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oreomonsterhunter · 4 years

Text

Life Sucks

Pairing: Lee Know x reader

Word Count: 10K (I know.....this was a surprise for me, too)

Genre: fluff, romantic comedy

Warnings: language (our characters have a tendency to curse, apparently)

Summary: Sunshine reader is in love with love, but hasn’t had much luck with it herself. When she meets Minho, a self-proclaimed cynic and disbeliever of “true love”, she’s determined to change his life. If she can’t find the love of her life, she’s going to try to find his.

This fic was inspired by a tag game once upon a time. It was supposed to be a short drabble, but apparently I can’t hold back with Minho. Tag game featured this specific Lee Know and just kinda spiraled from there lol

Nearing the end of January, winter sometimes seemed endless. Yet when you stepped out into the morning chill, you were pleasantly surprised to find the snow banks melting a bit. Your boots splashed through small puddles as you strode down the street, and you smiled softly at the lavender sky. It was still early enough—for a Saturday—that the sidewalks weren’t too packed yet, so you indulged in a more leisurely walk than usual, dancing along to the music from your headphones. You caught a few odd looks, but you simply smiled and waved at everyone you passed. They could judge your happiness all they wanted, nothing could possibly spoil your day when it was off to such a good start—

“Shit,” you gasped, jumping back onto the curb as a car barrelled through a red light. Had you been a second slower, you would’ve been a vehicular manslaughter case. “Asshole,” you hollered after them, flipping two middle fingers in the air.

You exhaled a sharp breath through your nose, attempting to banish the exasperation and get back into your music again. More careful this time, you double checked both ways down the street before entering the crosswalk.

Unfortunately, your streak of bad luck continued. Just as you hopped off the street, a truck passed by behind you, tires bumping through a pothole. And with the recent snowmelt, this resulted in a spray of cold water hitting the backs of your legs.

You froze, mind stuttering as you tried to comprehend how the morning had taken such a turn, all within your first five minutes outside. Pursing your lips, you twisted around to inspect the damage. The dirty water might stain your jeans, but the most pressing matter was the cold and wet denim now plastered to your legs from your calves to the backs of your knees. You bit your lip, contemplating just turning back and spending the whole day in your apartment. Pajamas, a blanket, hot coffee and tea readily available. Maybe a movie, just because you could.

Then you shook your head, determined to make the best of the day. You wanted a cappuccino, dammit. And chocolate babka from the cafe. No homicidal drivers or puddles could stop you. It was a Saturday, just past sunrise, and you had a whole day ahead of you. No need to wallow a few minutes in. And besides, who knew what would happen.

You set off for the cafe, determination heavy in each step. You forced a smile back onto your lips, though it was thinner than before. You switched to a different playlist so that your boots could thump the concrete in time. And you breathed, spooling calmness back into yourself.

It was a Saturday. You might meet the love of your life today. And nothing could stop you from finding out.

The bell over the front door jingled merrily, and you softened a little further, relaxing into the familiar surroundings. You hardly even noticed the damp denim chafing your legs as you skipped up to the counter.

Ruth, currently manning the register, chuckled as she rang up another customer. “Well would you look at that, the sun came shining right in our front door,” she said.

“Good morning,” you giggled. You waved to Jonathan, Ruth’s husband, in the back. The couple had been running the little cafe and bakery for years, and you were a faithful customer, coming by at least once a week since you first moved to the neighborhood.

“Morning, Sunshine,” he called, hands busy kneading dough for what would doubtless become something delicious. You hummed thoughtfully, considering the baked goods in the glass case before you.

“Your usual?”

You tapped a finger on your chin, “You know, the poppy seed muffins look awfully tempting. I might just have to switch it up today.”

Ruth nodded, tapping on the register. You handed over the requisite bills and she shooed you off, sliding the muffin over the counter. “Go on now, a table opened up by the window, perfect spot. I’ll bring the coffee in a minute.”

“Thank you,” you said, but Ruth was already fussing over the espresso machine. Shaking your head, you weave through the maze of tables and chairs, dodging patrons on your way to the window seat.

You had your eyes on the prize, and you were only a few feet from the chair when you pulled up short. A stranger, their back to you, plopped down in your chair. You blinked, suddenly and painfully aware of your wet pants, the muffin growing cool in your hand, the fact that you could give up now and walk home but perhaps you’d just get hit by a car and never get a chance to enjoy your breakfast. You sighed deeply, breathing out through your nose as you closed your eyes, seeking inner peace or something.

“Can I help you?”

The voice knocked you out of your momentary meditation, and you looked at the table thief in surprise. He loosened the fluffy scarf around his neck before sliding his arms out of his winter coat. A beret, of all things, tilted dangerously to the side before he adjusted it on his head. He looked like some kind of absent-minded professor, but for the youthful features that peered up at you. A sharp nose, tinted red from the cold, and a soft mouth. Dark and depthless eyes, paired with high cheekbones and a cutting jawline.

You realized you were staring when he waved at you, eyes widened. “Hello?”

“Um, sorry, I just,” you stammered, lost for words.

“Do you want to sit or something?”

You stopped again, mouth dropping open. You checked the time—you had fifteen minutes or so, enough time for another table to open up. “Uh, sure, if that’s ok with you. I was hoping for a table, I’m meeting someone,” you said, beginning to ramble.

“No problem, I don’t need all this space, and I’ll head out soon,” he cut you off, raising one brow at you when you continued to stand there, rooted to the spot.

Ruth’s arrival with your cappuccino was what ultimately forced your hand. You sat down, gratefully accepting the drink, your smile less shaky with a taste of the familiar.

“I didn’t think they did table service,” the stranger mused.

“They don’t, I just know the owners,” you shook your head, cutting yourself off when you saw his disinterest. “Sorry, I should introduce myself,” you switched tacks, giving your name with a bright grin. So what if it was forced?

The stranger looked at you, and his lips twitched in a shadow of a smirk. “Minho,” he responded.

Silence fell, heavy and awkward, and you found yourself leaning forward desperately. “So how’s your day so far?”

Minho snorted, reaching for his own drink—an iced americano, you guessed, despite it being the middle of winter. “Probably better than yours.”

“What?” your brows furrowed in confusion.

He gestured to your legs with one hand. “Unfortunate accident this morning?”

Your lips tightened, holding back a frown, “Puddles, you know.”

Minho sighed, sounding sympathetic now, rather than snarky. “Yeah, life sucks, doesn’t it?” And there was the sarcasm again.

“One or two bad things doesn’t mean life sucks,” you countered, sipping your coffee. “I’m excited about the rest of the day, it’s not even eight in the morning! And it’s the weekend, and it’s sunny and warm, and I have hot coffee and a delicious muffin, and the world is out there and ready to be enjoyed,” you finished, lips curling up as you looked out the window at the sunrise, the horizon flaming golden.

“Sounds like you’ve never had a job,” a harsh voice cut into your admiration. Your smile faltered as you looked back at Minho. You gaped at him, brain processing the way this soft-looking boy sounded like the king of cynics. The last thing you expected from someone wearing a fuzzy beret and looking like a sly teddy bear was this blunt conversation. “No one’s that excited when they have to work fifty plus hour weeks to pay the bills. Trust fund baby?” he inquired, sipping calmly.

Yep, there was no fighting the frown now. “No, and I don’t appreciate the judgement. Why can’t I just be happy?”

Minho smirked, “Never said you can’t. I just wanted to see if you had a personality beyond being Positive Polly.”

Your eyes flamed, but your phone buzzed, distracting you before you could smite the snarky boy. You fumbled at your coat pocket, whipping out the device to check for a new message. You slumped—just a spam email.

“Waiting for something important?” Minho asked, tilting his head.

You huffed, shoving the device back in your pocket. “As a matter of fact, yes,” you sassed, tossing your hair over one shoulder. “I’m waiting for a date.”

He hummed at you, expression unreadable. “You’re too excited.”

“What do you mean?” you asked, eyeing the clock on the far wall of the cafe.

“You’re significantly early, watching the clock like a hawk, and they haven’t even texted you an update.” He took a long sip. “What time is your date anyway? Eight in the morning? They’re not coming.”

Your smile faltered again. Damn him, why was a total stranger dimming your joy? You shoved your chair back, even though no tables had opened up yet. You’d wait by the counter and chat with Ruth. Anything was better than this asshole.

Minho glanced over his shoulder, checking the clock himself. “Five past, and still nothing,” he commented.

“Fuck you,” you spat.

A spark appeared in his eyes, and he grinned. “Good to see you have some backbone,” he commented.

You could’ve sworn steam was coming out of your ears, but your phone vibrated again. You checked the lock screen, seeing a new text pop up from Jay: hey I can’t make it. You swiped on the message, but nothing followed it. Seriously? That was it? No explanation, and not even a half-assed apology?

“Told you so.”

You spun to face Minho, glare renewed. “And what makes you so sure of yourself and my date?” you demanded.

He snorted, “Life sucks; so does dating. The only thing you’re guaranteed is disappointment.”

Your anger faded slightly as you watched the boy sip his iced coffee, his silhouette stark against the snow outside. When you took a breath to get past your own mingled frustration—both at Jay and your new snarky companion—you saw the tense lines of his face. You wondered what disappointment had left Minho so defensive.

“Alright, enlighten me,” you said, throwing yourself back in the chair. This time, you settled in, sliding out of your coat and leaning forward with your coffee. “Who broke your heart?”

A look of disgust slid over those pretty features. “No one broke anything,” he scoffed, turning to the window and giving you another dose of his sharp profile. You rested your chin on your hand thoughtfully, just watching him and waiting. “Stop looking at me like that,” he muttered. “You’re not my therapist.”

“But I am a perfectly kind stranger. And strangers are the easiest people to talk to,” you said sunnily.

“And don’t sound so happy.”

“No can do, people call me Sunshine for a reason.”

Minho gave a long-suffering sigh. “I’m not calling you that.”

Now you were the one with a cocky smirk, “Why, does it hurt your delicate masculinity?”

A beat of silence, and then, “One of my best friends is called Sunshine.” Minho looked at you sharply. “I’m not calling you that,” he said again.

You waved him off, oddly touched in spite of his gruff tone. This human version of grumpy cat had a best friend named Sunshine? Incredible, and surprisingly soft of him. “Ok fine, no arguments from me. Tell me about her. Or him, whoever it is,” you stumbled over your words.

Minho didn’t seem to notice your blundering. He stared somewhere beyond your shoulder, “No one broke my heart.” Then his eyes focused on you again as he asserted, “I’ve just experienced enough to know better than to hope blindly. The world isn’t looking out for you.”

Humming, you folded your arms as you considered his statements. “Well, I believe in true love,” you started.

“Why am I not surprised?” Minho groaned, rolling his eyes.

“I also believe in the power of positive thinking,” you continued as if he hadn’t spoken. Ignoring his dramatic moaning, you steamrolled ahead. “Yeah, my morning turned out pretty shitty, but if I just go crawl back in bed, I’ll have wasted a whole day over something as silly as wet jeans.”

“Wet jeans and being stood up.”

“And being stood up,” you allowed, gritting your teeth to maintain a smile. “But if I let that stop me from living my life, then I’ve let the negative win. If I go check out a new dating app or two and keep trying, one day I’ll have something good.”

Minho put his coffee down, resting one hand on the table as he met your eyes, gaze hard. “Listen, nothing good comes out of a dating app. You’re wasting your time. And didn’t you say you hate doing that?”

You wanted to argue, but your friends had told you much of the same. Minho was just less polite in his delivery. But you hadn’t had any luck with real life men, either. Case in point: your irritating argument with the perfectly attractive guy in front of you. So that left apps, even if the pickings were regrettably slim. And only growing slimmer, if the ghost date was any indication. You didn’t have the guts to tell Minho that this wasn’t the first time you’d been stood up.

Then you had an idea. Your grin widened, and Minho’s irritated expression faded into apprehension. “Well if I’m doomed to never find love,” you started, batting your eyelashes teasingly. “Why don’t I look for the love of your life instead?”

Minho blanched, recoiling with enough force that his chair rocked back on two legs. “Yeah, no. I don’t think so, sweetheart.”

“I think it’s a terrific idea,” you beamed at him. “I’ve been a successful matchmaker for a bunch of my friends, too. I’ve just had trouble finding my own love interest.”

“What is this, a rom com?” he hissed.

You clapped your hands, overcome with excitement for the first time since the puddle. “Oh, a romance, I wish,” you nearly swooned at the thought. “I promise I’ll do my best. You’d get along great with one of my friends, they’re just as irritable as you.”

Minho exhaled sharply, massaging his forehead with one hand. He closed his eyes, muttering, “What am I doing here?”

“Wait, wait, I’m getting ahead of myself. No matchmaking until I know you better,” you amended, whipping out a notebook and pen from your bag. You had just about everything in there—you never knew what emergency might pop up, like brainstorming a match for a stranger. “What are some of your hobbies? Favorite color? Ooh, what about first date activities you love? Oh my goodness, wait, are you looking for men or women?”

Part of you expected Minho to shove his chair back and leave. You wouldn’t be too upset, that just meant you’d have the table to yourself, even if you weren’t waiting on a date anymore. But you didn’t totally hate this guy. And another part of you kind of felt bad for him. He’d never experienced love! Not that you’d had a taste of true love, either, but you knew what was out there. And it was a shame that he didn’t see that too. It was like...someone hating your favorite holiday—unacceptable, if only because you wanted everyone to enjoy it as much as you did.

You begrudgingly admitted that another teeny tiny part of you thought he was too attractive to be so cynical of love. Some lucky girl out there was waiting for Minho, and you were gonna help her out, even if it meant dragging the man kicking and screaming towards her.

But Minho didn’t do what you expected. He didn’t storm off, coffee in hand, scarf flapping in the wind dramatically. He sighed and stood up, but made no move for his coat. “If we’re doing this, I need more coffee,” he said, then turned and made a beeline for the counter without any further explanation.

You blinked after him, more than a bit surprised. He was...going along with this? You tapped the pen against your chin thoughtfully, watching his shoulders flex beneath his turtleneck as he talked to Ruth. His head turned slightly, and you caught a glimpse of his smile—a real one—taking your breath away.

Now, if only you could get him to smile like that for any potential dates. You clicked your pen with renewed vigor, laughing when Minho approached with a new coffee, exasperation written into every line of his face.

* * * * *

It was a lovely Thursday night, and you were curled up on the couch in your comfiest pajamas. Your only companions were a blanket, a mug of tea, and your phone, which you checked every fifteen seconds. The first time all week that Minho hadn’t answered your messages, and it was the night of his first date. You were buzzing with anticipation, practically vibrating as you waited for news, not caring who it came from first.

Finally, you gave up waiting, throwing the blanket as you went to reheat your tea, since you’d let it grow cold while refreshing your messages. The second you reached the kitchen, however, you heard a buzz. You dashed to the couch, scrambling for your phone to find a text from Mari:

He had to dip early, lame date

You nearly screeched. He left? Your fingers pounded the screen:

What!?!?!! Did he say whyyy?

Mari’s response was short and to the point:

An “emergency”

You could read between the lines. Mari was irritated, to say the least, since the blind date had been your brilliant idea. But what on earth had happened with Minho? Your stomach dropped, considering that he might have an actual emergency. You quickly tapped out a message to him to check in, gnawing your lip in worry.

Hey, Mari said you had an emergency, is everything ok?

You waited what felt like ten thousand years before finally seeing the little bubbles appear. His message, however, was not worth the wait:

Didn’t get on with her

You fumed, pressing dial on his contact with enough force, you were amazed your screen didn’t crack. “You left because you didn’t like her?” you screeched as soon as he picked up.

“Yes.”

Gaping like a fish, you fumbled for words to explain how bad that was. “You can’t just—”

“But I did,” Minho cut you off.

“But you can’t,” you said, exasperated. “Jeez, I thought you knew what you were doing. Obviously not. You need a practice date or something so my friends don’t murder you.”

Now it was Minho’s turn to squawk indignantly. “I do not need practice,” he started.

“Yes, obviously you do. You might look like a player but you’ve obviously never talked to a girl for more than ten minutes,” you scolded him. “Who leaves in the middle of a date? With that bad of an excuse?”

“I hate wasting my time. Didn’t we discuss how we should avoid doing that with our love lives,” he snarked.

You groaned, “There’s a difference between not wasting your time and being rude as heck.”

“So what? She was abrasive, rude, cynical, and had a terrible sense of humor,” Minho said, as casually as if he was discussing the weather. “I can’t believe you’re friends.”

“That’s a pretty great description of you, too,” you sassed back, irritation taking over. “We might not be that close, but you can’t just insult everyone I set you up with.”

“Who said I wanted you to set me up with anyone?”

“I assumed you did, otherwise why are you going along with this?” you tried your best to calm down, lower your voice. But something about Minho just put your back up.

“Uh,” Minho actually seemed lost for words. Your ears perked up, eager to catch his answer. “My mom wants to set me up with her friends’ daughters,” he tossed out at last.

Seemed a bit too easy. “Sure,” you drawled, leaning back on the couch.

“Yes, really,” he sneered, and you giggled, picturing the exact expression on his face.

“Ok, whatever you say,” you allowed, laughing slightly. “But you’re still going on a practice date. Tomorrow night, six o’clock. Meet me at the cafe. If you’re not there, I’m gonna find your mom and help her out.”

You hung up on him before he could argue with you, grinning madly as you concocted your plan.

* * * * *

You half expected to wait for Minho to show up, much like your friend did, but much to your surprise, he was waiting for you under the awning when you arrived. “You’re late,” Minho accused, and you grinned sheepishly. You may or may not have lied about the time. Just in case.

“The queen is never late. Everyone else is simply early,” you quipped. Minho rolled his eyes—absolutely what you expected. You giggled, linking your arm through his and tugging him down the sidewalk with you.

“Woah,” Minho yanked at his arm, trying to free himself. “If you wanted to hold hands, you could have asked.”

“You’re too much of a grinch, you’d just say no.”

“Exactly. It’s called consent, sweetheart.”

He nearly fell at the sudden freedom when you released him, shoving your hands deeper into your pockets to escape the chill. “Alright, follow me then, you unromantic dork.” He muttered under his breath as you skipped away, having fun despite his attitude. Time to show him what a real date looked like.

Five seconds later, and not even two blocks from the cafe, Minho groaned, “Are we there yet?”

“No.”

A pause, then, “Where are we going?”

“It’s a surprise,” you told him, not for the first time. He’d texted you all night, demanding to know, but your lips were sealed.

Except a certain someone seemed determined to annoy the answers out of you. “Are we there yet?”

You sighed, your skip feeling a little less peppy. “No.”

“Are we—”

“Minho,” you ground out. “If you ask me that one more time, I’m taking you to get your nails done.”

“Ok, sure. I could use a bit of pampering,” he said, the epitome of casual.

You stared at him. “This feels like a trick,” you said slowly.

A grin flashed, “That’s because it is. It’s after six, they’re all closed by now.” But then he frowned slightly. “Now you have me wanting a manicure though, I’ve never gotten one.”

Your brows were practically in your hairline but you just nodded. “Ok, another time, then,” you agreed. You caught sight of a familiar street sign and quickened your steps. “Almost there,” you were nearly vibrating in excitement. You felt Minho’s eyes on you, your skin prickling with awareness, but you ignored him in favor of racing around the street corner. And there it was—the zoo! All lit up...all lit…...not lit up at all. Your feet stumbled to a halt.

“So the zoo is open at night now?” Minho inquired at your shoulder.

You gaped at the dark expanse before you. “But where are the lights?” Because indeed, not a single light was on in the zoo. You’d just visited, not too long ago, and they had been open for night visits, so guests could walk around and see the trees all lit up, and wave hello to a few animals in the enclosures.

“Lights?”

“The Christmas lights,” you cried out, frantic. “They were up the last time I was here.”

“You mean a month ago? For Christmas? Back when it was still December?” Minho questioned you. You nearly snapped back before you realized. It was January. February next week. Of course the lights were down, what kind of idiot were you?

You groaned in defeat, slumping against the wall and sliding down to a crouch. You threw your arms over your head. “I don’t know what we’re going to do, then. I’m sorry I made you walk all this way,” you mumbled into your knees, wishing you could disappear into the sidewalk. Gosh, and you’d really dragged him along, hadn’t you? He obviously hadn’t been that excited, and all of your mysterious “it’s a surprise” nonsense only made this a bigger disappointment.

“It’s a Friday night, things are still open, you know,” Minho pointed out. “So what if you somehow forgot a whole month happened. I forget the year sometimes.”

“What are you, an old man?” you tried to perk up, but the tease fell flat.

“I’m only twenty-two. You must be ancient.” You picked up your head to look at him. A faint smile curled on his lips as he played along.

“Oh my gosh, I’m your noona. If you’re a grandpa, then I’m practically in the grave,” you forced out a chuckle.

Minho’s smile grew, and he extended a hand. “Come on, get up. Night’s still young.”

For a moment, you simply stared at his hand. Then you met his dark gaze, “You aren’t going to take advantage of this? I thought you hated the whole practice date idea.”

He sighed, wiggling his fingers at you. “I don’t hate spending time with you, alright? Now get up or I’m leaving you here.”

Your mouth twitched, a true smile threatening to form, and not just a cover-up. You slid your hand in his gratefully, and Minho pulled you to your feet with more strength than you thought he had. You blinked at him, realizing he hadn’t let your hand go yet. But the second his eyes followed your gaze, he dropped it, sliding his hands into his pants pockets instead.

“So where to?” Minho asked.

You opened your mouth to respond, remembering a pretty little outdoor skating rink, but the skies cracked open, interrupting you with a sudden deluge. You gasped as the first fat raindrops splattered on your forehead, eyes widening before you made a mad dash for the nearest storefront, Minho already a few steps ahead of you.

You’d barely been in the rain for a minute, but the icy water had your teeth chattering already. Had it been any colder, this would’ve been pretty snow. Instead, you got an arctic firehose.

Arms wrapped tightly around yourself, you peered down the street. Beside you, Minho checked a weather app, hissing through his teeth. “Looks like rain all night,” he muttered.

You groaned again, wanting to cry. You’d completely messed up the evening, first with the lights, and now by not checking the weather. You’d planned an outdoor date, why hadn’t you checked?

A hand brushed your shoulder lightly, barely detectable through your coat. “Um, this might not be what you had planned, but my apartment is actually on this street. Wanna just order pizza?”

Your first instinct was a vehement “no”, but you stopped that answer on the tip of your tongue. Minho wasn’t one of the sleazy guys you’d gone out with in the past, the ones who’d thought an apartment invite was more than that. Plus, this wasn’t a real date or anything. It was a practice date, just pals, nothing crazy about that. So why couldn’t you grab pizza at his place? Especially with the monsoon and a long walk back to your own place. And no umbrella.

You found yourself nodding, shivers wracking your body. Minho’s teeth flashed in another fierce grin, “Alright, sweetheart, let’s make a run for it. In three, two, one—”

The two of you raced down the slick sidewalks, dodging lampposts and puddles alike. You skidded to a stop at one of the apartment buildings, nearly slamming into Minho’s back as he yanked the door open, and the two of you tumbled into the warm lobby. Once out of the wet, Minho shook his head like a dog, water droplets spraying everywhere, and you shrieked, hands coming up to protect yourself.

“Sorry,” Minho laughed, not sounding apologetic in the least. “I’m on the sixth floor, so we can take the elevator,” he said, pointing you in the right direction.

The ride up was awkward; the only sound was your jacket zipper rattling from the force of your shivers. Minho unlocked the door to his apartment, waving a hand dramatically. You stepped inside tentatively, toeing off your boots by the door. You watched Minho follow suit, then pad over to a closet along one wall. Your confusion abated when he emerged with towels, passing one to you with raised brows. The two of you were still soaking wet, and you didn’t want to track rainwater all over his apartment.

Minho was already drying his head off one-handed. When he stopped, letting the towel slip down to rest on his shoulders, you giggled at the sight of his hair. He made a face, only adding to the comic effect of his hair standing on end.

“I know you drink coffee, but what about hot tea?” he asked, making his way to the kitchen while you continued to dab at your clothes.

You nodded enthusiastically, eyeing the space from where you stood in the entryway. It was pretty minimal, not a ton of color or anything, but cozy. Black couch, gray curtains, some photos on the wall. Fairly tidy, but definitely nothing out of a magazine. A meow at your feet interrupted your train of thought, and you looked down to coo at the cats that were slowly approaching. “Well aren’t you gorgeous,” you complimented the bravest of the three, who nosed at your hand gingerly.

“Soonie, Doongi, and Dori,” Minho said, pointing at each cat in turn. He leaned on the counter while waiting for the water to boil.

“They’re adorable,” you beamed at him. “And much more friendly.”

“Hey,” he narrowed his eyes. “I’m friendly.”

“Yeah, right,” you laughed at him. Your mirth was interrupted by a fierce shiver, reminding you that you might not be dripping wet, but your clothes were still icy cold.

Minho eyed you as you wrapped your arms around yourself. “I have sweats you can borrow.”

You started to protest, but the next shudder of cold made you change your mind. Besides, you didn’t want to get his furniture soaking wet. So you nodded and waited while Minho disappeared into the bedroom. You shuffled awkwardly to the kitchen, toes curling in your socks.

Minho reappeared. “Here,” he said, voice gruff. He pressed a pair of sweatpants into your hands, along with a fuzzy looking sweatshirt. Your turtleneck wasn’t too wet, just a little damp along the neckline, but you slid the extra layer over your head gratefully. Before you had to ask him, Minho pointed to a half-open door. “The bathroom. I’m going to get something dry on, too,” he added.

You smiled in relief, escaping to the small bathroom gratefully. As soon as the door was shut, you were scrabbling at the soaking wet denim, peeling it down your legs. You grimaced, not missing this experience at all after the last time. Minho’s sweatpants were soft and oh so warm by comparison. And fleece-lined, too. You slung your jeans over the shower rod to dry, rolled the ankles of your borrowed pants—just enough so you wouldn’t be drowning in excess material—and went in search of that promised hot tea.

You found Minho on the phone in the kitchen. When he noticed you, he waved you closer. “Do you like anything on your pizza?” he asked.

“Um,” you scrambled to collect your thoughts. “Cheese?”

Minho cracked a smile. “Cheese it is then. And peppers, onions, cherry tomatoes, garlic, basil,” he rattled off what sounded like an entire grocery list. When he noticed you staring, Minho raised his brows in confusion. You shook your head with a small laugh, leaving him to it. On the counter behind him, you found two mugs, tea bags already steeping. You wrapped your cold fingers around one, humming in contentment. Finally, the shivers stopped.

“Wanna watch a movie while we wait for pizza?” Minho asked, but then he froze, grimacing. “Oh shit, sorry. I mean, you can go home if you want. I don’t mean to keep you if you don’t want to stay. I have an umbrella, and you can keep the sweats I guess—”

“Sure how about a romance?” you interrupted him, grabbing your tea and making your way to the couch. You plopped down, eyeing Minho, who was still stiff as a board by the counter. You giggled at him, “Maybe you’ll learn a thing or two from Mr. Darcy.”

That seemed to knock him out of his stupor. An indignant expression wiped away any trace of sheepishness, and he stomped over to find the remote. “Yeah right,” he scoffed. “I’m not watching a romance.”

“A romantic comedy then,” you decided, snatching the remote out of his hands.

He grabbed it back, lightning quick. “Action.”

You narrowed your eyes, crossing your arms defiantly. “Drama. Fight me and I’ll demand a Hallmark movie.”

Minho smirked, “Fight me and I’ll make it a horror movie.”

You groaned in disgust, glaring at him. “Ok, fine, let’s fight over it. Rock, paper, scissors?”

He rolled his eyes, but ended up on the couch beside you, holding one fist out to meet yours. “Best out of three,” he smirked. “Get ready for a zombie fest.”

After a crushing defeat, Minho slumped on the couch, moaning dramatically when you selected Pride and Prejudice. You giggled at the grumpy man beside you, and his similarity to Mr. Darcy. Most notably their matching pouts.

To your surprise, Minho didn’t interrupt the movie once. Sure, he grumbled at first, but when you snuck a peek at him after about half an hour, you caught him watching intently.

You’d seen the movie at least a dozen times by now, but you still couldn’t resist the pull, and your heart fluttered at the brush of hands the way it did every time. Your breath caught at every interaction, and you couldn’t tear your eyes away to save your life. Until the pizza arrived, at least. You were about to press play, two slices at the ready, when Minho looked over at you. “Why are you so in love with the idea of love?” he asked.

You gaped at him for a moment, taken aback. “What?”

“Not just the movie, but real life,” he said, twisting to face you fully. “Why are you so determined to find Mr. Right? Or to set me up on the perfect date?”

“Don’t you want to find someone?” you questioned him, backing away from the question. “You can’t possibly be putting up with me just to avoid your mom playing matchmaker. I’m literally no better than that.”

He scoffed, “You haven’t met my mother.”

“Maybe I should team up with her.”

“Oh please no.”

You grinned, grabbing a slice of pizza. “Oh please yes,” you teased. “Two matchmakers are better than one.”

Minho shot you an unimpressed look. “I told her I already have a girlfriend, but I felt bad lying to her, so I’m hanging out with you instead.”

You nearly choked on your pizza. So you were a pity friend, great. Or worse, you weren’t even real friends, you were just a convenient excuse to alleviate Minho’s guilt complex. You set the slice back down, no longer hungry.

“Hey, you know I’m joking, right? That was a joke. I’m sarcastic all the time, remember?” Minho nudged you.

“Yeah, sure.”

Minho sighed, leaning over to bump his shoulder into yours. “I might not love the matchmaking, or this dumb movie, but I guess I’m glad we bumped into each other so I could tell you to dump ghost boy from Tinder.” You snorted, biting back a small smile. Noticing this, Minho forged ahead, “And this better not be part of the act to get me to forget my first question, because you still haven’t answered.”

“Minho,” you whined. “Why does it matter?”

“Pretend it’s girls night. We’re practically having a sleepover, minus the nail polish and braids. This is the part where we talk about boys,” he smirked.

“I hate you.”

“Do we need to watch 10 Things I Hate About You next?”

Your brows rose. “I thought you didn’t like romance, how do you even know that movie?”

“.....No reason. Now answer the question already,” he huffed.

You sighed, curling up on your end of the couch. “I guess it’s just something I’m not good at, so I can’t help wanting it to fall in my lap,” you said. “I can’t pull all nighters to find love, that’s not how it works.”

“Well no, studying isn’t the answer,” Minho agreed.

“My parents have the kind of love I want. I’m not rosy-eyed or anything, I know it’s hard work and commitment. But the friendship—that’s what I love the most.”

The two of you sat in silence for a little while, Minho chewing on your words. And you mused on your recent attempts to find a partner. Perhaps dating apps weren’t the way to go, you admitted. Not to Minho, though. He’d never let you hear the end of it.

“Maybe,” Minho started. “You should look for new friends instead of new boyfriends.”

“What do you think this is?” you laughed. “I’ve been setting you up, not looking on Tinder or whatever for myself.”

“Good, you’ve wasted enough time on those trash apps already,” he groused.

You grinned at him, “So I guess you don’t want me to start looking for Bumble girls, huh?”

“Don’t even think about it.”

You giggled, but Minho pressed play on the movie before you could tease him any more. To your surprise, he looked as interested in the ending as you were. You doubted he was misty-eyed like you, though.

A yawn snuck up on you, and you glanced at the clock in surprise. How had it gotten so late? “I should probably be going,” you started.

“I’ll walk you home. It’s late.” Minho grabbed your dishes to bring to the sink, snatching them right out of your hands. You blinked after him, then shrugged, making your way to the bathroom.

Unfortunately, your jeans were still damp, but they’d be fine for the walk home. You squeezed yourself back into the denim, emerging with the borrowed sweatpants. “Laundry?” you asked, since Minho was busy with the dishes.

“Just inside the bedroom, next to the door,” he gestured with his chin, hands still sudsy.

You slid the sweatshirt off as well, placing both in the hamper by the door. Despite your curiosity, you didn’t linger, but you caught a glimpse of an equally tidy bedroom. And a large bed with dark sheets. Why was your heart pounding? Mr. Darcy hadn’t been that distracting. You shook your head, hurrying out of the room. Only then you came face-to-face with Minho, and you had to fight a blush. What on earth was wrong with you?

The awkwardness continued, and you felt strange and itchy the whole walk home with Minho. You were hyper aware of how close you were under the umbrella, of the way your elbows brushed every few steps. Minho was surprisingly quiet, as well. Ordinarily, he’d be making fun of you by now.

As you walked the last block together, you tilted your head to look at him. “So tonight was a fail,” you said.

“What the heck are you talking about?”

“The practice date?” you giggled at his expression. “Total failure.”

Minho’s frown deepened, “I thought it was fun. Even if you made me watch a period drama.”

“Oh no, it was wonderful, but the date part of it was a bust. We need to do another, since tonight doesn’t count,” you told him, slowing to a stop in front of your building’s entrance.

“Well what does count?” Minho asked, exasperation dripping from his tone.

“Hmm, something in public. No one ever does a private first date, and obviously that’s what you need the most help with,” you sassed. “Maybe I’ll kick your ass in laser tag or something.”

“Maybe I should beat you in bowling,” Minho retorted.

You hummed, tapping a finger off your chin. “You might be onto something, actually. How about you come up with our next practice date. That’s your homework.”

“Since when is this a class? With homework assignments?” Minho demanded.

“Oh shut it, or I’m making profiles for you on every dating app I know.”

* * * * *

You looked over at Minho, suspicion tugging at you. “So when you said you should beat me at bowling, did you mean it?”

“I’m going to try and win at whatever we do, I’m competitive like that,” Minho said, holding the door open for you.

“No, I mean, are you secretly a professional bowler or something?” you corrected, making your way towards the shoe rental.

Minho chuckled, “I doubt you’ll believe whatever I say.”

You opened your mouth to object, but decided he was right. “You better not be hustling me,” you threatened, slapping cash down on the counter.

“Pay per game or pay per hour?” the attendant asked.

Minho cheekily slid a few bills beside yours. “Best out of three?”

“Insufferable,” you muttered, watching as the attendant took his money instead of yours.

At least Minho looked just as goofy as you did. The brightly colored bowling shoes looked very out of place against his “cool guy” outfit. You’d already poked fun at him. Who showed up to a date wearing sweats? Not that he looked bad in them, but you had at least dressed up a bit. Then again, you might not have worn a dress if you had known that bowling was on the agenda. You tugged at the sleeves of your sweater dress, feeling a bit out of place as you looked at all of the other couples. Jeans, slacks, more jeans...why had you decided to dress up? You should’ve known Minho would pick something casual.

“Hey, you wanna go first, or should I?” Minho’s voice cut through your thoughts, and you shook the negativity away gratefully.

“You go ahead,” you called over to him, trying to find a smile. What were you so worked up about? It’s not like this was a real date. You could have shown up in a potato sack if you wanted, you weren’t trying to impress anyone, least of all Minho. On that thought, maybe he had the better idea after all. You eyed his sweatpants enviously. You knew how comfy they were, and they’d doubtless be better than the tights you were terrified of ripping.

“Ok sweetheart, prepare for a thrashing,” Minho joked, selecting a bowling ball from the rack.

“You prepare for a thrashing,” you countered, despite knowing it was an empty threat. You probably needed the bumpers if you wanted anything but gutter balls. Then you caught sight of the names on the board. “Did you seriously make my nickname ‘Loser’? What are we, five?”

Minho smirked as he passed you. “We’ve been over this, I’m a grandpa, you’ve got one foot in the grave. Childish antics are beneath us,” he said with a laugh.

“So you’re ‘Lee Know’?” you inquired, curious about his chosen nickname.

Minho turned to face you, tilting his head. “Yeah, that’s what my friends call me.”

“...Am I supposed to call you that?”

“We’re friends, aren’t we? Call me whatever you want. Just not ‘asshole’,” he joked. Your heart warmed, and a true smile found its way to your lips. You watched as Minho wiggled a little, eyeing the pins at the end of the lane. Then, to your utmost surprise, he turned around and rolled the ball between his legs.

“What?” you choked on a laugh, nearly falling over at the sight. Minho backed up, and you both watched as the ball rolled down the lane, painfully slow. It ended up knocking down half of the pins, much to your surprise. Minho just looked proud as he picked up another ball. Miracle of miracles, he wound up with a spare.

You had no words, didn’t even bother trying to explain how his technique had any sort of success. Your own attempt was...pitiful by comparison. Your form looked good, but both balls wound up in the gutter in a matter of seconds.

Minho didn’t waste the opportunity to gloat. “Told you I’d beat you at bowling,” he said with a wink.

You grumbled, flopping down onto the bench next to him. “I didn’t expect you to be successful at the toddler technique.”

“Give it a go, maybe we’ll change your nickname if you win,” he laughed, getting up for his turn.

Halfway through the game, you even tried the ‘toddler technique’. This was also a fail, made worse with the mortifying realization that your underwear would be visible if you bent over too far. When your attempt ended up in the gutter, you resolved to get bumpers for the next game.

But Minho had other plans. You had just approached the lane when you felt a hand on your shoulder. “Keep your wrist straight, you keep twisting it at the last second,” he said.

You turned to face him, finding him close behind you. “Anything else, wise one?”

“Don’t overthink it,” he smiled at you. This close, you could swear his eyes were twinkling. “We can both go get bumpers next round, I need them almost as much as you. I’m amazed at my own streak of luck tonight.”

“I’m terrible at bowling,” you whined, looking away from him. Your cheeks felt warm. Gosh, it was embarrassing to be this bad.

“We can go do something else, we don’t even need to finish this game, let alone all three. As long as you’re having fun, I’m happy.”

You glanced at him from the corner of your eye, but looked away quickly. He was watching you so intently, the flush burned hotter, threatening to run down your neck. “I’m sorry you paid for so many games. We can definitely finish them, it’s fine—”

“I’ll never make you do something you don’t want to do,” Minho murmured. You looked at him in surprise, surprised to hear him sounding sincere rather than snarky. “Otherwise, I’d be a shitty friend, wouldn’t I?”

“Right, yeah. An asshole friend,” you agreed, nearly stumbling over the words.

“Ok, I’ll let you focus on your first strike of the night. Don’t overthink it,” he reminded you, walking back to the bench.

You nodded, ignoring the tight feeling in your stomach that reminded you of disappointment. And you sank another one right into the gutter.

Minho’s solution to the bowling fiasco was consolation ice cream. Somewhat surprising, since a part of you had expected him to gloat. Instead, he talked about anything and everything but bowling, entertaining you while you both sat at the window of the local shop. You simply watched him, enraptured. He had hardly opened up at all to you at first. Visiting his apartment felt like the first peek into the real Minho. The happy memories captured in picture frames, the handmade mementos here and there on shelves, all hints as to the soft interior of your once-prickly friend. Now he was regaling you with stories of his best friends—brothers, by the sound of it. Loving rivalry, playful banter, sibling torment. And the look on his face...pride. He was proud of them, his family.

Then you paused, tilted your head to look at him anew. When had Minho stopped being prickly? Where was the cynical, negative, angsty boy you’d befriended, partly out of spite? When had he stopped trying to hold you back with barbed wire edges?

When Minho caught your gaze, he lifted one brow, mouth twitching into a crooked smile. “See something you like?” he sassed you. But his remark was devoid of bitterness. It wasn’t mocking, it was warm, inviting. It was asking you to join in on the joke.

“Yeah,” you said softly. Then you turned up the wattage on your smile, grinning widely at him. “What’s cookin’, good lookin’?”

Minho rolled his eyes at your antics, spinning his ice cream cone between his fingers. But hidden behind your grin was more than a little truth.

* * * * *

You knocked on the door, stepping back tentatively. You could hear raucous laughter on the other side, which would ordinarily have you curious, maybe a little excited to join in. Not tonight. Right now, standing in the hallway outside Minho’s apartment, you were nervous as hell. And on top of it all, you were nearly an hour late, having dragged your feet the whole way there.

“Stop it, this is ridiculous,” you muttered to yourself, shifting from foot to foot. It felt like meeting the parents, which was dumb. Firstly, you and Minho were not dating. Secondly, these were his best friends, not his parents. And thirdly, you and Minho were good friends. You had nothing to worry about. Absolutely nothing.

Which was why you were currently worrying all over the place about meeting Minho’s best friends. What if they hated you? Or worse, what if they pitied you? You thought you’d disappear into a crack in the earth if that happened.

Before you could spend too long contemplating your inevitable end, the door swung open, and a boy came rushing out at you. You gasped, jumping back before he could run into you.

“Sorry, sorry, excuse me!” he blurted, skidding to a stop, then immediately taking off running down the hallway.

You blinked in confusion, but your eyes only widened when a second boy came barrelling out of the apartment after the first. “Minho?”

Minho paused briefly, eyes alighting on your stiff figure. “Hi! Um, I need to take care of something, but I’ll be right back. Go on in,” he waved at you, breaking into a jog, and then a sprint.

Immensely confused, you peered into the apartment, now that the door was wide open. Now or never, you told yourself firmly. Easing through the doorway, you caught sight of six more boys in various states of chaos. Upon noticing your entrance, they all froze. “Uh, hello there,” came a voice on your right. You looked over to see two boys in the kitchen, appearing to be mid-struggle with a bag of popcorn. “You must be Minho’s friend, he said you’d be coming.”

You gave a tiny wave, pasting on a sunshine smile. “Hi guys, it’s nice to meet you, I think? Should I be concerned about the escapee?”

Popcorn boy number two laughed, arms bulging as he ripped open the bag. “Oh no, Hyunjin will be fine. Minho hasn’t made him eat toilet paper in years, he’s above that now.” You must have looked concerned, because the boy chuckled again, waving you off. “It’s all empty threats with that one. Mostly. I’m Changbin, by the way.”

Popcorn boy number one stepped forward, extending a hand to shake. “I’m Chan, and this is our menagerie of chaos. Let me introduce you to everyone,” he offered. You grinned at him, relieved.

By the time Minho returned, practically dragging Hyunjin with him, you were giggling on the couch with the rest of the boys, embroiled in a fierce MarioKart race. With Hyunjin still trapped in a headlock, Minho paused to watch. You just barely caught a glimpse of him from the corner of your eye, too focused on staying on the track. Jeongin had chosen Rainbow Road for your first match, and you were determined to crush them in the dust. Even if it had been several years since you last played.

You watched as your character was knocked off the edge, a cry of dismay falling from your lips. “Dang it, I wasn’t even in first place, what gives?”

Han grinned victoriously, only to cry out when he accidentally drove over the edge as well. “Friends fall together?” he joked.

“You made me go ziplining. Alone,” Minho said, announcing his presence at last.

“Uhhhh,” Han fumbled for an excuse. “You love me anyway, though, right?”

Before Minho could retort, Seungmin stood up. “You can play next, if you want,” he offered.

The rest of you blinked at him in surprise, before looking at his screen and realizing he’d already won the race. Jeongin groaned dramatically, flailing on the couch as he came in second. You and Han just gave up entirely, letting your characters fall off the track once more. Meanwhile, Minho finally decided to release Hyunjin, and the blonde escaped to the other end of the couch, diving into a bowl of chips like nothing had happened.

Felix looked excited, so you tossed him your remote for the next round. “I believe I was promised food,” you said, arching an eyebrow in Minho’s direction.

“I believe I told you to arrive at six,” he fired back, stalking towards you. He finally stopped a foot away, looming over you.

You smirked at him, “What did I tell you on our first date?”

The room went silent, and you froze, realizing your mistake. “You guys are dating and you didn’t tell us?” Han exclaimed, eyes wide.

Your mouth opened and closed, but you couldn’t seem to find any words.

“Oh yeah, real fancy dates, too. We had dinner at the Eiffel tower last week,” Minho drawled. “Isn’t that right, sugar plum?” The cherry on top was when he reached out, lightly pinching your cheek.

A stranger might have mistaken his dry tone for sincerity, but everyone in the room knew Minho’s humor well. Half of the group dissolved into giggles. Changbin rolled his eyes and threw a pillow, but Minho caught it before it could smack into you. “No wonder you don’t have a girlfriend,” Changbin joked.

“All those promises and no follow through,” Han clucked his tongue in mock-disapproval, then ducked when Minho tossed the pillow at him next.

Your cheeks threatened to catch on fire again. The situation only worsened when you met Minho’s dark gaze, his eyes ensnaring you. “So,” you threw out desperately, clapping your hands together. “The food? Or am I going to starve? Not very boyfriend-like,” you tried to laugh. The joke must have been convincing, because the boys merely chuckled, going back to their game.

Minho still hadn’t moved from where he stood over you. Instead of moving back so you could get up, he extended a hand. You bit your lip, teeth digging in, but you placed your hand in his rather than make a scene. The last thing you wanted was more attention, especially with your cheeks warming up past their usual temperature.

Fortunately, he released you as soon as you regained your footing. Your fingers flexed lightly, hand falling back to your side. You kept your chin high as you followed Minho to the kitchen, ignoring the prickling feeling that the boys were still watching you.

“Pizza?” you blurted out, incredulous. “Don’t you eat anything else?”

Minho snorted, leaning against the counter. “For the record, I do know how to cook.”

You snooped in the fridge, disbelieving. “Of course, all evidence points to you being a five star chef,” you said, casting a pointed look at the empty shelves within.

He chuckled, folding his arms while he watched you investigate. “Sweetheart, if you wanted me to cook for you, all you had to do was ask.”

You hummed, closing the refrigerator once more. “I’m kinda afraid you’ll burn something, to be honest,” you teased, grabbing a plate from the cabinet and selecting a slice of now-cold pizza. You popped the pizza in the microwave, then relaxed against the counter opposite Minho. He was still watching you intently, and you frowned. “What? Do I have something on my face?” you asked him.

Minho shook his head wordlessly. Self-consciousness took hold, and you looked down awkwardly, brushing your hair behind one ear. “Hey, I’m sorry about what I said. I totally didn’t mean it the way it came out.”

“I know,” he said, one corner of his mouth quirking up in a half smile.

You tipped your chin again, unable to look at him for long. Even if Minho seemed to forgive your blunder, you still couldn’t believe you’d blurted that out. Your hair fell in front of your face again, and you let it, happy to hide behind the locks.

Then another pair of feet appeared a few inches from yours. Plain black socks next to your patterned ones, covered in cartoon rainbows. Then a butterfly touch along the side of your face, soft enough that you almost doubted the sensation. You lifted your gaze, but this time, Minho’s eyes weren’t on yours. Instead, his laser focus was directed on the hair he was gently situating behind your ear again.

You realized you had forgotten to breathe when he finally took a step back, and your lungs remembered to inflate.

“For the record, you’re right,” Minho said softly. “The queen is never late.”

* * * * *

It was nearing midnight by the time Minho’s friends started leaving. You eyed the clock, then went to grab your shoes as well. “I better get going, I want to get home sometime before dawn,” you joked.

“How close do you live? Are you taking the bus?” Chan asked, worry evident in his tone.

You waved him off, “I’m just a few blocks away, not too long of a walk. Bus doesn’t run after ten or so, anyway.”

Chan frowned, but Minho cut him off before he could say anything. “I was going to walk her home, it’s pretty late.”

That was a surprise to you, but seemed to alleviate Chan’s concern. The others waved goodbye on their way out, Chan following them. “Nice to meet you,” he said, shooting you a quick grin before closing the door behind him.

“You really don’t have to,” you started.

“I want to. It’s late,” Minho reminded you.

“I didn’t argue last time, but I didn’t want to steal your umbrella.” You narrowed your eyes at him. “I’m not some little girl in need of protection. It’s a perfectly safe neighborhood.”

Minho didn’t look up, busy tying his shoes. “I like walking.”

“At midnight?”

“Any time of day, really.”

You rolled your eyes. “Do you walk Jeongin home, too?”

“Sure did. He moved in with Han, though, so I don’t anymore,” he said simply. “You don’t have a roommate. If no one’s there to make sure you get home safe, I want to walk with you.”

You gaped at him, unable to fault his logic. And not really wanting to. “Thanks,” you murmured, scuffing one shoe into the floor.

Minho stood up again, a crooked smile on his lips. “Don’t mention it,” he said, snagging his keys. “After you.”

Walking home with Minho, you were reminded of the first time. Then, you’d been so awkward, quiet. Unsure of yourself. You’d been worried that you were some kind of pity friend at first, but after getting to know Minho, you knew that wasn’t the case. And now that you’d grown comfortable around each other, you could hardly get him to shut up. Even now, he was talking about his dance team’s newest choreo, his words running together from excitement.

You smiled, just listening. This was all you really wanted, if you let yourself admit it. The Tinder dates were just a shit attempt at finding someone to sit and listen to for hours. You wanted movie nights and quiet mornings with someone who cared about you. You wanted a cute little house and kids and a dog. Maybe a cat. Maybe three.

Shit.

You were so wrapped up in your realization that you didn’t realize you’d reached your apartment building until Minho snagged your elbow to pull you to a stop. “This isn’t a midnight hike, where do you think you’re going?” he asked incredulously.

You laughed nervously, “Oh, sorry, I was pretty lost in thought.”

“Apparently. Were you listening to a word I said? Some friend you are,” he snorted.

Friend. Right. Your realization didn’t mean much. Why were you surprised? You hadn’t had luck in the romantic department in years, why would that change now? Minho was your friend, and it was obvious that his opinion of you wasn’t going to change. Why would it? He was way out of your league.

Gosh, now you felt like a fool. You’d really just daydreamed about a happily ever after with him. Why did you ever bother getting your hopes up? You were always bound for disappointment. Hadn’t your crappy dates taught you anything?

Minho called your name, bringing you back down to reality. “Sorry,” you muttered, fumbling in your bag to find your keys.

“Are you alright?” he asked. Shoot, now he sounded concerned.

You pasted a sunny smile on your face, “Totally fine. Thank you for walking me back. I won’t keep you any longer.”

You turned away to walk up the steps, but the smile fell as soon as he was out of sight. How were you only just coming to the realization that you were halfway—or perhaps all the way—in love with him? His face was burned into your mind’s eye. Brows furrowed in confusion, slight pout, and those damned eyes. You’d probably been in love with his eyes from the beginning.

“I only agreed to let you play matchmaker so I could see you again.”

You stopped at the top of the steps, not quite believing your ears. Turning slightly, you looked at Minho over your shoulder.

Once he had your attention, he continued, “I bailed on the date with your friend because I knew you’d yell at me.”

Lips parting in surprise, you turned to face him fully. Minho put a foot on the first step, gaze locked on yours. You weren’t sure what he saw when he looked at you, but his mouth softened into a slight smile.

“I was going to do the classic move of teaching you to bowl, but I chickened out,” he said. “I wish I hadn’t.”

“What are you...why are you telling me this?” you asked, fingers curling nervously.

He ascended another step, “You only smile like that when you’re sad. When you start getting in your own head about what you deserve.” Another step, “And I’m tired of hiding.”

Now he was only two steps away. Close enough to touch, if you dared to reach out. You didn’t. “We’re friends,” you said, voice small.

“Yeah, we are,” he agreed. Then he bit his lip, drawing your attention like bees to honey. You sucked in a breath, closing your eyes firmly. When you opened them, Minho was on the step just below you. “Tell me to stop,” he said, voice low. You didn’t.

Your breath stuttered to a stop, your whole body stilling at the electric shock of his lips on yours. For a moment, you were frozen, utterly focused on the whisper of a touch. Then Minho pulled away, and you could breathe again, gasping for air. But you didn’t want it to be over. Your eyes fluttered open, finding his dark gaze melting into you.

This time, you let yourself fall into him, ignoring the voice in the back of your head that said this was a fantasy. He caught you, one arm wrapping around your waist, his other hand coming to your jawline. He ascended that final step, pulling your body into his. His lips were plush, a little dry. Real. Minho was here, warm under your fingertips.

His hand slid up into your hair, slowly enough to make you shiver. You sighed into the kiss, goosebumps appearing on your arms as his fingers gently tugged the strands. And then his mouth opened beneath you, and you let yourself tumble into sensation, drowning in him.

You don’t know how long you kissed, but your heart was racing when you finally came up for air. Minho panted, little breaths puffing against your lips. He rested his forehead against yours, the weight somehow grounding you.

“Do you understand now?” Minho’s voice was hoarse, deeper than before. You shivered, just a bit, and the corner of his lips twitched up.

You couldn’t find words, unable to string any coherent thoughts together. And you didn’t really want to, happy to have your mind all to yourself, no doubts in sight. You leaned forward, placing a small kiss on the tip of Minho’s nose. He scrunched his face up, making you giggle. But you needed to know one thing. “Are we—are things different now?”

“We’re dating. Unless you don’t want that,” he backtracked, eyes wide.

You grinned at him. “I do.”

He heaved out a sigh of relief. “Thank goodness. I thought I really fucked up there.”

Now you really laughed, head falling forward to rest on his chest. Minho’s arms tightened around you, pulling you closer than you thought was possible. You could hear his heartbeat, thudding just as fast as yours.

“You said the friendship was your favorite part of love,” Minho mused. You hummed in agreement, nodding against him. “Well I hope you don’t get sick of me. I hear I’m pretty annoying.”

“Minho,” you rolled your eyes.

“I know you just rolled your eyes at me,” he teased.

“Well, you are annoying. But I suppose it’s a part of your charm.”

He chuckled, “So that means you like my jokes?”

You smiled fondly, “Don’t push it.”

* * * * *

Masterlist

#skz fanfic #skz fluff #lee know fluff #lee know fanfic #lee know x reader #stray kids fluff #stray kids fanfic #lee know #skz minho #skz lee know #skz imagines #skz scenarios #lee know scenarios #skz minho x reader #minho x reader #lee know fic #skz fic #skz one shot

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qiqi-media · 3 years

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How I feel about Mal Bertha and her character PART 1

This is not a Mal bertha Biography and it is biased in the sense that I don’t like her at all. Read with caution.

Descendants 2 was actually the first movie of the trilogy that I had watched. My little sister was watching it and I happened to be passing by and sat to watch it with her when it caught my eye. 2017 me had a completely different opinion of Mal bertha than today not because I was younger but simply because D3 hadn’t come out yet and I hadn’t watched the first movie or even knew there was books. I can’t stand Mal bertha, not even the D1 version of her and that’s the one even Mal antis love. I didn’t like her in the first movie but it was more of a “I wouldn’t be friends with her.” I didn’t think that she was unforgiveable and that it was impossible to give her a second chance. She made her own bad choices but she expressed genuine regret for them and was only 16. Despite me, loathing Mal’s existence I related to her in sense that it’s scary wanting to change but you don’t know whether or not your actions have caused too much damage.

In D2 watching it as a stand alone I saw a girl wanting something other than the ‘happily ever after’ and deciding she would go for what would make her happy when she went back to isle. I was desperately hoping that after the ‘It’s going down’ scene that she would go back to the isle and not choose to stay somewhere she wanted to leave. But we know how that went and the ending left me bitter and sad not for her, but for Uma. She began to leave a bitter taste in my mouth when she broke up with Ben and came back and just expected him to get back together with her. I’m going to go around every version of her character.

PRE D1

She was a dick. That’s the simplest way I can put it. I don’t like even acknowledging pre d1 Mal because it leaves me with this very negative view of her character that I don’t think was necessary. I feel like this is a big fuck up, wanting to have Mal be her ‘evilest’ before coming to Auradon. I understand the reason why they wanted to show her growth and change throughout the series. But after looking at some real life scenarios with a similar Mal situation it made me look at it differently. Imagine this: someone who severely bullied you and harassed you and everyone around getting to go to a new place and get the best treatment there, then she’s congratulated with becoming queen of that land and not only that she then decides she’s going to be queen of the place she was bullying and harassing people at without ever properly apologizing. This happens in real life and these people get exposed which is why I don’t like it. It would be different if Mal actual grew throughout the series but it was real just her gaining more power and the scenery changing from Pre D1-D3. She also continued to make the same type of ‘mistakes’ with no actual direct consequences all she had to do was cry and they forgave her. She would be okay if it Descendants was a stand alone movie. But knowing the type of life she would get to live after all of this behavior puts me off from reading it. It would also be different if Mal lived a simple life in Auradon (Aka not trying to take control by dating the king and then stepping all over said king) She got more than what she deserved to have. In my opinion she did deserve the chance at all better life just like all the other kids who didn’t commit any crimes to be locked up. But in the eyes of people she victimized she wouldn’t deserve to be Queen become royalty, live in castles and get gifted with limos and bikes.

D1 is the version of Mal everyone generally likes however, like I stated before I didn’t like her even then. At the start we see someone who is clearly trying to please her mother so if her mother wants bad behavior she gives her that. Throughout the main plot she did things of her own accord that she can’t use her mom as an excuse for. There’s a couple different things but a lot of them had to do with Ben and I’m making a whole post on how Ben was treated like shit throughout the franchise so that will be addressed then and not in this post. However for a reference she drugged him with a spelled cookie into falling in love with her for the wand. He wasn’t even willing to eat the cookie at first but she guilt tripped him into eating it. We could brush this off as her doing whatever she needed to do to get to the crown but to me she took advantage of the situation by actually going on dates with him. He was already spelled and willing to listen to whatever she wanted so besides for her own personal interest why would she go on the dates? (Granted a 16 year old wanting to get cute and have a nice date with a nice boy is not a fault or wrong in any way the fault here is all of this was happening when Ben was not in his right state of mind until the spell washed off.) Her taking advantage of Jane’s insecurities was not cool either and I’m interested in what ways she would’ve tried to use Jane if it was easier to get to the wand through her. Since her main crime in my opinion was Ben and since he’ll have his own essay post I’ll focus on Audrey here.

Her disrespect to Audrey

It was unnecessary, she had no reason to have had Audrey’s name in her mouth as much as she did D1. It would make more sense for Mal to like Audrey’s sassy boldness to me not shit talk her every chance she got. At the start they had a small passive aggressive conversation that could’ve just been left at that because technically they burred the hatchet between the two families. It was a “hey I don’t fuck with you, you don’t fuck with me” type of a situation that could’ve grown civil. However, throughout the movie in comparison to Audrey who really just had a problem with Mal’s mother until she spelled ben then it became direct problems with each other. Mal was continuously talking shit about Audrey as if Audrey was the one who fucked with her family. This time her upbringing can be referenced, on the Isle she most likely was allowed to openly hate things and Audrey was most likely raised to at least pretend to be polite. But from the Audrey we’ve seen she clearly doesn’t care about holding her tongue she’s straightforward with how she feels and she didn’t have a problem with Mal she had a problem with her mother. The only time she talked about Mal directly was about the hair spells which she ended up being right about (Mal’s addictive reliance on magic in D2 and Jane at the end of D1). After completely ignoring Audrey’s feelings and literally stole her boyfriend (not even on the the you can’t steal a loyal man type of shit she literally stole him he wasn’t even allowed to consent to it.) She later in Audrey’s Diary multiple times tries to reason this with she never meant to directly hurt Audrey and that she didn’t really want Ben she just wanted the wand etc etc. The evidence doesn’t back this up Mal, you’ve made your disdain for Audrey clear and talked shit about her to Evie right after you spelled Ben the did I mention bs claiming “Chad will see her horrible personally” as if you knew her personally and that Chad didn’t grow up with her. Mal can say she didn’t mean to hurt Audrey but she clearly didn’t mind that she did.

I’m going to make a whole separate on Audrey and how I do think she gets a lot of slack because people can relate to her, but also how her treatment in comparison to Mal’s is unfair.

I did think she deserved a chance to show remorse for her behavior (spoiler: she didnt) Again, I like to look at things from the pov of other characters for things like this. If I was an Auradon kid who was friends with Mal and ended up finding out she was using me and plotting to take over and destroy the place I lived with/for her mother but changed her mind last minute. I would see her as forgivable I just wouldn’t want her around me. In other words I would expect her to start her own new life, not continue trying to live the one where she was plotting without even actually apologizing to people. AU: After descendants instead of continuing to date Ben she breaks it off and goes to an Art school frequently coming back to visit Auradon and after high school she goes on a quest (with the C4 of course) exploring all kinds of different kingdoms and countries because she was locked up on the isle her whole life. In the future she possibly returns to Auardon and even could get back together with Ben with a proper start.

The first Descendants Movie I ever saw so it holds a special place with me and I actually rooted for Mal the first time I watched it. I sat in to watch at the argument scene and knowing all of the plots now and after rewatching it my opinion has change greatly. We see a blonde and very stressed Mal who’s dealing with the pressures of becoming a royal in order to secure her place with Ben. I do feel bad for Mal when she was talking to Evie, she was trying to reach out to her friend about her situation and was basically told to stop talking about it. I understand Evie’s feelings of wanting to leave the past behind but I can also understand Mal feeling like she’s cornered and can’t even talk to her best friend. I can also understand her feelings of ending up overwhelmed with her decisions from going to somebody who did whatever whenever to becoming a royal with duties I get the pressure. If Mal decided that wasn’t the life she wanted to live and went back to the isle where she felt more comfortable I don’t see anything wrong with that. She wasn’t required to stay in Auradon if she felt like she was unhappy there. That says a little something about Auradon to me if somebody would rather live where they ate rotten food than live there. My sympathy for Mal stops there because everything else was a result of her own actions and things she brought onto herself.

1. The royal situation

Let’s get one thing clear nobody was forcing Mal to hand sign up for the prime and proper royal life. She did that herself.

Nobody told her that she had to dye her hair blonde and have a complete wardrobe change, she did.

Nobody said she even had to continue the terrible relationship she had with Ben and go straight into being a royal in order to basically become Ben’s wifey, she did.

She’s saying all of these people are expecting things of her when 6 months ago she was stealing candy from babies when she was the one who let people have these expectations. She decided to take up the role herself because that was what she wanted. Let’s be honest with how it happened Mal would not live in Auradon if she had to be a regular citizen she wanted to be in control of everybody and to have power because that how she always lived. However once she realized that nobody was just about to hand her this power just for being with Ben unlike with her Mom (getting to rule the isle just because she was her daughter and not because she actually worked her way up there) and that she actually had duties and work to fulfill if she wanted to be the boss. She let her pride get in the way by feeling she had to prove she could last with Ben and become an Auradon girl and ended up miserable and blaming Ben for something she decided to do herself.

She then had the responsibility to fulfill all of those duties and she was struggling unlike anybody else who would’ve had to abide by the “don’t use magic” quote on quote rule she decided to use Magic after claiming she’d give it up and was still a hot ass mess. She can’t even use the excuse that was to help her with her lady in training because she was using it to not be late to class and later to try and manipulate Ben. @ishiphumasohard made a good response on why it was unfair for Mal to use magic as her ‘right’ because at what point would it be unfair to other kids? While all the other kids have to show up on time to school Mal gets to use magic to turn back time instead of just being on time. If other kids studied all night for a test Mal can use a speed reading spell. If there was a cooking contest Mal can spell her way into a feast while the others would have to the actual labor. You get the point, because magic is not universally used by everyone in Auradon and it’s an unspoken rule that it’s not to be used then she should have followed this rule.

I will say the girl was stressed and was feeling alone, I already gave my sympathies for that.

The magic situation really hit the fan when she felt comfortable enough to spell the boyfriend who had already put enough trust in her to continue their relationship that started with her drugging him for her own benefit. Compared to her Ben did seem to be taking it easy but maybe like her, he didn’t want to show it. It seems Ben and Mal had a sort of pack to work hard together to become ‘the king and queen’ of Auradon they were supposed to be in it together. In my opinion it would make more sense for Ben to be hiding things from Mal than the other way around due to the nature of their shitty relationship. But that’s just not how it went down and after Mal tries to spell Ben into not finding her spellbook he gets RIGHTFULLY ANGRY. That entire scene was her fault, she could’ve explained herself and why she was using magic and that she was having a hard time but she once again decides to take advantage of Ben’s trust. Then proceeds to make sure she ends the fight with her being the victim. So much so that the entire fact that she spelled Ben was never brought up again.

Going back to the isle

She then decides to go back to the isle, if this was really her decision I wouldn’t mind it. There’s nothing wrong with her liking the isle better than Auradon if that’s where she felt at home. The problem was she was clearly emotional and let’s be honest, if she had called all of her friends together and actually broke up with Ben and told them this was her decision to go back to the isle before leaving they MIGHT (hard might) not have ran after her like they did. Not only that the duties that we were speaking of earlier, she didn’t formally pull out of anything which is why it irked me when she was so irritated that they came back for her.

Some people actually didn’t like her attitude as soon as she got back on the isle because she expected to run it. That wasn’t surprising to me honestly, because for her whole life that’s how it was, only person she was scared of was her mother. She quickly realized however now that her mom isn’t around and in lizard form nobody was scared of her. Most unrealistic part of D2 was how Mal didn’t get jumped as soon as people realized she got back. Like I said Isle Mal was a straight dickhead and had too many enemies to be walking around like she was.

Another point was when she got her hair dyed by dizzy, the shop wasn’t open, she saw this, ignored it and went in anyway. Not even because her and Dizzy were tight like that she just expected her to do what she wanted (get the pattern with Mal here?)

Skipping her scene with harry because it did nothing to the plot.

The rest of the C4 and Ben come to get Mal back as expected and she acts all surprised and angry. Ben apologizes to her and instead of apologizing for what she did and then explaining that she doesn’t want to go back to Auradon and be a lady of the court. She continues the narrative that Ben wanted her to change and that she’s not good for Auradon so she’s going to stay on the isle. What’s the difference between the two? The first one is her taking responsibility of her actions and deciding for herself that that’s not the life she wants. While the other is acknowledging none of the blame and deciding to run away not because that’s not what she really wants but because everyone will turn on her so she has to run first. It painted a narrative that nothing of this was her own doing while at the same time making it seem like she is doing the right thing by backing away which in hindsight probably was the better decision. Mal’s feelings weren’t the problem I understand them, she thinks she won’t be accepted as herself so she wants to leave before they can kick her out but that’s not what caused her to leave and she knows it. You got caught doing something shitty and instead of apologizing you ran away.

After Ben gets kidnapped she lectures the C4, again she does have some blame in this. With the way the fight ended it made it look like Ben was in the wrong so he was going to try and apologize regardless if they brought him or not. The rest of them came to keep him safe and as her gang members come back for her. Was this not something she considered after she calmed herself down? Ben honestly had no reason to be directly on the isle unprotected besides to sneak and apologize to you so are you really going to just blame the C4 for bringing him there and getting him captured?

Then when Uma, who has him captured plans a meeting she antagonizes her like that’s what is best for Ben at the time. Even in the mist of Ben being in danger she thought it was a good idea to try and piss off the person holding him captive. If you don’t remember what she did she called her shrimpy, insulted the smell of the restaurant and said she never thought of Uma while implying that Uma always had her on her mind for no reason. None of that was necessary to ask what Uma’s conditions were to give Ben back she just couldn’t help herself.

She didn’t care about Dizzy

Who had just performed a task for her and right after she paid her got robbed and had the place trashed just for Mal to say she’ll be alright. This should’ve been foreshadowing at the very least that she wasn’t ready to be making decisions for other people’s lives because besides her own and her friends she didn’t care for many especially those on the isle.

It’s going down

Even though it was in the song and not directly her words again antagonizing the person who has Ben held captive and threatening his life, insulting them is stupid. This entire scene is messy and they shouldn’t even had been able to win a fight against pirates outnumbered. When has Mal ever picked up a sword???

Car ride Back

She gets mad when Ben has sympathy/ shows understanding for Uma. She somehow realizes that it’s wrong Uma kidnapped him but was comfortable spelling him without a second thought. In my opinion she thought she had some type of ownership over Ben she could do what she wanted to him and if somebody else did it was wrong. (Even though this can be applied to what she did in D1, I’m only talking about D2 because most people agree she showed regret for her actions in D1) When he calls her out on her hypocrisy she goes mute and does that thing, of letting her mouth hang opened whenever she gets called out on her shit.

END OF PART 1

I was going to make this one long post but I’ve been putting this off long enough so here is part 1, no idea when part 2 will be up. I do hope to have the Ben posts up before that.

#anti mal #anti mal bertha #anti bal #anti ben and mal #ben florian #ben descendants #descendants #disney descendants #audrey descendants #princess audrey #Audrey Rose #evie descendants #ben deserves better #uma descendants

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starlessskies94 · 3 years

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Consequence (Joel Miller x OC)

Summary: What if Joel survived his injuries from the Abby and Fireflies attack but ends up with really bad amnesia. He can’t remember his wife, Ellie, or the Outbreak; only before. How will his family bring back the man they once knew?

Pairing: Joel Miller x OC

Notes: I wanted to apologise for a stupid mistake I made in the last chapter, I mentioned that Ada fixed Joel's injury with no medical knowledge; only to remember weeks later that she's a vet as part of her character skills and I completely overlooked it while writing the last chapter so I'm sorry for that. And sorry to my lovely Adaline; because it makes total sense that she would be able to tend to his wound rather easily so I hope that doesn't spoil that last flashback too much my bad hehe

Also I apologise that it's been a while since my last chapter, I'm not going to lie this one has been a bitch to write and I'm still not 100% happy with it so I just sincerely hope it doesn't disappoint.

Chapter Twelve

Ada didn't remember falling asleep. But she certainly felt it when she woke up. Her joints cracking and popping from the curled up position she was laid in all night. Everything ached from her shoulders, to her back and her toes.

The last of her dreams faded as she rubbed the sleep from her eyes. A quick glance at the clock telling her that she had slept through the better part of a day and half and although she had slept; she didn't feel rested in the slightest. The memories came flooding back, bringing with it that weight that pushed against her chest so tightly until she could barely breathe. Everything that had happened the day before felt like a bad nightmare, where her fears and worries had all come true. Joel hated her. Had more or less disowned her and Ellie. And it was her fault. The sadness and the tears were gone leaving her numb. All she had left was anger.

Yes she had made the wrong call leaving Joel as she had but it was Tommy who had thrown her under the bus. Not giving her the time she had needed to explain. It had all happened so quickly it had made her head spin. It wasn't fair.

There was no logic or reason in leaving her home and storming through the town to find her brother in law. There was no reason to slug the poor man in the face with a swift right hook either but that still didn't stop Ada from doing it away when she saw him.

The world only came back into focus when Maria had restrained her; her vision finally clearing to see Tommy holding his bloody nose.

"What the hell do you think you're doing Ada?!" Maria cried in shocked anger. "What has gotten into you?!"

"Let me go, Maria!"

"Not until you tell me what's going on!" The blonde demanded, holding Ada's arms behind her back: her grip getting tighter the more she struggled. Tommy stumbled forward still holding his nose, spitting a mouthful of blood by his feet before looking up at his wife.

"Maria it's okay...let her go." He asked woefully. Maria just scoffed in disbelief at his request, as if it was the most crazy thing in the world. She attempted to argue but the younger Miller just waved a dismissive hand at her words; his other pinching the bridge of his nose in a bid to stop the bleeding, that was now staining it's way down the front of his shirt. The townspeople were beginning to gather, a rumble of murmurs breaking out amongst the crowd at the sight of their leader being injured by one of their own.

That still didn't stop Ada from taking another swing at Tommy. Only this one didn't make contact as Maria stopped her, twisting her arm and pinning it to her back again.

"That is enough!" She roared, staring down both her husband and her sister in law. "Now you two had better tell what in the hell is going on!"

Tommy winced against the pain shooting through his nose and jaw; turning to look at the crowd staring with wide eyes. His own falling to the floor, not quite able to look at both women in front of him.

"Maybe we'd better go inside to talk." He suggested quietly; making his way back towards his home with Ada and Maria following behind. The brunette struggled her way out of Maria's grip and reluctantly she gave in and let go; turning on her heel and barking orders at the crowd to disperse and get back to whatever it was they were doing before. They did eventually albeit hesitantly. Ada glanced over her shoulder and watched them go as she made her way towards Tommy's; her brain quickly catching up with her actions. God... what they must think of her now. She was just grateful Ellie hadn't seen it; just as grateful as she was that the teen had chosen to stay with Dina the day before. Heaven only knew what she would've thought had she heard Joel's cold words when he'd left. She tried not to think about it as she looked down at her shaking hands; her right now turning red and swelling slightly. The shame engulfed her almost as rapidly as the anger had. And now she had to face the consequences of that anger.

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"...And after that he just left? You didn't even try to stop him?" Maria asked sadly as she poured Ada another whisky into her glass. She didn't waste any time downing the brown liquid as quickly as she did her first; coughing slightly as it burned her throat.

"What would've been the point? I tried to explain things and he made it perfectly clear that he wasn't in the mood to listen."

The nausea had come back; whether it was caused by the whiskey on an empty stomach or the stress of retelling what had happened between her and Joel yesterday, Ada wasn't sure. Though she guessed it was probably the former, if her headache was anything to go by. She slumped further into her chair as a deep sigh left her lungs; everything was such a mess and she was tired of feeling so hopeless. She turned the empty glass along her hand that grasped it, her eyes red and raw from the tears and the worst night of sleep she'd had in weeks. "Maybe Joel is right." She wondered aloud. "Maybe this is all my fault and I deserve this. I'd hate me too."

Maria shook her head defiantly at Ada's words, reaching over to take the glass from her and placing it back onto the coffee table between them. "Joel doesn't hate you. And as far as blame goes...I'd say we're all at fault for how we handled this. Some of us more than others." She stated bitterly, her blue cold eyes glaring at her husband sitting across from her on the living room couch. A small rag of wrapped ice held to his face. The man rolled his eyes and scoffed, pulling the ice pack from his nose and resting it by his knee as he leaned forward.

"I already told you that I was sorry. I don't know what else you want me to say."

"And I told you to keep that damn ice on your nose to take down the swelling." She berated without taking a breath. "You had no right to go behind Ada's back like that! And Joel didn't deserve to find out the way he did either!"

She was right. Tommy knew she was right. Always was. He owed his brother a hell of a lot more than yelling the truth at him like he had. But he had just been so angry. So frustrated; it had come out before he could stop it and then it had been too late to take it back. He honestly hadn't expected Joel to react the way he did. So cold and harsh with the way he'd shouted at Ada...Tommy knew how much his brother loved her. And yet he'd all but ambushed the poor woman to get answers. He uttered another apology and sat back with the ice cooling his throbbing nose that was now beginning to bruise. He didn't blame Ada for hitting him either; he'd definitely deserved it. There were a lot of things all of them wished they could've done differently. Hindsight was a nice thing in theory but now it was proving to be painfully useless once the damage was already done.

His sister in law rose from her seat and as he watched her pace about the room, the more his guilt niggled at him. She ran her hands through her greying roots and down through the fading brunette locks that cascaded down her back, they were still shaking as she moved to rest them on her neck while she continued pacing.

"Ada..." He tried cautiously." Ada..."

"You shouldn't blame Tommy for this Maria, this is my fault." She interjected and paused looking down at the blonde who could only give the woman a look of pity in return. "I mean it, Joel was right with everything he said. I'm a fucking coward!" The couple shared a look as Ada laughed bitterly at her words. "I was too afraid to deal with what happened so I left. Because I was terrified that if I had stayed...If I had tried to help him remember, forcing him to live with a damn stranger; he'd eventually decide that life was better without me. It's stupid and it's selfish..." her voice quivered as she held back tears, her arms falling from her neck to hold herself. "...but there it is."

Maria was quick to reassure her; rushing to her feet and pulling her into a hug. Ada pulled back as she was offered an old handkerchief from the other woman's pocket. Her sniffles subsiding as she was encouraged to sit down again.

"Ada, Joel loves you. He might not remember that but it doesn't just go away. You still have a chance to fix things."

Ada scoffed out a wet sob and shook her head. "No...it's over Maria. As far as he's concerned; I'm just the coldhearted bitch that abandoned him."

"Wait...Joel actually said that?" Tommy asked aghast, his eyes wide. The woman just shrugged dismissively. "He didn't have too...Though it's nothing less than I deserve.

Tommy wished she would stop being so hard on herself. He understood her guilt more than most and he hadn't even agreed with the plan in the first place. It just hadn't sat right with him to lie to Joel about his family. But then he'd spoken to his brother and realized just how much of his memory had been lost. And it seemed that he was losing himself in it. Joel was becoming angry and bitter at the world for taking something from him, for harming him in a way he hadn't been able to control. It was eerily similar to the darkness he'd descended into when he'd lost Sarah. When he'd lost all hope for happiness and decency. There was no mercy or love. It was just a means to an end in order to survive. That wall that Joel had built around himself to keep the world out. To keep emotions just out of reach. And Tommy feared his brother falling into it again. Ellie and Ada had pulled him out of it once, he had hoped they would've been able to do it again. Now he was starting to worry he'd been wrong.

He pulled back the rag and thankfully it seemed as though his nose had stopped bleeding. He discarded the spoiled cloth on the coffee table; taking in the silence that had fallen in the room. Both his wife and sister in law sat quietly with the same tired looks and stern frowns upon their faces. No one had the answers anymore, no matter how much they pretended they did.

"Ada..." his voice was quiet but it caught her attention as she glanced up at him. "I'm sorry."

She nodded meekly and smiled. "Me too. I'm sorry I punched you in the face." He laughed; waving his hand coolly as he shrugged. "Nah, don't worry about it. I mean I'm pretty sure you broke my nose but ya know...we're good sis." Ada laughed as Maria jokingly rolled her eyes at her husband's dramatics. It was badly bruised at best, both they and Tommy knew that. But Ada appreciated him trying to lighten the mood. It was the first time in a long time that she'd truly laughed since Joel's attack. And it was nice to feel something other than grief for even a second.

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Ellie tried to keep up with the rushing of her mind the quicker her pace picked up. She'd already been home to find the place empty, the only other place she could think to check would be Tommy and Maria's to find her mother. Her sneakers skidded slightly against the porch wood when she stopped to tap on the door. Her surrogate aunt greeting her with a warm smile as she opened the front door.

"Is my mom here?" The teen asked softly. Maria simply nodded, letting the young girl inside and following her into the living room. She walked in to find her mom and Tommy sat together chuckling lowly at their shared stories and fond memories. A half emptied bottle of whiskey sitting between them, with three half drunk glasses on the table. Ellie figured the three of them must've been here most of the day. Her mom shifted when she noticed her daughter, scooting along the couch to make room for her. Ellie made her way around the coffee table towards them, wincing when she saw the state of Tommy's face. "Jeez what the fuck happened to you?" She asked in concern. But Tommy just snorted a laugh. "It's a long story, don't worry about it."

The girl scoffed, a sarcastic smile spreading across her face as sat down.

"Is everything okay?"

She couldn't stop herself from fidgeting at her mother's question, instantly going back to her nervous habit. Her fingernail beds were already sore from the hours she'd spent picking at them. "I uh...I can't find Joel. I wanted to talk to him. I stopped by the house but he wasn't there." Stunned silence filled the room at Ellie's admission, Tommy's face full of confusion when he glanced at her beside him.

"Why'd you want to talk to him?" He asked. She took a moment before answering, looking to her mom with sadness in her eyes.

"I heard what happened between you two yesterday. I know what he said about us."

"Oh sweetheart, come here." She didn't say anything as Ada pulled her into her arms, instead just snuggled further into her warmth. Her head leaning against her shoulder. Hands once buried inside her jacket sleeves.

"I just thought maybe I could try talking to him...maybe if I tell him everything he'd understand or he'd forgive us for leaving." She explained." This is my fucking fault! This happened to him because of me; because of what he did to protect me...I need him to know I'm sorry...that I'm trying to fix things. That I'm trying to make it better and when we find them we can--"

"Wait, hold on, find who?"

Oh shit now Ellie had done it. She pulled back from her mother's arms, a look of guilt pulled at her brows as she chewed nervously at her lip. She tried to avoid eye contact but was only greeted with more accusing stares from Maria and Tommy.

"Ellie.." Maria uttered disapprovingly. But she didn't answer once again, attempting to avoid the eyes staring at her.

"Ellie what aren't you telling us?"

"Promise you won't get mad?" It was a big ask. Ellie knew that when she finally took the chance to look her mother in the eye, hoping that she'd soften even just a little bit. But all she saw was worry and that only made her feel worse for lying to her.

"Ellie." She warned sternly and the girl knew she had to come clean. She took a deep breath, her head falling in defeat as she finally gave in.

"Okay...I lied before. I wasn't staying at Dina's the last couple of days...we've been staying at one of the outposts outside of town tracking the fireflies...or what was left of them from Abbey's group."

"I'm sorry you've been doing what?!" "Are you insane?!" She flinched at both her mother and Maria's outbursts that echoed together in the heavy silence of the room. She shared a look with Tommy as he flashed her a small smile of gratitude but it flickered away as quickly as it came when both women rose to their feet in a rush of anger and frustrated annoyance.

"Ellie, we've talked about this and we agreed to leave it alone."

"No you fucking decided!" The teen challenged as she snapped to her feet, her face snarling into a roaring temper that could easily rival her mother's. "Those fuckers could come back! They already found us once, what's stopping them coming back to finish what they started?!"

Ada scoffed at Ellie's argument throwing her hands up, exasperated they were having this argument yet again! She understood her daughter's worries but she was certain the Fireflies had no reason to come back. They thought Joel was dead and she was determined to keep it that way. They'd had this same conversation again and again and yet every time Ellie would always push back.

"She's right."

The girls all fell silent to the single voice that spoke up, as all eyes turned to Tommy. Maria seething at her husband and Ada downright irritated that he'd shamelessly encourage this reckless behaviour. Ellie just appreciated having Tommy on her side at least.

"Tommy..." Maria warned, her eyes pleading him to stop.

"Well she is! Do you really wanna live the rest of our lives looking over our shoulders?! Just hoping to God that those bastards don't come back. Yeah they think Joel is dead but for how long? They already managed to get word he was living in Jackson in the first damn place...what do you think they'll do when they realise that he's not quite as dead as they thought?" He paused, stopping to look at Ada as she held back her tears, her bottom lip quivering and he was quick to her side. His hand resting on her shoulder.

"Look I'm sorry... I know this is not what you want to hear right now but Ellie has a point. We can end this. If it were any of us, Joel would be halfway there already."

She shook her head, her breath catching in her throat. "No he wouldn't." She argued.

"He absolutely fucking would!" Ellie shouted. Her words stopped them all dead. Knowing looks exchanged between the adults before walking to huddle by the table. They knew Ellie was right. If any one of them in that room had been attacked; Joel would be doing everything he could to get them the justice they deserved. He'd never lay down and let them get away with it. Ada let out a sigh of defeat as she looked back to Ellie, gesturing for her to sit back down. She did, though moved hesitant at first. Ada sat silent, her mind clearing and calculating for a second as she sat with her hands rested against her mouth before she eventually lowered them to speak. "So...you were tracking those bastards...did you find any?" She asked apprehensively. Ellie swallowed hard and cleared her throat, sitting up in her seat before nodding.

"Yeah...Dina and I watched the area for hours. Most of the group left but a couple stayed behind at the hunting lodge. Two of them...I don't know their names. They were packing up their stuff. We followed them out when they went hunting for food. Managed to lure some infected on the way back..." Ellie didn't realise she was shaking as she spoke until her mother took her hand and squeezed it gently. "We stood and watched as the clickers tore those fuckers apart.."

"Good riddance." Tommy stated bitterly.

"I came back to tell you what happened but then I heard the neighbours gossiping about what happened between you and Joel, all that stuff he said. I thought I could fix it. But when I went to the house he wasn't there. So I sent Dina to ask around town if anyone had seen him and I came here." Adaline nodded slowly, taking everything in. She looked at Tommy and Maria both sharing the same lost look on their faces. They all knew what they needed to do next. It was just a case of whether they had any strength left to do it.

Though Ada never got the chance to answer; instead their heads turned to the direction of stomping footsteps and the door bursting opening to a breathless Dina, panting as she almost slipped on the doormat under her boots. Ellie flew to her feet and darted to her girlfriend, asking her what was wrong.

"It's Joel!" She gasped. "He's gone..."

#the last of us #Joel Miller #joel and ellie #the last of us part 2 #joel miller x oc #the last of us part ii #ellie williams #fanfiction #tlou #joel miller #starlessskies writes

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rosiehunterwolf · 3 years

Text

two halves of a broken whole

Prompts: Scars and Free Space (stealing Post-Fight from the twixt board)

Word Count: 2,191

Characters: Nya and Zane

Timeline: Immediately after season 9

Trigger Warnings: Blood, Needles, Brief Swearing

Summary: The Sons of Garmadon have been defeated. Garmadon is in prison. The city has been saved.

In the aftermath of the battle, Nya is more than ready to take a much-needed break. But the life of a ninja is messy. Recovery is never that simple. Although the wounds may have healed, the scars still remain.

Zane’s scars seem to match up, though. And maybe together, they can begin to heal.

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Tumblr work under the cut

Nya stumbled through the dark kitchen, searching through the cabinets. She gritted her teeth as pain flared in her arm. Where are those painkillers? Ugh, how does Skylor find anything in here? There’s no system!

She gasped in relief as she finally found the medicine cabinet, but as she reached out to grab a bottle, she bumped her bad arm against the cabinet door. Crying out in pain, she jerked her arm back, and the bottles came tumbling down and clattering loudly to the floor.

“Damn it all,” she groaned, leaning her head against the cabinet. “Stupid, stupid arm, why do you have to be so weak-”

“Nya?”

Nya jumped, hitting her head against the cabinet door. “Ow! Zane, what are you doing here-”

The nindriod crossed the small kitchen in two steps, yanking off the damp towel she had draped across her upper arm, revealing a long, bloody cut stretching across the length of it.

“I knew it,” Zane muttered. “Nya, why would you hide something like this?”

“It’s not that big of a deal, I-”

“Not that big of a deal? Nya, this is serious! You need stitches! Next time, say something!”

She winced. “I didn’t want to bother you guys- Lloyd was way more hurt than I was, you guys had your hands full with him.”

“You could’ve gone to Skylor.”

“I wanted to prove I could do it, okay?” Nya snapped. “Skylor was so strong, walking off Garmadon’s power corruption like it was nothing. And she was being so generous, letting us all crash in her house like this- I didn’t want to bother her anymore, but instead, I just ended up bleeding out all over her bathroom floor.”

Zane shot her a sympathetic glance. “Nya, don’t worry about that now. Skylor will understand, and I can clean it up. The only thing we care about is that you are safe. Here, go sit down.” He gestured towards a kitchen chair and headed towards the cabinet. Nya slumped over into the chair, still clutching her arm, and Zane rooted through the medicine bottles, finally pulling out the painkillers and handing her three large pills and a glass of water. She eyed them warily.

“Isn’t this a little much? I mean, it hurts, but not that bad.”

“I still have to give you stitches, remember?”

“Oh. You’re doing that now?” Zane turned away, and Nya took the opportunity to down the pills, using the cheap coffee she had made herself to help her swallow instead of the water Zane had given her. “Nya, if I don’t do this now it will only make the cut worse.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know- ow!” she yelped as Zane rubbed at the wound with a wet, antiseptic-soaked washcloth, the fabric quickly staining red.

“I need to clean it, Nya. This would’ve been much easier if you hadn’t spent so long walking around with an open wound.”

“Okay, I’m sorry, I won’t do it again.”

“I’m going to go get a needle and thread, I’ll be right back.” Nya sighed, slumping back against the chair. This was exactly what she had been trying to avoid. The guys had been through hell recently. The last thing they needed was having to worry about her, too.

“Nya?”

Nya jerked her eyes open, turning her gaze towards Zane. What happened? Did I doze off?

Stupid coffee, not doing its job.

Zane seemed to catch on to this too, and frowned. “When’s the last time you slept?”

“I don’t need sleep, I have this magical liquid called coffee.”

He shot her a stern glance. “Nya.”

“Fine! I don’t remember, okay?” She reached for the paper cup again, but Zane snatched it from her hand.

“You can’t live off of coffee. First of all, it’s horrible for your health, second, it can never replace a full night’s sleep.”

Nya crossed her arms, grumbling. “Hey, at least I’m better than Lloyd. He dumps like five pounds of sugar into his.”

“Yes, well, Lloyd is sleeping. Like you should be.”

“Which is so not fair,” she huffed. “I spent weeks trying to get him to sleep and the second you guys get back, he does it instantly.”

Zane smiled, but his eyes were sad. “Kai’s always kind of had a way with him.”

“I know.” She turned her head, sighing. “I wasn’t trying to sound ungrateful, I’m so glad you’re back, but-” Nya let her hand fall to her side, where it bumped against Zane’s. Gently, she rubbed her fingers across the smooth metal, her heart pounding in her chest. Suddenly, she squeezed Zane’s hand, her breath coming in heavy pants as she closed her eyes.

“Nya?”

Her eyes snapped open. “I’m fine. Let’s just get this over with.”

“Nya, it’s okay if you’re not fine.”

“I am.”

“I’m sorry we left you as we did.”

“It’s not your fault, okay?” She tugged away from him. Her hands were trembling now- from the coffee? The painkillers? The fear? She didn’t know. “It’s not your fault.”

Zane closed his hands over hers, steadying them. “No, but it still wasn’t fair to you. I’m sorry you had to go through all that.”

“You don’t know,” she whimpered. “You don’t know what it was like. I wanted to give up so bad, and Lloyd-” she closed her eyes, breathing out slowly. “I don’t even know how I got him through it. He was so depressed. I can’t go through that again.” She turned sharply towards Zane, grabbing his hands. “I can’t. You hear me? That can never happen again.”

Zane squeezed her hands back, his eyes sad. “Believe me, Nya, I will do everything in my power to make sure it never does. But we are ninja. Dangerous things are going to happen, and if we spend our whole lives fearing that, we’ll never get through. We need to live life one day at a time. We need to trust in each other.”

“I do trust you!”

“Good.” He placed a hand on her arm, just below the wound. “Then you’ll let me patch you up?”

Nya glanced at the needle and swallowed, looking away. “Just go ahead. Don’t make me watch.”

“We really don’t have the proper numbing medication,” Zane said. “The painkillers will help some, but this is still going to hurt.”

“Believe me, I’m sure the sword going in felt a lot worse.”

Zane pressed his lips together. “Yes, I suppose it did. Ready?”

“Stop asking me if I’m ready and just do it already!” Zane flinched away, and she quickly added, “Sorry. I’m just a little on edge.”

“You’re going to be fine. Just hold still.”

The needle was cold on her skin, and then suddenly it was piercing through her flesh. It took all of Nya’s willpower not to jerk away, and she bit down hard on her lip, forcing back a scream. “Holy shit- Zane!” she broke off in a whine.

“I know, I know, I’m sorry. It’ll be over soon.”

She tried to focus on her breathing as the needle pricked her again and again, Zane’s tugs quick and tight.

“Augh, remind me to visit Kryptarium later and go scream at those assholes for doing this to me.”

“We could’ve gotten you to a proper hospital if you had spoken up earlier. This is your own fault.”

“Oh, yeah, blame the victim. Besides, I hate hospit- aaugh, Zane, are you almost done?”

“Done.” Zane neatly snipped the thread, and Nya slumped over onto the table, grinding her teeth together and clenching her fists.

She felt Zane’s hand on her back. “Are you okay?”

“Gaugh, I will be, but son of a bitch, that hurt!”

“Alright.” Zane’s voice suddenly sounded cross. “It’s over now. That language is no longer necessary.”

“Are you seriously scolding me for swearing right now?” The table muffled her yelp. “I’d like to see how you cope when your arm stings like hell.”

“Nya.”

“You’re impossible!” Sitting up, she told him, “If you’re going to be such a goody-two-shoes, could you at least get me an ice pack?”

Zane got her the ice, and after about half an hour, the pain had finally dulled to something she could sleep through.

Exhausted as she was, though, she wasn’t done yet.

“Come see me in the morning,” Zane was saying, cleaning up the last of the bottles and putting them back in Skylor’s medicine cabinet. “It should be fine, but I want to check just to be sure. And try not to sleep on that side. I don’t want the stitches coming out during the night.” As he turned to walk out of the room, Nya grabbed his wrist.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

He blinked. “To bed? Like any sensible person should be at this hour?”

“Not so fast, now it’s your turn.”

“My turn?”

“You patched me up,” Nya told him as she turned and rustled through Skylor’s junk drawer. “It’s only fair that I return the favor.” She pulled out a few screwdrivers, some scrap metal, and- score, a circuit board. And in pristine condition, too! Skylor always had the best stuff lying around. When you could find it, that is.

“But Nya, I’m not injured!”

She put a hand on her hip, glancing him up and down. Scratches and dents littered the ice ninja’s skin, and if she knew Zane, that was usually an allusion to something bigger going on.

“Oh please, the four of you came back a mess.” She walked around him, inspecting him. “Don’t tell me you came out of that whole ordeal unscathed. And I didn’t see anyone check you over today. Aha-” leaning forward, she rapped her knuckles against a spot on his back, near the shoulder, and the panel shuddered beneath her touch. “I knew it. This section isn’t sturdy. Take off your shirt so I can get to it better.”

“Nya, I am a nindroid, injury is inconsequential-”

“I said, take off your shirt! Or are you going to make me do it for you?”

Zane sighed, pulling off his pajama top so that Nya could see the damaged area better. The panel appeared cracked and loose, so, gently, she pried it off, revealing several frayed and broken wires. Part of the exposed circuits were fried.

“And you were telling me off for hiding my injuries?”

“It’s hardly the same. Human bodies cannot withstand the amount of force that a nindroid’s can. Plus, you are susceptible to infection.”

“Zane, I don’t care!” She got to work snipping at the wires and pulling some of the damaged parts out. “You’re still one of us. Just because you can take this sort of damage doesn’t mean you should!”

“I know. I was just worried about the others.”

“Well, it’s about time you thought of yourself for once. You can’t properly care for us if you’re not functioning at full capacity, anyway.” Sticking the tweezers between her teeth, she readjusted the wires and got to work on the circuits.

“I… I don’t like asking for help.”

Nya’s fingers paused.

“‘E ei’er.” The tweezers muffled her words, but Zane got her point clear enough.

“Sometimes we do need help, though. We are part of a team for a reason, after all.”

Nya removed the tweezers and wiped her grease-stained hands on a towel. “You’re forgetting that I was Samurai X before I was a ninja. I didn’t need any help then.”

“I didn’t forget, I just remembered the important parts. We were still there for you afterward, even on your solo missions.”

Nya was quiet for a moment. “Maybe that was why it was so hard with you gone. It was like a piece of me was missing. I couldn’t fully uphold the Resistance without you guys there to help.”

Zane’s fingers skirted across his heart. “I don’t know how we went on, with part of our souls realms away.”

Nya put a hand over his. “But we’re here now.”

“But you weren’t. We have all the pieces again, but they feel… broken.”

“Hey.” Nya pressed the metal against the gap in his back, using the screwdriver to secure it into place. She leaned back, admiring her work. Good as new. “I fixed you, didn’t I? Nothing will stay broken forever.”

“I can fix a car,” Zane sighed. “Or the Bounty, or the oven, or myself. But I have no idea how one goes about putting pieces of a broken heart back together.”

Nya sat down next to him. Their eyes met- stunning, electrifying blue against deep, gentle brown. “Neither do I. But maybe… we can figure it out.” She leaned her head on his shoulder. “Together.”

“Together is good,” Zane agreed, putting his arm around her. “I think I like it a lot better than being alone.”

Sitting there, on the hard wooden chair, raw stitches in her shoulder, with Zane’s hard metal arms wrapped around her, she couldn’t have been in a more uncomfortable position. Yet Nya felt more at ease than she had in weeks.

For the first time since the guys had gone to the First Realm, Nya’s sleep was peaceful and uninterrupted.

#ninjago #ninbingo #my fic #rosie writes #ninjago nya #ninjago zane #i love love loved writing these two #their dynamic is so fun #and they're actually very similar #so it's fun seeing them discover those connections together #thanks for reading!#reblogs and comments greatly appreciated!

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kaypeace21 · 4 years

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Stranger things is about mental health & trauma- deal with it!

I’ve seen a lot of people claim anyone who mentioned this topic immediately be gaslit and told they’re “just crazy” and “rudely projecting their own issues on to the characters.’ Like- no you don’t have to believe my Will DID/Lonnie theory ( I could be wrong). But to claim one of the show’s central themes isn’t about mental health/trauma (screams either complete lack of lit comprehension or denial cause you have your own negative biases towards such people). So let’s just go into what’s literal text-not subtext/symbolism. Just the super blatant stuff. RIGHT IN THE SHOW!

-We have El when she first appears on screen asked by Benny if her parents starved and hurt her and if that’s why she ran away. Benny then calls CPS to say El “may have been ab*sed or something.” After this Lucas says there is “seriously something wrong with her-wrong in the head. She’s probably from the NUT-HOUSE in curly county.penthurst” We also see El cannonically has PTSD-all of s1 she’ll see something benign (a cat, a coke commercial, a closet) and is triggered to see a traumatic flashback. That’s literally ptsd. There’s also hints throughout the seasons she’s developmentally behind in both language, telling time etc (neglect like El’s irl can cause an intellectual disability-analysis on El/that subject here).The real pethurst in pensylvannia (not the one in stranger things/ Curly county) closed in 1986- it was a facility for people and mostly kids with intellectual disabilities (it wasn’t technically a psych facility like the one in st)-but it was infamous for it’s abuse of these intellectually disabled patients kept there. We also have Brenner be a ab*sive psychiatrist.

- Hopper after suffering from the loss of his daughter. Is popping pills like candy, drinking and smoking constantly. He later says he used to hallucinate and forgot what was real -seeing and hearing sarah and says if he didn’t confront the pain he’d “fall down a black hole he couldn’t get out of.” NO... subtext here about what the void represents nope.

- Both mothers (Terry & Joyce) are dismissed as being mentally ill and simply grieving the loss of their kids . But both end up being right about the supernatural.

- “Terry pretends Jane is real. i mean it’s all make believe. you know the doctors all say it’s a coping mechanism.”

- While with Joyce the whole town pre s1 already questioned her mental health. Jonathan says “She used to have anxiety problems (pre s1).” And Jonathan, Hopper, and Lonnie all assume she’s hallucinating: talking to Will via lights, seeing a man without a face, saying Will’s body is fake -due to grief. Plus Lonnie mentions the fact Joyce’s aunt Darlene also used to hallucinate as a possible reason (terry’s aunt also had mental health issues mentioned in s2 by Becky). Lonnie even says everything Joyce is seeing is “all in her head.” Hopper and Jon both say she needs to sleep and accept reality and Lonnie says she needs to see a “shrink”. Hopper “i’m not saying that you’re crazy”. Joyce : “no, you are.” Joyce also says to Lonnie “Stop looking at me like that... like everyone else like i’m out of my damn mind.” Hopper also says about Joyce she’s “on the edge”. Callahan says in response , “she’s been on the edge for a while now” (referring to her mental health- even before Will’s dissappearance)”. While Lonnie says Jonathan is “feeding into her hallucinations ... you’re going to push her right over the edge.” In s2 Hopper says “ I think everyone is on edge- you, me, Will most of all. (when talking about Will’s ptsd/trauma)”

- in s1 They claim Will just “fell” over the edge of the quarry’s cliff. Later the only other queer coded character (Mike) jumps off the quarry cliff (where Will’s body was found) cause the homophobic troy forced him too jump. Troy even says earlier dead-Will is “flying with all the other fairies all happy and gay” (to Mike). And Troy says to Hopper El made Mike “fly” after jumping off the cliff. Friendship saved him from jumping off the edge metaphorically ( and he’ll prob eventually be happy and gay too).

s2/3

-Will is seeing a therapist . And we are told he has ptsd and will experience the anniversary effect, personality changes,nightmares, having episodes, etc. And things “will get worse before they get better”. Mike also asks if what Will is seeing is “real or like the doctors say all in your head?” And Will continues to see hallucinations of the mf/upsidedown that only he can see initially.

-Hopper also agrees with owens mentioning how he knew guys with ptsd . joyce : “it’s not like he’s describing a nightmare. He talks about them like they’re real.” Hopper: “Yeah, because they’re not nightmares they’re flashbacks.I think he’s right about trauma.I think everyone is on edge (bringing that s1 ref back), Me you, Will, most of all.Nothing’s gonna go back to the way that it was. But it’ll get better.In time.”

-Nancy suffers from survivor’s guilt and drunkingly says she killed Barb. Jonathan says like Nancy he has “a weight that you that carry all the time . i feel it too.” (cough depression). He also says he tries to be there for Will but says about Will “he’s not the same. maybe things can’t go back to the way they were. (mirroring Hopper’s words earlier that season)”

-Jonathan said in s1 Joyce had “anxiety issues” than Nancy says in s3 “you really are your mother’s son... you worry too much.” Then we see him look worried after the comment.

- in s2, Axel & a scientist both call El and Will “schizos” because of their powers. In s3 mrs driscoll isn’t believed about the supernatural cause she’s schizophrenic-but like Joyce/Terry was right.

- Kali saves a woman named Dottie (a british slang term for crazy) from a mental hospital and then compares herself and El to dottie. saying her non-powered gang is “Like us ...outsiders... society discarded them.” In graphitti we even see the title “obedlam” a british poem about discarding the mentally ill and leaving them homeless. El before this sees a mentally ill man screaming “we’re all dead!” Kali’s friend says to El, after this encounter they were “dead all of us” until kali “saved them here” (points to head) “and here” (points to heart). Pointing to the theme of love and friendship helping those with such issues. Similar to the cliff analogy.

-The cycle of ab*se. Max in s2 says she’s afraid of becoming like Billy (her ab*ser). We see Billy mimic his ab*ser neil and inflict pain on max. In s3 we see the roots of his behavior are linked to mimicking Neil- Neil in a flashback says about baseball “what are you scared?” “ did i raise a p*ssy for a son”. So young Billy later in a fight says to a boy “ what are you scared to fight me? fight me p*ssy. (as he beats the boy)” Deflecting his anger of his father on to someone else. In s3, We see as a kid he used to say to Neil “don’t hurt her” (his mom)-specifically after Neil backhand slaps her -but we later see possessed Billy backhand slap Max (just like neil). The resentment to his mother leaving - festered into how he views women and max negatively . And his attraction to mrs wheeler prob is linked to him subconsciously missing his mother. Max in s2 even says he can’t take it out on her mother so he does so to her instead (we even have Billy hallucinate hurting mrs wheeler).We see in s2 the cycle of abuse is there- Billy mimics Neil, and then Max mimics Billy. Billy harrasses Max and yells “SAY IT!” (mimicking Neil). Max like Billy later yells “SAY IT” and uses a bat /violence to stand up for herself against Billy- which earlier she said she was trying to combat … explaining she can be angry like Billy sometimes but she never wants to be like him (her nickname symbolizing this: aka ‘mad max’). Billy’s last dying words were an apology to Max- for becoming her neil. And we hopefully will see Max break this cycle.

- Will says his now memories (that he describes like dreams) are “growing “, “spreading “,and “killing”. While Kali says they need to face their father and (as Brenner) says El has to confront her “wound” or else it’ll “grow”, “spread” and “eventually it’ll kill her.” Kali says she used to be like El . She used to bottle her pain away and it “spread.” But she then says “I confronted my pain and I finally began to heal (from those wounds).” We also see with jonathan and nancy when describing “shared trauma” zoom in onto the scars on their hands. The wound heeled into a scar so to speak.

S2 & 3 ENDINGS

both have Hopper do a speech that delves into dealing with trauma/depression but still finding good along the way.

-s2 Hopper outside the snowball: “how are you holding up? Yeah, that feeling never goes away. It is true what they say, you know. Everyday it does get easier.”

-s3 Hopper monolouge : “ Feelings jesus. For so long, i’d forgotten what those even were. I’ve been stuck in one place,in a cave you might say , a deep dark cave (cough s2 supernatural cave). For the first time in a long time, i started to feel things again. I started to feel happy. Life... yeah sometimes it’s painful .sometimes it’s sad, and sometimes it’s suprising... happy.. And when life hurts you, because it will .remember the hurt . The hurt is good. It means you’re out of that cave.”

BUT YES- St has nothing to do with mental health/trauma, we’re just “crazy” and “projecting”. It’s not like some of ya’ll act pompous when you just have a bias and get pissy at the idea of relating to characters you “other” as “crazy” or “damaged” irl or anything (so attack people for pointing it out). Or (benefit of the doubt) you are just like.... oblivious... or just a kid who doesn’t know better XD

#stranger things #el hopper #will byers #jim hopper #joyce byers #max mayfield #billy hargrove #kali prasad #mike wheeler #jonathan byers #nancy wheeler

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bestworstcase · 4 years

Text

tired of ‘it doesn’t make sense for cass to trust zhan tiri’ takes

cass is a cautious person with a good instinct for danger which yes means that for most of the show she is indeed the ignored voice of reason saying ‘hey this OBVIOUSLY SKETCHY situation is sketch’ YES

but

in the latter half of 2 she is mutilated by her friend, blamed for it, made to apologize for her own injury, denied any space to feel hurt or upset or angry about this, and literally told ‘you should know we never listen to you!’ when she gets mad about yet another instance of her saying ‘this seems sus’ only for them to literally walk out on her mid-sentence without even acknowledging that she’s speaking.

cass tries again and again to communicate her feelings and every single time she’s brushed off or scolded or belittled by her friends. her friends have so little respect for her that by the time they hit the hoyt the aren’t even pretending anymore. this hurts her, terribly

then - ok listen. take off the ‘zhan tiri is a horrible evil monster’ goggles put aside your entrenched preconceived biases against this character for a minute.

what is the first thing zhan tiri does when cassandra meets her?

cassandra hears a voice calling her name. following it leads her here, to a disembodied (disemwalled?) door in some sort of enchanted forest. this is one of those obviously sketchy situations that instantly puts cassandra on her guard: she draws her sword while getting her bearings.

[sidebar: those light-and-dark green swirls on the forest floor look an awful lot like the clouds in the lost realm, don’t they?]

then:

ZHAN TIRI: There you are, Cassandra!

[Cassandra looks around, sees Blue, and lowers her sword slightly in confusion. Blue approaches her.]

ZHAN TIRI: I’d nearly given up on you.

CASSANDRA: [shaken] Who- who are you?

ZHAN TIRI: A friend. Or, at least—I’d like to be.

cass at this point is baffled but still on her guard - she holds her sword in a low guard and she’s physically leaning away from the unsettling ghost child.

more important here is zhan tiri’s opening gambit. ‘a friend, or at least i’d like to be.’ she’s dodging the question of what her name is, yes. but also the second part of that statement implies a correction of the first, an acknowledgement that they are not friends and becoming friends is contingent on whether cassandra accepts her overtures of friendship; there is, in saying ‘at least i’d like to be,’ an implication of acknowledgement of and respect for cassandra’s personal boundaries. this is not something cassandra has ever experienced before. contrast it with rapunzel’s aggressive, domineering pursuit of cassandra’s friendship in beginnings.

continuing:

ZHAN TIRI: Come.

[She leads Cassandra away from the door, deeper into the enchanted forest. Though hesitant, Cassandra sheathes her sword and follows.]

CASSANDRA: Wherever you’re taking me had better have a blonde princess.

note how the blank confusion on cassandra’s face hardens into a glare the instant zhan tiri says something that could be construed as a command. cassandra has two years worth of experience in the minefield that is friendship with someone in a position of authority and power over her so of course she bristles at this. i think it is also not coincidental that she refers to rapunzel in response.

but there is also a second dynamic at work here. for two years cassandra’s whole life has been locked into orbit around the blinding sun of rapunzel, and even before then by nature of her existence in the palace as a young girl only a little older than the lost princess she would have spent her childhood in the shadow of a child who wasn’t even present. zhan tiri is the first person cassandra has ever met who is flat out indifferent to rapunzel’s existence. even in vardaros, where cass was better liked by the populace than rapunzel, the people still focused on rapunzel - they disliked her, and they cared enough to make sure she knew it.

but zhan tiri does not give a single fuck about rapunzel. she ignores cassandra’s attempt to make rapunzel relevant to this conversation. she called out for cassandra. she has been waiting for cassandra. she has something she wants to show cassandra. she wants to be cassandra’s friend. rapunzel just...doesn’t matter to her, but cassandra does. and that is disarming, both in the figurative and literal sense. so cass puts her sword away and goes to see whatever it is that this strange child wants to share with her.

[They reach the forest’s edge and enter the memory. Cassandra is startled, struck by the familiarity of this new setting.]

CASSANDRA: This place... feels familiar?

[Blue takes her by the hand and leads her into the cottage. She remains silent, allowing Cassandra to take it all in, until Baby Cass enters with her music box.]

ZHAN TIRI: Do you recognize that child?

[Her prompting makes it click for Cass that she’s watching herself as a child.]

again, set aside your knowledge that zhan tiri is an evil villain and your instinctive distrust of everything she says and just... take a look at this screenshot. what does it look like if you take what zhan tiri says in this sequence at face value?

this is a horrible memory. zhan tiri knows precisely what it entails, because she is the one who dredged it out of cassandra’s mind and set it up for her to experience again. cassandra, however, has only just recognized her younger self and has no idea what’s coming. it’s going to hurt her so badly when she remembers everything—but this is an experience she needs to confront in order to heal from the damage it did to her. so much of her suffering can be traced back to this defining, forgotten moment of her childhood.

we the audience know that zhan tiri doesn’t care, doesn’t have any real interest in genuinely helping cassandra, isn’t revealing this memory to her out of the goodness of her heart - but all cassandra knows is that this is a strange ghost who expressed a desire to be friends and has brought her here to, apparently, show her a childhood memory she forgot. so erase your audience knowledge from your brain for a second and look at zhan tiri’s expression here.

she looks weary. sad, even. she looks like someone who truly values cassandra’s wellbeing, who knows that reliving this memory is going to hurt, who’s showing it to cassandra anyway because she thinks cassandra deserves to know and she understands that this is the root cause of cassandra’s pain and that in order to grow and heal it must be seen, it must be acknowledged, it must be examined.

and that is the impression of zhan tiri’s character that cassandra walks away from this experience with. someone who saw her, and saw her pain, and saw the deep festering forgotten wound of this memory buried under layers of repression and denial, and gently unpeeled those layers and brought that wound to light, because she knew cass couldn’t heal from it if she didn’t know it was there.

moving on:

[Baby Cass approaches Gothel with the music box, only to be coldly brushed off.]

CASSANDRA: ...That’s my...

ZHAN TIRI: Mother, yes. It is.

[Skipping transcription of the remainder of the flashback; what matters is that Blue exists the scene at this point. She isn’t just standing quietly in the corner; she is fully gone, leaving Cassandra by herself to experience the rest of the memory.]

again - obviously zhan tiri knows what happens in this memory, but that isn’t the point. by staying just long enough to help cassandra put this memory into context and then leaving, she gives cassandra complete privacy to process what she is seeing and feel whatever emotional reactions she has to it and express those feelings openly, without any of the reservations she might have about having a breakdown in front of a ghost she met a few minutes ago.

again, contrast this to the way rapunzel treats cass. in under raps, when cassandra tells rapunzel that she’s dealing with ‘some stuff’ and asks rapunzel to wait until she’s ready to share, rapunzel’s response is to stalk her. in RATGT, cass tells rapunzel that she feels disrespected and unwanted and rapunzel brushes her off. in RDO, when cass is mad because rapunzel’s reckless choices resulted in cassandra’s hand being mutilated, rapunzel is furious and backs cassandra into a corner in an attempt to force her to share her feelings and then get over it so things can go back to normal.

how soothing, then, must zhan tiri’s quiet departure must be for cass? how comforting, how much of a relief must it be to have this new person recognize by herself that cassandra needs a moment alone and give that to her without cass even needing to ask?

there is, i think, a direct line of causation between zhan tiri exiting this scene and cassandra crying for the first time in the entire series afterwards while zhan tiri comforts her. cass doesn’t cry, right? even when she thinks rapunzel is going to be trapped as a bird forever, she stops herself from crying. she doesn’t cry when her hand is burnt in the great tree, not even from physical pain. she doesn’t cry in RDO.

but zhan tiri is the only person in the whole series who shows consideration for cassandra’s emotional boundaries, so when cassandra is upset after reliving this memory, she freely allows herself to cry, and she lets zhan tiri comfort her.

because it’s safe. so much blame is heaped upon cass for not being more open with rapunzel, but the thing is - a) cassandra is a lot more open with rapunzel than most of the fandom gives her credit for, and b) rapunzel is not a safe person for cassandra to be emotionally open with because she tramples boundaries, doesn’t listen, routinely chooses to hear only what she wants to hear, and never acknowledges or apologizes for any of the hurt this causes cass.

which segues us into this:

ZHAN TIRI: I’m sorry that happened to you, Cassandra. Sometimes the most painful truths are the most difficult to remember. You’ve always felt outshined by Rapunzel, haven’t you? And you always will, unless...

in this statement, zhan tiri:

1 - expresses sympathy for the trauma cass suffered

2 - empathizes with the pain she feels right now

3 - connects the dots between her past trauma and present angst

4 - verbalizes her fear that this pattern will never change

and

5 - offers to help.

zhan tiri is, once again, the only character in the whole series who does these things. in s1, rapunzel does occasionally try to be emotionally supportive of cassandra - under raps and big brothers of corona are the big examples here - but the way she goes about it tends to do more harm than good. in UR she runs roughshod over cassandra’s clearly stated boundaries and continually escalates to the point of actual literal stalking; in BBoC she utterly disregards cassandra’s statements vis a vis how rapunzel can help in favor of doing a bunch of other things that rapunzel thinks cass should want, and in the process she actively interferes with cassandra’s rest and makes her recovery experience worse.

in contrast, zhan tiri gets it. she is absolutely correct in her perception of the situation: cassandra has been trapped in this pattern of inferiority to rapunzel her whole life. her mother abandoned her for rapunzel, and everyone in her life now is willing to sacrifice cassandra’s needs, her feelings, her physical health on the altar of Rapunzel’s Destiny, and that will never change if she continues on as she has been. and... if cass tried to simply leave, by herself, do you really, truly, honestly think rapunzel would let her go?

she feels trapped because she is trapped, and she’s desperate for a way out, and zhan tiri sees that, understands that, and most important of all, shows her a way out.

so like

when she walked through that door in the house of yesterday’s tomorrow cassandra was a heap of emotional pain and unfulfilled emotional needs—for respect, for compassion, for basic consideration of her boundaries, for someone to see how much she’s hurting, for space to feel things without being asked to sacrifice more of herself for somebody else, for someone to care about her and what she needs and thinks and feels and wants, for an escape from the toxic inescapable dumpster fire of her life—and in the space of maybe a couple hours zhan tiri answered every. single. one.

cassandra entered this situation expecting trouble, and instead she got someone treating her with dignity and compassion for the first time ever sO OF COURSE CASSANDRA TRUSTS HER!!

it beggars belief that the show expects me to believe she never bothered to ask what her new friend’s name was between this point and OAH, and yes, if cass were in a healthier place or surrounded by less toxic people then i’m sure she’d be more inclined to be suspicious of the weird little ghost child who reached into her head and pulled out a suppressed memory. but nevertheless it does, in fact, make sense for cass to conclude after this experience that blue is trustworthy and really does care about her and is a better friend to her than rapunzel.

tts was allergic to acknowledging the legitimacy of cassandra’s grievances in any way after s2 and refused to allow zhan tiri even a modicum of depth as a character so the vast majority of their relationship exists off-screen, which is, yes, deeply frustrating and does a huge disservice to both characters and to the overarching plot of the season. but “why would cass trust her?�� is a question the series answers, on screen, in spades.

#rta #cassandra #zhan tiri #long post #it sure does suck for cass that her first taste of what an equitable friendship is like #comes from a horrible evil demon who doesn't care about her and is just stringing her along in order to use her #and then none of her actual friends apologize for treating her like DIRT after said demon stabs her in the back #like good fucking lord no wonder she left at the end #anyway as always i say 'morally complex zhan tiri who actually gives a damn about cassandra' rights

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detectivesplotslies · 3 years

Text

Too many memories, two many occupants

Description: The game is over, and someone has to answer for how it played out. Tsumugi's the obvious answer, as perfectly so as her cosplay. Features VR AU and postgame spoilers. Word Count: 3591 Read on AO3 here

Chapter 1: Beyond Notice

During the trial it had been a lot easier. Having an opposition, having a role, having a part to stick to. There was the audience, there were the fans. There were her brilliant cosplays! There was the vote. She had known what she’d press. She knew where it would get her.

Waving her last, she knew what it really meant. But something within her still grew quiet. Something mourned. The triumphant grin of despair wouldn’t surface, no matter how hard she tried. Her contestants. Her classmates. Her victims. Her cast. They had sentenced her… themselves… to this.

Even though she knew better, she felt numb. Her feet were heavy, rooted to the spot. The others were out of sight. Her executioner flew around above, raining his destruction down on them while she retreated inwards, her vision narrowing. Waving, as her cosplay fell away, as the school crumbled, she should feel the heat of the explosions, but none of that reached her.

She saw the rock. She made no move. Part of her was ready. Part of her was resigned.

It went dark.

Even though Tsumugi knew better she was almost relieved.

Until it was time to wake up.

---

Coming to feels hazy, disorienting. Her limbs jerk awkwardly, as if starting awake from a nightmare, eyes still seeing darkness but hands brushing against cords, glass and consoles. A pair of hands brush her cheek as they remove her headset, and she flinches involuntarily. One of her own hands goes to her face, tugging at its electrical tethers, still taped to her in various nerve points.

She’s not wearing her glasses. Panic washes over her just as the blinding light of the room that refuses to adjust for her does, and her other hand frantically reaches around the pod for where they must have fallen. She’d never leave her glasses. Without her glasses she’s not… she’s…

The light becomes less intense as she blinks, and she can make out the blurry silhouettes of three people in front of her, standing at attention, waiting patiently. One holds a hand outstretched with something silver clasped in it.

Shakily she takes it, unfolding the arms and sliding them carefully onto her face. The unfocused world comes back into sharp clarity. She half recognizes the faces of those who are in front of her. The silence remains. Is she supposed to say something? Eventually the one who returned her glasses clears her throat, and gestures to the others. They begin to remove the wires quickly and efficiently. Tsumugi crosses her arms and rubs at them idly as the rest are secured, feeling like this should be a more private process. As the last wire is removed the one who’s clearly in charge clears her throat again and nods to her.

“The Board would like to see you.”

Slowly, Tsumugi pushes herself out of the seat, wobbling on her feet as she does so, gripping the side of the chair shaped pod, carefully avoiding the lit LCD consoles lining the edges. The trio before her make no moves to help, nor does she request it. The legs beneath her quiver a few times, threatening to fold before her knees lock with some promise of support. Her hand gripping the side betrays the truth though, trembling with effort.

“Alright, take me to them.”

---

They aren’t happy.

There’s some general gratitude that an ending was guaranteed through her actions, but thanks for it are brisk and short lived. There are bigger problems now.

Lost footage was bad enough, but a protest live on air? Sure, there were tons of supportive fans out there with a continued commitment to the brand, but the vocal few were making themselves heard. Sponsors were pulling their funding. Team DanganRonpa needed to make a statement. They refused to take fault, they had the consent waivers, despite the impassioned display on screen. They needed a scapegoat to take the fall, and who better than the face of the disaster? It was for the good of their franchise, and their only chance to hang onto enough profit to keep the company running.

They are firing her.

The show must go on, but they would make a good faith decision to change their methods for the next season. With a brand new production team.They were advancing their technologies still and R&D was indispensable right now, so the focus went towards the writing talent. It was her failure, anyways, they posited. The simulation hadn’t flickered once, even when the jig was up.

Tsumugi is silent and numb as she is told this. Turmoil brews as a debate begins around her about when to release the announcement.

How dare they do this to me? I worked so hard for them! Without me this season would have never got off the ground! Who else had the brilliant idea to move into a space epic? To introduce new worlds for the future of the story? Who risked their life to bring down every last obstacle? Who gave up their classmates? Was chased down for this mad show and they care more about sponsors? How dare they place the blame on a highschooler, when I-

Wait, no, she’s not…

She runs her fingers over her temples gingerly, swaying slightly on her feet. The discussion in front of her ebbs, attention back on her, and some expressions exchanged before they agree to resume once she’s more aware. Perhaps they were too prompt in calling her here, but they had assumed she wouldn’t need long to adjust, since she knew the truth.

They didn’t realize knowing the truth was the crux of her dilemma.

---

Deleting memories when a consciousness was plugged directly into a simulation was very simple. The centers of the brain known to store them were easily targeted without physical intervention, leaving common sense and learned skills. Untethered knowledge, learned without recalling how. The amnesia effect here was valuable. Recalling this knowledge caused a disconnect, and when memories were implanted the brain would do something extraordinary. It would map a route from the presented memory to the knowledge, all on it’s own. Connecting the neural dots and repairing the damage as though it were never there, without guidance or supervision. The human mind was a brilliantly sophisticated device.

Every cast member had been selected with some semblance of knowledge or aptitude for their assigned talent, even if it was utterly average. The knowledge was filled out for each, with painstaking researchers drafting long memories of ancient tomes, infidelity cases, star charts, blueprints, masked faces, island maps and coastal vistas. They filled in as much as possible, but even if they missed something, the mind was resilient, and would work out the holes on its own.

It wasn’t the same for her however.

There was a perk to being the ringleader for the whole affair. The person in charge had to know some of the infrastructure that was keeping them there, some of the motivations. Lest the show fall apart, or even worse be boring. So the game master went into the simulation without memory deletion.

That wasn’t to say that there weren’t memories implanted. That would be too simple. They had to provide some true evidence of their talent to back up the enhancement of their skills and knowledge. Without a sturdy foundation built on confidence any additions would crumble and refuse to attach. Having worked in the costume department for a few seasons before her promotion, her suggestion of cosplayer had been approved almost instantly. Soon the research team was looking up Cosplay Masquerade winners from years past and the details of every prized piece of workmanship, photography and character acting they could find, and drafting it into a light for her as well. Tsumugi had been excited, and had even helped pick her absolute favourites to be remembered as costumes she made.

Ideally, this booster pack of memories for her talent would supplement her own enough to use to her fullest if the time came in game. Her script outline didn’t even call for her reveal, but having been behind the scenes a few seasons, she knew a lot more was up to chance than Team Danganronpa liked to let the media know. She wanted a strong backup at her disposal, should the need arise.

However, when the game began, something hadn’t been quite right. Backstory memories were implanted as planned, but the talents were yet to be placed. Already in the simulation, she couldn’t ask The Board if this was deliberate. It could be a marketing scheme to boost audition rates for the next round. But already her concern grew.

The human mind is a fascinating thing.

The others spoke of being grabbed and taken here. The dots were already connecting, firing on all cylinders, looking for solutions to lost memories that didn’t need answering. It wasn’t as though they erased everything of course, it was impossible to work with a blank slate, so the bits remaining were playing havoc with their reactions. She alone had none missing, and merely nodded along. With the arrival of the talent light, she had an inward sigh of relief. Soon it wouldn’t matter, this would overwrite any unintended connections left by this stunt.

They received the memories.

Tsumugi had never expected them to feel so real. Every costume she had lovingly picked out, from footage and articles, she could feel in her hands, as though she touched the fabric and threaded the seams. Every pose she had seen a cosplayer photographed in, she was viewing outwardly, seeing the cameramen she never even imagined existing prior, while holding her position with careful grace. Every character, be they dramatic, loud, shy, soft or brash, came to her in vivid detail. Their tales, their backstories, their struggles, their gestures and voices.

And it clashed against her memories of Danganronpa.

All these characters, all these series, they were not the ones she grew up on. They were new and relevant, often references classics, selected for memorability, for the audience. And yet now they were intimately hers. They crowded for attention, buzzing and vying for a place as her favourite.

Her true favourites, the reason for her years of work and devotion, were shoved to the very back, not forgotten, but duller. Flatter. The Ultimate Cosplayer was vibrant! Though plain outwardly her skills were undeniable! She wasn’t some drop-out made-seamstress made-scenario writer. Why would she ever want to be?

Therefore, it couldn’t be that surprising how lost in thought she was at her introductions, she spent far too long trying to remember the lines she had written to poke a reference to the show. There were a lot more than 52 killing games to think back on now. She regretted not stocking the A/V Room with more of these shows...

----

With an escort, she goes to her office to clear it out. Memorabilia lines the desk and walls, from seasons past. She looks them over passively as she is handed a box, and begins to take each thing down one by one. Every character, name, and mascot was familiar. Security waits at the door, and she wonders why. What could she possibly do here to harm them anymore than she supposedly already had? She had not been allowed online yet to confirm anything told to her, but she had resolved that when they spoke to her again she’d make it a condition before her termination. They couldn’t plainly believe she’d take their word on it when they put her… no that wasn’t right…

They didn’t put her anywhere, she put herself somewhere.

She shakes her head slowly a moment, the numbness in her hands having returned. Before she can react the snowglobe in her grasp slips out of her clumsy unfeeling fingers and shatters on the floor. Water and glitter splash the floor as tiny Monokumas skitter outwards past her feet across the room, freed from their little round prison. Security whirls around to face her at the sharp sound she doesn’t hear. She stands there staring at the base of the glass bauble, dumbfounded.

She vaguely recollects that that had been special. A collector’s item, given to her by someone perhaps? Limited edition? But she felt nothing staring down at the wet shards remaining, her arm hanging limp at her side. Whatever it was before, it was trash now.

Tsumugi is ushered out with her box half packed, with no mention of if she could come back for the rest. Part of her wants to scream to get the rest and cling to it all! It took so long to amass! Without it, what is there to prove her efforts? A larger part of her was happy for it to be out of sight.

She unceremoniously leaves the box in the corner of her recovery room. Not one of her own things is taken out to put anywhere. She likes the room bare and plain. Like her. Just like the girl she thinks she is.

---

Unlike before the game, when the research team and writers had meetings, strategy plans and long discussions, the classroom where Tsumugi stood with the Game Master interface was lonely and cold. There were no intricacies to any of the selections, they were mere branching paths. Sure, she recalled some of the writing details for each from before the season launch, especially the ones she had chosen as her outlined route, but how simply the screen stated them to her was troubling.

The talent had been supposed to be this simple too, but it had depth she hadn’t expected. The selection hovered over the Ultimate Hunt and the mass funeral choices, the ones her writing team had OK’d. She wondered what depth she’d feel seeing fake people mourn her. Would they seem fake?

She pressed the button and waited for the light to pop out of the locker, adjusting her glasses idly and looking out the dark wire barred windows. She thought about her ‘classmates’, who had nothing in their heads remaining to help them deny these. It really was a perfect system. For them.

There was a thud in the locker. Tsumugi returned to her task, like so many all nights she’d pulled before, both real and fictional. She walked over to retrieve it, carefully tucking it into the interior pocket on her coat. Once it was placed that was their plot, no rewrites, no erasing anything. Living the story was a lot more nerve wracking than writing it.

---

Tsumugi knows her way around the building without help, but that doesn’t stop security from falling into step and walking with her whenever she leaves her room. She supposes it’s not to help her, anyways, so it’s not an issue. There’s no regimented schedule for her during recovery, though doctors have visited her room a few times and there was one impromptu check-up with an actual CT scan.

She tells them all she feels fine. Everything is fine. She’s readjusting just fine, thank you for asking. No, no abnormalities. No numbness. No confusion. She does admit to being very tired. That one is a safe answer, it usually makes them leave faster so she can rest. They aren’t very good doctors, she thinks. She wonders if they are just as poorly attentive to the other patients’ issues and lies.

Without a schedule, Tsumugi avoids the cafeteria at what she guesses would be the busier times, but even doing so she has caught glimpses of her cast.

A girl sitting with an untouched meal laid out before her. Her hands clasped in front of her in her lap, eyes hidden behind loose grey hair.

A tall silent boy gazing out one of the few windows into the courtyard. He traces his no longer ringed fingers along the surface.

A coughing bout in the hallway followed by the rush of feet and a familiar loud voice shouting them off.

Echoes of their more vibrant selves, haunting the halls.

She walks into the cafeteria and stops. There are voices but she’s already through the door before she realizes it, eyes darting to the table to the right of the door. Sitting there in what sounded like a disagreement were Shuichi and Maki, with Himiko sitting idly beside the latter cheek resting on the heel of her hand while gazing at the door. The other two don’t notice her but the small redhead locks eyes with her instantly. Her posture stiffens as her eyes widen. The two girls stare at each other for a moment, the conversation a buzz in the background as the air thickens. Shuichi, who’s back is to the door must have noticed because he stops mid-sentence and glances over his shoulder. He freezes.

It’s Maki who stands, nudging Himiko behind her, taking on that intimidating stance. She’s glaring daggers across the room at her, and Tsumugi backs up involuntarily, right into the security guard who was following her into the room. Clumsily, she stumbles forwards to step out of his way and adjusts her glasses, the other three’s eyes still locked on her. Not wanting to leave, but unsure of what to do with herself, Tsumugi steps forwards to the adjacent table and quietly takes a seat.

The eyes on her and the silence are wrong. She’s not someone who gets stared at, at least not when she’s not trying to… this isn’t what she should… what should she…

A placid smile spreads on her face and she nods her head to them. “Good morning, Harukawa-san, Yumeno-san, Saihara-kun.” Her eyes squint almost closed in the forced smile, her cheeks pushing upwards under her glasses that help mask the dark bags. Practiced. Placating. A face both of her make. Painful.

“What do you want?”

Himiko isn’t who anyone expects to talk clearly, Shuichi turning to look at her. Maki squares her shoulders, trying to seem bigger. But the smallest of them narrows her eyes and waits.

“Nothing in particular, really,” Tsumugi drawls, folding her hands in her lap. Out of sight as they clench and fidget.

“Oh sure, your goons won’t give us a moment alone, but you don’t want anything. Like we’d believe that,” Maki says before Himiko can continue, venom in every word. Himiko’s mouth hangs open in the interruption, closing again with a pout.

“My goons,” Tsumugi repeats, noting the pointed look at the security detail that followed her in. “Fortunately, they should have provided you all with your contracts by now, and you can see your rights there. Please do use them to your benefit.”

“Oh right. The contracts we don’t even remember signing,” Himiko mutters.

“That is outlined in them as well.”

“This lack of contact with the outside was not, though,” Shuichi cuts in. The sureness there is from someone who clearly read the contract over more than once. Someone looking for loopholes. The memories he received must still be working overtime. She wonders if he’s as glad to have them as he was when he was when the process was explained? Probably not.

“That’s not my area, I’m afraid the simulation and preparations were my purview, Saihara-kun. Feel free to exert your rights in your contract, though. The company has to uphold it.” The strained smile slides into a more natural one as she continues to speak. It’s easier when it’s not about her.

Shuichi raises a brow. Perhaps he had expected resistance? “So they’re breaking their agreement then, holding us here?” he continues, as if to clarify.

“If that’s what the contract promises, then I suppose that’s the case,” Tsumugi answers. They should feel fortunate they got the opportunity to sign those at all, she thinks. Her hands clench tighter. They are fortunate they don’t remember.

“Like we trust you to keep promises,” Maki spat.

“You don’t have to,” she tuts, “Just use the contract, it’s your tool.”

Maki moves so quickly that thankfully Tsumugi doesn’t have the time to flinch. Himiko grabs her by the crook of the elbow before she’s rounded the table towards her.

“Stop it, let’s just talk somewhere else.”

Himiko stands, and moments later Shuichi follows suit. Maki’s expression doesn’t show any agreement, but she leaves with them nonetheless, glaring back over her shoulder on the way out. The security officers never stray from their posts. As soon as she’s sure they’re gone, Tsumugi lets out a held breath. A few moments pass, and she finally goes to get her meal.

She hopes that they really heard her. Their contracts are so much more flexible than her own. They hadn’t bequeath their identities, their citizenships, they weren’t intellectual property of the company no matter how some of the creative team liked to spin it.Their participation was a limited matter, and she was sure her classmates could argue their way through with that fine print at their disposal. She knew that much. She’d seen them face harder things than legal jargon together of course!

...Her classmates? No. Her cast. Her co-stars. A grimace grows on her face as she returns to sit. They never once had a class together, and the game could hardly be called one… not now. Not with her. Together they could bond in their ignorance. Her contract wasn’t flexible. Her consent was different than theirs. She wasn’t new, or at least not all new.

And she couldn’t leave until they decided the best way for them to kick her out. She takes a bite of her food thoughtfully.

If they can kick me out.

#ndrv3 spoilers #ndrv3 #tsumugi shirogane #shirogane tsumugi #team danganronpa #fic #my writing #danganronpa v3 #vr au #postgame #shuichi saihara #maki harukawa #himiko yumeno #my mugi #dissociation #memory #Some of you may remember the preview I posted for this one

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daydreamreality · 3 years

Text

Thinking about actor availability, and how that affects my perception of Jess and how strongly I feel about shipping Literati.

Really thought this would only be a few paragraphs going over the points where Jess could have disappeared never to be seen again, but it turned into a freaking essay so LONG POST warning if you decide to click ahead.

If the last we saw of Jess was hanging up the phone in the season 3 finale: "Well, it was fun ride while it lasted. That's about how I thought this would end." Still have a lot empathy for this kid and wish him well, but you screwed with Rory's heart like I knew would happen. Was that intentional? No. But he was so immature, out of control with his emotions, zero communication skills, not trusting in others...the list of reasons why he wasn't ready for a serious relationship, even if the feelings were serious, goes on. There was no way Rory wasn't going to end up as collateral damage in his personal breakdown that I could feel was going to happen. And this is the thought I had as a teenager with no dating experience watching this show for the first time. Did I want to date him? Hell no! I could see that trainwreck from a mile away. Rory was naïve to put her heart in his trust but that's part of her good qualities - she's sees the best in people and champions for them. I could go on a tangent about why exactly Jess was such an important character to me when I first watched the show (and probably why he stuck around unconsciously until I decided on a whim to rewatch GG in lockdown) but...I don't know, maybe some other time.

In the context of the entire show, I would look back at the relationship as my favorite one to watch of Rory's in the series (The build-up! The connection! Their deep belief in and respect for each other! The angst!) and Jess being a really fun character to root for (and yell at) but endgame? It was a short lived but important relationship. It’s fun to think about what ifs and how circumstances could have changed to make it work, but we can move on.

The ill-fated spin-off: I have no idea what this show would have been about except focusing on Jess and Jimmy and I’m not about to theorize. I still like Jess at this point so it would probably make me like him more since we’re getting a deeper dive into his character, but in regard to shipping him with Rory, this opinion would not change unless he all of sudden showed some great maturity. But I doubt this show would have even gotten a whole season so that probably wouldn’t happen. And then he’s living in California…this is too much, moving on.

If the last we see of Jess is in season 4: About the same feeling as above. Life, as expected, has not been treating Jess well. At all. His jadedness and hostility is at an all-time high when he shows up to get his car. Do I see the reasons informing his behavior and have empathy (once again, for a KID)? Yes, but he's also being a jerk. "The years don't seem to have hardened you." Well this year sure has!

I love the "I love you" scene but too little too late, buddy. That's probably why I love it, it's all a bit hopeless. Just keep shoveling the angst at me. I do like fics where this scene is reimagined with Rory running after him to give him a piece of her mind or Jess finding some other words to say (I really feel like he had more to say there but got overwhelmed), and coming to a tentative reconciliation: exchanging numbers, "don't fall off the face of the earth," but getting back together? No. You hurt her and you're feeling the consequences. Rory is not obligated or responsible to reciprocate those feelings, nor is she in a place to do that right now.

But season 4 does cement that Luke and Jess's relationship is one of my favorites in the entire show. There's probably a whole other post in me regarding that so I'll keep it brief. Because of his respect for Luke, Jess makes tentative steps towards maturing in interpersonal relationships. He shows some vulnerability and honesty with a veil of sarcasm and awkwardness because, well, it's JESS.

But then of course this all goes to hell when applied to Rory. Sometimes I like to think how this dorm scene would have gone down if Rory stepped back for a second and went, "Hold on. You're not making any sense, chill out," and they could have talked a bit and had a similar reconciliation like I said above because I really think that’s all he was going for - to talk to her, apologize, and make an attempt at reciprocation like he did with Luke. But getting back together here? Canonically, he hasn't made enough progress. He set aside his personal feelings to be in his mother's wedding and used the knowledge from the self-help book to apologize to Luke, but I don't think the book's message has sunk in all the way yet and he’s still got a massive chip on his shoulder preventing him from making a good life for himself. Getting rejected by Rory here is an important moment and I really like it. It's fun to think about the AU if Rory had said yes (hello road trip!), but it's very in-character for her to not be able to handle Jess's crisis and just shouting "NO, make it stop." This is one of my proudest of Rory moments: Protect your heart girl, he ain't ready. The seeds have been planted that Jess will continue to grow and I wish him well on his journey. Endgame material? Nah. Goodbye forever, take care my friend...

Even though this scene doesn't feel like closure at all, I really thought this was the end of Jess Mariano. So imagine my surprise when -

SEASON 6: HE'S BACK. Coming out of the shadows, [literally] it's Jess Marianoooo *air horns* *confetti* *jazz hands* *Jess rolls his eyes at the fanfare*

Alright, that's out of my system. But for real that's what my mind did at this point. For context, the way I watched this show for the first time was getting the DVDs from the library while a couple of seasons were still on the air; when a new season was available to borrow, I would rewatch all the seasons up to the current point so my memories and favorite parts of the show are seasons 1-4. Because I was not bingeing the show all the way through, seeing Jess here seemingly so different didn’t feel out of place. A shock, yes! A happy surprise. But nothing about him seemed OOC. A year had gone by, we’d seen some signs of maturity in him, and getting rejected by Rory was a big kick in the ass for him to start making bigger changes in his life. I really cannot emphasize how satisfying and sensical his positive character development felt to me.

The slight maturity we see in season 4 in its full potential. Jess is still Jess: guarded, self-deprecating, and a bit prickly but he shows a sense of calm and feeling more comfortable in his skin. This is really satisfying to see as someone who always "knew" there was a kind and capable heart underneath the exterior just like Rory did, and that tough guy, must protect myself at all costs posturing has melted away. But that side of him isn't gone, it's not like the writing did a complete 180 on his character. I love this. He's just...more at peace with himself but he's not a different person, and he's found something to direct his focus and intellect on. He's made his peace with Luke, and now he has something of worth to show Rory to try to mend that hurt as well.

Yes, it would have been nice to see how and why he decided to write a book and work in publishing but this course of events is not out of left field, nor is Jess enough of a main character at this point for scenes like this to be necessary to the show unless they were tied to Luke and showing another side of him. Jess has shown in the past that he has a good work ethic if he feels it is worth it. The problem wasn't him being lazy, just poor decision making and focusing on RIGHT NOW, "I need to get out of Stars Hollow and live my life," and not considering the consequences of his actions. Which as an immature kid whose life had told him he can only depend on himself...not out of the ordinary. The dude’s life passion is literature and has probably read every book he can get his hands on, it’s not crazy that he had his own story in him.

Here is where Literati becomes endgame material for me. Prior to the revival it was always my feeling that post-series they would reconnect while Rory was on the campaign or afterwards. It would be low drama (except for Lorelai criticism), slowly gaining trust in each other again, and eventually starting a committed relationship within a year or two of being friends with sexual tension (lol). They made their adolescent mistakes, hurt each other, but learned from it and started over on infinitely better footing.

The match just makes sense to me at this point for many reasons; I don't feel like I need to list them all out because you can go to any pro-Literati post and I'll probably agree with the majority of the points. The biggest issue they had was timing: “Right heart, wrong time.” I like especially how they even out each other's more extreme personality traits. For example, Rory learning from Jess to consider her own feelings instead of sacrificing herself for others, and Jess considering others before himself all the time. Or professionally, I can see Jess encouraging her to step away from her ultra-organized, “everything has to be just so” ways when it benefits her to seize an opportunity right now, don’t worry about the details, you got this. Maybe Jess has another book in him, but his self-deprecation and disorganization prevent him from getting it done but Rory helps him be more objective and focused. There’s this…synergistic energy I feel with the two of them: they’re great by themselves, but form something better together.

Judging from Rory's reactions towards him in this season, I don't think it's OOC for her to have romantic feelings for him again. She's extremely proud of his accomplishments and not unhappy to see him (not holding a grudge). They fall back into their comfortable dynamic even if it makes them both a bit nervous. Now some could argue that this means that Rory only wants to be friends with him but...when have Jess and Rory ever been just friends? If "Another Year in the Life" comes out (I've got serious doubts but would love to be proved wrong) and Rory rejects him or he's not even a part of it, fine! But I just don't see anything in canon that says explicitly she'll never feel romantic towards him again.

Now the kiss...there's a lot of ways to read that scene. Do I think Jess was in the right to assume "everything is fixed" as a go ahead? No. But that's part of why he is such an engaging character: he's impulsive and acts in accordance to his feelings, and yes, this gets himself and others in trouble.

Do I think Rory purposefully went to the open house to "use" Jess to get back at Logan? No. I think she genuinely wanted to support him, and Logan being out of town meant she wouldn't have to explain why it was important for her to go. I see the kiss paralleling the one in 2x22 but instead of Rory not being able to hold her feelings in any longer, Jess initiates. The way I see it is she was unaware she still had lingering feelings towards him (not out of nowhere, I mean their relationship has "unfinished business" written all over it) and that scared the crap out of her, just like at the end of season 2. So she runs away to the "safe space" that is being with Logan. Because she's in love with Logan, she has a sense of obligation towards him, and Rory has shown many times that she does not react well to change and highly emotional situations.

Is this scene a deal breaker for a future relationship between them? I don't think so. Jess says that he isn't sorry she came, which I take as "I'll never be sorry to see you no matter the context." Yes, this hurt him and made him pretty mad, but I don't think he's holding a grudge against her for this; even in the moment he's more concerned that someone cheated on her and her safety getting to her car. He sets a boundary that he doesn't deserve his feelings to be pushed around like this and Rory agrees. Not that I condone this sort of tit-for-tat hurting of each other (which I don't think Rory was going for in the first place) but it's almost like...that cycle is now broken. The whole scene is so open ended, it doesn't feel like a "good bye forever" to Jess.

"But Rory is so in love with Logan!" I don't know about you, but that "I'm in love with him despite all the bad he's done..." sounds so defeated and sad. It's almost like she's resigned herself to being in love with Logan. The first time I watched this, I thought this was foreshadowing that the relationship was on its last legs. To keep them together, Logan almost dies so Rory will bury her hurt out of guilt for holding a grudge against him. She is completely entitled to feeling hurt by Logan's actions, and I hate that she feels like she has to do this. But it happened, moving on.

"But Rory is a cheater!" When I think about Rory's characteristics, "cheater" doesn't make the list. She feels entitled to the men that she's loved and this isn’t super great behavior, but I don't view her as inherently unfaithful or okay with cheating. I give her leeway on the season 2 Jess kiss because she was a teenager with a lot of conflicting emotions and everything around her was pushing her to stay with Dean. The season 4 Dean debacle...she was still very young and naïve. I put most of the blame on Dean for manipulating her; I say most because if Rory really wanted to be with him, she should have been more sure of the status of his marriage, but I repeat: he manipulated her and she was very young and naïve. I dare to say she has been conditioned to view Dean as nothing but safe and trustworthy so why wouldn't she believe him... Season 4 was all about her being out of sorts when away from the Stars Hollow bubble and trying to reclaim some normalcy. Narratively, I see why this makes sense and I don't think the intention was to say “Rory is okay with cheating,” but to show very explicitly that Rory isn't perfect. This show goes to extremes, at this point I kind of just accept it and don't jump to "this person/character is terrible!" Certain characteristics and behaviors I have less patience for (mild) or will make me lose all respect for a character (extreme - honestly very few GG characters fall into this category for me); you may feel differently and that's fine. When other plot points in this series are much more bizarre and OOC, while this turn of events makes me uncomfortable and angry, at least it makes sense to me.

The 6x18 kiss I've already said that I don't think Rory had premeditated intent to cheat on Logan judging from the fact that Jess initiated it; yes, she went with it nor was it a complete surprise, I get this. The "I couldn't even cheat on him..." line I think is an outburst of guilt and regret, not her saying she had a plan in mind. Maybe I'm being too soft on her, I don't know...she did stay there late but maybe she just got lost in the book while waiting to say bye. We've seen her not know how to deal with conflicting emotions and change to her status quo, and attempt to distract herself when life isn't panning out the way she wants and not think about the consequences in the moment, so I don't find this scene OOC or intentionally cruel. The revival...I don’t think I can even go there right now because it would just be me screaming incoherently about how much I hate "full circle" and how bizarre the entire thing was. Maybe something of value would eventually come out with a lot of editing. XD

This isn’t to say I’m 100% on Rory’s side all the time. Pretty much every character in this show has at some point made me smile, made me laugh (generally with them, but some characters it’s more like at), made me want to give them a hug, made me roll my eyes, and made me want to throw something at them. That’s why I love it so much! Even if the drama is turned up to 1000, I still get the sense that these characters are human. My favs end up on my “will protect at all costs” and “shit” lists throughout the series, no one is immune. Except Lane. She really is the best person in this entire show. #JusticeForLaneKim

If ASP had written season 7: (Remember there being some sort of theme to this post? Only two episodes in s6, but Jess sure does make an impact.) I bet Jess would show up at some point. MV is loyal to the creators and not the show, if it was important for Jess to be there I’m sure his shooting schedule would have been accounted for. Storyline would have been similar to the revival because AYITL is ASPs season she didn’t get to do without considering how time passing affects the characters (I’M STILL SALTY) except Rory is at Yale and I think the book was a new idea. Shipping as endgame doesn’t change, and I bet there wouldn’t be a nice little Literati ending because we’ve got to end it the same way, right? I don't even need them to be together at the end because Rory has greater plans to focus on, but just a moment! One moment is all I asked for... I don’t know if this makes me mad because I felt like the narrative had been pushing us along this path for so long even if actual "endgame" was going to be offscreen or if I kind of like just having it in my imagination. Little bit of column A, little bit of column B. In any case, it could have been cool to see Jess present for the birth of his half-sister and giving Luke some support.

Like I said, I'm not touching AYITL right now. The whole starting point of this was, "huh, if MV never came back to the show, how would I feel about Jess and Literati?" And he was in it so it doesn't really fit into this even though we've gone on a meandering journey as pieces of discourse that have never sat right with me but didn't quite know how to express that disagreement until now popped in my mind. So there you go. If you’ve made it to end, claps to you, what a champ.

At the end of the day, Literati is the ship that makes me feel the most things, it's kind of just a gut thing. This really isn't any sort of argument just an outpouring of love for the show and these characters. I don't know how well that's communicated, but hey, I try. I’ve got a lot of nostalgia for the pairing and I always viewed Jess as being Rory’s, and only Rory’s, choice.

#Gilmore Girls #Literati #rory x jess #Jess Mariano #I've been writing and editing this for 2 weeks and just accidentally pressed post and uhhhh #I don’t think there's more you can do self #Just run with it

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dizzydancingdreamer · 3 years

Text

Girl Group | Pepper Potts, Laura Barton, Wanda Maximoff, & Sharon Carter

Hi y'all— I was going to work on other things and then I saw this post from @imaginearyparties and got inspired to write about these women having a support group of sorts. I hope you enjoy this heal piece— I spent too long today writing it LOL

Synopsis: The story of four not so unlikely friends and how their girl group saves them.

Characters: Pepper Potts Stark, Laura Barton, Wanda Maximoff, Sharon Carter

Tags: Angst, mentions of death, funerals, toxic men, alcohol, girl friends, positive female relationships, Laura Barton being a mama bear, Pepper and Wanda and Sharon losing their shit

Word count: 3.2k

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It starts as an accident— it starts at a funeral. Three funerals, actually; Tony would have wanted to share his with the Widow and the Robot, after all.

Pepper Stark, Sharon Carter, Wanda Maximoff, and Laura Barton stand in a broken line in front of the water, all suspended with the same overarching, mixed feelings of dread and peace. For four women who look strikingly different from one another— especially Laura as she stands shadowed under Pepper’s goddess frame— they all do look quite indistinguishable. Maybe that’s just the black, though— maybe mourning blurs individuals into masses.

“I don’t think I can do it.” Pepper doesn’t cry when she admits her fears— she doesn’t have any tears left. “I don’t think I can raise her on my own.”

Laura, who’s been holding her hand for the better part of three days, squeezes it gently. “You aren’t alone, Pep. You’ll never be alone. You’ll always have a home with me.”

Laura and Pepper may be vastly different— an off the grid, stay at home mom and a business tycoon CEO— but the brunette means every word; she has since Tony introduced Pepper all those years ago.

Pepper nods. “I don’t know how you do it.”

“She’s something special,” Sharon pipes in from the other end of the line, her shoulder brushing a silent Wanda. “I could never.”

Sharon doesn’t know either of them as well as they know each other but still she stands by their sides, her own black dress just as itchy as theirs— sisters now branded together in the inevitabile uncomfort that comes with loss. She can’t stay long— she knows that— but Wanda had called her out of the blue, somehow, sounding more lost than ever, and the blonde has never been one to turn down a girl in a spiral.

Or, in this case, three.

Laura laughs lightly, sounding just as tired as she looks, and Wanda rubs her arm absentmindedly, her own voice a whisper compared to the other, stronger women. “I think I would have wanted children. Vis and I spoke about it a few times. Thinking about it now, though, it seems silly.”

Barely twenty-six and basically a widow herself, Wanda can’t feel her fingers shake as she tightens the cardigan around her shoulders. Sharon notices and acts— she’s good at that— taking her fingers and wrapping them in her own.

“It’s not silly— you would be a great mother.” She then projects her voice back to Pepper. “And you’re already a great mom, Pepper. You have a great kid.”

She’s not very good at comforting people but she has to try. Neither of the women comment back, but that’s okay. Sharon isn’t really expecting them to.

Instead, Wanda rests her head on the blonde’s shoulder. “When do you have to leave again?”

Sharon sighs— both from the way Wanda tries to hide her disappointment and from her own disappointment that’s bubbling in her throat. Because she is— disappointed— in the world and in some of the men in their lives. How Sharon Carter always manages to surround herself with men who can save the world but can’t find a spare moment to save her, she doesn’t know, but she can’t find it in herself to feel guilty over her anger.

“Tomorrow, probably.” She says bitterly. “You’re okay with me crashing one more night on your couch, right?”

Wanda could scoff— in fact, she does— Sharon should already know the answer. “I’d be okay if you crashed the rest of your life on my couch. I’d be okay if you all did.”

There’s more silence— it’s becoming a staple in their renegade band of misfit moms and runaway fugitives— and in that silence they unknowingly take a collective step closer together. Mourning gravitating towards mourning, women gravitating towards each other— Pepper throwing her arm around Laura’s shoulders and managing to give Wanda an I hear you scratch.

Laura— soft, sweet, tired Laura— is the one who breaks the silence—

“I have two bottles of Moscatto?”

— and for the first time in three days, Wanda laughs.

“I have a bottle of Stolichnaya— and every season of Bewitched.”

It progresses into a semi-regular thing after that— branching from funerals (and the sleepovers that follow them) into more casual, running-from-the-law type gatherings.

Wanda and Sharon stand once more in black, only this time they aren’t mourning— they’re getting ready for a party and standing around a shiny macbook air.

“What’s this function you two are going to again?” Laura’s voice— still tired but this time in a significantly less existential way— crackles through the speaker.

Her video, which is taking up half the screen, displays that of a full grown woman in a pink and darker pink striped onesie and a steaming cup of coffee in her hands. In the background, just visible enough to read, her stovetop flashes 5:46. Similarly, on the other side of the screen, Pepper’s messy knot of red hair— and her significantly more adult pyjamas— are illuminated by the glow of her alarm clock. 6:46.

“It’s just an art show—” Sharon answers, smiling into the camera for a quick moment before going back to righting the studs in her ears— “You know you didn’t have to wake up so early. You should both be getting as much sleep as possible— I hear being a mom is tough work.”

Both Laura and Pepper share a laugh at that and Wanda smiles too, not missing the tinge of you’re crazy for having kids in Sharon’s voice.

Laura takes a sip from her mug, humming her agreement. “It is but you know I wouldn’t miss our calls for the world. Besides, Clint is worse. The lug woke me up at five on his way out the door to check the frost damage. Husbands are more work.”

For a moment no one says anything and none of them can tell if it’s because everyone’s in their own little world of coffee and clothing or if it’s to give the two red heads a moment to clear their throats.

“Don’t I know it.” Pepper sighs.

Laura’s eyes, even through the screen, flash with sympathy but she doesn’t retract her statement or apologize. She knows she doesn’t need to— that’s not how their little group works. There’s no use in apologizing for things you can’t fix— especially not to Pepper.

Instead, Wanda turns to her sister-in-hair and asks her outright: “How are you holding up?”

Directness is always the best approach— it always garners an honest answer.

“I feel like shit.” Pepper laughs. “Half the time I can’t sleep and the other half I can’t drag myself out of bed. If it weren’t for Morgan I don’t know what I’d do. Rot, probably.”

Wanda huffs, turning so that Sharon can zip her silk dress. It’s significantly more comfortable than the one she had worn half a year ago. Bless Sharon Carter and her affinity for designer clothing.

“Can we consider Sharon my child then? Because without her I’m pretty sure I’d be in the same boat. Making sure she doesn’t burn down the apartment when she makes dinner is the only thing keeping me going.”

“Hey!” Wanda receives a light whap for the comment but it’s landed lovingly— after all, Sharon knows she can’t cook.

“You ladies are eating enough, right? And properly?” Laura chimes in, ever the mother in a group of moms.

Sharon and Wanda share a look that has Laura groaning from her dark kitchen table— not even time zones can stop her from worrying about the youngest members. She stands quickly to refill her mug and, as she does, hears the giggled response of—

“Does red wine and leftover burgers count?”

Laura doesn’t think it can get worse until Pepper chimes in. “I see we’re all on the same diet then.”

For a moment Wanda and Sharon disappear, most likely to look through Sharon’s collection of jewelry, and in their absence Laura and Pepper share a short, but very much needed, conversation.

“You’re still off work right now, right?” Laura asks, resting her heavy head in her hand.

Pepper nods once, rooting around the top of her side table for the damn remote— it’s like Tony’s still here, misplacing all her things. “Yeah— I don’t know when I’m going to go back. It’s just— it’s too soon, you know? I don’t know if I can. I don’t— god where’s the fucking remote! I could have sworn—”

Laura cuts Pepper off as her voice begins to turn frenzied— begins to crack. “I think you and Morgan should come stay with me for a little while. Like, for a few weeks. I think it would be good for you.” She watches Pepper cringe and before she can object, adds— “and for me. Clint’s been working a lot recently. I could really use some good company.”

Laura may be the simplest woman in the group but by no means does that make her the slowest— she knows the only way to get Pepper to agree to her idea is to play to her own motherly instincts.

As she’s expecting— it works. “Are you absolutely sure we wouldn’t be putting you and Clint out in any way?”

Laura can hear the exasperated relief starting to drip into her friend’s voice and has to swallow the lump in her own throat. “Of course it wouldn’t be— you’d never be putting me out, Pep.”

Pep. She hasn’t heard that in a while. She misses it— she misses a lot of things. A lot of people. The Bartons being some of them. It’s why she caves.

“Okay.”

Just as Laura nods— and finishes the last of her second coffee— the two fugitives that have been absent come ambling back, now dripping in flashy gemstones and expensive watches. Time has passed, enough that the girls have to scramble for the finishing touches of their outfits— something which can be heard when Sharon asks Wanda where she left the lipgloss.

“It’s already in my bag— your lips are glossed to perfection, stop worrying.” The red head fluffs her mane quickly before turning to the screen with a slight pout on her lips. “I can’t believe we just started the call and now we have to hang up. I hate time zones.”

“If it’s any consolation,” Pepper coos, “you both look incredible.”

“Edible.” Laura chimes in, giggling. “Go enjoy yourselves.”

The girls echo each other’s thank you, dallying with their goodbye’s but reiterating their I’ll call you later’s.

As an afterthought, right before Sharon can hit the power button on her macbook, Laura also adds— “Make sure to drink water!”

In no time semi-regular becomes regular and soon they all have a favourite hangout spot. Unfortunately, none of their favourite spots coincide with the others.

“You know—” Laura groans as she plunks down in her seat at the high up table— “I still don’t know what a gastropub is?”

“Tough—” Pepper rolls her eyes, taking a sip of her diet coke and tutting at her friend. “We all know you would rather be at the Starbucks down the road but some of us need more than coffee to run, Mrs. Barton.”

She’s decided to lay off the rosé for a little while and, in a show of solidarity, so has everyone else. Laura hmphs into the ginger ale that had already been waiting for her on the table but can’t keep the grin from turning up her lips— after all, Pepper’s right; she does want coffee. Wanda swirls her own cherry coke, giggling at their antics. Secretly she’s thinking the same thing but it was Pepper’s choice this time and she’ll eat just about anything.

“It’s a fancy word for comfort food—” Sharon snorts, actually answering, her eyes glued to the menu between her and Wanda as they decide which appetizer they want to share— “an easy way to cheat you out of twenty-six bucks for mac n’ cheese… Hey, look at these— buffalo cauliflower bites— you wanna’ try them?”

The red head nods enthusiastically. “You know I’ll take any chance to pretend to be healthy.”

The blonde laughs, shaking her head. “You’re literally perfect, Wan— all those fancy spells have to be burning, like, what? A thousand calories an hour?” Sharon turns her eyes to the other women who’re already listening with knowing grins. “You should’ve seen the men in Madripoor— and the women! Falling all over her— it was incredible!”

“Oh says you.” Wanda giggles back, catching the other red haired woman’s attention.

Pepper reaches across the table, swatting Sharon’s hand gently and whining. “You didn’t tell me about any men! Now I feel left out.”

“Don’t—” Sharon assures her, sobering suddenly at the topic change— “there are no men. I’m done with them— they’re more trouble than they’re worth. Even the ones you think are good.”

Especially those ones, she wants to add but keeps it to herself. Everyone here already knows how she feels anyway, mostly towards a certain golden-boy super-soldier. She lost everything for him— her home, her job, years she could have spent with her family— and for what? Just so he could turn around and literally fight time itself to be with her great aunt? To think, some women get a man who will invent time travel to be with them and she had to all but beg a man to clear her name for aiding a super hero.

Yeah— she’s still bitter, even after Sam worked his Captain America card to get her off the bureau’s watch list. It sure is funny how the literal Winter Soldier got his pardon before she got hers but— hey— that’s misogyny for you. She chases the acid in her mouth with a sip of orange soda. Fuck men.

“You know you can talk about it.” Laura reminds her gently, setting her own menu down— she doesn’t really need to look at it, she orders the same thing everytime.

“What’s there to talk about? I risked my life for him and he screwed me over. I get it— he’s more of a hero than I’ll ever be— but I guess I was kind of figuring I would get saved with, you know, the rest of the world. Sue me, I guess.”

Wanda slips her fingers between Sharon’s, nodding along. “I think some people forget that he—” she avoids saying Steve’s name; it’s for the best— “was as human as the rest of us. That he could be just as selfish as the rest of us.”

“And that they can get tired, too.” Pepper adds, her mind on Tony— her mind is always on Tony.

“And that they’re just like us— even if they think they’re not allowed to be.” Always the mother, Laura frowns at Wanda because, although she’s also thinking of her husband, the ginger needs to hear it as well.

“Whatever.” Sharon grumbles as she spots their waiter approaching, her mind shifting from her fallout with America’s golden-boy to the twenty-six dollar mac n’ cheese she’s going to obliterate. “I think I hate men. I’m happy just being with you.”

As has become custom, she receives three reactions: an awe from Laura, a me too from Pepper, and a kiss to her cheek from Wanda. It’s in that moment that she knows she isn’t lying— she really is content with her small group of girls.

They even— eventually— go on vacation together.

Four girls— two gingers, one blonde, and a brunette— lounge around a deliciously quiet poolside, soaking in as much of the Grecian sunshine as they can. One of them— the youngest— soaks in a little too much. Thankfully her friends are keeping a closer eye on her than she is.

“Wanda, you’re going pink. C’mere honey.” Laura sits up on her deck chair, patting the spot next to her. “Let’s touch your sunscreen up.”

Wanda— warm with sleep and sun— doesn’t put up a fuss, slipping in front of the brunette and pulling her hair into a sloppy bun to save it from the zinc cream. She sighs into Laura’s touch, her eyes closing as the woman works her thumbs into her shoulders. Laura Barton gives quite possibly the best back rubs on the planet. Well, besides Vision— his were better.

Wanda doesn’t realize that she’s balled her hands into fists until Laura’s soft voice breaks past her barrier. “What’s on your mind, sunshine?”

Sighing, the witch answers her friend honestly. “I miss him. Vis, I mean. It’s not fair. It’s just—”

“It’s not fair.” Laura finishes for her, hearing the crack in her facade and pushing— sometimes you just need a little bit of a gentle push. “It’s not and you don’t have to pretend like it is.”

Okay— maybe it’s not as gentle as she thinks it is.

“I hate it!” Wanda snaps, her tiny hands balling once more and pounding against her thighs. “I feel like I’m dying all the time— I feel like I died when he did! And no matter what I do now I screw it up! I hate it, Laura— I hate everything!”

The small witch’s furious rage quickly fizzles into heart wrenching sobs and Laura— just as quickly— plasters herself to Wanda’s back the same way she had done with the sun cream. She trembles in Laura’s hold— a mini storm in a cage of limbs and hair— and Laura just pets her head because this has been due for too long.

“I know, sunshine— we’re alone now, though. You can cry it out. No one’s going to hold it against you.”

“I— I hate— I—” Wanda can’t even finish her sentence— she hasn’t been able to for a year now.

Soft hands land on her knees and she cracks an eye open to a more composed— but still crying— Pepper. “I hate it too, hun. I hate everything.”

Pepper’s skin— unlike Wanda’s— has gone a golden brown in the sun, her freckles emerging one by one over the week which Wanda gets a closer view of when Pepper wraps her arms around her. She smells like strawberry daiquiris and salt and Wanda cries harder, clinging to the woman who is stronger than she ever will be.

A cold, wet hand lands on the back of her neck— the cold, wet hand of Sharon Carter— and with it comes one more— “I fucking hate everything.”

And, for some reason unknown to her, Wanda laughs.

She can’t help it— life sucks. Death sucks. Men and calories and loss suck. But her friends? No, they don’t suck. Not even when they’re with her at three-in-one funerals— not even when they’re half a world away. Especially not when they’re in Greece, holding her while she cries and laughs like a complete and utter maniac.

No— their little girl group doesn’t suck at all.

“I hope you all know how much I love you.” Wanda laughs around a particularly raucous sob— “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Laura is the one who answers— the universe wouldn’t be right if she wasn’t— “We know it, honey.”

The universe also wouldn’t be right if it wasn’t Pepper who gets the last word.

“Is anyone else feeling some pizza right about now?”

#Pepper Potts #Pepper Stark #Sharon Carter #Laura Barton #Wanda Maximoff #The Scarlet Witch #Scarlet Witch #Pepper Potts fic #Wanda Maximoff fic #Sharon Carter fic #Laura Barton fic #mcu #marvel cinematic univers #marvel #marvel fic

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fireemblems24 · 4 years

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Hey! It's the anon who sent the ask about the imperialism thing.

I guess it's kinda ironic because uh, the country that did the whole imperialism shtick to my country is the US. The saddest part is that it's barely acknowledged and I'm pretty sure it's not even studied in your history either. If you're curious, look up Benevolent Assimilation. Yup. That's what they called it.

Anyway I had a realization when you mentioend about why not Edelgard try to enact the changes on her Empire first? And I realised... Yeah, why not???

A possible thing she could've done that's less bloody than a war is to change her Empire first. And then befriend the future leaders of the Kingdom and Alliance while they were in school. That would've made things fairly peaceful between them and also if the changes in the Empire are working out well, she could've promoted the same methods to Dimitri and Claude for them to establish in their own countries. She doesn't need to conquer them. I mean, yeah this is a very easier said than done situation (especially since there's still TWSITD) but again, less bloody alternatives.

To be fair, Edelgard handling this entire affair in a flawed manner such as a war is also fine by me. Seeing imperialism in media is fine especially if it highlights the flaws of it because yes, it and its long term effects need to be acknowledged. But the game just feels like it's condoning her... And there's also the ton of people who agree with her who just make me uncomfortable really because it feels so close to real life. Not only that seeing as this is a Japanese game and the Japanese have a... history with imperialism (in which they also occupied my country... we don't really get a break) it's just uncomfortable.

Again, I like Edelgard and the morally grey potential of her decisions. My problem really is in the execution. I would definitely tolerate CF much more if the BE had more prominent roles as critics? I think that's the only way they'd really fit in CF tbh. Criticise Edelgard, question her actions, make her question her own actions, make her realise the damage she caused. Stuff like that would've made CF into such a good route. Like, if AM is Dimitri's character study, why couldn't we have had Edelgard's character study in CF?

I guess in the end, the main reason why I'm really talkative about the whole Edelgard issue is because I really want to love her? I see the potential in her character — I love her design, her general personality, her voice actress, the fact that she's actually different from the usual female character in these games. But I just end up liking her and not really loving her because sometimes the games feels like it's forcing me to love her so much that I just eh. I still don't like her Byleth attachment.

But yeah I think I'm going to stop bothering you all about this since I think I'm just repeating restated points again.

I briefly looked up “Benevolent Imperialism.” Sounds exactly like the kind of phrase an Imperialist would label their conquest as. I’ll have to learn more about it because surprise, surprise, our history lessons do leave that out.

As for your comments on Edelgard, I agree with everything you said. I cannot believe her actions are wholly benevolent and in the name of bettering society only because she never once attempts to work with other leaders. She’s either so far up her own ass she legitimately thinks killing every other major power in Fodlan except herself is really the best option for everyone or there’s more to her actions than her ideals - like killing all the dragons/forcing them into hiding forever or getting back what she thinks is rightly hers because the Empire ruled those territories hundreds of years ago.

My issue, like yours, is that this game acts like she’s some kind of saint. She’s sacrificing her own soul by bloodying her own hands for the benefit of all. Whenever she talks about all the damage the war causes, it’s not about the victims, it’s about how sorry we should feel for her because she’s dirtying herself so everyone can live in her future utopia.

It takes a grey, interesting perspective and makes it not only very uninteresting (and at times irritating as a player who doesn’t agree with her but it forced to act like she’s the biggest victim in all this), but problematic. To say nothing of how this glorifies war and skips over any and all negative side effects, it’s far more concerning in it’s presentation of Imperialism as a good thing, as a “liberation” of the countries who are getting violently taken over against their will.

Like you, I don’t mind Imperialism in fiction. I don’t even mind seriously entertaining the question - but what if the conqueror really does improve things? What I do mind is this really black/white presentation where Imperialism is framed as liberation, like the Imperialist actually knows better than the countries she’s taking over. What’s super uncomfortable when analyzing things deeper is how unapologetic CF is at spinning the same propaganda used to devastate other countries, many still reeling from the effects.

You could just write it off as fiction. It’s just a Fire Emblem video game no one should take too seriously. And I’m always torn about this argument because I don’t want to police fiction - at all - but I’m also aware of how fiction can change your worldview. You’d think people would be smart enough to separate fiction and reality but they often either don’t or use fiction to reinforce their own world views.

I’m not surprised at all people agree with Edelgard. She’s presented as a liberator, her route presents war like its only victim is the perpetrator because she’s just oh so sad everyone else is forcing her to kill them. But I’m very alarmed if anyone wholly agrees with her and thinks she’s right to invade the Kingdom and the Alliance. You can love a character and not agree with their actions. I love a character who’s quite similar to Edelgard on the surface, Reinhard von Lohengramm, but I do not agree with his actions at all, even if I root for his victory at every turn in his own story anyways, because sometimes it’s fun to watch a magnificent bastard crush everyone under their heels.

And yeah my main frustration with her is that I really want to like her. But her presentation is so bad that I’m struggling to enjoy her in her own route.

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i-see-no-whump-up-here · 3 years

Text

Whumpmas in July (Day 21): Secret

Ooh, if there’s one trope I love, it’s forbidden relationships. They’re so ripe with angst and whump. Rose has been one of my earliest OC’s. I used to rp her with Batman characters, but she’s grown into a character on her own right. Colby is also relatively new, and he’s a detective who can be too bold for his own good.

CW: forbidden relationship, minor kissing, mild whump, emotional angst, forced to hurt someone

———

Colby tugged Rose into the broom closet and pushed her against the wall. “Hey babe,” He greeted, and then he kissed her. Rose furrowed her brow, and she pushed him back.

“Where did you come from? And why are you dressed up as a janitor?” She demanded.

Colby shrugged. “Work.” Rose scoffed.

“Yeah, ok. Are you trying to get us caught?!”

“I just missed you,” Colby said, and this time she let him kiss her. She squeezed his hand.

“I missed you too,” Rose admitted. She listened for anyone outside. “There’s too many of my father’s men around. I don’t want to get caught.”

“Fine,” Colby rolled his eyes. He wasn’t actually upset. They both knew they’d be toast if anyone discovered she was dating a special agent, but he could pretend. “I’ll catch you later.”

“Yeah. Bye,” Rose said. Colby reached for the door, and then he paused.

“So what business were you doing for him in Chicago?”

“Ha,” Rose huffed. “Cute.” Colby smiled sheepishly.

“I had to try.”

“No work talk,” Rose reminded. “And don’t get caught.”

Colby pouted at her. “Yeah, yeah. Don’t get caught either.” and then he slipped out.

—

“We caught a nark rooting around,” One of father’s enforcers huffed. Rose felt her stomach drop, but she forced her face to remain neutral.

“Oh?” She asked. Her mind flitted through inconspicuous ways to get more attention. “My father must be pissed.”

“Oh he is,” The enforcer whistled. “Some of the guys are working on softening him up so we can weed out what he’s figured out so far. We don’t know who he reports to, either.”

“How did he get in?” Rose asked.

“Posing as janitorial staff. Mr. Cheney wants to fire all of them.”

“Are you sure they knew?” Rose questioned. Colby always pushed his superiors to keep everyone around him safe. He hated the collateral damage that came with their line of work, and he was one of the ones inside of the law.

“I’m pretty sure pennies would be a pay raise over what they normally get, so the cops would be dumb to not bribe the janitors for a way in.”

“Yeah, that’s fair,” Rose forced herself to say. She perked up, as if her phone had buzzed, and she pulled it out of her pocket, checking it. Luckily, she always had an array of notifications on her screen, so she managed to excuse herself. “Ah shit. I forgot an appointment. See you later!”

—

Rose shifted foot to foot in the elevator, praying no one would see her. She held her master key in one hand and her phone in the other. She’d have to delete the log of her unlocking the door immediately after she did it, so she had her back-end console access pulled up already. The doors dinged. They opened.

The hallway wasn’t empty. There were a handful of men on guard, and Rose recognized her father’s personal bodyguard, Gianni. But shit— she was already here, and leaving suddenly would be suspicious. She walked forward, drawing the attention of everyone in the hall. Her legs felt like jelly as she made it to Gianni. He didn’t ask why she was there— bless him.

“He’s in one of his moods again. The nark had bad timing,” Gianni murmured. The door remained cracked open, and Rose heard her father’s angry voice. She worried what was behind it, but she needed to show a reason for being here. Rose slipped inside.

Colby was a bloody mess. Blood streaked down his face from his nose and a cut on his temple. His cheekbone showed the beginning signs of bruising, and his clothes were rumpled and dirty. He sat cuffed in a chair, and the furniture in the room had been pushed to the corners to clear out an area for the man.

Colby’s face morphed with surprise at the sight of his girlfriend, but he tried to cover it up as Roman Cheney turned to look at her. He adjusted the rings on his fingers. “Ah. Dear…”

Rose smelled the alcohol on his breath. He only drank when something major bothered him, and as terrible as this was, she didn’t think Colby could be the sole cause. As her father looked at her expectantly, her brain fumbled for a cause.

“I ran into a cop at the coffee shop last week— just wanted to check if it was the same guy,” She lied. Sort of. She had seen a cop at a coffee shop out of her way, and it was Colby, but no, that wasn’t why she was here. Roman looked between her and Colby.

“Is it?”

“No,” Rose rocked onto the front of her feet and then set back. “Sorry to interrupt.” She stepped back toward the door.

“No, no,” Her father waved his hand flippantly. “I told you I wanted you to get more involved in my affairs. Come! Soften this nobody up.” Rose glanced at Colby warily.

“Um… you know I don’t like to get my hands dirty,” Rose started slowly. Roman brushed the rejection off, already pulling his rings off his fingers. He grabbed Rose’s hands and transferred them to her much smaller fingers. She tried to pull away. “I really don’t want to get—“

“Shh! Blow some steam!” Roman encouraged. He grabbed her wrist and pulled her in front of Colby, and then he stepped back. “Punch him.”

“What?”

“Give him a little punch. You know how,” Roman prodded. Rose fidgeted with the rings. Colby stared up at her. Rose looked over her shoulder at her father, who was waiting patiently. Even in his drunken state, he’d be able to recognize something was amiss. Rose’s arm felt heavier than usual as she lifted it up. She forced herself to steady the slight shake.

Rose punched Colby in the face. The punch was rather weak, and honestly, it probably didn’t hurt him much except for the bulky rings. Colby just glanced up at her. Roman apparently noticed that. “Come on! What do I pay your personal trainer for?!”

“I—“ Rose started an excuse, but then she just punched him again. This time still felt weak. Roman grumbled and took hold of Rose’s closed fist. She tried to cover up. “I just haven’t punched anyone for real before. I’m overthinking it.”

Roman hummed in thought and looked around the room. He brightened with an idea. Rose watched him move toward a dismantled cubicle, and she managed a mouthed ‘I’m sorry.’ to Colby. He shook his head. They needed to keep their cover.

Roman got to the desk and grabbed the keyboard drawer. He tugged on it, and after some jiggling, he actually broke the whole thing off of the desk. He dumped the office supplies out as he walked back to Rose and presented it to her. “Here! Just swing and commit to it. It’ll feel easier.”

Rose stared at him. She couldn’t hit Colby with this. Even at a low speed, the particle board could hurt him. She tentatively took the drawer in her hands, turning it over to display the flat side. Roman still waited for her to hit him, appearing genuinely entertained by today’s violence. She knew he wasn’t letting her get out of this.

Rose lifted her hands a bit higher and shakily pulled the drawer back. Colby shut his eyes and turned his face away in anticipation. Rose swung the drawer as hard as she could.

The cheap building material burst upon hitting his face, splitting in half. Colby yelled in pain.The far half clattered onto the floor a second later, and Rose clutched her half far too tightly. Colby’s cheek flared red from the impact. Rose wanted to be sick. She wanted to touch Colby’s face and nurse the bruises better, as she’d done so many times before, under the secret of anonymity and shady meeting spots. She wanted to kiss it better.

“See? Wasn’t that better?” Roman demanded, and he took the half out of Rose’s grip. He used it to backhand Colby, and a fresh stream of blood soon leaked from his nose. Roman tossed the debris aside and clapped his hand down on his daughter’s shoulder. “Atta girl. Now, why don’t you run along? Go get a manicure for these soft hands. It’s on me.”

Roman lifted Rose’s hands to his face and kissed them before taking his rings back from her. “This young rascal and I here still have some business to attend to. In fact, he still hasn’t told me his name. Can you believe that?! I’ll just keep asking.”

The captured man’s name pressed against Rose’s lips, but she knew to keep it in. Colby.

#wij21day21 #whumpmas in july #Colby Kaye #Rose Isley #Roman Cheney #Gianni #Gianni the bodyguard #my ocs #my oc #my writing #forbidden love #forbidden relationship #whump #undercover #caught #drunk fathers #blunt force trauma #punching with rings

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fannishcodex · 4 years

Text

Unpopular Opinion Maybe: Kipo had an Identity Crisis in S1

More and more I honestly get bothered when people are all like “ooh Kipo wasn’t affected by being a mega mute lab experiment due to her parents experimenting on her it’s so refreshing compared to other cartoons LOL” because it’s completely glossing over season 1 where Kipo absolutely freaked out over her body suddenly physically changing and suddenly looking like a mute for no apparent reason. Tad Mulholland gave her a dream that was largely about this, Wolf almost left her over this. Kipo was absolutely affected by this, it absolutely caused an identity/existential crisis for her, it absolutely freaked her out.

Kipo absolutely freaked out when her body started growing fur and exhibiting other extreme physical changes and showed indications she was somehow suddenly changing into a mute for no apparent reason. (This in no way indicates she ever harbored serious anti-mute feelings. This is literally about her body suddenly physically changing for no apparent reason.) So much of Tad Mulholland’s dream reflects her anxiety and yes, angst, about these sudden physical changes. Kipo’s allowed to get upset when her body suddenly starts physically changing and she has no idea why; and it’s happening on top of an already stressful situation where she’s separated from her father and the rest of her people in a world that’s still brand new to her and filled with as many dangers as wonders, etc. Kipo again has angst, or is reasonably upset over the whole thing when Wolf realizes she seems to be part mute and seemingly lied about it, and apparently rejects her for it; Kipo pours out her sadness and frustration and emotional turmoil to Jamack, who comforts her, and of course Jamack couldn’t comfort her if Kipo wasn’t upset or had angst and an identity crisis.

Kipo’s not automatically a cheerful sunflower all the time. She’s largely positive because she makes a concentrated effort to be (for example, Kipo does seem tired and ready to leave Jamack, but she decides to go back for him). Kipo’s an actual character with feelings and should be allowed to experience all emotions, even angst, because she should be allowed to get upset.

The only “refreshing,” actually different thing about this is the order--Kipo freaked out and had an identity crisis and angst when she got signs of an extreme change in her body before she learned the truth behind why this was happening.

I’d argue Kipo’s reaction is more about being so relieved to finally get some kind of answer for why her body’s been physically changing that she doesn’t try to challenge it too much, and that she’s also in denial about the gravity of the situation when she gets the revelation about what her parents did to her, and she also ends up pressured by time crunch/emergencies and just pushes her actual feelings over this aside because there’s no time. Kipo learns what her parents did to her, and then has a like a week to save her dad and her people before Scarlemagne’s coronation. Kipo really doesn’t have time to fully process the revelation; she has to focus more on using her mega mute jaguar powers for the practical use of saving her father and people, not actually take the time to really consider how she really feels about them and what her parents did to her.

And even when she’s just focused on practically using her mega mute jaguar powers, Kipo is in fact stressing and angsting over it. She may say she’s fine and express enthusiasm for her mega mute jaguar abilities and act impressed with what her parents did, but her mega mute jaguar abilities do adversely affect her whether she directly admits it or not. In the Deatherstalker episode, Kipo does show signs of the emotional pressure her mega mute status has put on her; with these mega mute powers, she has the power to help her dad and her people, so she keenly feels she has to, she feels responsible for this and probably feels that there’s no one else she can really turn to fully take this burden (of course she loves her dad and people and wants to protect them, and of course this is an all ages show with a number of kid protagonists, but still, she just turned 13, and lived a pretty normal, safe Burrow life until her home was attacked), and she stresses over suddenly being asked to successfully do a thing she’s never done before; Kipo gets super freaked out when her mega mute powers accidentally hurt Benson; and of course the Chevre Sisters have warned Kipo that she can lose her mind if she fully transforms, and much of the season is devoted to making sure that doesn’t happen. And later Kipo gets a concrete example of that threat when she learns her mother has been entirely absent in her life because she’s lost her mind to a mega mute transformation for 13 years and was also under Emilia’s control. (And while this probably needs its own post, to sum up: a lot of this is also again Song and Lio’s fault because of their experimenting, Song exposed herself to mutation, Emilia’s the worst but it doesn’t seem like she would weaponize Song if Song didn’t turn herself into a mega mute monkey susceptible to puppet pheromones torturously taken from Hugo.)

While it’s nice feeling like you’re seeing something new and refreshing, I feel like sometimes people fall into overly reactionary trends and don’t look at things on an individual basis or think of characters as their own individuals. Maybe people want to think it’s refreshing that Kipo’s not affected or not having angst over being a mute lab experiment due to her parents (but again, she has been affected by this) because they’re comparing this to other cartoons, but what about Kipo as a character herself and the show as its own story?

I also actually think the idea of Kipo getting upset over this makes more sense than many other cartoons and has much more impact, because her situation is actually really severe when you think about what the story’s done so far in terms of events.

I’ll probably do another separate “unpopular opinion” post on this, but to sum up: Lio and Song unnecessarily experimented on baby Kipo without her consent and pushed their own ambitions of “making the surface safe for humans” on her, also without her consent. It was canonically a dangerous experiment because they failed to realize Kipo could’ve lost her mind and been stuck as a mega mute, something that did happen to Song for 13 years; Song was accidentally mutated, and again the side effects were gravely underestimated because Song had a dramatic transformation where she not only lost her mind but destroyed the DNA Burrow, and Kipo could’ve been killed in that accidental rampage (and Hugo/Scarlemagne was literally scarred from it, he suffered literal physical damage from it--which also implies worse than injuries and physical scars could’ve happened).

I’ve read some people essentially say “well, not every cartoon has to get this emotional, it could just be cheerful,” and that just makes me think 1) then a cartoon should be written so that the more 24/7 cheerful tone fits, and 2) there are several cartoons you can already watch that don’t get so emotional. Just deal with the cartoons that do choose to be emotional, because cartoons can have a wide variety.

And I don’t think KATAOW is the place to pull “oh haha she’s not affected by all this even though it’s super messed up because let’s be just different from others and not think about our own story and cast we’ve just gotta go against an apparent so-called trend without laying down the groundwork to actually support that reactionary rejection of an apparent so-called trend.”

And I do really hope and still think that on some level the show is actually gonna pull through and address this and do something really neat. Because while Kipo acts like she’s fine with what her parents did to her, again there was her severe freak-out in season 1 when faced with actual consequences of what they did and with no one to give her any explanation for what the hell was happening, and there are her struggles with her experimental mega mute jaguar side in season 2; and just as importantly, Wolf and Benson seem alarmed by what Lio and Song did. I think that’s critical. Even if Wolf and Benson aren’t explicit about it, it’s pretty clear that they look uncomfortable with what they learn from the Project Kipo notebook, even if they’re more focused on going along with Kipo’s cheer. I just feel like that will be followed up in season 3.

And it’s a 3-season show. Writers have said that they have told a complete story with the show over 3 seasons. I can imagine that in season 3 they’ll follow up on this in some way and better challenge what Lio and Song did and let Kipo finally freak out over what her parents did, as much as she freaked out by herself in season 1.

Because that also gets to me. As things stand now, Lio and Song have avoided the worst of the direct emotional fallout of what they did to Kipo. They did not get to see their daughter have a gradual meltdown over the sudden changes in her body, her confusion and emotional turmoil and fear that her friend-sister Wolf rejected her over the whole thing. Kipo’s only ever acted like “it’s fine” to them about it. And I find that really unfair, especially to Kipo. She should get to be upset, she should get to be upset with her parents and make them better realize the consequences of what they actually did to her. Lio and Song should also just deal with even more consequences.

P.S. I also don’t really buy the half mute/half human as mixed race metaphor because it’s too deeply rooted in scientific experimentation on babies without any possible consent (and Kipo is already actually mixed race with a Black father and a Korean mother), and I have more thoughts on what it’s more about and its potential as a more unique story that’s specifically tied to the world of KATAOW, but I think that’s another post too.

#kipo and the age of wonderbeasts #kipo oak #lio oak #song oak #kataow #meta #not a reblog

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takerfoxx · 4 years

Text

In response to JK Rowling and Joss Whedon, my (former) idols

I really didn’t want to have to do this.

So in addition to…=gestures vaguely=…all of that, the last few months have been kind of sucky when it comes to learning some really unpleasant things about artists that I looked up to, admired, and was in fact inspired by. I’ve already spoken about the Speaking Out movement revealing a lot of ugly behavior from various wrestlers, some of which I was big fans of, and then later we got Chris Jericho being a full-on MAGA. Yeah, that all sucked. But those were just performers whose work I enjoyed watching. The one that really hurt were writers who I deeply admired, whose stories I love, and who I was heavily influenced by.

The first, of course, was finding out that JK Rowling, the author of perhaps the single biggest YA fantasy series of all time Harry Potter, is a TERF. This really sucked for a number of reasons. Firstly, I really like Harry Potter! I mean, I’m not a super fan or anything. I came into it when things were kind of dying down, like the whole book series had already been released and there were only a few movies left, but I still really enjoyed it, have all the books and movies and a fair amount of merchandise swag, including a nifty wand I got at Universal Studios. Shit, I got two replicas of the Sword of Griffyindor, thanks to them screwing up my order in my favor and sending me a duplicate! They’re on my wall right across from me as I type this!

But in addition to writing a book series I really liked, JK Rowling was supposed to be one the good guys. She’s been vocally progressive, often openly comes down on British right-wing nonsense, has supported various persecuted minorities, and is on record as being one of the few self-made billionaires to actually stop being a billionaire for a time because she donated so much money to charity. And while we mock it now, her revealing Dumbledore as gay was a huge deal at the time. Plus, she cultivated this reputation as Auntie Jo, that cool, supportive aunt we all wanted.

But for a while her stock has been dropping. Her preference for confirming “representation” via tweets instead of explicitly putting it in the text of her stories has raised the question of queer-baiting, especially with a whole-ass movie with a young Dumbledore and Grindelwald to make their relationship explicit but failing to do so. The whole Nagini thing from the latest Fantastic Beasts movie was pretty gross. And re-examination of various problematic elements from the original novels has rubbed a lot of people the wrong way. Now, none of these really looked to be intentionally malicious, of course. Just about everyone’s early work will have problematic elements; that’s just how people work. And the later stuff smacked more of ignorance than anything. But after all this time, it’s like, c’mon. You should know better by now.

But the biggie came when her transphobic views finally came to light. Now, this one had been brewing for a while, due to some questionable likes and statements on her twitter. But then she decided to just go public and published what essentially amounts to a TERF manifesto, one with a very “love the sinner, hate the sin” condescending attitude and had a real persecution complex air to it.

Now, I’m not going to go into detail about what the manifesto was about, what the circumstances surrounding it were, or how wrong it was. It’s already been raked over the coals, dissected, answered, and debunked in detail by people far more qualified than me, so odds are, you’re already well aware of its contents and the subsequent rebuttals. But the gist of it comes down to her basically believing that transwomen are actually cis men claiming to be trans so as to infiltrate and invade female-only spaces.

Yeah.

Okay, that’s gross, but…why? Why is someone so noted for being progressive and wanting to foster an inclusive environment making this the hill of exclusion that she wants to die on?

Well, that’s where things get tricky. She mentions that prior to Harry Potter, her first marriage was highly physically and sexually abusive, and when she escaped from that, she had no place to go, leading her to be homeless for a time.

Oh.

Well, that makes sense. Someone goes through a highly traumatic experience with a member of the opposite sex, has no support structure when she escapes it, is left to fend for herself, only to suddenly get rocketed into fame, fortune, and influence, which in turn leads to a Never Again mentality. She was hurt, no one was there to help her, and now she’s afraid of men invading women-only spaces to victimize others like she was victimized. So…literally transphobic. Literally a Trans Exclusionary Radical Feminist.

Guys, this is so fucked up. Like, how do you even approach something like this? She’s a victim in every sense of the word, so of course she’s going to have physiological damage and a warped view of things. I mean, if I found out that a close friend of mine went through the same thing and had the same prejudices, I would be nothing but sympathetic! I mean, I’d still do what I can to convince her to overcome those prejudices, but I’d still show sympathy and support for what she went through.

Abuse warps people. There’s a reason why so many abusers are abuse survivors themselves. It makes you terrified of being hurt again and often causes people to adopt toxic behaviors, beliefs, and reactions to protect themselves. I’ve already talked about it at length while discussing She-Ra and its own handling of the cycle of abuse, which included franks discussions of Catra’s horrible behavior, why she was the way she was, while never losing sympathy for her and rooting for her to overcome it. So if JK Rowling is an abuse survivor, is it really right to come down on her for having warped views because of that abuse?

But that’s the problem. See, she isn’t your troubled friend that you’re trying to help. She isn’t your cousin Leslie who’s a really sweet person but unfortunately adopted some bad ideals due to trauma suffered. She JK freakin’ ROWLING, one of the most famous, wealthy, and influential women in the world. She has a platform of millions, if not billions, which means her voice lends credibility to her bigoted beliefs. Alt-righters and other TERFs have already swooped upon this for giving validation to their awful beliefs, which puts trans people even more at risk. And as horrible as Rowling’s experiences might have been, the trans community is often the victim of far worse, and they don’t have a mountain of money and an army of defenders to protect them like she does. I’ve said it time and time again: just because you’re a victim, that doesn’t give you the right to victimize others! And bringing things back to Catra, as much as I loved her redemption in the final season, she was still a TERRIBLE PERSON for a huge chunk of the show, one that needed to be stood up to and stopped.

So yeah. That’s the messiness that is JK Rowling.

Now, let’s talk about the one that really hurts. Let’s talk about Joss Whedon.

I’ve made no secret of what a huge Whedon fan I am. Unlike Rowling, I was a HUUUUUGE superfan. Seeing Serenity for the first time in theaters was akin to a religious awakening to me as a storyteller, making it one of my top three movies of all time. Firefly is my favorite show ever. And I adored Buffy, Angel, and Dollhouse as well. I love Cabin in the Woods and The Avengers. The very first fanfic I ever wrote was a Firefly fanfic that disappeared along with my old laptop. I know his style isn’t for everyone, but I cannot understate how much of a personal inspiration he is to me as a writer.

And like Rowling, Joss was supposed to be one of the good guys! Buffy was monumental in pushing the needle when it came to female empowerment. Will and Tara were groundbreaking as a gay couple. He’s been outspoken for years about his feminist views and beliefs and was seen as one of the most prominent and influential feminist voices in Hollywood!

And then things started to go bad.

One day he was on top of the world, the mastermind behind the first two Avenger movies. And the next, it seemed like he was in freefall. It’s hard to really pinpoint exactly when the change took place. Some would say him being brought in as a last-minute substitute for Zack Snyder to take over on Justice League after Snyder had to leave due to family tragedy, and the subsequent awful critical reception to that film tarnishing his image, even if those were very unique circumstances that couldn’t really be blamed on him. Others might point to Age of Ultron’s less than stellar reception, as well as criticism of some questionable jokes and certain creative decisions regarding the character of Black Widow, which then led to a more critical examination of how Whedon continues to write female characters, as while his work might have been revolutionary in the 90’s, his failure to evolve with the times had meant that many of his portrayals are now woefully outdated and problematic, with his vision for a Batgirl movie getting hit with a lot of backlash as a result.

Again, I’m not going to go into too much detail, as this is all public knowledge and can be easily looked up, but overall it seemed that Whedon entered into a period where he was getting criticized more than he was celebrated, and his image of a guaranteed hit maker was now in doubt.

But all of this wasn’t the big problem. All creators go through rises and slumps, and everyone hits points where they get hit with a barrage of criticism; that’s just part of being a public creative figure, especially a progressive one. And had nothing happened after, it would have probably faded, got forgotten, and Whedon would have moved onto the next project with no fuss.

But as it turned out, it wasn’t just a minor slump in his career. Instead, it was the priming of the pump.

In 2016, Whedon divorced his wife of sixteen years, Kai Cole, and in an open letter, Kai Cole accused him of being a serial cheater, who would have affairs with a great many women, from co-workers, to actresses, to friends, to even his fans. And in addition to raising questions of him possibly abusing his position as showrunner to elicit sex from those working on his projects, there also is the ugly question of how could someone who speaks so highly of women then go and backstab the person who was supposed to be the most important woman in his life, as well as lying to her and denying her the autonomy of deciding whether or not she even wanted to continue to have a relationship with him?

Furthermore, Whedon himself has not explicitly denied these accusations, and comments made by him seem only to confirm them.

Now if you’ll recall, I reacted publicly to this news, and despite my admiration of Whedon’s work, I came down on Kai Cole’s side, and stated that while things like marriage issues and infidelity were no one’s business but that of the couple’s, it did raise a lot of uncomfortable questions about how Whedon treated the women in his life and he really needed to get his shit in order.

But hey, a messy private life and a guy falling into temptation isn’t that big of a deal, right? Plenty of creators also go through multiple marriages and have problems staying faithful and still continue making great art. We’re all human, it’s a stressful job, and this shit just happens, right? Sure, it’s gross and a shitty thing to do, but ain’t no business of ours, right?

In late 2020, actor Ray Fisher, who played the role of Cyborg in Justice League, openly accused Joss Whedon of fostering a hostile work environment, claiming that the director’s behavior was abusive and unprofessional, and that Whedon in turn was protected by DC executives.

DC and Warner Bros. came down against Fisher, claiming they had done an internal investigation that turned up no evidence of wrongdoing (yeah, sure they did), and soon Fisher was out as Cyborg, apparently for rocking the boat.

But then Charisma Carpenter, noted for her important role as Cordelia Chase in both Buffy the Vampire Slayer and Angel, then spoke up, claiming to be inspired by Fisher in doing so. She described Whedon did indeed foster a hostile work environment on his projects, that his often acted in a toxic manner, from asking incredibly invasive and inappropriate questions regarding her pregnancy to insulting her on set. She said that she made excuses for him for years, but after undergoing a lot of therapy and reading what Ray Fisher had to say, she felt compelled to speak out.

And this just open the floodgates. Other actors and actresses also came forward, some with stories of their own, others to offer support. Even Buffy herself, Sarah Michelle Gellar, confirmed Carpenter’s stories and said that she no longer wanted to be associated with Whedon. Michelle Trachtenberg, who played the character of Dawn, stated that she also experienced toxic treatment from Whedon despite her being a minor at the time, and says that the set had a rule that Whedon wasn’t allowed to be alone with her again, which really raises some sickening questions of what happened the first time. Even male stars have spoken out, from words of support and apologies for not speaking up earlier from Anthony Stewart Head and David Boreanaz, to an earlier interview with James Marsters, in which he described being terrified of Whedon, mainly due to an instance when Whedon was frustrated with the popularity of Marsters’s character of Spike messing with his plans and physically and verbally taking it out on the actor. There have been many corroborating stories of Whedon being casually cruel on set, on seemingly taking delight in making his fellow show writers cry, and even the man himself admitting to enjoying fostering a hostile work environment during his director commentary of the Avengers. We’ve joked about Whedon’s supposed sadism for years, but that was in regards to how he treated the characters in his stories, not the people helping him make them!

So yeah. That’s the problem with Joss Whedon.

So, do I think that Joss Whedon is somehow some kind of sociopath who lied about his feminist principles and deliberately put on a progressive façade specifically to get into a position of power so he could torment people? No, of course not. I think he was sincere about his beliefs, and I do think he didn’t realize the wrongness of his behavior. But that’s kind of the problem. See, it’s one thing to have kind of a trollishness to your nature, a sort of sadistic side. No one can help that. But when someone with that quality gets put into a position of power in which they are protected by both the higher-ups and their legions of fans, they are allowed to mistreat and continue to mistreat people. And by never suffering any consequences, that sort of toxic behavior becomes internalized, becomes a habit, becomes their moda operandi. And when you’re constantly getting praised as a creative genius and a wonderful feminist voice, any self-criticism just gets wiped away, and you think yourself above reproach, leading to what Joss Whedon became and went on being.

And you know what scares me the most about this particular issue? It’s not that I am a fan of his stories. It’s that I can so easily see myself turning out the same way.

Look, I’ll be upfront about it: I’m kind of a sadist myself. You’ve seen it in my stories, you’ve seen me gloating after a particularly dark plot twist makes my readers freak out. That sort of stuff is fun to me. There’s a reason why I have a much easier time in the dark and violent scenes, because I’m channeling something ugly within me. We all have a dark side, and this is mine.

But UNLIKE Whedon, that doesn’t carry over to how I treat people in real life (unless Monopoly or Mario Party are involved, then it’s fair game). Maybe it’s because I wasn’t given the sort of power and praise he did so early, and I was always taught to be considerate of other people’s feelings, but if I ever find out that I hurt another person or went too fair, I feel TERRIBLE, and it just throws me off all day until I apologize. Even if I don’t notice right away that what I said or did wasn’t cool (autistic, remember?), when it’s pointed out to me and I have some time to think on it, yeah, the guilt is on and I make a point to apologize to whoever I’ve hurt. I’ve even made a point to apologize to members of my family for inconsiderate stuff I said years ago as a little punk kid because it wouldn’t stop bugging me.

So maybe Whedon got too big, too fast. Maybe putting people on these sorts of pedestals, especially progressive ones, is ultimately a bad thing.

So where does this leave us? How are we to treat JK Rowling and Joss Whedon, one who developed a lot of transphobia due to abuse suffered while the other became a toxic individual due to unchecked control and a lack of consequences? Can we still enjoy their stories despite them now being colored by their creators’ falls from grace? Can we separate the art from the artist, or do we have to do a clean split?

Honestly, I feel that has to come down to the individual. I can’t remove the influence Rowling and Whedon have had on me as a storyteller, and I still highly respect both of their talents despite taking major issue with their problems as people. And I’m not going go throw away all of my Harry Potter or Firefly stuff. Because that’s my stuff. It has value to me, it doesn’t represent the issues with their creators, and a lot of it was gifts from people who are dear to me. Though I do think it’ll be a long time before I return to either of their work, as I just don’t have the stomach for it now.

But I will be avoiding any projects they have in the future. I don’t want to put money in their pockets that might go on to support their toxic beliefs or behavior. And as for royalties for their past work that would also support the cast and crew of the Harry Potter films or those who worked on Whedon’s shows who do not deserve to lose money because we don’t want any of that money going to the creators? Er, that question is a little above my paygrade. I don’t know. You’ll have to all decide for yourselves. As for me, I still have a lot of thinking to do.

Regardless though, if I or anyone else is still able to enjoy their work, then it’s important to not divorce what these people said or did from the art they created, even if it makes enjoying that art less fun. It’s important to be critical about what we enjoy, to acknowledge the bad aspects along with the good, and open up discussion of those elements, because that’s what mature adults are supposed to do.

And as for JK Rowling and Joss Whedon, whose stories I love, whose talent I admire, and whose past good work I’ll happily acknowledge, I do hope they both experience some sort of realization and enter into a period of self-examination that leads to them getting help for their issues, for Rowling to get help in coming to terms with her trauma and realizing that she’s wrong about the trans community and a full apology, and for Whedon to also come to terms with his toxic behavior and how he treats people, for him to make no excuse for what he did and sincerely apologize to those he hurt and work on bettering himself, as well as them both examining some of the more problematic tropes still present in their works. Because despite everything, I do feel that they can still be a creative force of good, and it would be a shame if they let themselves self-destruct.

But if not, then if it comes down to choosing between Rowling and the protecting the trans community, if it comes down between choosing between letting Whedon continue to make shows and protecting actors and writers from his abusive behavior, then I know who I’m siding with, and it ain’t the two individuals this whole essay is about. No story, no matter how good, no matter how creative, is worth letting sacrificing vulnerable people in order for it to be made.

#jk rowling #joss whedon #harry potter #Buffy The Vampire Slayer #angel #firefly #justice league #ray fisher #charisma carpenter #kai cole #transphobia tw #abuse tw #toxicity tw #TERF tw #rant #TERFs don't interact I do not want to talk to you #same for abuse apologists

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xbellaxcarolinax · 4 years

Text

Heartbreaker- Part 3

Pairing: Modern Ivar x Female character/ reader (She)

Word Count: 6332. Yikes.

Warnings: Sexual content, language, angst

Moodboard@peterquillzsblog

AN: The third part of this thing I did for @youbloodymadgenius 400 Followers Writing Challenge. I’m a bit insecure about this part, and it was hard to write but I hope ya’ll like it. Shout out to my girl @shannygoatgruff for helping me and encouraging me with the writing process. You da best.

Part 1, Part 2

...

The stars were mocking her, she was sure of it.

Her eyes were glued to her ceiling, the stupid LED’s sparkling brighter now that the sun had completely set and the moon had taken its place. She started learning her constellations when she was 10, the age when shit at home started to hit the fan. It was her attempt at an escape to avoid her parents fighting in the other room. She ignored the yelling and banging against the walls by running to her tiny window and staring out into the sky in the hopes of catching sight of Orion’s Belt or any of the dippers. The stars were nicer then, comforting her as she did her best to drown out her mother’s screaming. They weren’t so visible now that she lived in Oslo, the city lights blocking everything that glowed in the sky. She had to settle for the cheap projector she purchased off amazon when she first called the city home, and it had been enough for her to get by until now. It ridiculed her, the fake stars shimmering together as if to form a smirk.

Fuck that.

She reaches behind her nightstand, yanking the cord from the wall with force, cutting off the starlight and leaving her ceiling pitch black. The candles were still flickering as the only light source, the scent of roses still strong. At least it smelled nice. Flopping back against her pillows, she runs her hands down her damp face from her salty tears, dropping her arms to her sides and dragging the sheets over her still naked body. She hadn’t moved since he left. She couldn’t move even if she wanted to. Her body felt rooted to the mattress, her skin glued to the sheets. She gives the dark ceiling one last glare before rolling to her side, burying her face into the pillow where Ivar’s luxurious hair had left the fragrance of his coconut shampoo and his Armani cologne. She was fucking pathetic.

Sending him away felt like a mistake.

She wanted to feel powerful kicking his ass out. She wanted to feel in control and confident watching him leave, but she didn’t. He wasn’t even angry. As soon as she told him to leave, he silently gathered his wrinkled clothes thrown about in their haste. In rigid movements he dressed himself, grabbed his crutch, and turned to look at her over his shoulder, his eyes scanning the shape of her body under the thin sheets. He said nothing, just stared at her with this look of longing, like they were the most unfortunate pair to grace the earth. It certainly felt that way. Then he reached over, holding her head gently to place a kiss on her temple before leaving her bed. All she wanted to do was to cry and call him back as soon as she heard her front door close with a soft click.

The facade immediately collapsed and the smirk slipped from her lips, settling into a deep frown. Her eyes welled up with tears and cascaded down her cheeks without so much as a fight. She had felt a heaviness in her chest, a burning that ached over her as if Ivar himself had reached inside her and ripped out her heart. He had broken it, so why did it hurt just as much when she tried to hurt him?

Because she loved him. She loved Ivar.

She was in love with him. Completely and hopelessly and stupidly in love. Like a fucking idiot. She loved him when he visited her at the museum. She loved him when he took her home. She loved him when he took her to bed. And she loved him more when she watched him leave, his expression forever implanted in her mind like a photograph. She’d never seen such a look on him before.

When the hell did it start to get to that point? She wasn’t too sure. It started simple enough, boundaries were set, and they were both happy with what they had. The sex was great, and even greater still when she realized her feelings were getting involved. She found love in the simplest things. She felt it in their little touches whenever she handed him something, in the smile that lit up his face when she made his favorite meal of steak and potatoes, or the way he looked at her when he knew she was wearing something particularly naughty under her clothes. Or maybe she loved him from the moment they met at that fucking party. Apparently it only takes the brain 2 seconds to fall in love with someone. She couldn’t even remember where she’d read that. Probably from that corny lifestyle magazine she picked up while waiting her turn at the dental office. Whatever. The damage was already done.

She fights to ignore the delicious throbbing between her legs, her body craving more of him and his touch. It bothered her, how her body was betraying her. With a sigh, she shifts away from Ivar’s scent, curling into herself and making a mental note to wash the bed sheets as soon as possible. A bath would be nice, preferably with lots of bubbles, but she was too lazy. She’d just have to wake up earlier.

She takes even breaths to calm her heart rate as she watches the candle on her nightstand flicker, hoping she’d find sleep soon.

Morning came a lot quicker than she hoped.

She was the epitome of a zombie, which meant she’d need her morning coffee. Her eyes were sensitive against the morning light and her body ached from more than just a sleepless night. She took a quick shower, fed Benji, and made her caffeinated drink. She was in complete autopilot, that is, until there was a knock on her door. Irritated at the early disturbance, she goes to the door with half a mind of what was on the other side of it.

Pink daisies. Twice as many as before. This time, they were arranged in a stained glass vase, much like the windows of a cathedral, with vivid colors of green, blue, and red, depicting a simplistic design. It must have cost him a pretty penny no doubt, but money was never a problem for him. It was lighter than the porcelain vase, but still heavy in her hands. She places it on the counter, her fingertips skimming over the silky petals as gently as she could without damaging them. They were beautiful, but she found herself unable to admire them. She had a melancholic view of them now. They couldn’t be her favorites anymore.

There was that white card again, hiding within the stems of the bouquet. She hesitates, her fingers grasping the rough textured paper, reluctant to peer inside in fear of another hurtful message. With a shaky breath she flips it open.

I’m sorry.

Love, Ivar.

The words were written messily, unusual for him as he had perfect penmanship learned from his years in boarding school. Again, the water from the vase dotted the card, causing the black ink to bleed a bit. Her fingers follow the streaks down to the edge, picking up some of the faded pigment. It was as if he were the one crying this time, asking for forgiveness with fucking flowers. Either this solution worked for him in the past or he was just really fucking stupid.

She bites her lip, fiddling with the card before opening her junk drawer and tossing it inside. She didn’t have the strength to get rid of it. She carefully takes the vase in both hands, setting them down on her coffee table and arranging her candles and other knick knacks around it until it pleased her. She sits on her sofa, watching Benji put both his paws on the surface of the coffee table, curious of the new scent in the flat. Pulling her phone from her back pocket, she searches her contact list, going to her blocked numbers. Ivar’s name was the only one on that list.

Unblock?

She pauses, her finger hovering over the button. One tap, and she would be signing up for more heartbreak. Then the image of the blonde appeared in her mind, her in bed with Ivar, smirking and devious. Mocking.

It wasn’t worth it.

With a sigh she tosses her phone onto the table with a loud clack, the corner smacking against the edge of the vase and spooking Benji. She sucks her teeth.

Forget it.

…

Ivar runs his large thumb over the smooth cream colored domino piece, watching Hvitserk deal the pieces out to him and Sigurd. He’s been in a foul mood since the night he left her flat and he’s been hugging alcohol and cigarettes to his side like long lost friends, specifically Patrón and Marlboro. They dulled whatever strange feeling he felt that fluttered in his chest whenever he thought of her.

Normally, women were never a problem for him. It was always the same routine. He’d find himself a pretty girl, date her for a bit, and find another one when he got bored. He’d tell them that love was out of the equation and that was it. There were a few that grew attached, but he’d nip it in the bud before it could escalate. Others were understanding. They’d have their fun and go on their merry way to do it over again with some other asshole. It was supposed to be simple. So why was she making things so fucking difficult?

Well, he wasn’t being entirely fair, he had to admit. They were both difficult. She had fallen in love with him after he warned her not to, and he couldn’t bring himself to keep away from her after he’d sent her away. He had a routine, dammit, but now all he finds himself wanting is a fucking routine with her. Like maybe a normal one. He had gotten use to her, her smile, her touches, her scent, fuck. How long had it been? A year? The longest he’d ever been with a girl. Seriously. And now Freydis was up his ass for attention. He knew the bimbo didn’t feel anything past physical attraction for him. It was just for his time and money, which he didn’t mind at first, but the bitch was terrible in bed and an unpleasant person to be around.

And so he hoped she’d appreciate the flowers. Women loved flowers, right?

Ivar gives the longest sigh he could muster in order to keep his thoughts at bay, deciding to stare at the domino in his hand. It had 2 giant black dots, and the longer he stared at it, the more they appeared like scrutinizing eyes, judging him and his decisions. He slams the piece face down on the table with a glare. Fuck, he was going crazy.

"Where'd you even get these?" He grunts, snatching up his forgotten beer and taking a sip. It wasn’t tequila but it’d have to do for now.

"Bjorn bought them for me from Cuba." Hvitserk says pointing at the little wooden box they came in with the Cuban flag expertly painted on the surface.

"He brings domino's but no cigars?" Sigurd grumbles, arranging his pieces away from the prying eyes of his brothers, “I’d rather cigars.”

"Domino's are way cooler than cigars, Sig," Hvitserk argues, "And maybe Bjorn doesn’t like you enough to bring you fucking cigars, but forget that. What I really want to know is why our baby brother here looks like fucking shit." Both the older brothers turn to look at Ivar with knowing looks, ready to tease if need be.

"What the fuck are you talking about?" Ivar argues, slamming his first piece down to commence the game. Maybe he wasn’t sleeping much these last few days. And maybe he had bags forming under his eyes and wasn’t eating much, preferring his alcohol and chimney sticks, but he wouldn’t go as far as to say he looks like shit. Then again, he wasn’t looking into his bathroom mirror much either.

“Hvits is right. You look like a kicked puppy, and not even a cute one.” Sigurd snickers, placing his own piece down with that stupid little smirk on his face.

“There is no such thing as ugly puppies.” Was the grunted reply.

“Point is, you look like shit. Have you been sleeping? We know how much you love your beauty sleep.”

“And fucking,” Hvitserk chimes in, placing down his domino, “I think Ivar has us beat. He’s competing with Bjorn at this point.”

“Or maybe it’s that little vixen of his causing trouble. How is she doing by the way? We haven’t seen her in a while.” Ivar flares his nose at the nickname that Sigurd had given her. He fucking hated it now more than ever.

“Shut. Up.” He snarls, sliding his domino piece hard enough to push the rest off the table.

“What the fuck, Ivar! If you break my shit, I’ll-”

“So this is what you guys do when I’m not at the office?” Ubbe bursts in through the door of their little lounging area, a frown forming on his lips as he eyes them in pure displeasure before they settled on the game pieces, “Who’s idea was it to play dominoes when we have clients blowing up our fucking phone’s? And drinking beer? That’s just brilliant. Assholes.”

“That’s why your girl is the secretary, Ubbe, she can handle it.” Sigurd waves his hand around, glad that Ubbe’s outburst overshadowed Ivar’s. When the youngest got mad, it wasn’t pretty, but it was fucking entertaining.

“It was my idea, by the way,” Hvitserk chuckles, placing all the pieces that fell back on the table top, “Wanna play? There’s more beer in the mini fridge.”

“You’re all fucking garbage.” Ubbe mutters, but heads over to the fridge to pull out a beer before plopping down on the empty chair beside Ivar with a sigh, “Before I forget, Ivar, Torvi says some guy just came by to drop something off for you.”

“I’m not expecting a package.”

“You sure? I’ll tell her to bring it in.” After a few minutes, Torvi peeks her head in through the crack of the door before fully opening it, a bouquet of wilted pink daisies in her hands. The color drains from Ivar’s face as the blonde approaches, handing him the flowers with this odd look on her face. Who would send Ivar fucking flowers anyway? And dying ones at that. His brothers immediately start to laugh at Ivar’s stunned look, another session of teasing on the way.

“You have another admirer, little bro?” Hvitserk chortles, mixing the domino pieces for a quick shuffle before dealing them.

“The flowers look like shit.” Comments Sigurd, leaning back against his chair. Ivar, still bewildered into silence, blinks stupidly. He stares at the wilted daisies, the petals easily falling off when he brings his fingers to touch them. They really did look like complete shit. Just like how he felt.

“There’s a card clipped in there. You gonna read it or what?” Ubbe taps his youngest brother's shoulder to elicit some kind of reaction from him. Ivar composes himself before quickly snatching the white card. It was one he had already written a message in by the looks of it. The card was bent at the edges, and he recognized the black ink from his favorite fountain pen.

Finally summing up the courage to read the message, he flips the card open, his previous simple apologetic words were crossed out. A new message was written below it that had his little cold heart hammering in his chest. He bites his lip, his blue eyes scanning the 4 words over and over again.

Sorry isn’t good enough.

…

The Tune ship is a fast sailing vessel able to transport passengers quickly across 100 meters. It is speculated that the vessel was a warship, able to carry its passenger and light cargo farther distances at a much faster-

“Ahh, there you are. In the library just as I assumed.” She quickly removes her eyes from her laptop screen in favor of the intruder that addressed her. She immediately stands, pushing it aside and placing her hands behind her back. The museum director, Mr. Kent, chuckles at her nervousness, smoothing a hand down his pale beard. He must have been a blonde in his youth as his hair had a faint yellow glow when under sunlight. He was a decent man of English origin, specifically from Winchester, who had taken over as the museum director about a year ago. He was a man who loved to dress well, fancy suits and shoes to demonstrate his abundance of money, but it wasn't haughty, not like the Ragnarsson’s. Mr. Kent came from even older money, and apparently from a line of kings that ruled England centuries ago. He had a massive reputation, to say the least. “I didn’t mean to startle you. I’m actually in need of a favor. Do you have a moment?”

“Of course, Mr. Kent, what can I do for you?”

“Please,” He chuckles, “Ecbert is fine. As for the favor, my grandson will be moving from Winchester in a few short weeks, right before the gala for the Tune ship exhibit. I’d like for him to shadow you during your tours, if that is alright with you?”

“Oh! Yes, of course. It would be an honor.” Fuck no, it wouldn’t. The last person that shadowed her was super fucking annoying and ended up getting fired anyway, but since this was Ecbert’s grandson, it would be different, he’d have privilege. Hopefully he wasn’t douche.

And shit. The fucking gala. She’d almost forgotten about it. It was the only event that the museum held in which she could attend, dress up, and feel pretty, but it was the one event that made her more nervous than anything else. She’d be surrounded by the richest people in the country, patrons of the Viking Ship Museum and other prestigious institutions and universities. And champagne, lot’s of champagne. Rich people knew how to party.

“Excellent,” He smiles, clapping his hands together as if to solidify their agreement, “Don’t let me take up more of your time, I know you're doing your research for the new exhibit. I’ll be happy to give you access to the archives if you’d like? You might find something of interest that isn’t in the scholarly journals online.”

“That would be fantastic, Sir, thank you.”

“Have a great day.” She watches the older man leave, before plopping back down onto the cushioned seat with a sigh. He wasn’t as intimidating as their last asshole director, but she still treads softly around him. You can never get too comfy with those above you.

She did some more research for another half hour before checking her watch. Another tour of the Oseberg ship was scheduled in a few minutes and she would be free to go home and feel sorry for herself and her love life. She puts away her laptop in her purse, quickly rushing over to her office to freshen up before the tour. It was a busy day at the museum as they were now at the start of tourist season, which meant the museum allowed for bigger groups to be guided, and more people meant more noise and more irritation. Walking toward the entrance of the museum, she scans her eyes over the group of the afternoon, suddenly hoping to find a pair of blue eyes looking back at her. But that wasn’t the case. She frowns. He wouldn’t come looking for her after that fucking stunt she pulled. She shouldn’t want him to look for her anyway.

She sighs, plastering the fakest smile on her face before greeting the group.

Her phone was truly the devil. Honestly, did it intend to constantly notify her on Ivar’s posts and images? And since when did he post so damn much? She’d have to turn off her notifications, or block him off of Snapchat. Actually, why not just throw the whole fucking phone away? Ridiculous. She grumbles to herself, wondering why she hadn’t deleted him off of any social media apps yet. There was an answer to that, she just didn’t care to admit it. She was never into that stuff anyway, just keeping her accounts for communication purposes for her friends and family back home. It was getting rather lonely. Her time was mostly spent with Ivar, and now that they’re having their little rift, she realized her lack of friends. Had she really revolved her life around him? Shit.

Stretching her legs down the length of the sofa, she makes herself comfortable for the stupid shit she was about to do. She grabs her phone, scrolling through her apps and goes on Instagram. Ivar had posted 3 new photos. He was out at some bar in the city having a good ass time it seemed. His best friend, Heahmund, was in all of them, probably as a chaperone since Ivar couldn’t handle his liquor much. Heahmund was a good friend for that and Ivar was lucky to have the British fuck look out for him.

Ivar’s story was filled with clips of him goofing off. He was totally drunk, she could tell by how lidded and unfocused his eyes were, and how pink his lips were from constantly pursing them over a glass. His hair was all fucked up and out of its usual bun, as if he were fucking someone right before the video was recorded. Almost immediately after the thought, a drunk Freydis comes into the shot. That explained it. She should really throw her phone away.

Freydis giggles at the camera before placing her lips to his cheek, trailing them down his neck in sloppy kisses.

A rage boiled within her and she felt her fingers tighten around her phone. She needed to calm down. He was doing his own thing and she might as well do hers, though it was much easier said than done. The other videos he posted were of him taking shots of whatever it was, most likely tequila, and grinning into the camera like an idiot. Or maybe she was the idiot. Why should she mope around while he was having the time of his life? She knew how to have fun!...Right? Well, sometimes. Okay, maybe not. That party she met Ivar in? It was an invitation she had refused countless times. She couldn’t be bothered with the guy who begged her to go, but she went anyway due to her lack of socialization at the time.

Going out and partying was never fun when she was always the sober one. She did drink of course, but her tolerance was a lot better than most, say, like Ivar. She couldn’t count with her fingers the amount of times she had to call an Uber to get his ass home. The very few times she’d gone out with his brothers, it always ended with the same outcome, except Ubbe would end up saving their sorry asses.

Ubbe was the sweetheart, why couldn’t she have felt this way about him instead? Right, he had a girlfriend. She grumbles to herself, thinking she's better off alone.

…

“Where are you going?” The scent of alcohol had rooted itself deep within Freydis’s pores, her breath tickling his ear in an unpleasant manner. She stops him when he slips off the bar stool, pulling him by the collar of his shirt to bring him back to her side. He didn’t like that. He didn’t like how her hands felt on him or the look she wore. He didn’t like any of it. The loud trap music that blared from the speakers had activated him earlier that night, but now it made his head ache something terrible. The bass seemed to be vibrating right through him and he rubbed the side of his temple to subdue the growing headache. He reached out to stabilize himself on the bar counter. He was so fucking drunk.

“I gotta pee. Get off me.” Ivar grumbles, pushing her away with little grace. Clingy bitch.

“What?” The blonde scowls, her eyebrows arching and her lips set in a tight line. Shit. He said that out loud?

“Nothing.”

“I think he called you a clingy bitch, actually.” Heahmund repeats Ivar’s demeaning words, a chuckle escaping his red stained lips from the wine he was drinking. This was the fun part of the night for the older man. Ivar had no filter when he was drunk. Well, he never really did have a filter, sober or not, but it was a lot funnier when he had alcohol in his system. He could be ruthless.

“I fucking heard him, asshole.” Freydis snaps, seemingly sobering up now that she was angry. Heahmund breaks out in a smile to which she glares in return.

“I gotta pee.” Ivar announces again, not bothering to look at Freydis before stumbling towards the restrooms. He belches after letting out a series of hiccups, pausing to place a hand on the wall to steady himself. He was so fucking drunk. How many shots of Patrón had he taken? 3..4..? He started counting out loud, bringing his unoccupied hand to his face in order to use his fingers. Wait, there weren’t enough fingers on that hand. He stumbles again when he lets go of the wall, using the other hand to make his calculations. 5...8? Shit, he lost track. Forget it. It was a lot of Patrón.

Using his shoulder, he bursts in through the restroom door, mumbling an apology when he runs into someone. Ignoring the blurry image of the guy scowling at him, he makes his way into a stall and pisses his life away, his head resting against the cold tiled wall as he scrambles to gather his thoughts. He wasn’t happy. The alcohol wasn’t making him happy. Freydis wasn’t making him happy. What the fuck was wrong with him? He was a simple man with simple pleasures yet for some reason, a basic routine and a basic girl weren’t enough anymore. This was all her fault. Why was she torturing him without even trying? In his intoxicated state he could still remember how her voice trembled when she cried and how her eyes looked when they glossed over with tears. How drunk did he need to be to admit that he had hurt her? Really fucking drunk. Like now.

He slams the red door of the stall open, not even flinching when it banged against the stall beside it, maneuvering himself clumsily over to the sink. Gripping the porcelain, he leans forward to get a good look at himself through the streaky mirror. His eyes were so low he could barely see himself, cheeks flushed bright pink and lips matching in color. When did his bun get loose? He looks at his wrist hoping to find a hair tie but scowls when he finds none. He grunts in annoyance, turning on the tap to wash his hands before dragging his wet fingers through his hair. The cold water felt good on his heated face and he closed his eyes for a moment. He gazes at himself one last time before coming to a decision. He needed to talk to her. Right now.

Digging in the pocket of his simple denim jeans, he whips out his phone, struggling to find her contact name before pressing the call button and bringing the device to his ear.

You have reached the voice mailbox of 45-

Fuck. He forgot. She blocked him.

He wanted to throw his phone in frustration. Why did she block him? Did she not understand that he needed to talk to her right now?

Oh wait. Snapchat. Snapchat has video calls. That’s it. Ivar immediately takes a fat finger to scroll to the app, forcefully pressing down on the little ghost in haste. Finding her name in his contacts list, he presses the little video icon, hoping she’d answer. After a few seconds he almost gives up, but then his screen lights up, and he is rewarded with her tired eyes.

“Hey,” He breathes, noting the dim light in her room, “Were you sleeping?” He slurs, and immediately curses himself for sounding so stupid. He clears his throat in the hopes of gaining his language skills back.

“Ivar?” Her voice was heavy with sleep. It was exactly how she sounded when he used to wake her up in the morning with soft, lazy kisses to her shoulder. He missed that. “It’s like 2am. What are you calling me for?”

“I...I don’t know. Missed...your voice.” The words poured out his mouth like vomit. Actually, he was shocked he hadn’t gotten to that point. He threw up at least once after a hard night of drinking. His eyes fell shut as he leaned his head back against the wall beside the sink. God, this speech impediment was bad. He hears her snort tiredly on the other end.

“You’re drunk.”

“Mm...noooo, no. Mm not.”

“I can smell the tequila from here.”

“Wait, really?” His eyes pop open as he brings his phone closer to his face. He couldn’t focus all that well, but he could make out her sleepy features. Those pretty lashes of hers brushed over her cheeks with every lazy blink, and her messy hair was placed in a high ponytail at the top of her head.

“No.” Was her flat reply, pure irritation seeping through the word. Ivar stares at her displeased look for a moment longer, sighing in an almost dream like manner.

“You look beautiful.” He answers back, sliding down the wall to sit in a much more comfortable position. He didn’t care if the floor was dirty, he was drunk, and he didn’t want his legs to start hurting like a bitch.

“Shut the fuck up,” She says, “Words of a drunk.”

“I’m being serrrrious,” Ivar whines, “You always look amazing, you know that?”

“Right. Is Heahmund still there?”

“Yeah,” He pouts, “Why? You’d rather talk to him? You like him or something?” Ivar had never been the jealous type, but he was whenever it involved his brothers or Heahmund. When he had started seeing her, their interest zeroed in on her like fucking hawks, and so he made it abundantly clear to them that she was off limits. She was his conquest, no one else’s. So no, he wouldn’t consider himself the jealous type, but everyone else needed to stay the fuck away from her, even if she wasn’t his to play with anymore.

“No, Ivar, to make sure you’re gonna get home okay.” She sighs, shifting in her sheets and rubbing her face in frustration, “And it seems you will.”

“Aw, you worry about me?” He grins stupidly, his mood shifting wildly as he rubs his phone on his sweaty cheek as if to send her affection.

“No more than you do for me. How’s Freydis by the way?” The bitterness in her tone was enough to bring him down from whatever high he was feeling. Ivar scowls, shifting the phone back so they were now directly looking at each other. He blinks, trying to clear his head again. Freydis. He forgot about her already. And he didn’t really care anyway.

“Clingy bitch,” He muttered his words from earlier, “I don’t wanna talk about her. I wanna talk about you.” He almost laughed when she pinched the bridge of her nose in annoyance.

“What about me, hmm?”

“I dunno,” He shrugs, his eyes searching hers through his fingerprint covered screen before passing them over her visible form again. She was wearing that one t-shirt she favored, the comfy one with the large neckline that always slid down enough to expose one of her smooth shoulders. Her messy hair and tired eyes reminded him of the many nights spent together tangled under his sheets. It made him swallow thickly as he brought a hand down the center of his jeans to ease the growing ache. Fuck, he needed to get his shit together. Still, in their silence he conjured up images and ideas in his head that he certainly shouldn’t at that moment, but fuck it. He licks his lips, feeling the sly grin stretching across his face at the words his brain had given to him, ready to spill from his mouth, “Maybe I just want to talk about the way your back arches under my hands, or the sounds you make when I-”

“Ivar,” She stops him immediately, her face blooming that pink color he loved, “Kindly shut the fuck up.” She looked like she was about to say something more, something much harsher and meaner, but she stopped herself. Instead, she takes in a breath, rubbing her eyes, and suddenly, she didn’t seem all that tired anymore. “Did you like the flowers?” She asks instead.

“Huh?” His eyebrows curve in confusion as his hazy mind tries to decipher the meaning behind the question. What was she talking about? Flowers? What flow-Oh. Right.

Sorry isn’t good enough.

He sighs, leaning his head back against the tiled wall. He could hear the transition of trap music out in the bar to some basic pop he hadn’t heard on the radio in years. He was in no mood for Kesha.

“I hated them.” He mutters truthfully. The wilted daisies made his heart sink. He’d never felt that way before. Was that how he made all those other women feel? He chews the inside of his cheek, ignoring the pulse behind his eyes and the ache in his head. Finally, the nausea kicked in and his stomach churned for the inevitable. He swallows thickly, running his hand through his messy hair, her eyes following his every movement trying to read his expression. Even in his intoxicated state, he made it hard for her to read him.

“This is a lot harder than I thought it would be.” He says miserably. Why does he fuck everything up? If he had never gone to that stupid party in the first place, he would have never met her, and he wouldn’t be feeling that way he does now. Like complete trash.

“What a shame,” She says, cocking her head to the side, her ponytail brushing against her cheekbone, “Just take your own advice, and try not to fall in love.” She gives him one last look before she hangs up, having him stare at his screen for a few seconds to understand what just happened. He remains seated on the dirty bathroom floor for a few moments longer, continuing to ignore his churning stomach and the tightness of his throat.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Heahmund bursts in through the door, immediately grabbing hold of Ivar’s arm and helping in lifting him up to his feet, “You’ve been in here for 20 minutes. Freydis left in a cab.”

“Good for her.” Ivar grunts, shoving his phone back in his pocket. He pushes Heahmund away, going back to stand in front of the mirror. He looked sick, sweat building up near his hairline.

“What’s wrong with you, hmm?” The older man questions, crossing his arms and using that tone on him as if he didn’t have 4 fucking older brothers already.

“Being a fucking idiot, that’s what.” Ivar says, closing his eyes as his chest burned with that familiar sensation.

“Finally feeling bad about what you did, huh?” Heahmund questions, “You know, no amount of fucking flowers and alcohol is gunna fix anything or make you feel better. You needed a reality check. She gave it to you.”

“And you call yourself my friend, traitor?” Ivar managed to say before pushing past him and into a stall, heaving out all the contents from his tequila filled stomach.

…

The Tune ship exhibit was coming together.

The fragments of the ship were strategically pieced together to form the remains of the ancient ship to its former glory. Well, most of it anyway. It was a fraction of what it once was in the past, but it was still an impressive archeological find, and although it wasn’t as massive as the Oseberg or the Gokstad, it was still considerable in length. She felt like a speck of dust standing beside it despite its lack of framework. She observes the rotted wood and the grooves within each ancient plank, wishing she could reach out and touch it; to feel what they must have felt like a thousand years ago. It’s been 2 years since she began working at the Viking Ship Museum and she still found herself in awe at every artifact that entered their exhibits. She supposed it was the bookworm in her. Ahh fuck. That’s what Ivar calls her.

She immediately frowns, her face twisting in displeasure. Somehow, her thoughts always went back to him, and that irritated her greatly.

“Hello?” The unrecognizable voice echoes throughout the empty exhibit. She looks over her shoulder at the intruder, her gaze gravitating to meet the clearest blue eyes of a boyish young man. The blackest hair she’d ever seen frames his blushing cheeks and the tips brush softly over his shoulders. She blinks at him, cocking her head.

“Uhh, hi?”

“I’m sorry,” He lets out a nervous chuckle, looking around the unfinished exhibit to avoid meeting her eyes from his embarrassment, “I didn’t mean to startle you.” He had a gentle voice, a hint of shyness in the undertones. And extremely British.

“No it’s fine,” She approaches him, sticking out her hand to greet him with a handshake and a small smile, “You must be Mr. Kent’s grandson. I wasn’t expecting you so soon…?”

“Alfred,” He answers, grasping her hand and offering her a timid smile back, “It’s a pleasure.”

...

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