! i’m still half in and out of tumblr

#Anonymous #snow answers #eiichi matsunaga #jin namba #romance md: always on call #rmdaoc #romance md #her love in the force #hlitf #voltage inc #voltage otome #otome game #otome romance #love 365 #love 365 find your story #love choice

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