#at any point - even vaguely suggest that a man should maybe get therapy. | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

ushidoux · 3 years

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He, Hercules - Ushijima x Reader

Summary: What is Ushijima if not strong? (~2.0k words)

Warnings: accident, temporary disability, implied depression, some suggestive themes, hurt/comfort

A/N: I have limited experience with athletic injuries and mental illness so bear with me. If there is anything you find inaccurate or insensitive in my depiction, don’t hesitate to pm me! <3

---

“Mr. Ushijima?”

You perk up when you hear the secretary’s voice call out your husband’s name, only realizing now that in your long semi-long wait you’d ended up dozing off, resting your head against his shoulder. Clearly, you must have been exhausted, because it takes you a moment to remember where you are, and why you’re here.

There are very few others in this small office aside from the single middle-aged man in the corner who you realize is staring quite hard at you, and you wonder briefly if it’s because you somehow looked inappropriate or acted inappropriately while you were asleep. There shouldn’t be anything very noteworthy about a young couple inside a therapy practice.

You glance at Ushijima who is barely moving despite the fact that his name was just pronounced. He’s as still as a statue and his expression is neutral as is typical of him, but you still perceive the lack of intensity behind his eyes, a constant reminder that no matter how much he acts as though he’s fine, he’s not.

Why else would you be here in the first place?

You nudge him gently.

“Love, they called your name. It’s time for your session,” you whisper into his ear.

He had been staring off at a fixed point across from him, but he does still respond to your nudges. When he rises, it’s done slowly, and he walks besides you with a slight limp in his left leg. He doesn’t wince with any step but the arm you hold onto as you walk with him through the hallway down to the provider’s office is stiff. You wonder if he resents how clingy you’ve gotten since his injury, handling him with kid gloves as though he were the most fragile of glass. You can’t help it. You’d almost lost him.

The office is open when you arrive, and a man who looks only a few years older than Wakatoshi is seated in a cream armchair, waiting, a measured smile on his face. Ushijima doesn’t smile back but he doesn’t frown either.

“Welcome! Please come in and make yourself comfortable,” the man says without missing a beat, rising to shake his hand. He also shoots a glance at you, but before he can ask you to introduce yourself before politely shooing you out of the room (this is not couples’ therapy after all, even if it will help the two of you), you squeeze your husband’s hand before quickly exiting.

“I’m his partner, I’ll see myself out, thank you!”

You worry slightly about leaving him alone in this stranger’s care, but Ushijima is not a child and this isn’t the first day of kindergarten, he’s a man recovering from a life-altering injury and has finally agreed to go to therapy.

You’re not sure how optimistic to be, but you’ve done an extensive amount of research and this particular therapist boasted credentialing in sports psychology, was highly recommended and had worked with a lot of current and former athletes alike.

Of course, this would all be meaningless if Ushijima refused to talk, but as you started your car to pass the next hour at a nearby mall, you gave yourself a little bit of hope.

---

“Tell me about yourself,” is the first question the therapist asks, after offering not much more than his own name, and Ushijima is slightly annoyed by the question.

He does not want to be here in the first place, he doesn’t need to be here, and now he’s asked a question as vague and audacious as ‘tell me about yourself’ like he’s expected to pour out his feelings to this stranger from the very second he sits in this admittedly comfortable couch.

He pauses. He’s not sure exactly what he would say.

He’s nearing 30. He’s married, no kids. If it’s not obvious, he’s from Japan. He plays volleyball professionally… well, played, up until recently.

He frowns. That’s why he’s here. Because you don’t think he is okay, even if all of his injuries have essentially healed aside from this annoying limp that makes it obvious that he’s in some way not in optimal shape, broken, vulnerable. This limp is the reason why he can no longer play even if he feels fine otherwise, and why he’s not exactly sure what to do next.

But that’s beyond the point. The question is about himself.

What else can he say? How would others describe him?

His friends call him serious, just as the media describes him. Quiet and serious. Dedicated. Strong.

Maybe he’s not that last thing anymore, but that too is beyond the point.

You think he’s sweet; you say this repeatedly. You tell him that he’s kind and considerate.

He thinks for a moment that maybe he was too kind. Kindness is what got him in this predicament in the first place, isn’t it?

A moment of compassion - a likely exhausted mother whose eyes leave her child for a split second to rummage through her purse, a little girl whose tiny legs take her just a bit too far out into an open intersection, a speeding car that shows no signs of stopping…

He remembers the exact moment he is no longer jogging but sprinting to take the child out of harm’s way, as well as the exact moment he hears his bones snap on impact, and he’s too shocked initially to feel pain, eyes frantically searching for the kid who now is standing on the opposite side of the street, looking at him in curiosity because the toddler is too young to understand what it means to see a body crumple. She’s unharmed, so he’s successful.

A woman screams and she sounds nothing like you. He’s not sure if that’s a good thing.

The car speeds on.

---

You sit in a food court, poking at some fries, but you’re not exactly hungry, just anxious. Is the session going okay?

Even if the man is a professional at getting people to talk, Wakatoshi is a hard nut to crack. You could envision him sitting silently until the hour passed completely, before getting up to bow and exit stage left. It had taken you months to get him to agree to go to anything other than physical therapy.

You hope this is not an exercise in futility.

---

“I’m fine,” he grunted, just a couple days out of the hospital, once you’d started nagging him for weight-bearing on the leg that had just been operated on.

“Your leg was literally shattered!” You shouted. “You’re lucky they didn’t amputate!”

He gave you a mildly fatigued look. All he’d wanted to do was walk to the kitchen by himself, without crutches in his own house, and he’d barely made it a couple of steps before you were standing in the bedroom, looking all sorts of stressed and concerned.

He figured your concern was temporary, so he attempted to quell his stubbornness. He had already been benched for the season, possibly to likely forever and pouring out his frustration on you wouldn’t be helpful.

“What do you need? I’ll get it for you.”

He frowned but he let you help him anyway.

---

“My name is Wakatoshi Ushijima. I moved here several years ago from Japan to play volleyball professionally. I was in a bad car accident a few months ago and my wife is concerned that I’m not adjusting well.”

The therapist offers a small smile again.

“Do you disagree with that assessment?”

Ushijima tilts his head slightly. He does disagree… he doesn’t? He’s not sure. He’s frustrated of course, who wouldn’t be, he had just been in the Olympics after all, but he’s fine. He’s strong.

He’s strong.

---

“We just wanted to thank you again.”

Wakatoshi glanced at the gifts the couple before them had brought, a bouquet of flowers and stacks of cookies and pastries in boxes on the living room coffee table, before looking back at you. Your face remained polite and smiling but you were clearly uncomfortable from the way you were perched on the seat, nodding carefully as you listened to your visitors, your arms crossed over your midsection as you leaned forward in your chair.

He knew you wanted to be angry at them, well, her, the mother who looked at him pitifully initially then averted her eyes out of shame. But it wasn’t her fault but yet, it was her fault and still, it wasn’t. It was very complicated. No one was at fault. Her daughter was safe.

Everything was fine.

---

You’re back in your car again, ready to drive to pick up your husband from therapy. Things should get better from here on.

Maybe he will no longer shut down like a brick wall when you suggest that now is a good time to start transitioning away from sports for the future. Maybe he’ll be less upset with small things like not being able to run as far, or lift as much or please you as much in the bedroom as he used to.

They’re small things compared to losing his life.

---

“I would like to go back to playing but I’m told at every turn that it’s too dangerous, maybe even after a year of healing.”

The therapist nods, and scribbles something on a sheet of paper.

“How does that make you feel?”

The therapist notices even through Ushijima’s accented Polish that he’s naturally eloquent, but regardless he still lacks the words to appropriately talk about his feelings.

His hands grip at his knees, the good and the bad one. The word ‘useless’ comes to mind but he can’t bring himself to say that to this stranger, even if these four walls come with the promise of understanding.

For once, silence is uncomfortable for him, and the therapist is surprisingly good at staying quiet. They sit in silence for moments longer and surprisingly, Wakatoshi speaks up first.

“Weak,” he ekes out in a voice that is so small he barely recognizes it.

To that, the therapist leans just slightly forward, focusing his eyes on the man’s restricted range of motion and slightly hunched shoulders. It’s the posture of a man who’s normally stoic and confident, now made uncertain about the future.

“What’s wrong with weakness?” He says quickly, and Ushijima is somewhat stunned which then lends way to a small measure of anger.

Everything is wrong with being weak. Weakness was for other people. How could he protect himself, his livelihood, his team, you?

What is he if not strong?

---

“I love you.”

He says it less often than you do to him, but every time he does, he means every word. You shifted beneath him, weary from the lovemaking of just prior but still nevertheless craning your neck up to reach his lips.

Your hands traveled down his shoulders and along the length of his bulky arms, playing with his biceps, drinking in the sight of his muscles flexing as he moved. He smiled and wrapped his arms tight around you, laying his head on your chest.

“Aww, Toshi, you’ll crush me if you hold me so tight. You barely know your own strength,” you teased with a laugh, prompting him to loosen his grip ever so slightly, and lift up his head to show you the smallest of pouts.

“I love you more,” you added, giggling.

Pleased, he lay his head back down on the softness of your bosom, clinging to you more. He’d protect and take care of you forever.

---

You hold Ushijima’s hand tightly as you walked out of the building to your car, holding in your curiosity about the session the entire time.

Would he go again?

He gives your hand a squeeze suddenly which surprises you, and when he turns to you, there’s a small upturn in the corner of his lips that approximates more of a smile than you’ve seen in recent weeks.

You’re elated enough that you immediately give him a hug, and maybe you’re a bit overzealous about it, but he stops and holds you close for just a moment.

“Thank you.”

There’s a lot in the thank you, and you shed a tear.

---

Strength is relative and inconstant, so our first task is to work on your definition of strength.

But I would say, coming here in the first place is already evidence enough.

#ushijima x reader #ushijima wakatoshi x reader #ushijima wakatoshi #mae.replies #mae.writing #tw injury #tw depression

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bombshellbois · 4 years

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Code 314

@harringroveweekoflove

Harringrove Week of Love Day 3: Car Sex

Rating: M

Words: 2688

Summary: The story of Billy’s least favorite arrest for indecent exposure ever. And it’s all Steve’s fault.

There’s only one interrogation room in the Hawkins police station. That means Billy is left handcuffed to Jim Hopper’s desk while Steve is in the interrogation room. It’s dark in the station, aside from the yellow light framing the shade over the interrogation room window, and the lamp on Hopper’s desk. Fucking small towns. This is, without a doubt, the most unprofessional arrest Billy has ever had.

Hopper emerges from the interrogation room and slams the door behind him. No Steve. Billy expects Hopper will sit down and pick up his phone and call Mommy and Daddy Harrington to come pick up their kid. Then it will be up to Billy to deal with whatever the fallout is. Hopefully Hopper didn’t make Harrington cry or anything, so Billy can still sort of respect him after.

Hopper does not reach for his phone.

No, he throws his hat on the desk and drops down into the chair hard enough that it scoots back several inches on the wooden floor. Folds an arm on the desk and leans in close to Billy, looking him square in the eye. He looks tired and sort of pissed.

“Steve Harrington is a goddamn pain in the ass.”

“I know the feeling.” Billy has worn that look many a time, and exclusively from dealing with Steve. He can actually kind of sympathize with the cops on this one. “But if what he told you sounds like bullshit, he’s being straight with you this time.”

“Here’s what’s gonna happen.” Hopper picks up his clipboard where there’s a mostly blank form for citations. Only the top is filled in. ‘Code 314- Indecent Exposure’ “I’m not gonna finish filling this out.”

“I’m sure Steve will appreciate that. He’d be the talk of the country club.” Billy suspects that’s not a gift to Steve, though. For a cop, Hopper is okay. He’s let Billy off with 14 warnings for speeding so far. Neil has gotten 2 speeding tickets and had his car towed for illegal parking.

“So you’re going to tell me what the hell happened and why it was a bad idea.” Hopper pulls the sheet free and crumbles it into a ball, tossing it into the trash can. “Then I can tick off the little box in my conscience that says you won’t do it again and we can all go home.”

Billy rolls his eyes. Jesus, he’s never going to be able to look Hopper in the eye again. “Come on, man. Didn’t Steve tell you?”

“I want to hear it from you.”

“Steve wasn’t lying. We really weren’t having sex in the middle of the woods. We were… look, I know it sounds like a lie, but we were... it was like therapy.”

Hopper’s eye twitches a little. “Police observation evidence would suggest otherwise.”

“I know what it looked like, but admit it. You can’t actually say you saw any dicks,” Billy pushes.

“Just… tell me what you two were doing out there,” Hopper sighs.

“What are any teenagers doing out there? You know what that spot is for.” Billy sighs and sits back in his chair. “But if you really want the gory details…”

***

“Would you stop wiggling?” Billy leans down and grabs the bottle of lube he shoved under the driver’s seat and flips the cap open.

“I’m not wiggling,” Steve huffs, wiggling to try and… do something? Billy isn’t sure because it’s the back seat of the Camaro. There’s pretty much no room, and Steve sure as hell isn’t gonna find more by squirming. He’s just gonna make things harder.

Billy pauses and pinches Steve’s thigh, hard enough to get a hiss out of him. “Fucking hold still. I’m gonna make a goddamn mess all over the backseat if I have to try and catch you after I put this stuff on my fingers.”

Steve rolls his eyes, but he makes a ‘go on’ motion with his hand and then tucks an arm under his head. Billy grabs Steve’s ankle and braces it on his own shoulder. Steve squirms and drops it, hooking it around his waist instead.

“Harrington. I’m not gonna guess where your asshole is, asshole. Not when it’s my seats under your ass. Work with me here.”

Steve groans unhappily but lets Billy hook an arm under his knee and haul his leg back up. “It’s too small back here.”

“Yeah, I know it’s fucking small, Princess. It’s the back of a fucking muscle car. Who’s fault is it that we can’t use your house?”

Steve’s face twinges a little. Fuck. Billy has his dick out, he’s hard, he’s got his boyfriend naked from the waist down, and now Harrington is gonna fondle his conscience. It works because yeah, that was probably a little below the belt.

“Sorry, babe. It’s the blue balls talking. When’s the last time we went a week without fucking?” He leans in to press an apology kiss to Steve’s lips, until Steve whines. He actually whines, long and pitiful, and grabs Billy’s shoulder.

“Too far. Bending it too far.”

Billy drops his eyes to the very naked leg braced against his shoulder. “What? I’ve practically had you bent in half before.”

***

“Okay, stop. Stop!” Hopper waves his hands, looking a little pallid in his desk lamp. “That’s way more information than I needed.”

“You asked what we were doing up there,” Billy points out. “We were trying to fuck in my car. Like every other couple that parks up there.”

“But you weren’t in your car.” Hopper taps his desk emphatically. “There’s a fine line, Hargrove. Stay in your car and you’re fine.”

“We would have if Steve had followed his stupid recovery regimen like he was supposed to!”

“Recovery for what?” Hopper takes a breath, holding up his hands. Billy really should let that Byers woman know that this guy tries to follow her advice. “Just… go back to where this all started.”

“You’re the boss.”

***

“Practicing late again, Harrington?” Billy asks, glancing over as Steve comes into the showers. It’s just the two of them at this hour, and it’s been a good few days since he really ragged on him properly. How convenient. Steve just glares at him and dips his head under the water. “Ever thought about maybe just being good at the game?”

“Ever thought about shutting up, Hargrove? I hear it works wonders for people with your condition.”

Billy grins, holding his tongue between his teeth. That pisses Steve off endlessly. “My condition? Go on, gimme the punchline.”

“Being an asshole.”

“Someone is feisty today. Did—”

***

“No. No, not where you two started,” Hopper interrupts him. “Skip ahead to where this incident started.”

“Oh.” Billy shrugs. “Okay. It was the end of basketball season and we celebrated by me fucking Steve until he couldn’t walk straight.” He ignores Hopper’s heavy sigh. “Literally, too. But then the coach made us do hurdles the day after. That’s where it all kind of went downhill.”

***

Billy knows before Tommy even starts jeering that Steve is hurt. He lays there a second too long in the red dust of the track, the fallen hurdle tangled between his legs. Billy can tell that asshole is trying to figure out how to get up without looking hurt, because that’s the shit Harrington worries about. Sighing, he ‘accidentally’ slams his elbow back into Tommy’s stomach as he chucks his water cup into the trash before jogging out onto the track.

“Regular gym class hero, aren’t you?” he mutters, hooking his hands under Steve’s armpits and hauling him to his feet.

“I’m fine,” Steve protests while trying not to put weight on his right leg. It’s a sort of pained hopping that’s not very convincing of being fine.

“Yeah, you look totally great.” Billy pulls Steve’s arm around his shoulders and waves to the coach. “Hey! I’m taking Harrington to the nurse!” he calls, and doesn’t pause to wait for a hall pass or whatever. He’s got Steve hopping around like the hurt asshole he is. That’s better than any hall pass out there as far as permission goes.

Billy is surprised that when he dumps Steve onto the bed in the nurse’s station, he makes another pained noise and shifts to lay down. Then shifts again onto his side.

“What hurts?” he asks, sitting on the low, plastic stool that’s always by the wall. He figured they had an ankle or knee issue here, but that didn’t seem right.

Steve rest a hand on his right leg. “Thigh. Something in the back of it.”

“Sounds like a hamstring injury,” Nurse Agnes says, bustling in and jamming a thermometer into Steve’s mouth. Nothing like a fever to pull a hamstring, Billy guesses. “Which leg, Mr. Harrington?”

“Right,” Steve mumbles around the thermometer.

“Don’t talk,” she huffs.

“But you asked me—”

“On your back, Mr. Harrington.”

Steve grunts and shifts onto his back, looking over at Billy for solidarity. Billy just grins and splays his legs further on his stool, kicking one leg up to brace on the side of the infirmary desk. Steve turns the same shade of red he gets after a good hour in practice. He makes a vague swatting motion that probably means ‘stop it’ but he sure doesn’t look away. Billy just runs his tongue over his teeth at him, getting the red to turn two shades darker.

Agnes’s diagnostic technique appears to be trying to shove Steve’s leg up towards his chest and seeing when he starts making pained sounds. Then she whips the thermometer out of his mouth and sweeps out of the room, tutting and shaking the thermometer and muttering about Steve running too warm.

“I was in PE,” Steve calls after her, grabbing the pillow out from under his head and chucking it at Billy. “Asshole,” he hisses.

“Can’t help it. Kinda hot watching you get fondled by a sixty-something old woman,” Billy teases, tucking the pillow between his own head and the wall. “Thought she was gonna mount you any second.”

“Me too,” Steve admits, dropping his head back down on the stripe of sanitary paper on the bed. “It was terrifying.”

***

“The official diagnosis was ‘hamstring injury and a mild fever, young man.’” Billy says, leaning on the heel of his hand as best he can while he’s handcuffed. “She put him on ice for 20 minutes, gave him some cheesy printout about stretches, and told him to give it a few weeks to heal.”

Hopper unlocks Billy from the cuffs, and then unlocks them from the chair as well, securing them back to his belt. Billy has the vague urge to get up and walk out just because he technically can and that’s his normal response to authority. He does have the good sense not to piss off one of the few okay adults in Hawkins, though, and not to ditch his boyfriend at the police station.

“Right. So Steve hurts himself and you just… forgot?” Hopper raises his eyebrows. “I’m sure you’re a more considerate boyfriend than that.”

Billy raises his eyebrows right back. “Based on… what?”

“Call it a hunch.”

Billy sighs and rubs his wrist. “Whatever you say, man. Anyway, that was over a month ago. I forgot about it once he was allowed back into the normal classes at gym. See, we don’t usually fuck in my car. Steve’s shitty parents are usually out of town. I thought the guy was secretly an orphan for a solid month after I met him because they were never around…”

***

“Why the fuck are your parents here for so long?” Billy groans, sitting low in the driver’s seat of the parked Camaro, letting his head loll out the window while he smokes a cigarette.

Steve lights his own cigarette and rolls the passenger side window down. “For my birthday.”

Billy frowns and raises his aviator sunglasses, glancing across the car. “It’s not your birthday.”

“I know. But next month there’s a conference in Tokyo or something.” Steve blows a mouthful of smoke out of the car.

“Okay, but… next month isn’t your birthday either.”

“I know.”

Billy thinks about also pointing out that since they’ve been home, they don’t appear to actually be doing anything with Steve. He and Billy spend all their time in Billy’s car, complaining about not having a parent-free place for sex anymore. But he figures Steve realizes that already too.

“Can’t believe we’re reduced to car sex at the local make-out point,” Billy sighs instead. “Surrounded by the other horny masses.”

Steve looks out the window. It’s turning dusky already, and making it hard to see the other cars parked among the trees. Pretty soon it’ll be too dark to see any of them, until they finish doing the deed and turn on the headlights to drive away, one by one. “We could always wait for my parents to leave. Might be another few weeks though.”

Billy stubs out his cigarette in the ashtray. “Get in the back seat and get your pants off, Princess.”

***

“Skip the sex part,” Hopper interrupts him. “I don’t need to hear that again. Just skip to the part I drove up to.”

“Okay, so remember that stupid little care sheet the nurse gave Steve?” Billy shoots a glare at the closed door of the interrogation room. “Guess who didn’t do any of his stupid fucking stretching exercises?”

***

Billy kind of hates his life right now. And his boyfriend. His boyfriend who has probably locked his fucking hamstring up because he thought sitting on ice for two goddamn days was as good as actually stretching.

“You’re the worst fucking athlete in the world,” he growls, grabbing Steve’s leg by the knee, kneeling in between his legs with their hips wedged together. It manages to be completely unsexy because Steve is an asshole, though. Billy is kind of mad at his own dick for staying hard through all of this.

“Oh fuck you. You don’t get to talk when you’re having the stupidest overreaction in the world,” Steve snaps, gesturing around vaguely from where he’s laying in the grass in his t-shirt and boxers. “Everyone is probably watching us.”

“Everyone is probably fucking because they didn’t fuck up their leg as soon as their sport season was over.” Billy sets a hand along the back of Steve’s thigh and leans his weight in gradually. “So now I get to fucking play physical therapist with your ass until it loosens back up.”

Steve hisses at the slow stretch when his thigh is barely past vertical. “My ass is fine, thank you.”

“Not if I can’t get my fingers into it, it’s not. It’s useless. Your ass is useless right now, Harrington.”

***

“Okay.” Hopper taps the desk like he’s surrendering a wrestling match. “Okay. That’s where I came by on my sweep. We’re done here. Just… stop talking. And do that in the gym from now on. Wearing more than just your underwear.”

Billy stands up and stretches. “Told you Steve was telling you the truth. Can I have him back now?”

Hopper gets up from his desk and grabs his hat. “Steve didn’t tell me anything.”

Billy blinks at Hopper’s back. Now there was a surprise.

Hopper opens the door to the interrogation room, spilling yellow light out onto the floor. Billy can hear Steve’s voice inside.

“Unless you’re here to give me that phone call, we have nothing to talk about.”

There’s a heavy sigh from Hopper and the sound of cuffs being unlocked. “Please get out and go home.”

Steve steps out of the interrogation room, blinking around at the dark interior and rubbing his wrists. “Billy!” He scrambles over and grabs Billy’s arm. “I didn’t say anything. If Hopper said I did, he was lying. I never sold you out.”

“You can’t sell me out when we actually didn’t do anything wrong,” Billy sighs, resting a hand on Steve’s head and turning him towards the door. “But thanks. Come on, Princess. I’ll take you home before the phone here rings and it’s your mom.”

Hopper shuts the station door firmly behind them.

#my writing #harringroveweekoflove #harringrove #billy/steve #poor Hopper #he did not sign up for this #he's here for the inter-dimensional monsters #and the evil scientists #and even the Russians getting involved #he does not need to investigate anything involving this much teenage sex

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particularemu · 4 years

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Insanity | A Hwang Hyunjin Series | Part 6

Parts: [Prologue] [Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3] [Part 4] [Part 5] [Part 6] [Part 7] [Part 8] [Part 9] [Part 10] [Part 11] [Part 12] [Part 13] [Part 14] [Part 15] [Epilogue]

Word Count: 4226

Type: ANGST, FLUFF

Warnings: insanity, self-harm, suicide, drugs, depression, anxiety, panic attacks, physical violence

Tag List: @arohatiny, @malibuxw, @jisungsjheekies, @channiesmixtape, @minnepinne

Author’s Note: Guess who shows up in this chapter? 👀

Side note: y’all keep changing your usernames, which is making it very difficult to tag you. So if you guys don’t get tagged, I’m sorry ):

When Hyunjin arrived in your room the next morning, he was surprised to see you were fast asleep. Since he started working at the hospital, you’ve always been an early riser. He couldn’t help but wonder if something happened after he left yesterday.

“I’m glad you’re here.” Chan smiled at Hyunjin. The older boy looked worn out and tired.

Hmm... Chan doesn’t normally look so worn out after a shift. Something must have happened last night. Perhaps night terrors? You’ve been having them sporadically over the past couple of months, but lately, it seemed as though you were having them constantly. “Tough night?”

“Very.” Chan sighed. “She’s been having nightmares all night. I tried to comfort her, but nothing was working.”

“Oh no…” Hyunjin sighed. The poor thing just couldn’t catch a break. You’ve been through so much over the past few months and now you have to suffer with nightmares that keep you from sleeping through the night. He wished you would talk to him about them — tell him what you were seeing when you closed your eyes at night, but... he understood why you didn’t want to.

“Dr. Douglas walked past her room when she was in the middle of a panic attack.” Chan sighed.

Hyunjin mentally cursed his luck. “Of course he did. What did he do?”

“He let me handle it.” Chan paused. “He suggested more Peroproxin. I agreed, but I haven’t given her anything.”

Hyunjin nodded. “Thank you.” Words couldn’t describe how grateful Hyunjin was for Chan. Every single time you take a dose of Peroproxin, you wind up having horrible anxiety attacks. Hyunjin couldn’t bear to see you go through that again.

“Of course.” Chan smiled. “I’ll leave you to it. I’m sure she’ll enjoy your company more than mine.”

Hyunjin waved at Chan before heading to your bedside, brows creasing when he saw you squirming in your sleep.

Oh no…

Hyunjin wished he could give you something to take the nightmares away, whether it be a pretty dreamcatcher or a plushie to hug. Unfortunately, the hospital wouldn’t allow any of that. Hyunjin shook your shoulder, startling you awake before you went into a full panic.

You frantically sat up, eyes scanning the room as you caught your breath. As soon as your eyes met Hyunjin’s you dove into his arms, startling the young doctor. Hyunjin wrapped his arms around you, so slowly — so gently, anyone would think you were made of glass. “Hey sweetheart, it’s okay. I’m here now. What’s going on?”

“I had a nightmare.” You sniffled. “A bad one… I think.” Your hands grasped Hyunjin’s shirt, pulling the doctor as close as physically possible. “I don’t remember what happened. I feel like it’s a memory, but I just... I can’t —” You started to tear up.

“Hey, it’s okay.” Hyunjin ran his fingers through your hair. “Don’t work yourself up.” Hyunjin leaned his head against yours. “You’re okay.”

“I’m sick of not knowing anything.” You pulled back and wiped your tears. “I’ve been here for a couple of years and I don’t know why. I haven’t seen my family in ages. I don’t know what’s going on. I’m just scared Hyunjin.”

Hyunjin could feel his heart shatter as he saw the hopelessness in your eyes. You were giving up on yourself. He couldn’t allow you to do that. “I know sweetheart.” Hyunjin rested his hands on your shoulders, soft brown eyes boring into yours. “I can help you with that.”

“You can stop these nightmares?” You sighed and wiped the tears off your cheeks.

“No… Umm. I can use some therapy practices to dig those memories out of your brain.” Hyunjin smiled softly, eager eyes searching yours for any signs of hesitation. “Do you want to try it?”

You thought about it for a moment. Was that even possible? Would Hyunjin be able to help you recover your lost memories? You didn’t want to let him down. “You really think I can remember what happened?”

“Yes indeed.” Hyunjin pulled back, tapping his index finger on his temple, a strange habit you grew to love. “Memory repression was discovered by Sigmund Freud. According to him, people who suffer from severe traumatic experiences can unconsciously reject those memories. Patients have been known to forget the entire situation as if it never happened!

This was discovered in the late 1980s when there was a series of allegations of child abuse in the U.S. With the help of therapists and counselors, the children were able to recall certain memories. Of course, psychologists wondered if the claims were valid.

There’s no ethical way to study memory repression in a controlled setting, so there’s no way to know how repression works. I’ve heard of many cases where patients tried to recover memories, but there were inconclusive results because the brain tends to replace traumatic memories with false memories.”

You couldn’t help but chuckle as you watched Hyunjin pace about the room. His eyebrows were knit in concentration as he spouted information as if he was a human textbook. A small smile tugged at your lips as you watched the genius's lips move, intelligent words tugging at your heartstrings as he told you about how fucked up your brain was.

“That’s what I’m worried about with you.” Hyunjin turned to face you. “Recovering repressed memories can dig up some bigger issues. We can try using hypnosis or guided visualization, but some experts believe those techniques aren’t reliable.” Hyunjin paused, a small pout forming on his lips. “Sometimes recovering those memories can create new symptoms. You’ve been through too much already. I don’t want this to set you back at all.”

You opened your mouth to speak, but Hyunjin kept going, making you smile.

“There are many studies out there that have proven it’s possible for the brain to create false memories. Sometimes they can remember those fake memories in more detail than their actual memories. Unfortunately, it’s almost impossible to tell what memories are true or false.”

You couldn’t help but chuckle at the boy the longer the tangent went on. “Hyunjin?”

Hyunjin paused, eyes widening as his cheeks flushed. “Right… Sorry.” He chuckled nervously. “My point is, I can help you recover those memories if you want, but it is risky.”

“How so?”

“Well…” Hyunjin paused and sighed. “These memories had to be traumatic for your brain to stash them away. Are you sure you want to know what happened?”

You paused. Hyunjin was right. What if remembering those things would be too scary? What if you uncovered memories you never wanted to see? Maybe you were better off not knowing anything, content in your make-believe life you managed to conjure up while you were stuck in the institution. Still… that’s not a life. You were dying to know who you really were. You nodded. “I want to try.”

Hyunjin smiled softly. “Okay, why don’t we sit on the bed.” Hyunjin sat on the mattress and pat the spot next to him. “Turn and face me, and hold my hands.”

You did as the boy asked, sitting criss-cross in front of him as your hands slid into his. Anxiety bubbled in your chest as you prayed that you’d be able to uncover something... anything! Even if it was a small memory. You haven’t seen your mother in ages. Perhaps you could uncover memories of her? Hyunjin squeezed your hand and — God, it felt nice having his long fingers intertwined with yours.

“Perfect.” Hyunjin smiled brightly at you, making your heart soar. “Can you close your eyes for me?” You shut your eyes, hands tightening around Hyunjin’s as you fidgeted. Sure, you trusted Hyunjin but having your eyes shut made you uneasy. The sounds of Hyunjin’s soft breathing made you feel calm. “Very good.” His gentle voice made you feel safe. “You’re doing great.”

“I hope so.” You giggled. “I just closed my eyes.”

“And you closed your eyes like a pro.” Hyunjin chuckled. “Now, I want you to think about that dream you had.” Hyunjin’s voice lowered ever-so-slightly. “Can you tell me what you saw?”

“I saw…” For a minute, you completely blanked. What did you see? Where were you? Oh… you were walking down the street at night. You could recall seeing a van. “I saw a navy blue mini-van.” You said. “I think it was blue anyways… Maybe it was black?”

“Very good.” Hyunjin’s soft voice made you feel safer.

You could vaguely remember walking down the street, the street lamps illuminating the sign of a very familiar bakery. You could recall the smell of fresh-baked bread and pastries, the beautiful cupcakes resting in the display case, the art hanging on the walls. “There was a bakery.” You smiled. “I used to go there every morning. My friend owned that bakery.”

Hyunjin couldn’t help but smile at your excitement. “Very good.” He traced the outside of your hand with his thumb for no reason in particular. Your hands were so soft… he could hold them all day…

Oh, but that’s not something he should be thinking about right now. “Was it night?”

You nodded. “I was heading home.” Your brows creased. “I don’t know where I was, but I know I was trying to get home.” You walked right by the van and — you could see flashes of a struggle, a man holding your arms back as you thrashed, a searing pain in your head.

Your eyes snapped open. “I can’t do this anymore.” You stood up and pulled your hands out of Hyunjin’s. “I can’t do it. I can’t.” You started to breathe fast, hands rubbing your arms. “I can’t.”

“Hey, it’s okay.” Hyunjin quickly pulled you into his arms. “You did so well sweetheart.” He pursed his lips as he felt you shake in his arms. He was so curious — he wanted to ask what you saw, but now wasn’t the time. God, he shouldn’t have tried to resurface those memories.

“Hey, look at me.” Hyunjin pulled away from you, resting his hands on your shoulders as your teary eyes met his. “It’s a process. We won’t uncover everything right away.”

“You’re right.” You wiped your tears and sniffled.

Why did this hurt so bad? Hyunjin sighed as his chest tightened. It felt like his heart was being pulled in two different directions. Here you were, a girl who’s confessed, a girl who has admitted her love for him, and Hyunjin couldn’t bring himself to say anything. He couldn't find the courage to kiss you, to hold you, to tell you how he felt. All he could do was sit and stare at you.

“Oi! Dumbass.”

Yes, he was a dumbass. Wait…

Hyunjin couldn’t help but snort when Minho popped his head through the door, looking obviously annoyed. “It’s almost the end of my shift, I thought you were coming over like an hour ago.” He chuckled. “Are you coming or not?”

“Where are you going?” You looked at Hyunjin in confusion. He usually doesn’t leave unless it’s absolutely necessary. Frankly, you didn’t want to be without the boy. “Can you stay?”

Hyunjin smiled and grabbed your hand, lacing his fingers with yours. “We are going to meet someone.”

You grinned and stood up, tightening your grip around Hyunjin’s hand. This felt so natural — like you were meant to have your hand in his. “Who are we going to meet?”

“We’re going to meet Minho’s friend. His name is Han Jisung.” Hyunjin followed after Minho as the three of you walked down the hallways to Room 318.

Minho opened the door and rolled his eyes. “Seriously Asher? I asked you to watch him for five minutes.” Sure enough, Asher was lounging in one of the chairs, thumb swiping left and right as he swiped through a random app on his phone.

“It’s not my fault you took so damn long.” Asher sighed. “I have shit to do.”

“Like play Candy Crush?” Hyunjin snickered, making Minho snort and laugh.

“Shut the fuck up Hyunjin. This doesn’t concern you.” Asher took a step forward. The boy wasn’t quite as tall as Hyunjin — in fact, Hyunjin had a good few inches on Asher. However, the shorter boy was packing some serious muscle.

You released your grip on Hyunjin’s hand, shifting behind him the closer Asher got to the tall boy. Your hands wrapped around his arm as you leaned your head between Hyunjin’s shoulder blades as if his back would protect you from the angry man in front of you two.

“Asher, just get your shit and leave.” Minho sighed. “I’m not in the mood for this drama.”

You glanced over at the pile of papers Minho pointed to, immediately spotting your name. Why did Asher have your medical information? Do those papers contain information about your past? You slowly let go of Hyunjin’s arm and walked over to the papers while Asher had his back turned, attention completely on Minho. Every fiber of your being screamed at you to walk away, but there were so many unanswered questions. You were dying to know.

“Drama?” Asher scoffed. “You think I’m creating this mess?”

“No one else is talking.” Minho frowned. “You’re the only one with your panties in a twist about watching a patient for five fucking minutes. I’m back. You’re done. Now go.” Minho gestured to the door.

Jisung burst into a fit of giggles at Minho’s words. “Panties!” He laughed hysterically. “I bet you wear those pretty pink ones.”

Something completely snapped in Asher. Pure rage filled his eyes as he stalked towards Jisung, finger pointing in his direction. “You shut the fuck up.”

“Hey!” Minho stepped in front of Jisung before Asher could do anything. “Get out now.”

Your head snapped to the chaos as you reached behind you, grabbing the packet of papers while Asher was occupied. You moved quick, rushing to Hyunjin’s side to shove the papers in his chest. Hyunjin looked confused as his eyes quickly scanned the contents. “What is this?” He whispered in your ear.

“Hide it now.” You were practically shaking, afraid that Asher would turn around any minute and catch you stealing from him. If he was THIS angry after being teased, you couldn’t imagine how pissed off he’d be once he finds out you stole from him.

Hyunjin quickly slid the papers in his bag, confusion evident on his face as he tried to figure out what the hell was going on. He’d have to look at the papers later when the immediate threat of being beaten down wasn’t on the table.

“I’m not done with him.” Asher snarled, hand curling up in a fist as if he was ready to punch anything standing in his way.

“Get. Out. I won’t say it again.” Minho leaned forward, practically touching noses with the angry boy.

God, you’ve never seen such fury in Minho’s eyes. Usually, the older boy had such kind, sparkly eyes. At that moment, they were filled with pure hatred. You hoped you would never have to see those angry eyes directed at you.

“Just get out before you embarrass yourself further. It’s not like you’re a real doctor anyway.” Hyunjin crossed his arms over his chest, chuckling as Asher’s head snapped to him. “Oh? Did I upset you?” Hyunjin taunted the boy.

“The fuck are you talking about?” Asher snarled.

“See, I thought it was suspicious that you knew absolutely nothing about the prescription process, so I went ahead and looked at your records,” Hyunjin smirked. “Guess who doesn’t have a medical degree?”

Asher turned bright red and lunged for Hyunjin, knocking him back into the wall. The man’s hand wrapped around Hyunjin’s throat. “Shut the fuck up!” You’d expect Hyunjin to look afraid, but the boy merely glared at Asher, fury evident in those chocolate eyes.

“Jinnie.” You tried to run to his aid, but Minho grabbed you and pulled you away from the chaos, so you wouldn’t get hurt.

Hyunjin was afraid — very much so in fact — but he couldn’t show any fear. He didn’t want to frighten you. He ignored the rapid thumping in his chest and practically growled. “Get out of this room, right now.”

You could see what was going to happen — it was plain as day. You managed to slip out of Minho’s grasp right as Asher pulled his fist back. Before he had the opportunity to throw a punch, you threw your body at him, nails clawing his arm as you pulled him away from Hyunjin. “Stop please.”

Asher threw his arm back, hurling you into the corner of the room. Blood ran down his arm as he stalked towards you, ready to fight. Your body was shaking against the cold tile floor. You just wanted to protect Hyunjin. Before Asher got too close, Hyunjin stepped in front of him. “Leave now, before I tell the whole hospital about this.”

Asher merely chuckled. “Oh, and what good that would do.” The boy glared in your direction before heading out of the room, slamming the door shut behind him.

You lifted your sore body off the ground and clung to Hyunjin’s side, making the boy’s heart melt. Hyunjin wrapped his arms around you, hand rubbing your back to soothe you. “It’s alright. He’s gone now.” Hyunjin kneeled in front of you, holding your hands in his as he asked, “Are you okay? Are you hurt?”

You immediately wrapped your arms around his neck, throwing the boy off guard. Hyunjin wrapped his arms around you and pulled you close, whispering sweet nothings in your ear as you frantically tried to explain yourself. “I didn’t want you hurt.”

“Shh. I know.” Hyunjin rubbed your back. “But that was dangerous.”

Jisung watched the entire exchange intently, eyes narrowing when he saw the blatant affection. It was unusual to spot things like this in the institution. It was rare to find a doctor who cares half as much as Hyunjin or Minho. But that wasn’t a Doctor/Patient relationship… That was love.

“Well, now that asshole is gone.” Minho sighed. “This is Han Jisung.”

Your cheeks flushed as you parted from Hyunjin, suddenly realizing how unusual it was to cling to your doctor. You smiled at Jisung, immediately noticing how confused he looked. Well… more like — he was out of it. Jisung looked like he completely understood what was going on around him, but it looked as though he was living in a fog.

“I told Hyunjin this last night, but Jisung used to work with me.” Minho smiled sadly. “The hospital claimed he went crazy and killed a worker, but…” Minho paused, frowning. “I know for a fact that’s not true.”

Hyunjin smiled and walked over to Jisung’s bedside. “You look well Jisung. It seems like Minho takes good care of you.”

“I always take good care of my patients.” Minho pouted, cheeks flushing slightly. “I’ve been taking away Peroproxin, but Dr. Douglas always has his nose down my back when I’m giving Jisung his medication.” Minho sighed. “So he’s still getting some.”

Hyunjin nodded. “Do you remember how you got here?”

Out of nowhere, Jisung burst into a fit of giggles. “Tell me… When is a doctor most annoyed?”

What?

Hyunjin looked at Minho in confusion. “Uh —”

“Yeah, he does that.” Minho interrupted Hyunjin. “He’s either spouting crazy nonsense, completely sane, or he’s making you feel like a dumbass with those riddles.”

“You guys are too stupid to play with me.” Jisung pouted, making Minho chuckle.

“Yep. All the people with medical degrees are dumbasses.” Minho laughed. “Even the genius can’t figure it out.”

“Yes, I can.” Hyunjin pouted. “When is the doctor most annoyed…” He tapped his index finger on his temple as he tried to think of an answer. He was never good at riddles. Oftentimes, the answer is plain and simple, and Hyunjin’s brain always had to look into every single option.

“Patients.” You whispered to yourself, catching Hyunjin’s attention.

“You know the answer sweetheart?” He smiled. “What is it?”

Oh God, you didn’t think he heard you! You really didn’t want to chance looking like an idiot in front of a couple of smart doctors. Besides, you weren’t 100% sure that you were correct. You weren’t sure if you could take the teasing that would come with being wrong. “No, I didn’t say anything.” You grabbed onto Hyunjin’s arm once more, making the boy smile.

Jisung giggled and made kissy faces towards the two of you, making your cheeks flush bright red. “Stop that.” You let go of Hyunjin’s arm, noticing the faint blush coating his cheeks as Minho burst into a fit of laughter.

“Jesus, you guys seriously need to —”

“When he runs out of patients.” Jisung interrupted the three of you. You were grateful to see Minho and Hyunjin’s attention completely on Jisung, teasing completely forgotten as Jisung started to laugh at his own joke. “Get it? Patience? Patients?”

Hyunjin chuckled. “You deal with this —”

“Every fucking day.” Minho laughed. “He makes me feel like an idiot sometimes.” Despite the harsh words, you could tell Minho enjoyed spending time with Jisung.

“How did you try to escape?” Hyunjin asked Jisung, eager eyes waiting for his answer.

“Tell me, boy… There are two stupid convicts locked in a cell — or more like a dungeon of rock and rubble. There is an unbarred window high up in the cell. It doesn’t matter what these idiots do — whether they stand on the bed, or on top of each other — they can’t reach the window. They want to dig a tunnel out, but they give up on that idea because it’ll take too long and they’ll be long dead before they escape.” Jisung smirked and leaned forward towards Hyunjin. “One of them figures it out. What’s his plan?”

Hyunjin pursed his lips as he tried to figure it out. There are only two options, right? Either they dig a tunnel to freedom, or somehow they find a way to get up to the window… But Jisung just said neither was an option…

Oh! Hyunjin had it.

“They’d still dig.” Hyunjin smiled. “They would dig and pile up the dirt until they could reach the window. They would only need to get enough dirt piled up, so they can lean the bed back on the headboard. Then they could use the bed as a ladder to reach the window.”

“Wow, you’re a smart one.” Jisung laughed.

Wait… Hyunjin pieced something together. “This had to have been your plan before you turned into a patient.”

“Ding ding ding!” Jisung giggled.

“How though?” Minho frowned. “That wasn’t in our plan at all…” He trailed off.

“He was a hostage before he was a patient.” Hyunjin smiled sadly. “He was probably forced into a cell before he turned into this.”

You sighed. “How do we get out of here?” Your hands gripped Hyunjin’s arm tightly.

“I can bring tears to your eyes; resurrect the dead, make you smile, and reverse time. I form in an instant but last a lifetime.” Jisung sighed, sadness evident in his features.

“A memory.” You knew the answer, it was a riddle you knew well from an activity book Hyunjin gave you months ago. “It’s a memory.”

“What a smart girl you have on your arm.” Jisung smiled.

Memories… Hyunjin pursed his lips as he tried to think. Sure, your memories were gone, and so were Jisung’s but what would recovering those memories do, aside from putting both of you through more fear and trauma? “I don’t get it,” Hyunjin mumbled.

“I do,” Minho spoke up. “The best way to get out of here is to use the exit plan Jisung created years ago. We planned to leave with one other person…” Minho trailed off.

“Wait, you never mentioned another person.” Hyunjin frowned. “Who do we need to look for?”

“It’s because that fucker and I don’t get along.” Minho sighed. “Dr. Demain was the other party. We needed him to escape.”

“What happened?”

“Well, Dr. Demain threatened to kill me after Jisung was taken. I only learned weeks later that he and Jisung were close for a long time. They created this plan long before I arrived at the hospital, but this dumbass felt the need to save me too.” Minho sighed. “I was the reason nobody escaped.”

Hyunjin felt bad for the boy. Of course, he’d blame himself for this. “It wasn’t your fault.”

“I don’t really know what happened, but you’re too kind to betray others.” You rested your hand on Minho’s, making the boy smile sadly.

Jisung watched the exchange before speaking up. “There are what-ifs and why-nots in every memory, but good decisions come from mistakes you’ve made in the past. Without regret, you wouldn’t have a fire to light the torch — the torch that will lead you out of the darkness.” Jisung chuckled and stated calmly, “Every single wall in this institution is coated in the loveliest shade of red.”

Hyunjin’s blood ran cold at Jisung’s words. That pretty much said it all. The institution was full of murder and deceit. He felt your grip tighten on his arm. The room was tense. Something was going to happen.

Jisung laughed maniacally before he dug his nails into his own arms, drawing a decent amount of blood. The boy continued to scratch at his own arms, coating them in red as he giggled at nothing.

“Stop!” You cried as Hyunjin left your side. Minho grabbed Jisung’s arms and held them away from his body, forcing the boy to stop hurting himself. Hyunjin quickly sedated the boy, heart panging in his chest as Jisung fell limp against the bed.

Minho sighed and quickly pulled out the first aid kit. “Thank you, but you need to get her out of here.”

Hyunjin shifted his gaze to your shaking frame, hand covering your mouth as you tried not to cry. He grabbed your hand and ran his thumb over your knuckles. “Let’s go sweetheart. You don’t need to see any more of this.”

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alltingfinns · 4 years

Text

The Hounds of the Baskerville

Holding a phallic object, splattered with a body fluid and breathing heavily.

“Well that was tedious!”

And as if that was too subtle, he keeps playing with the harpoon even after it and him has been cleaned off and he’s switched to one of his robes.

John taking just two seconds to pretend considering to give in, just to be a little shit.

Also I am pretty sure that John has a secret scrapbook just for pictures of Sherlock in the hat.

Oh look, begging for mercy. Twice.

I just really love this scene, the manic energy of Sherlock and the calm sass of John gives us some of the funniest moments of the entire show. Also Ben needs to do more physical comedy.

Here he mentions a blog entry on perfume identification which plays out in HLV, so I’m a bit disappointed that the blogging on textile tensile strength in TEH didn’t feature in s4. Maybe some shirts get ripped in s5?

It’s so mean, but my favorite bit really is the mocking of the little girl asking for help finding her rabbit.

The wagging from side to side “please please please can you help?”

“Like a fairy!” with accompanying high pitch and hand motions.

Followed by a look from John that suggests he doesn’t think a lack of substance is Sherlock’s present issue.

And then suddenly he’s like “wait this actually does sound better than nothing”

And Cluedo. “It was the only possible solution”

Trivia note: the Swedish name for the game is also Cluedo, except we pronounce each vowel seperately. Clu-e-do.

It’s so domestic how they say “client” together. Apparently there’s a certain way frequent callers would ring the doorbell that differentiates clients.

Sherlock’s mainly looking at Henry looking at the video, don’t think I’ve noticed that before.

John’s irritated already when Sherlock begins listing things he noticed. Maybe he feels it is a bit too similar to when they first met, meaning he might be jealous that Sherlock does it with others or irritated at his past self for being as mesmerized as Henry is.

Sherlock inventing aggressive passive smoking.

Sherlock is so annoyed that Henry keeps thinking he’s in a horror story rather than a detective story.

I wonder what kind of poetry John wrote. He probably tried to use his feelings for Sherlock to simulate the romance his girlfriends wanted, which is why it is extra exasperating that Sherlock found it “funny”. Although that might be because he’d find the poetry mismatched to the girlfriends and/or the emotional investment John showed them.

“Childhood trauma masked by an invented memory. Boring!”

The parallel has been pointed out before but it bears repeating. Even if they hadn’t planned ahead by the time this episode was written, why go ahead and use an already discarded plot device they themselves called boring?

Interestingly the plot of the episode does more or less lead to this being the solution but not quite. The memory was invented and masking the real events, but it wasn’t Henry’s childhood brain doing it (at least not without aid). Might be worth comparing these plots. If only for the meta moment of it wasn’t you who imagined what you saw, someone made you see it. And then they tried to drive you into fear and doubt to keep secrets hidden.

“The vanishing glow-in-the-dark rabbit! NATO is in an uproar.”

That :( face is so funny every time.

Hound is a bit tricky in Swedish as the Swedish word for dog is hund. So the subtitles just go with spökhund. (Ghost dog)

“It’s cold.” John doesn’t even say anything but he still makes Sherlock self conscious.

Wonder why they showed us the therapy session?

John standing by the counter looking at Sherlock just looking very soft.

Doesn’t even complete his denial. And was that a single key, or were two keys just so closely held together? I’ve never been fully sure if they shared a single room or had one each. John’s incomplete denial would suggest separate rooms (it’s okay because they’re not actually a couple).

John showing his detective skills. And for once it won’t play out like the cats in TGG. It’s an important reminder that John is a smart man overshadowed by a genius, instead of the common enough Everyman and/or bumbling oaf that some believe of Watson.

“And the ruddy prisoner” probably the full extent of the subplot from the novel.

“Is yours a snorer?” “Got any crisps?” Pretty high pitch there, John.

There is sort of a running theme of characters waxing poetically in vague spookiness and Sherlock just scoffing at it. Reminder that the novel is a horror story starring a detective outside of his normal trappings.

“We’ll get caught.” “No, we won’t. Well not right away.”

More exact words from John as he pulls rank and activates Sherlock’s military kink.

The timer doesn’t start ticking at the gate but at the building itself, wonder why. Or maybe it has been ticking, but now there’s atten paid to it?

“Enjoy it?” Just something to file away in the John wing of his mind palace.

I halfway expected one of the elevator buttons to be key activated for the really tippy top secret secrets.

I see one monkey has seen Raiders of the Lost Arc. That or it’s still upset that it didn’t get the part.

“Stapleton?” He may have mocked little Kirsty, but he still remembered her name.

“People say there’s no such thing as coincidences. What dull lives they must lead.” But the universe is rarely so lazy? Of course rarely does not mean never, and looking at the forebears website Stapleton is a 1 in 3600 name in Devon. So the only question is if Kirsty listed her whereabouts on the forum. Not in her message but maybe in the profile she made.

The dramatic reveal of BLUEBELL.

Sherlock deducing the inside job while John just repeats “the rabbit?” is as good a summary of the show as anything, honestly.

Mycroft’s exasperated “goodammit, Sherlock!” look is almost too loud for the Diogenes club.

I think I read on tvtropes that the Major’s beard isn’t regulatory. Acceptable breaks of reality for the sake of original reference.

“It wasn’t my hat.” I love how the hat is used as a summary of the artifacts attached to the character. The trappings that come from adaptations and parodies and whatnot. Like Igor, who apparently wasn’t even in the original Universal Horror film but its sequel.

Exactly how does John expect Sherlock to turn off his cheekbones? Also the idea that Sherlock is turning up his collar to “play cool” as they’re leaving Baskerville kind of shows that it’s mainly for John’s benefit. Like his later choices to wear the hat. Sherlock starts off wanting to impress John, and by s3 it is about playing a specific Sherlock Holmes role. And again, John betrays his real thought by mentioning the cheekbones. “Stop being so attractive, dammit!”

“Has she been working on something deadlier than a rabbit?” “To be fair, that is quite a wide field.” Cue the killer rabbit jokes.

John’s awkward “are you... rich?”

In the original story the wealth was far more plot relevant, here it’s just a bit of dialogue fodder.

Not spelling out “in” this time?

Pretty sure those are IKEA mugs.

The plan sounds bad, but it is perfectly sound. They have done as much preliminary research as they can at the moment, and by going all three of them they do stand a decent chance should the beast be real. Of course Sherlock still doubts it’s real, which is the main plot for his character.

With the exception of this episode and episodes of Midsumer Murders I hadn’t really heard fox screams before. Imagine not knowing that’s what it is and just hearing this almost ghostly screech specifically when watching English mystery shows.

John just wandering away from the others without alerting them, and then he’s surprised that Sherlock and Henry has continued on without him. If he has a survival instinct it is in a coma.

Umqra. John knows Morse, which I honestly have found tricky trying to learn.

Taking a break here.

#rebecka’s sherlock rewatch #sherlock #johnlock #tjlc #sherlock meta #john watson is a disaster

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agentwallflower · 3 years

Text

Supernova: Chapter 13

Yeah, I’m here... have a chapter. It’s gonna get fun soon.

Next chapter will be going up on December 26. It’s my holiday gift to you. Happy holidays, all that jazz.

...

Yeah I’m still really depressed but I wanted to try and get back in the swing of things. Maybe it’ll help, I don’t know.

Anyway, thanks for reading. See you in two weeks.

A week of being stuck at home had not done wonders for her mood.

“You sure you're ok, kid?”

Aunt Miri didn't normally look worried. She joked it was part of her makeup to look like a permanently pissed off pincushion. That was of course a lie – she had plenty of emotions that she was just good at hiding from most people. That didn't work on Andy, though – she knew the woman from years of seeing her at her bedside.

They were in her car once more, on what was probably the hottest day of the year so far. The newscaster had said before she had left that it was going to get up to 100, and that was before the humidity was factored in. For the humans, that meant they would be sweating their damn skin off and hoping for shade. For her, it just meant the outside was a little closer to her core temp.

Just a little bit though – she ran pretty hot.

She shrugged as she glanced out the window. It was good to see other sights than the tiny view from her attic room. Here she could at least make out the details of the people walking down the street. They all looked pretty sweaty, and most of them had water. After all, humans could die of dehydration, or so she had heard responsible parents tell their children.

Funny, her mother had never told her sisters that. Maybe she had just assumed they would figure it out on their own after collapsing.

“I mean, I went a little stir crazy up there.” She looked back to her aunt. “Thanks for busting me out.”

Her favorite punk pincushion grit her teeth as she turned onto the street the Union kept their hideout. “She was out of line there. Besides, the deal is you get once a week. You already missed one, which means you get two this time.”

Andy would've rolled her eyes at that. “I bet Sky Rider is happy for the overtime.”

It wasn't as though she had spent the entire week in her room staring through the floor to see if she could watch TV – she couldn't, by the way. Seeing through two floors was impossible even for her weird vision. Part of that time had been spent sitting up, staring at her fingers in the hope to see... something... happen.

Was it smart to attempt to use her powers in a residential area? Most likely that was a strong hell no, but it wasn't like anything had come of it besides the vague feeling of being stupid. Had it happened... well, she would've dealt with that later. It was neither here nor there, it hadn't worked so she was just someone staring at her hand for the better part of a week.

“I think he likes you. He kept asking if you were ok.” Aunt Miri shrugged. “Or he wanted the overtime. He's a psychic, they're all hard to read.”

Well, didn't that make her core bubble? Her teacher missed having her in the classroom so he could do his homework.

“Probably harder with that visor on...” Andy watched a dog pass by. She liked dogs. “Does he ever take that thing off?”

The woman next to her let out a sharp bark of laughter as she started to park the car. “Not as long as I've known him. He takes the whole secret identity thing seriously, I don't think even Ember or Scanner know.”

Well, someone had a stick up their ass about that...

It was faster this time to get into the Union house, or maybe it just felt that way to Andy as they made their way up. She still hated the damn elevator that threatened to press in on all sides on her, but it was at least a shorter ride than the first time. Maybe it was like exposure therapy. She should ask somebody about that later...

“Well, here we are, top fl-”

Miri's words died as the doors slammed open in front of them. A man was attempting to barrel his way through, shaking with rage. Given it was a very small elevator... he was kind of left standing in the door, staring at them like a quivering ball of jello.

A very dirty ball of jello...

“Get out of my way, PT.” He had a deep voice that boomed like an explosion. Apart from being very dirty, the only thing Andy could say about him was that he was probably white, probably around 40, and his eyes were the color of mud. They matched the earth that absolutely splattered his clothes and what little skin was uncovered. Normally, she saw him on TV in his often dirty hero gear, glowering at the screen as he stomped off camera.

So... Richter existed after all.

Miri responded by rolling her eyes. “You need to get the hell out of our way first, you know. Little hard to walk around a mountain of a man.”

Richter growled, but a few seconds later he took some steps back. Andy and PT stepped through the dirt he left behind. It wasn't like he made the stuff – that would be neat – but he wasn't terrakinetic. Rather, he just got his power from being around the earth and throwing it around. If that meant he needed to be a little dirty, he didn't seem to mind.

Made him not very fun to be around, though.

“Always with the jokes.” He entered into the elevator and slammed the button with a dirty fist. Soon the doors were closing on his clenched jaw and burning eyes. Then he was gone, with a dent in the wall and a bunch of mud the only proof he had ever been there at all.

Silence descended over the room as Miri brushed some dirt off her jacket. “And here I am, surprised he still works here.”

A warmth crackled from the room as Ember came back to her senses. “He may not after the talk we just had.”

“Jerk off thinks he can just take shifts whenever he wants. Wasn't in the damn agreement I signed.” Scanner sounded particularly annoyed as they pounded at the keys. “He'll get over it or he'll stay pouting.”

Something about their tone made the entire room wince. Andy didn't really see why, besides coworkers being mad at coworkers. That was really none of her business, so she left her aunt's side to enter the training room.

Time for more boring shit...

---

Well, leave it to Richter to know how to kill the mood.

Angel's ears were still ringing as he watched Andy set up for her training session. She went straight back to the same Nova videos she had been watching the last time, focusing in on what was probably her favorite at this point. It wasn't committed to his memory yet, but it was starting to transpose itself to the inside of his eyelids.

“So, what's up with that guy?” She kept her eyes on the screen. “Is Richter always that pissed off?”

The psychic snorted as he looked up from his sociology notes – yay minor classes. “He's mad because Ember told him to stick to his damn work schedule like the rest of us. We've been busting our asses covering for him and now he's mad he's not getting paid. The rules are pretty simple: if your ass isn't in the spandex, you don't get covered.”

It was on the paper they all signed when they first came up with their stupid nicknames that followed them for the rest of their careers. Somewhere, Ember kept them all to pull out and probably hit people with if they forgot. No doubt Richter got a few staples to the head when he tried to pull what he had. Too bad he hadn't noticed it, would've made the overtime and late nights with little sleep almost worth it.

Almost; he needed his sleep or shit got weird with his powers.

“Sounds like a dick.” She kept watching. “Never really liked him. Auntie's the coolest, but you and Ember are alright too.”

Angel would have been offended by that, but even he had to admit it was impossible to measure up with a butch lesbian in a leather jacket.

He finished scratching down some notes, pausing to check his student's progress. She was still sitting there, watching. Once in a while, her fingers would twitch as if she was trying to mimic whatever Nova was doing on screen. Nothing came off it except what probably would've been one hell of a cramp had she had normal fingers. Just watching her made his hurt as he continued to work.

“Is that actually helping?”

It took Andy a few seconds to respond – she was still doing the finger twitch. “No.”

Only his own blank face kept him from hitting the floor as she leaned back. “But it's not like I have any better ideas. You got any suggestions besides trying to make like Goku?”

Ah, so that had pissed her off more than he had thought. Angel felt his face heat up as he placed his books aside to join her in the middle of the room. That close, he would've been able to sense her aura if she had one. Instead, there was just the void that came with hanging out with an actual goddamn alien. In a way, it was kind of soothing. He didn't have to worry about picking up her thoughts.

Of course, that meant he couldn't get a handle on her powers either. With others, he could get hints if he read their auras. Without that key, they were both flying blind.

Great.

“Well, it's a blast, right? Try focusing on gathering energy in your hand. See, like here.” He tapped the frozen screen. Nova was center screen, holding out their glowing palm as they prepared to unleash one of their famous attacks. “I saw you were trying the whole palm thing, but really focus on imagining and gathering energy there.”

Andy shot him a blank look. “Gathering energy I've never seen.”

“Last I checked you don't have any better ideas.”

The blank stare he got in return would've melted steel. Andy didn't say anything after that, though. She just turned away from him and looked down at her outstretched palm. Of course, it wasn't really her palm. That was just the projection she used to get around.

…

Huh. Maybe perception was the thing.

---

“Have you considered trying to do it when you're blue?”

Andy picked up her head. For the last couple minutes, she had been staring down at her upturned palm in the hopes it would actually do something. The only thing that had changed was the fact Sky Rider was trying to help her, rather than losing himself to his books. Maybe he had finished his homework while she was attempting to train. She could respect those priorities.

He'd probably get along great with her sister. Maybe they had classes and she didn't even know it.

“What was that?”

Sky Rider gestured to her necklace. “Maybe you can't see your powers because the necklace is blocking it. There might be a hint when you're blue.”

Even thinking about her necklace made it feel heavier. Andy normally didn't even notice it, but now it was like having a boulder around her neck. She made a grab for it and felt the stone slip through her fingers. Every time she touched it, it felt like the tuning fork was being struck. When she was little, her mother had told her never to touch the stone while she was wearing it. While the woman had never elaborated, she got a feeling that may have been why.

And now she had to take it off?

Sky Rider must've taken her quiet for hesitation, because he rose and crossed the room. “Hey, Scan? Can you shut the cameras off for a second, I think they're gonna blow with the energy she's about to put out.”

“Not really supposed to do that...” she could hear the buttons clicking as the tech turned whatever was in there off – the electricity crackled as it faded out. “But it saves on having to make you replace the equipment for me. The one in there is a pain in the ass to reach, even if you can stand up for more than ten seconds.”

The psychic nodded as he backed away. “Thanks, I'll let you know when it's all clear in here.”

Then he was back at her side. Andy probably should have thanked him for that, but she had never been good at gratitude. Instead, she carefully gripped the necklace by the chain and pulled it over her head. As she did, she felt the energy field crackle as it was disrupted. It still held as long as it was touching her, but the moment she hung it up on a nearby chair, that field popped and died. No more extra fingers, she was back to how the universe had made her.

This was probably the part where she should have taken a deep breath. Couldn't quite manage that, but she could feel her core bubble and calm as she focused on the dead center of what she would have called her palm. At the moment, it was reflecting the overhead lights rather than making any of its own. A few seconds passed, and that didn't change.

“Well, this is productive.” She shot Sky Rider a blank look. “Got any better ideas?”

He shrugged – she hated humans could do that. “Keep trying. MegaFist didn't become MegaFist in a day.”

“No, she became MegaFist in about 12 minutes after being exposed to-” Andy stopped talking and shook her head. “Never mind, I don't think I'm affected by gamma rays anyway. Back to looking at my palm I guess.”

Sky Rider flashed her a thumbs up. “Just don't blow a hole in the wall, our neighbors have no idea they live next to superheroes.”

…

Yeah, she didn't even want to think about how that worked.

Andy looked back down at her palm, trying to picture the light she had seen that day. Of course, that was hard with her memories feeling like half cooked soup. They kept sloshing around inside her head, refusing to stay put long enough for one to make sense. She could only see bits and flashes of holding her hand up, of the heat and light that followed. None of that came with the activation instructions, though – just a cool light show.

Not exactly useful, but... at least she remembered seeing light first.

“Alright, stand back... I'm going to give it a try.”

Sky Rider jumped back so fast she swore he must have flown. That left her alone in the center of the room, facing the wall the exact way she had watched Nova do it time and time again. In her head, she mirrored the long gone hero as she held up her hand, palm stretched out. Then it was a matter of clearing her mind...

Andy watched her palm, hoping to see the light that would gather there. After a few seconds, she threw it out in the hopes it might be motion activated. Instead, she just managed to whack her hand into the wall when she leaned too far in.

It was a good thing she didn't bruise, or she was pretty sure she would've broken something from the solid collision she made with the wall.

“Are you two doing ok?” Ember's voice called out from the main room. “Sounds like you have jackhammer in there.”

Andy waved her hand to dissipate the vibration running up her arm. “Fine! Just experiencing some technical difficulties.”

That was putting it mildly. How the hell was she supposed to get this damn thing working? Now more than ever she wished Nova had left a manual behind... but until they found it, it was back to the drawing board.

Hopefully... she wouldn't put another dent in the wall. No way they'd be getting any kind of security deposit back now. Though, could someone do that with a bunch of superheroes? That be something she could ask her aunt about on the ride back.

But that was later. Fruitless practice came first.

---

Interested in supporting my writing? Head over to my ko-fi and help contribute to my coke zero addiction!

#Supernova Collision Trilogy #writing

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whitehotharlots · 5 years

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So we’re just gonna straight up embrace conservatism?

A few months ago I came across the story of a group of young trans activists who wrecked up the opening of a feminist library in British Columbia. To avoid accusations of taking sides or whatever, here’s what the feminists had to say about it, and here’s what the trans activist kids had to say about it. (Direct link: https://www.facebook.com/notes/gag-gays-against-gentrification/response-to-vancouver-womens-library/379623995740078 )

Both sides agreed that the activists physically disrupted the opening of what was purported to be a feminist space, caused several hundred dollars worth of property damage, threatened physical violence against the library’s proprietors, and demanded that a dozen or so books be removed from the shelves.

I decided not to write about this. Firstly, because engaging with trans discourse in any way other than nodding politely guarantees you will be accused of Literal Murder, and I just don’t want to mess with that. More importantly, I felt I couldn’t say anything that wouldn’t amount to a simple, maybe even pedantic observation: namely, it’s kinda weird how we’ve begun to fear subjectively perceived, metaphorical “violence” so intensely that we’re willing to accept literal, physical violence as a response to it. It’s easy to make fun of people who say that using gendered pronouns is a direct cause of murder or whatever, but these people aren’t just obscure cranks anymore--they control the discourse; we’re living in the world they’ve built.

Here’s a sample of what I tried to write:

Here, in the interest of objectivity, it’s traditional for a writer to point out the tremendous amount of danger faced by those trans people who committed violent acts against the cis feminists and have demanded that the cis feminists radically alter their own space. A writer should re-cite the oft-cited statistic that over twenty trans people were murdered in 2015--and that, no doubt, at least half of them were beaten to death with a copy of Andrea Dworkin’s Pornography. And I don’t mean to be facetious: should a trans activist suggest that these books were being wielded as literal, physical weapons, there might at least be a smidgen of logic behind their demands. But such a connection, however tenuous, is never proffered. We are left instead with a vague implication by association: the trans activists understandably don’t like trans people being murdered and they also don’t like books they assume question the essentialist foundation of their self-understanding, therefore a responsible author will make sure to establish a sense that the former is indeed caused by the latter. Or, if it’s not a case of actual causation--since obviously it’s not and no one would ever be so daft as to suggest that it is--at the very least we should respect the trans activists’ sensitivities toward literature they find upsetting, seeing as they’re acting out of a sense of extreme fear that they at least believe to be justified. Criticizing them at lashing out would be like getting mad a cornered raccoon for showing its teeth.

Just… can you believe this? Honestly? Here, very real violence and property damage is excused simply by putting in the context of the emotional state of those who committed it. Can you imagine any parallel situation taking place in contemporary America? A black man would have a much more solid case in going down to his local police station and wrecking up the place. Police violence against black people is an actual, direct, and literal thing--no flimsy metaphors are required to explain it. If such a thing were to happen, however, the black guy would be killed or imprisoned and his actions would be condemned in all but the most radical of spaces (try to find a mainstream publication that supported Chris Dorner. You can’t). Or more on point: let’s say a group of radical zionists entered a store the specializes in classical music, so at to disrupt a talk about Wagner. They post threats on social media. They wreck merchandise. They tear down posters, shove some elderly classical enthusiasts, cause several hundred dollars worth of damage, and leave a manifesto demanding that certain naughty works be banned. Again: they’d most likely be arrested. They would find no defense within the mainstream press. Their sense of victimhood would certainly not be used as justification for their actions, and no serious person would yield to their demands that certain works of music be banned from stores.

So… yeah. I was having trouble not sounding dismissive. But since then other shit has gone down, and it’s dawned on me that this tendency to prize the metaphorical over the literal isn’t new. It’s very old. It is, simply put, the general grounding of the American conservative worldview. It just happens to be coming from woke people now.

For an example, take a look at a piece about trans activists vandalizing a rape crisis center with death threats. The vandalism was, of course, denounced on all sides. But check out the phrasing here:

Trans people face employment and housing barriers, Jenkins said, and the graffiti could be a product of a trans person’s pent up frustration. Vancouver Rape Relief, she said, is a visible organization at which to point a finger.

“A lot of the actions of Vancouver Rape Relief through exclusion of trans women I think are symbolic of society’s disdain for trans people generally,” she said.

“So I can understand that for someone who is having a really hard time generally, this is a symbol of everything that is wrong with the world that is treating me terribly — which is no excuse, but I can see how someone could get to that point.”

Just… fucking seriously? Again, can you imagine this kind of even handedness being afforded to any other marginalized group? The only time you see violence regarded in such an apologetic or celebratory manner is when cops and soldiers do it.

But, oh, it gets even weirder and stupider:

More graffiti adorns the sidewalks of Commercial Dr., further east from the Vancouver Rape Relief location. In support of trans people, the message “Trans women are women” appeared on sidewalks near Grandview Park earlier this summer.

Another message reads “Lesbians unite,” coupled with a double Venus symbol. Claire Ens, president of the Vancouver Dyke March and Festival Society, said the two Venus symbols are a coded threat to trans people.

“The two Venus symbols, that may seem innocent and to some even a call for lesbian rights and women-power, but in fact it is the opposite,” she said.

Two Venus symbols, side-by-side, is a larger symbol for “biological essentialism,” she said, a belief that peoples’ identities are determined by their genitals or chromosomes, which is inherently discriminatory to trans people who may have genitals that don’t match outdated ideas of what it means to be a man or a woman.

“The Venus symbols are meant as a warning sign to trans women, to state that trans women are not included nor welcomed, and is a perfect example of ... ‘dog whistling’ (because it is) innocent to those who aren’t in the know about it (but) harmful and hateful specifically to trans women,” she said.

Oh... oh dear.

I’m reminded of the time when I was in 8th grade and my best friend did some weird art project where he put an arrow through a George Jetson doll he won at the carnival and painted the wound with a red marker. His mom found the doll. She spoke with her evangelical busybody cunt friends at work, who informed her that the “ritualistic sacrifice” of stuffed animals was a surefire sign that the boy had been brainwashed by Satanists. She then had him involuntarily committed. A state official determined him to to be depressed but not under any demonic influence, and so he was released under the condition that he start going to cut-rate therapy, where yet another evangelical busybody cunt informed him that the doll was, in fact, a sign that at least one satan lived within him (possibly several) and advised his mother to throw out all of his cds and videogames and keep him under constant watch. Oddly, this did not help with my friends’ depression. Made it a lot worse, in fact. Kicked off about a decade of severe substance abuse. But that’s neither here nor there--the point is, he did something objectively harmless that a bunch of hateful conservatives found offensive, and demonizing and bullying him was a small price to pay to get him to stop doing said harmless-but-offensive things. He might not have meant the plush art project to be a sign of aggression. A dispassionate observer would most likely not regard it as such. But the subjective, spiritual harm suffered by his mother engendered a violent reaction, and the cruelly conservative social structures of our community prized her perceived victimhood over any actual harms, and so they therefore encouraged her to damage the boy so as to make herself feel more safe. Nobody wins. Everyone was worse off. But the woman got some momentary catharsis, and that’s what was important.

Uhh… shit. I was gonna try to connect this to something else, but I think maybe I made my point. If you don’t agree with me yet, you’re never going to. But just remember, pedantic as this argument may be, there’s a reason censorship has historically resided in the conservative purview. There’s also a reason why it used to be considered virtuous, in liberal spaces, to not regard your own tastes and pet peeves as moral issues that warranted vicious remediation. Conservatives are conservatives, regardless of their color of their skin, the people they like to fuck, or whether or not they regard themselves to embody the gender they were asigned at birth. Cruelty is likewise always cruel. A cunt is a cunt. And there’s nothing to be gained by denying these basic truths.

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pandawritespoorly · 4 years

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With Time: Chapter 34 - Heartbreaker

Author’s Note: This chapter is mostly hero interactions. There isn't too much Lila, you're welcome. As I'm sure you guessed from the title, we've got an akuma, so the reference slides are here.

Chapter Summary: All five heros go on patrol.

First | Previous | Next

“Well, this is the first patrol with all of Paris’ new heroes,” Ladybug declares after a quick introduction.

Kit Mime whoops excitedly, and Honey Bee and Tortue Verte high-five.

“Chat and I are very excited, we’ve never had patrol with five heroes before, and we’ve obviously never been on a patrol with all of you specifically.”

“The point of a patrol,” Chat adds seriously, “is to fit in as many puns as you can. If we are successful, we may get Ladybug to smile - or even laugh - at one. This is the highest honor.”

Tortue nods. Honey Bee and Ladybug groan.

“Challenge accepted!” Kit cheers.

“This is going to be the end of me,” Honey sighs, and Ladybug pats her comfortingly.

“I lost my job at the bank on the first day. A lady asked me to check her balance so I pushed her,” Chat starts.

Kit grins. “Well they just didn’t appreciate the gravity of the situation.” “Wow! Would you look at the time! We should really start pa-” Ladybug is interrupted as Kit and Chat speak in unison.

“Pawtrol!”

Ladybug sighs, swinging to the next roof. The rest follow her.

“Two windmills were standing on a wind farm. One of them asked the other what kind of music they liked and it said ‘I’m a big metal fan’.”

That one earns a laugh from both Tortue and Chat, as well as a speed increase from the girls.

“Hey, Honey, what do you call a bee that can’t make up her mind?” Chat calls.

“You just call her a bee. No. Puns.”

“A maybe!”

“When the past present and future go camping they argue. It’s intense tense in tents.”

Chat nods solemnly, “It’s too time-consuming, so the past and future go in opposite directions, and the present just stays there.”

Tortue claps. “Good job on th’ tag teamin’ with that one!”

“Let me tell you about my grandfather, he was a good man, a brave man. He had the heart of a lion and a lifetime ban from the zoo.’

Chat laughs, “That one was good.”

Unnoticed by any of them, Ladybug smiles softly at Chat’s laughter. It had been too long since she’d last heard that.

Eventually, the puns die down in favor of a proper conversation. It’s hard to do the usual get-to-know-you questions when they aren’t supposed to know too much about their civilian sides.

After they struggle for a little bit, Ladybug looks up some on her yo-yo, “Alright, if you could hire someone to help you, would it be with cleaning, cooking, or something else?”

“Cooking,” Chat says immediately, “Not only am I terrible at it, but it’d be a good excuse for my friend to come over more.”

“Ooh, that’s a fair point. Very claw-ver. Just ‘hire’ them to make something crazy easy and then you hang out for the rest of their ‘shift’.”

“I’m not sure if I’d need a ton of help with either of those.” Honey shrugs, Ladybug nods in agreement.”

“Probably cleaning, but it wouldn’t be too important,” Tortue decides.

Kit nods, “Same here, though my friends would probably argue that it’s very necessary.” Ladybug nods, “As a kid, did you eat the crusts on your sandwich or not? I did.”

“Oddly enough, I didn’t,” Honey says, “I think I was rebelling or something. One of my friends didn’t either, maybe it was a solidarity thing?” “I did,” Tortue and Chat chime in.

“Nope!” Kit adds, “I was stubborn about it.”

“If you only had one of the five senses, which would you want? Touch, taste, sight, smell, or hearing?”

“Ooh, uh…” Tortue pauses, considering.

After some deliberation, Ladybug speaks up hesitantly, “I’d have to go with sight. It’d be pretty necessary for one of my hobbies.”

“Same here, but with hearing,” Honey agrees.

“Ever since getting my miraculous, I’ve had better sight and hearing, so they’re both important to me, but I’m with you - hearing,” Chat says. Then he winks, “I guess I was blinded by your beauty, my Lady.”

She sighs, ignoring her blush, “I was probably deafened by your terrible puns.”

Tortue is still thinking, “It’s odd that of the five senses, we all kinda’ disregarded three o’ them. It’s between sight an’ hearin’ and we all kind’ agree that the others aren’t necessary - least in comparison.”

“That is kind of weird - that we all value sight and vision over the other three.”

“Ooh!” Kit jumps, suddenly thinking of something, “Would you rather have sight and hearing, but no touch, smell or taste, or have touch, smell and taste, but no sight and hearing?”

“I’d have to go with sight and hearing…” Honey decides. The others nod in agreement.

Chat turns to Tortue and Kit, “Okay, but if you could only have one of the five sense, which would it be? You guys haven’t answered yet.”

“Hearing,” Tortue says.

Kit’s tail flicks indecisively. Similarly to Chat’s belt, the length of fabric seems to be both part of the costume and an addition to his body. He could probably move it purposefully if he thought about it.

“Ughhhhh, I don’t know… I guess… sight?”

The others nod in acceptance.

Ladybug smirks at her screen as she looks for the next one, “I think they phrased this one wrong, because it’s sort of… well here, I’ll just read it. If you could snap your fingers and instantly make the world better, what would you do?”

There’s a brief pause, then in unison, the other four say, “...snap my fingers?”

She snorts, “Exactly! Alright, here’s a better one. If you could relive one moment of your life, which would it be and why?”

“Can we relive it to change it, or relive it to just be there again?” Chat asks.

“How about one of each?” Honey Bee suggests, “Something to change and something to relive.”

Ladybug nods. “Just remember to be vague.”

Chat smiles softly, “I’d relive the last time I saw my mom.”

The new members look at him in surprise, processing his statement and everything it implies. Ladybug just smiles at him, “Good choice, Kitty.”

Kit, Tortue, and Honey nod.

“Probably when I first saw my little sister,” Tortue says, “To relive, that is.”

Ladybug looks towards Chat, but not quite at him, “This may seem odd, but the Heroes’ Day when all those people got akumatized? Outside of the attack, especially afterwards… it was a nice day.”

Chat is the only one to catch the slightly wistful look on her face, and squeezes her hand softly. Ladybug leans against his shoulder.

“When my little brothers were born. They aren’t twins, but I just can’t choose, so both,” Honey decides.

That leaves Kit the only one left to decide a moment to relive, and all of them a moment to change.

“Hmm, if Honey can choose multiple moments that are similar can I? ‘Cause then I’ll choose the times I met each of my friends.”

“I’ll accept that,” Tortue says. No one protests, as it’s really not like there’s any reason to be entirely strict about it.

“I know what I’d change. When I first went into class at the beginning of the year one year, I yelled at some boy that looked like he was trying to put gum on my seat. Turns out I had jumped to conclusions - he’d been trying to remove it.”

Honey shakes her head in sympathy, but Chat smirks, “My Lady, are you telling me you want to change the first time we met? I’m hurt!”

“Wait! You yelled at Chat Noir the first time you met as civilians?!” Kit yelps.

Ladybug groans, “Yeah. That was before even Stoneheart though, so technically he wasn’t Chat yet.”

Tortue whistles, “That was a while back then.”

“Mhm.”

“I missed one day the first day back this year, and uh, something eventful happened to say the least. I’d want to be there,” Chat decides. Ladybug frowns.

That wasn’t his fault.

“I met someone new last year. At first they seemed somewhat annoying, and then they revealed that they were an actual monster, so uh, I’d like to slap them across the face the first time I saw them or something,” Honey Bee says flatly.

“That’s not very nice,” Tortue reprimands half-heartedly.

“Well, neither are they.”

“Fair enough.”

“Okay, I’ll go next!” Kit chimes in, “Hmm, I think that if I could redo any part of my life, I would- oh I know. I’d have myself watch where I’m stepping more. For my dignity and secrecy’s sake I won’t go into detail, but I tripped over something and it was… bad. I was fine, but the things around me?” They shake their head.

“I’d’ve started therapy earlier,” Tortue shrugs, “I spent too long overthinkin’ it.”

Ladybug pulls a few more questions, and eventually they call it a night.

“One last thing, I felt it would be nice to let you know that I may be calling on you a little more frequently for some time. Something has come up in Chat’s civilian life, and it’s unlikely he’ll be able to join me for most battles.”

The others nod, then, as planned, one after the other they take off, taking a slightly extended route to their homes so as to not get an idea of where the others live. Chat and Ladybug come by, take their miraculous, help them from their roof to a window, and go.

Chat retrieves the Fox and the Turtle, while Ladybug grabs the Bee. She’s got a promise to keep.

“Chloe? Are you still up?” The heroine knocks on the window.

The blonde steps out onto the balcony, “Ladybug?”

Ladybug smiles, “A while ago I made a promise,” she pulls out the box, “Chloe Bourgeois, this is the miraculous of the Bee. While it is currently not in urgent need, I am trusting you to use it simply to talk to Pollen, the Bee Kwami.”

Chloe is nodding tearfully, and only reaches to grab the miraculous when Ladybug holds it out to her. As the yellow glow indicates Pollen’s arrival, Ladybug walks a few meters away to give them space.

After a few minutes, Chat lands beside her. He takes in the sight before him.

Chloe has stopped crying, and is chatting animatedly with Pollen, who seems just as happy to see her.

“So, Bug, you’re letting her say goodbye?”

She nods, “She deserves this at least.”

When she yawns, he gives her a look.

“I’m fine, Kitty. You know I won’t have much stamina until spring, that’s all.”

He crosses his arms. “Mhm. Well, I’ll be taking Pollen back to Fu either way. You’re going home to rest.” He pauses, ears flattening, “You deserve a chance to rest before I leave you to fend for yourself. Please don’t overwork yourself.”

She puts a gentle hand to his arm, “It’s not your fault. Remember that.”

“I could get away-”

“But we both know that would only make things worse. No, as awful as this is, it’s for the best.”

“I still feel bad,” he mutters.

“That’s because you’re just good like that. I can’t tell you what to feel, and I won’t try to, but can I at least have you promise to remember that I’m not mad at you about this? It’s for the best that you don’t give those two any more chances to do anything.”

He smiles, “When did you become the one comforting me?”

“When a cat rewrote some dumb rules I had in a book.”

Chat breaks into a wide smile at her words. This is the first time he’s heard her mention the rules without putting any credence in them. He laughs in excitement, sweeping her up into a big hug, “Bugaboo, I’m so proud of you!”

She laughs, returning the hug as he sets her down.

After a few more minutes, Chloe approaches.

“Ladybug, Chat Noir, here’s the miraculous back.”

She hands them the comb, back in the still-open box. Pollen hugs her cheek, and the two say their final goodbyes. Ladybug waits until they wave at each other before shutting the box.

Chloe takes a shaky breath, “Thank you.”

“It’s no problem, Chloe. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Chloe.”

She nods at them both, “Goodnight both of you.”

With that she turns around and heads back inside.

As Chat turns in the direction of Fu’s place, Ladybug grabs his arm gently, “Chaton, come back to my place tonight. You shouldn’t have to be alone in that place any longer than you need to be.”

Chat smirks, wiggling his eyebrows, “Goodness, Ladybug! At least buy me dinner first.”

She turns as read as her suit, “Th-that’s not what I m-meant and you know it!”

“It’s still fun messing with you.”

She huffs, scowling.

“I will though. Thank you,” he whispers more seriously.

---

“I am Heartbreaker! No one else will have to be in a relationship with anyone other than their soulmate!”

Adrien is honestly somewhat happy to see this akuma. Maybe if he and Lila get hit, the date can end early.

He and the girl are standing just outside of the cafe that they just exited. The akuma before them is dressed in various shades of red and pink, with black thrown in for good measure. You know, because otherwise you might think this is a love akuma, but with the black, well obviously it’s completely different.

Applause for Hawkmoth, everyone. Color genius over here.

The woman’s skin has turned pink, and her hair is a similarly dark shade of pink, pulled back into two braids along the side of her head before simply becoming pigtails. The bodice is a purpley-red color that turns to black as it falls down, covering the skirt. The bodice turns into a broken heart shape on both sides, the jagged split down the middle giving the dress four long tails that drag behind her. The skirt itself, poofy and wide, is brighter pink, each layer of it being darker until it becomes a dangerous shade of red and ending at her knees. Her black tights cover her legs, and she’s wearing black heels.

In her hand is a wand. It has a heart as the topper with a crown shape around it, only there’s a split down the middle.

With such an obvious theme, did she really need to announce her name?

Before he can decide anything, and before Lila can pull them into some confined space to ‘wait out the attack’, a red figure lands beside them.

Ladybug looks at them, as if surprised, “Oh, you two were just on a date, weren’t you? Well, it’s not safe for you two to be together, given the nature of this akuma. Mr. Agreste is certainly more recognizable than you, Ms… Rocky? It’d be safer if I take him to a secure location. You can wait out the attack inside.”

Then, before either can even process all of that, Adrien is swept up and away to the rooftops.

“Hey, thought I’d do some extra heroing on the side. How are you holding up?”

“I- uh, what? Better now I guess,” he’s still processing. Whenever he’s on a date he kind of just… leaves his own mind for the most part. Switching out of that state suddenly is a bit startling.

She frowns, clearly still unhappy about the Lila arrangement.

“Bug, as much as I appreciate the rescue, shouldn’t you have left me with her? She’ll get me in trouble when my phone tracker isn’t working,” he points out.

To his surprise, Ladybug smirks, “That’s true, she will try to track your phone. It’s such a shame then that she’s got your phone. Tsk, tsk. What is she to do?”

Adrien pats himself down, quickly realizing that he does, in fact, seem to be missing his phone.

Plagg flies out, cackling, “That was slick, Baby Bug!”

“Anything for my partner. Anyways, I’m going to head to the akuma, and you can join me in a few so it doesn’t seem suspicious.”

---

The attack finally ends when the akuma finally hits them with a beam from her wand. When other couples had been hit, they’d seen the faults of their partner so clearly that many were overwhelmed and broke up on the spot.

Plenty seemed fine, but had still needed a moment to adjust to viewing their significant other in a new light. It wasn’t necessarily bad, just different, and change will always need adjustment time.

When Ladybug and Chat get hit, turn to each other, and see… each other. Sure, there are faults they noted, but nothing that they didn’t already have an idea of. They’ve been together for a long time, and spent almost an entire summer as each other’s sole company. They’ve helped each other at their lowest, and already know the other through and through.

The akuma is shocked, and seems to be growing angry. Before she can do anything however, Ladybug shoots out her yo-yo, stealing the wand and snapping it over her knee.

Purifying the akuma, she waves at the white insect, “Bye bye, little butterfly. Miraculous Ladybug!”

Chat comes up to her side, “Pound it!”

“I can help her, you’d better go somewhere and pretend you were waiting out the attack. Don’t forget - Lila took your phone. She didn’t want you to be distracted.” Ladybug winks, then heads over to the victim.

He nods, hesitating momentarily to take one last look at his Lady before hurrying off to a much less pleasant activity.

---

Author’s Note: Lila is no match for our resident phone thief over here.

Someone didn't promise not to overwork herself~

In case you guys were wondering what Kit Mime was trying to reference for what he'd change, it wasn't something from the story. I decided that in one of his early performances, Child Claude tripped over something and everything went wrong. Disastrous.

Akuma reference slides here!

I'm looking forward to the next chapter.

Thanks for reading! Feel free to leave any thoughts, theories, constructive criticism, or anything really in my ask box, in replies or through reblogs. I love seeing what you think!

EDIT: Someone drew Heartbreaker!!! You can see her here! She’s gorgeous, and I love her so much!!

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#miraculous ladybug #with time #fanfic #new heroes #ladybug #adrien agreste #chat noir #kit mime #honey bee #tortue verte #patrol #lila rossi #akuma attack #ha this is lila's second to last chapter #get out of my face you witch

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3laxx · 4 years

Text

Wind Chapter 14

Post fight care

Whaddup suckers!! Back with a new chap! Some self indulgent DJWifi, I hope that's okay with you xD But I really need to get back into writing and these two dorks are actually helping me massively, so, bear with me here xD Anyway! I'm updating, surprisingly so! That was a damn fast year, happy Halloween 2020 and shiz lololol Enjoy!

Ao3 / FF.net

“Oh my god, Nino, I was worried sick!! Where did you go during the fight?!”, he squinted his eyes at Alya’s reaction while Master Fu was busy removing the bandage around the hand that didn’t hold his phone.

“… I, uh-… I ran away, Alya. I was scared.”

“You could’ve just told me that, I would’ve turned around with you!”, she yelled now, making Master Fu smirk silently. The deadpan Nino sent through the silent line was enough to make Alya visibly roll her eyes, “… Okay, maybe I wouldn’t have turned around with you. But I at least would’ve liked to know before you bolted.”

He just sighed, nodding gratefully at Master Fu who now started rolling up the bandage, revealing healed skin.

“I’m sorry, Alya.”, he mumbled, “I didn’t mean to leave you behind like this. The car came flying and I just-… Wanted to get away.”

His own lie made him cringe as it was now his girlfriend’s turn to sigh. He wished he could tell her why he ran away, and he really didn’t want to take the role of a scaredy-cat now, that he had a secret identity to keep. A second life in which he was needed to be courageous. He already saw it coming how the acting would fuck with his head.

But she didn’t seem to catch on, much to his relief. Master Fu had told him about the magic keeping the veil over their secret identity, so nobody could actually tell. Actually, Alya went quiet for a while, giving him the chance to warm up a little by drinking a bit of his tea, while waiting for her to speak up again.

“… Was it because of that panic attack?”, she asked slowly, and immediately made him feel guilty again for leaving her behind like this.

But he had a secret to keep from her now. He had a responsibility now, a second life, and he had to keep it from her at all costs. Not to endanger her or his family. Or his friends’ lives again. Especially Adrien’s life. Hawkmoth couldn’t know another one in the class of his son was a superhero. The connection was too obvious.

“… Nino?”, she tried again and he snapped out of it.

“Y-Yeah. Because of the panic attack.”

Again, silence filled their call and he shared a glance with Master Fu, feeling entirely uncomfortable in his skin. He had to make her believe it had been because of the panic attack, otherwise she wouldn’t get off his tail. Nothing against Alya, but even regarding her loved ones, her reporter curiosity sometimes got the best of her.

“Are you home?”, she asked now and he squirmed under the raw worry in her voice, feeling that she was ready to put on her jacket and go to him.

“Uhm. Yeah. I’m home. Wanna meet?”, Master Fu looked up to him and squinted his eyes, making Nino helplessly shrug.

“I’ll be right there!”, she sounded relieved, so relieved he wanted to cry.

“O-Okay, see you in 15.”, his reply already got swallowed in the final beeping sound, signaling him she had hung up, probably to hurry over to him. With hunched over shoulders he finally met Master Fu’s gaze and gulped, seeing the old man huffing at his rash response.

“You’ll need to hurry, young Nino.”

The boy sighed in exasperation and nodded, trying to get up but finding himself unable to at first. It needed a helping hand from his master and a bit of work to get to his feet, making him groan.

“I’m sorry, Master Fu… But she would’ve been suspicious if I hadn’t been home.”

The old man just nodded at that, completely understanding, but Nino could tell he was not exactly happy about letting his student go that quickly after his first Akuma attack, especially when being in a hurry.

“Yes, I understand. She is worried, she wants to make sure you are fine. But what are you going to tell her about this?”, he gestured to Nino’s blue jaw, making the boy flinch.

“W-Well… I fell over some street barriers? Or some stairs while looking back?”

He thought he could see a slight smirk on the old man’s face before he turned his back to him, to put back the bandage from where he had taken it.

“I see, your lies are about as much believable as Ladybug’s.”

Nino rolled his eyes to that but nodded, humming.

“Yeah, yeah, just laugh about me. Wayzz, Shields up!”, with a flash of green he transformed and groaned at the shield resting on one of his many bruises. The master just sent him a smirk, before pushing a tiny tube into his hand.

“This one will help with the bruising. And tell Chat Noir that you will need to learn how to cushion a fall and absorb a hit. Alright?”

Carapace nodded, waving at Master Fu with the small tube, then he jumped out of the back window, quickly getting onto the roofs and running back home. On his way he passed Alya, who thankfully didn’t look up and was a good ten minutes away from his home still, so he went ahead, transformed back in a hidden doorway, only to “arrive home” for his parents.

Luckily, they didn’t question why he was already back home, since they had heard of the Akuma attack earlier today, and he managed to get to his room relatively quickly, so his mom wouldn’t see his jaw. With a relieved sigh, he closed the door behind him, then he gave Wayzz a small bowl of sunflower seeds which he hid behind some books in his cupboard, as the doorbell already sounded through the apartment. Alya was here.

With a grimace he sat down on his desk chair, pretending to be on the computer, and to be out of direct view from his door, then he waited for his mother to call him and let him reply to just send Alya to his room.

Luckily, just a few seconds later, Alya entered the room without his mother, mindfully closing the door behind her, only then Nino dared to turn around and immediately shush her before she would react loudly.

Alya, being the quick thinker, only lifted her hands to her mouth, then she crossed the room and gingerly took his face between her hands, cupping his jaw so softly he almost didn’t feel it.

“Oh gosh Nino…”, she exhaled, and he already saw her eyes getting a little wet at his condition.

“D-Don’t worry.”, he tried with an apologetic smile, “It’s just a bruise. In two days, it’ll be gone. Just, uh, mom doesn’t know about this and I’d like to keep it that way.”

Alya scrunched her eyebrows together but decided to say nothing as of now, just inspecting his jaw and swallowing back her tears, then she squinted her eyes at him.

“… What happened?”, her voice was dangerous.

“U-Uh, I tripped. When I ran away. It’s okay though, really.”, he tried, not really keeping his voice stable enough for his taste, but for her it seemed to be enough. He gulped inconspicuously as she turned away, running her hands through her hair.

“God, Nino, what am I supposed to do with you?”, she groaned so he not really quickly got up and pouted at her when he grabbed her hips, turning her back to him to catch her eyes.

“Well… Ladybug and Chat Noir can’t exactly keep me from tripping… And, I mean, shouldn’t you be happy you don’t have to worry about a plus one in a fight?”

His attempt at a smile was quickly overshadowed by her devastating deadpan, so he already shrunk together at the scolding he’d get from her, but instead she just deflated, resting her shaking head against his chest and lifting her hands beside it, brushing over his shirt.

“… Just look out where you’re going…”, she pleaded, and he earned her rolling her eyes when he made a joke. “You really wanted to blame me for falling over a couple of stairs just now?”

She gruffly pushed against him but made sure to keep close, still leaning her head against his chest.

“Don’t test it, Lahiffe. Just don’t test it.”

He laughed and kissed her head as she mumbled the same question as before, wondering what she should do with him, then he nudged her forehead.

“You could kiss me?”, he suggested as she leant back to look up to him, already grinning painfully at the little smirk on her lips. She gave up on pretending to still be angry, he felt it, and gave him a tiny peck on the cheek, being well aware of his bruise not to pain him any more than necessary.

“That’ll have to do for now. Let’s get on the bed.”

He suggestively waggled his eyebrows which just earned him a look, then he lied down and offered to cuddle with her, which she accepted in relief.

Softly, Alya’s weight pushed down the mattress beside his hips, then he felt her lying down on her side, resting her head on his shoulder and pulling her legs up, nudging him to rest his legs over hers.

“… That feels way better…”, he admitted, glad to be off his feet for today, and to be in a position that hurt considerably less than the hard mat on Master Fu’s floor.

“And now, the therapy session is a go.”, his girlfriend mumbled in his arms, closing her eyes while she yawned.

“Hm, you didn’t sleep as much. Say, what is keeping you up at night?”

He chuckled at the light pat on his chest that she gave him instead of another push, appreciating her being so soft right now.

“No, I mean, your therapy session. What was that about before the fight? That panic attack you had?”

He huffed and looked up to his ceiling, his eyes wandering over the remains of small plastic stars that he had stuck on the walls and ceiling as a little kid, which could glow in the dark.

“Eh… You know… Old memories.”, he replied vaguely and immediately felt her hand sliding up his chest to the point where Hawkmoth had stabbed him. It annoyed him to push that scar, that memory, back up in their heads and to repeatedly direct the talk to this topic, but he couldn’t help it. It was the perfect cover up for his secret identity and he needed her to believe he was becoming genuinely scared of Akumas now, to absolutely rule out any possibility of him being Carapace.

It was the easiest way, and he had the opportunity of pretending this trauma was the reason for him to stay away from fights.

Well, it wasn’t exactly untrue, he knew that. The panic attack had been real, and it had been based on that event, that much was true. Well, and the responsibility of having to fight his very first Akuma as a real team member and of course the crushing fear he’d felt of now having to be an actual part of the fight. It had been easy, watching and standing by the sidelines, cheering for his childhood heroes back then. And it had still been easy when they had grown up, coming to the mindset of carelessness, where he had the attitude of “Ladybug and Chat Noir will handle it anyway, what’s there to care about”.

It had of course changed when the Miraculous cure had gone missing along with Ladybug, when every damage had started to stay, and when he was suddenly forced to be in a lot more fights than he had felt comfortable with.

The Desertifier incident was a perfect example of that. He had finally felt, for the first time, how stressful it was to be in the middle of a fight, and he had finally understood how bad it had been for Ladybug and Chat Noir these past years, how hard these months alone had been on Chat, actually.

But he had still not been a prime target on the Akuma’s radar.

He had still been a harmless civilian, a wannabe hero, and most importantly, not a threat.

Now, with his suit, his shield and his new powers, he posed a threat in the Akumas’ eyes and he knew, now he was gonna be a target, worth the attention of a fighter, not a bystander.

Of course, this was scary.

Not that he could actually tell Alya that, of course. He’d have to explore the trauma idea more.

“… Does it still hurt sometimes…?”, she suddenly asked, her speech mumbled because her mouth was pressed against his shirt, her face squished against his chest. It was not at all what he had expected, hence he spluttered for an answer before trying to calm his beating heart at the sudden intimacy with which Alya talked to him about this.

She was normally not one to beat around the bush, he had gotten to know her as a very straight-forward girl and he knew she didn’t have a stick up her ass. Insults, slurs, lewd topics, even black or coarse humor wasn’t a problem for her. She wasn’t going to mince matters.

But being open about problems?

Actually, talking about stuff that weighed down on her, or telling people honestly that she didn’t feel good about a thing that happened, that was not her style. It was connected to a lot of effort for her to voice something like that so he naturally was a bit taken aback at her asking him that so openly. Especially since he sensed where the talk would go.

“… I-I mean-… Yeah, sometimes…? Like, when I think back at it, or have a nightmare about it… Or when I’m reminded of something similar… Then it kinda hurts. What about you?”

He gingerly touched her arm resting on his chest, over the multiple little cuts that still visibly stood against her brown skin with a faint, unnatural silver, as if they had just a few weeks ago. They both knew, even if they had healed off completely, that she would forever wear them as a reminder of the Cataclysm bursting through her skin, and he knew they still sometimes flared up, making her flinch, when she was too close to Chat’s magic.

Alya merely nuzzled close as a response to his question, humming in discomfort, making him cuddle her closer and almost pull his hand away from hers, just when he felt her holding onto his fingers.

“… Sometimes…”, she hesitantly spoke up, keeping her face hidden from him, not having to make eye contact. He knew she didn’t like that during the few real talks they had, “… I don’t wanna admit it… But maybe Plagg’s right about them being magical… Maybe I should see him about that again…”

Nino nodded and closed his eyes, to make her feel more at ease with him not pressuring her to look at him.

“… Maybe… Though, he did have the theory that Chat’s Cataclysm in that Observatory pulled out all the remaining magic. Since, it only adds up to destruction, doesn’t stop it.”

Alya huffed and nodded, then she pulled her hand out of his to wrap her arm around him, resting it over his stomach and holding him close.

“… Yeah, maybe… Oh well. Plagg said if I keep away from magic, I’ll be fine either way, so, even if there’s something left inside my body, I’ll be fine.”

With a heavy sigh he nodded at that, then he made eye contact with Wayzz in his bookshelf, pressing his lips together.

“… S-Sure… If you keep away from magic…”

He could only hope Plagg meant the black cat’s destructive magic. But he’d have to ask Master Fu about that.

#miraculous ladybug #fanfic #wind #adrien agreste #marinette dupain-cheng #ladybug #chat noir #nino lahiffe #carapace #alya cesaire #master fu #wayzz #alyno #djwifi

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chaoswillcalmusdown · 4 years

Text

Title: saw your face and got inspired Pairing: Mohammed Razzouk/Amira Thalia Mahmood Summary: Amira’s getting ready for another year of university when she meets a special someone who knocks her fully off her feet. My @yousanaexchange gift for the awesome, super sweet and super smart @thickskinandelasticheart I tried really hard to make it enemies-to-lovers as per your request but it might be a bit more of dumbasses-to-lovers. Either way, I hope you like it! I really enjoyed writing it. Special shout out to @naslostcontrol for reading it over and making sure it was fit for public consumption 😊

It's not like Amira planned to end up in this situation, it just kind of spiraled out of control. She's never been scared to speak up or voice her opinion, but she's realising that they've been arguing for 15 minutes at this point and the rest of the group is starting to shift in their seats and look at their phones. Amira takes a deep breath, then stares into Mohammed's frustratingly sparkly eyes and calmly says, "Look, I just don't think it's fair to demand emotional labour from oppressed groups in order to educate those who don't give a single shit." She shrugs and then looks over at Faizal, the president, and says, "Uhm, sorry, this really wasn't relevant for the meeting."

She can see from the corner of her eye that Mohammed's head is tilted as he stares her down from across the room. As if she's going to be intimidated by that? What a dick.

Faizal smirks, rolling his eyes, "oh, so we're allowed to move on now? You're finished now?"

Amira smiles angelically, simply adding, "Yep."

The meeting was supposed to be about what kinds of educational events the islamic society wants to do, and Amira thinks all the suggested options cater way too much to the Alman desire rather than intra community issues and needs. She's honestly sick and tired of having to sit through the same kinds of panels discussing whether or not islam is actually feminist/sexist/peaceful/violent/homophobic and so on, she's sick of force-feeding Almans hours of information and sharing her lived experiences only to be met with the same kind of liberal 'color blindness' bullshit she's faced since kindergarten. She deals with enough of that from her fellow students, professors, even the girls from time to time. The islamic society was supposed to be a place where she could chill and hang out with "her people". Faizal decides that they'll postpone the decision making another few weeks and in the meantime asks everyone to make sure they send in suggestions, so the future votes can be as democratic as possible.

Amira takes that as a slight dig, because she knows her opinions aren't really popular among the group. She came into the society looking for friends from within the community but she's managed to clash with most of the group in some way, either with her views or more likely the way she presents them. Nothing out of the ordinary, to be honest. She honestly understands the point of inclusive or educational events, but she would just love it if they could do something else as well. She'd love for them to go beyond what makes the university look good and woke, and do some important things. Create real change. The way German society still isn't okay with hijabis in certain careers is only one of the issues that she's passionate about, but the rest of the society seem to be fine with focusing their attention and resources on holding Eid barbecues and islamic panels where everyone always agrees on everything. She wants to do something that makes a difference. Something that matters. Maybe this society isn't the place for her, after all? Maybe Amira should be focusing more on the campus political parties in the next semester? The meeting wraps up and there are always snacks at the end, so Amira pours herself some tea and grabs a pastry. It's only Tuesday but her mum's been texting her all day about coming to the mosque this Friday. She's really running out of excuses that aren't the truth, but it feels too complicated and ungrateful to put into text and send to her mother, so she just replies with an affirmative.

Faizal comes over to her, giving her a fond but exasperated look. "Dude, I know you've gotta be tough to handle politics, but like. I think you need to relax just a tad. You-" He cuts himself off when someone walks behind Amira to get to the cups. "So, now you've met our charming Amira, eh?" he says to this person, grinning way too widely for Amira's comfort. Sure enough, she turns around and is face to face with Mohammed. He's frustratingly perfect-looking up close, even though his hair is stupidly swoopy and his eyebrows are huge. He's grinning at Faizal in a way that feels condescending as hell. Awesome. Amira sighs, ready to say something mean so she can excuse herself from this entire narrative.

But Mohammed beats her to it. "Yeah," he says softly, this time directed at her rather than at Faizal, "The girl with the coldest gaze." Amira really doesn't like his tone. It's condescending and smug. "It's been an enlightening but terrifying first encounter, Frau Bundeskanzlerin." He mimes a tiny bow, still fucking smirking, and then walks off. What a dick.

- - - - -

Amira has a lot going on in her life. Apart from her combined history and political science degree and her part time tutoring job, she's a sister, a daughter, a friend, and apparently a severely underpaid life coach. She's sat with Sam and Matteo in the campus coffee shop, drowning their sorrows in pastry and trying to get some work done at the same time. She attempts to listen intently to Matteo's latest crisis while she watches Sam sketching for a project. There's something going on with knitting and apparently it's all about dimensions and angles. It's kind of interesting, honestly, with the geometry of it all. But it's mostly making her feel a bit dizzy because of how circular Matteo's anxieties are.

Amira can't help but interrupt, "Matteo, habibi, you know I love you?"

"But shut the fuck up?" he asks self-deprecatingly, scrunching his face up, still dragging one hand harshly through his hair.

"Hä? No, no. I was going to say that we've had this exact conversation before. And, remember how I told you that there's nothing wrong with going to therapy, even just to try it out."

Matteo clenches his jaw, dragging his hand down his face, then letting it drop limply onto the tabletop. He'd gone once during his gap year, but after he'd decided to study programming he claimed he felt "much better" so he never went back. David's been worrying about him, and has tried to involve Amira in his plan to get Matteo to therapy. Along the way they've found that it's truly not possibly to get Matteo to do anything Matteo does not want to do. Amira still prays that he'll find peace and get help, but she's really stopped nagging him. However, when he brings up feeling overwhelmed and frustrated she can't help but speak up and repeat the suggestion. Maybe he'll eventually take the advice.

David arrives and drops down next to Matteo. He's working on a short film outside of his studies and is currently storyboarding, which of course means that Matteo is going to do anything he can to disturb the creative process. It might be cute how they devolve into play fighting even after multiple years, but Amira honestly just finds it ridiculous. Sam is asking about Amira's studies, nodding along to Amira's story about the world's most boring professor, when the impossible happens. Mohammed walks up to the table, wearing the cafe's apron, asking if they've got any empty cups they want to get rid of. Sam thanks him, being friendly in a normal way. Amira's just frozen. Before he leaves, he gestures to Amira's full black outfit complete with black nails, then to her phone which is lying on the table with the case side up, proudly stating 'Black is my happy colour' and says, "Black suits you." Then he turns and jauntily walks into the back, with his tray of dirty mugs. Amira can feel her face heat, which in turn pisses her off. Thankfully, at least no one else can tell she's blushing.

"God, what a dick," Amira huffs.

"Hä? Amira!" Sam laughs. "He didn't even say anything bad?!"

"He commented on my looks? Is that seriously necessary?"

"God, Amira, don't be such a manhater. He was just appreciating your aesthetic. I'm sure he's a totally nice guy. I mean, he's really attractive, and you know incels are always fucking ugly."

Matteo apparently tunes into the conversation at this point, "hey! What's this about hating men? Men are totally awesome!"

Amira narrows her eyes at him, gesturing to where he's stretched across David, keeping him from his sketchbook and holding David's pen high in the air so David won't be able to reach it.

Matteo straightens up, puts David's pen back. David grabs it with a wink in Amira's direction. "I mean, sure, we're stupid, but all men aren't?"

- - - - -

Whenever she says she's busy, Amira's mum gets annoyed with her, so Amira finds herself at a random event at her local mosque. There's some kind of lecture, and then supposedly there'll be food after. Amira can't help but notice that neither of her brothers were nagged into attending, but that's fine. She's somewhat excited to see the girls she used to hang out with all the time, but now only really sees occasionally at the mosque. Or at someone's wedding, which there have been a lot of. She's officially the last one out of her Sunday school group to be married, not that she would have expected anything less. Aunties have always told her she'd have a hard time finding a man to put up with her "strong opinions".

Amira grabs a mug of tea, and is about to scan the room for her girls when an older couple appear. She vaguely knows who they are, thinks they're parents of one of Omar's friends from school. She says hi, and tries to make some polite small talk. Then, the woman goes, "Oh, we heard your brother's getting married!" and Amira realises what's about to happen. She pastes on a polite smile and replies, trying to look around for someone who can save her from this conversation. The husband continues on to jokingly ask if she's next, and Amira keeps the smile on her face when she says, "Oh, I'm focusing on my career first. I still have another a bit left until I graduate." The wife pats her husbands arm and points out that Amira is studying politics. He chuckles and asks, "Are you still doing that? And what are you going to use that degree for? Are you planning on being the first German chancellor with a hijab? While somehow managing a family, as well?" They both chuckle, in a kind of 'oh how silly of her' way. The wife says, "No, Amira, habibi, I think it's great that you're getting yourself educated. They always say that an educated woman teaches a whole village."

Amira sighs, draining her mug. "I don't know about a whole village," she laughs dryly, then says a somewhat polite goodbye and hightails it out of there. When Amira finds her friends, Nadia's talking about her new husband, complaining that he expected her to know what to buy his mother for a 50th birthday present. Someone else is laughing and saying, "Well, wasn't he always a bit distracted?" Amira remembers him well from school and cannot imagine that he has since grown out of his fuck-boy phase into a good husband. While the girls chat about their awful spouses, Amira's attention drifts and she somehow ends up on Mohammed. With a woman in a hijab and two younger kids. She feels a bit unsettled, even worse when they lock eyes across the room and Amira feels her face heat. Mohammed looks confused but then gives a tiny wave before he turns back to the kids.

When Amira snatches her eyes back onto her friends, everyone's looking at Amira. "Hä, sorry?"

Nadia rolls her eyes, "We were just wondering if there's anyone special in your life?"

Amira barks out a laugh, "Wow, no, I'm way too young to get married." She might have forgotten to censor herself there for a second. "Um, I mean, I'm going to graduate first, but I'm looking into post-grad right now, so. It's not a priority yet."

- - - - -

Amira gets home from the mosque annoyed. Over the weekend she goes to a boxing class, and afterwards decides to focus on her studies, and figure out what she's going to do about the islamic society and everything else later. And what she's going to do about everyone at the mosque constantly asking her about her future, all now that your brother is getting married, isn't it your turn next, dear? She's got a few really interesting classes going on at the moment and she heads to her first tutorial which is on European politics. She sees a few familiar faces and chats until the professor shows up and they all file into the room and pull out all their notes. Amira's rooting around in her bag for a pen to lend to her neighbour, when she hears the door open and a smooth voice say, "sorry I'm late". The professor, a really nice but very old white man chuckles and says, "no worries, we haven't quite started yet." Amira reflexively looks over to see who it was, locks eyes with Mohammed, and firmly looks away. This is fine. There are always new people in tutorials, and sometimes you recognise them from around campus. No big deal. Amira passes the pen along and logs onto her computer. She's always been an achiever, and she's not planning on letting herself get distracted by anything. As always, she raises her hand to answer the first question the professor asks, but is surprised when she looks over and sees Mohammed already raising his hand and speaking. Even worse, he's saying the exact thing Amira was going to say. She drops her hand, cracking her neck and stretching out her shoulders, and makes sure to be the first one to raise her hand at the next opportunity instead. Game on.

- - - - -

As much as Amira tries to focus and center herself on what she's trying to achieve, her education and all the things that matter in her life, she can't help but feel unsettled. Every time she has a politics class, Mohammed is just there, raising his hand a split second before Amira and constantly just arguing and disagreeing with her. Whenever she goes to an islamic society meeting, Mohammed is there and yet again, frustrating her and disagreeing with her. She keeps up with her routine, prays and goes to boxing with Sam or Hanna, and tutors, and studies. But she keeps getting distracted, while studying and while praying and even while boxing. All because of one annoying guy. She's heading over to her brothers' shared apartment on a Friday night to drop off a text book for Essam on her way to Mia's place for "girls wine and cheese night". She's got two essays almost due and would genuinely love to get a start on those, but the girls won't let her sit at home on a Friday night while doing research for school. Sam had said it's out of the question, mom.

Essam opens the door, while stuffing his face with pizza. Amira plops her bag down on the floor by the door and shakes out her shoulders. When she looks up, Essam's got a confounded look on his face, "Are you carrying around bricks?!"

"I wish," Amira mutters pulling out the book he needed and dropping it on the ground, letting it thunk. "Gimme some pizza."

Essam snorts and gestures into the apartment, "Bad week?"

"You don't even know. The most annoying guy is in my class. And literally everywhere I look. Such a fucking pain in the-" They turn the corner into the open plan kitchen-dining-living room, and who's sitting at the breakfast bar, handsomely typing away at a computer? Mohammed, of course. At this point, Amira should be fucking expecting it.

Essam grabs Amira a slice and, upon seeing her bewildered face, goes, "Oh, you haven't met! This is my pal, Mohammed, he's the guy who's gonna take over Omar's room after he gets married. My soulmate, yadda yadda."

Mohammed smiles at Amira, "We've met, actually," he says. Amira swallows around her bite, trying to smile since she can't speak due to the chewing. "Through the islamic society," Mohammed adds, shrugging. Amira tries to read off his face whether he heard her ranting as she entered, or not. He doesn't look very offended, so she figures he probably did not.

"Huh," Essam says, nodding. He turns to Amira, "Hey, sorry, you were venting. Something about a really annoying guy?"

Mohammed leaves about twenty minutes later, apparently heading home for dinner. Amira waits approximately 2 seconds after she hears the door close, until she's rounding in on Essam. "How did you not tell me about Mohammed?!" She demands, not realising how ridiculous that sounds, until it's too late. Essam stares at her like she grew a third eye.

"I don't tell you every time I make a friend, Litschi! What the hell?"

Amira shakes her head, pacing. "That's Mohammed," she says. Essam nods, looking towards confusedly at the now closed front door. "No, Fruchtzwerg, it's Mohammed. The annoying guy who appears in every fucking part of my life, and frustrating the hell out of me. It's Mohammed."

"Oh shit."

- - - - -

Essam's confused about the entirety of Amira's story, because Mohammed never argues and Mohammed's the nicest guy ever and most confusingly Mohammed? Is in the islamic society committee? Really? Amira's at a loss. Essam claims to know the guy, but either he doesn't know anything about him or Mohammed's just different with different people. And that's always a bad sign when it comes to guys. Obviously guys lie, and Amira's had enough interactions with guys from all over the place to know not to trust one at first sight. Not that she would want to trust Mohammed for any reason. She just doesn't want her brother to be scammed or anything. It would suck for Essam if Mohammed turns out to be a shitty person.

Amira eats most of Essam's pizza while she fumes over Mohammed's occupation into yet another aspect of her life. She really doesn't know how she's supposed to handle all this exposure to his dumb face. And then Essam points out that Mohammed's going to be in Omar's wedding, so Amira needs to somehow settle a truce with the guy, which is just perfect.

That Sunday marks some anniversary of Kiki and Carlos' which requires a house party. Amira arrives after her prayer with some vegetarian pizzas from down the road. She catches David and Matteo chatting, or probably more likely making out, right inside the front door, and then gets encased in a monster hug from Sam. They chat over pizza, and then, who comes through the door after Jonas? At this point, it should not even surprise her. Mohammed walks through into the living room, waving awkwardly as he gets introduced to everyone. Sam and David seem to already know him, and Matteo, too. Amira is just lost. Even more surprisingly, Essam walks in after them. He waves excitedly at Amira, and Amira really longs for a time where all the different parts of her life were neatly compartmentalised and never met each other at house parties. Next, she's gonna have to introduce her parents to Kirlos or something equally ridiculous.

"He's very cute, huh?" Sam asks Amira, jabbing her playfully with her elbow. Amira rolls her eyes reflexively. "Oh come on, Amira, he's cute. And he's wholesome. You always say I need to date more wholesome men."

Amira shrugs. "But you know a lot of arabs are racist," she mumbles, taking a swig of Pepsi to calm her suddenly agitated nerves.

Sam snorts, "Yeah, thanks, I know. I can be careful, mom."

Kiki and Mia walk over, with Kiki looking between Amira and then Essam and Mohammed. "The blond guy was waving like he knows you," Kiki points out, while Amira curses Essam's entire personality and existence, "Are these guys like your relatives?"

Sam busts out giggling, asking Amira in a silly voice, "Do you know all the arabs in Berlin, Amira dear?" When Kiki looks shocked, she adds, "No, Kiki, I'm kidding, don't worry, sorry, sorry," all while still giggling. Amira thinks back to the time when Kiki had asked Sam if she and boy Sam were related.

"Ha-ha," Amira mutters. "I actually do know them, though. The blond one is, unfortunately my brother."

"No way!" Mia gasps, slapping Amira's shoulder. "You're nothing alike."

"Alhamdulillah," Amira mumbles, setting Sam off into another bout of giggles. Mia smiles, but manages to restrain herself. Amira huffs, adjusting her scarf. "No, he's not that bad… he's just loud? He's my younger brother so of course he annoys me".

"What about the other guy," Mia asks, "You know him, too?"

Sam hums, "Hot, right?"

Mia's appraising Amira very intently and Amira really hates it. She shrugs, "He's a friend of Essam's, I don't know him very well."

Essam appears at her shoulder with Mohammed in tow, and they all get introduced. Essam flirts way too much with Kiki, and Amira tries to melt into the ground with secondhand embarrassment. Eventually Carlos drifts over, probably to show Essam that Kiki is taken, which is just cringe worthy on its own. Amira catches Mohammed's eye just as Carlos wraps his arm firmly over Kiki's shoulders and Kiki looks back at him confused. Mohammed looks like he's trying really hard not to laugh, and he raises his eyebrows, pinching his lips together. Amira shrugs, mouth lifting into a smile before she can stop herself. She pulls her eyes away, anywhere else. Her eyes settle on Jonas trying to teach Matteo some chords on the guitar, and Hanna chatting animatedly with David in the corner next to them. Then, she overhears someone daring to besmirch the name of Mohamed Salah. She looks up, locking eyes with a grinning Mohammed. Carlos is saying something ridiculous about Manchester United, and Amira truly cannot believe the joy she's seeing in Mohammed's eyes. Or the way he's confidently nodding along with Carlos' unbelievably incorrect rant. Sam and Mia look lost, but Essam's grinning gleefully at Amira. As the middle child in a family of strong opinions, he's grown up to become the most neutral person Amira knows, and watches sports mostly to see how riled up Amira and Omar get. "You must have an opinion on this, Litschi, as someone who has a life-sized cardboard cutout of Mo Salah in their room?" Essam's making himself sound like a beat reporter, looking around the group to make sure he has everyone's attention.

Amira clenches her jaw, knowing that she'll never live that nickname down now that the girls have heard it. She can see Sam mouthing it, looking delighted. "You bought me that cut-out, Fruchtzwerg, but yes, I do have an opinion on Mo Salah, the best football player of this generation."

Her argument doesn't quite convince the boys, but then her Maghrib alarm goes off and she slips away to Kirlos' bathroom followed by their bedroom. She's perhaps making a lot of effort to walk without stomping, but having to be at a party with her idiot brother is just really fraying on her nerves. She's never had to interact with him and her friends at the same time. She knows that he thinks she's acting weird, and so will the girls, probably. The'll think she's too harsh on him, or something. Amira's really not a massive fan of praying in her friends' bedrooms, but it's better than a bathroom so she'll take it. She can hear literally everything that's going on in the party, the bass vibrating the walls and floor, and honestly doesn't know how she's meant to be able to focus on anything except that new Zara Larsson song that Kiki's doing a cover of.

When she walks back into the living room, she can't help but feel frustrated about the way she always misses random chunks of parties. She'll come back from praying and catch the girls in a joke that falls flat when they try to explain it to her. You had to be there sometimes feels like the story of her life. The groups have rearranged since she left. Kirlos have ended up on the sofa, with Sam and Mia still talking to Mohammed, while Essam seems to be bonding with Matteo. God help them all. Amira walks over to Sam, because she's still holding Amira's drink. Not for any other reason. She can't help herself, so she asks Mohammed if he's not going to go pray, knowing full well that Essam won't. His smile falters, but he shrugs and says, "I'm not really going to bother in these circumstances," gesturing at the loudness of the party.

Amira can hear Essam's carefree laughter, bristles at the ease and lack of tension in Mohammed's shoulders and she truly doesn't mean to, but she ends up saying, "So you just pray when it's convenient for you?"

Amira can hear Sam make a noise of awkwardness next to her, and she knows she's out of line, knows she has a tendency to attack first, but she's bone-tired and frustrated and nothing she does or is expected to do is ever easy or convenient.

Mohammed, eyes hard, replies, "I thought Islam taught you not to judge. And I don't know if you know, but Germany has laws that regulate a person's right to practice religion how they want, or not practice at all, thank you very fucking much." He looks disappointed at her, which hurts more than she'd like. And then he turns and leaves. Amira feels like the whole party has quieted down, like everyone saw that, but in reality only Sam and Mia did. Though Essam will probably hear about it later.

"Ouff," Sam whines, "Amira, that was harsh".

Amira groans. "You okay?" Mia asks, looking concerned. Amira sighs, squishing her eyes shut.

"Fuck."

"You look like you need a drink," Sam points out. Amira laughs, desperately. "Let's make you a fabulous mocktail. I'm too tipsy to solve anything right now."

- - - - -

Amira wakes up in stages, first noticing the offensive brightness of the room, and burrowing deeper into the covers to try and avoid facing the day. She and Mia went home with Sam and ended up falling asleep and Amira can hear Sam and Mia chatting away, though in hushed tones. She can't help but groan as she stretches. It's far too early.

"Morning, Litschi!" Mia calls, and Amira groans louder. She forgot about that.

The girls let her wake up while they get some tea and wrangle together breakfast. Amira stares at the ceiling and pointedly does not check her phone. She does, however, get up to pee and then pray. When she gets back the girls have managed a decent spread with the leftovers in Sam's fridge.

"We should talk about Mohammed," Sam points out. Mia nods. "You were really mean." Mia nods again.

"You like him, don't you?" Mia's got her knees up, chin resting on them. Amira sputters in response.

"That's a yes!" Sam cheers, giggling.

"It's not," Amira sighs. "He's just a douchebag. Like, he's so flippant about important stuff. Like religion. And he's constantly appearing everywhere I go and annoying me."

"But you still went off on him pretty harshly," Mia points out.

"Maybe he's not muslim?" Sam suggests.

Amira shrugs, mutters, "if he's not then I definitely won't like him but he's in the islamic society, so I doubt that's actually the case. Even though he's maybe not a very good muslim."

"He's there, too? Like, is he stalking you, or?"

Amira sighs, shaking her head, "No, he's just in the islamic society and in my politics class and living in my brother's apartment, and also apparently he now goes to my mosque, too?!"

"Don't forget he's pals with Jonas, too," Sam mentions, laughing. "Listen, there must be a reason this handsome but annoying man has entered your life. Maybe you just need some patience."

Amira groans, but Sam pushes on, "No, Amira, you always hate guys on sight. Like with Alex," she gestures at Mia and Amira does feel bad because she's never really owned up to that, "or with Jonas, with Stefan. Guys lie and all that."

Amira honestly can't argue with that, and she hates it. Mia's been quiet for a while, and looking thoughtful, but she then gets this sparkle in her eyes. Amira hates that even more.

Later that day Mia texts her:

(Not to play devil's advocate but, don't you think it's possible that you're hiding a bit behind the 'bad muslim' thing? Because I think you guys have some incredible chemistry)

That text might haunt Amira for a while, even if she sends Mia a very stern reply.

- - - - -

Amira's chatting to her dad on the phone later that night, and she'd been trying to finish her assigned reading for the week but she kept getting distracted. She honestly felt pretty shitty about how she'd treated Mohammed. She'd had a whole heap of small frustrations building up and she had just accidentally unleashed them all straight into his bothersome face even though most of her frustrations were not at all his fault. She knew she had to apologise, and she genuinely wanted to but she struggled admitting to her brothers that she'd gotten an actor wrong because she hates being wrong. She's always right, so she's really not good at admitting fault.

"Amira, habibi, are you doing something else while we're talking?"

"Huh? Sorry, dad, I'm just a little distracted."

"Ah, I see, well, tell your old man and he can solve all your troubles."

"Hah, thanks, dad. I don't know if you can solve it, though. I was pretty rude to someone for no reason and now I have to apologise to them."

Amira's dad hums. "Was this the same boy as the annoying one in the islamic society that your mum told me about?"

"Yes," Amira mutters. Her parents truly seem to not keep any secrets from each other.

"Hah, well, you've always been very proud, kiddo. I always loved that about you. You know your worth and you don't take shit from anyone. But, before you get too comfortable, you're also terrible at admitting when you're wrong."

"Wow, thanks, dad."

"You get that from your mum, you know. I truly do think it's a good thing, but I hope you don't feel like you always have to be perfect. You've always been strong but it's good to be vulnerable, too. It's hard, sure, but good things do happen when you let your guard down just a tad."

"Ugh, dad, that was so sentimental."

Her dad laughs, "Yes, habibi, I know, I know. Let's switch topics. Tell me about the lecture you had this morning."

- - - - -

Amira is really not in the mood for an event, but even she can agree on the importance of this specific one. It's taken a lot of organisation for everything to work out, and it involves 4 societies (which is also partly why David is involved) and spans a month with one focus each week. This week's fundraising focus is the charity Jonas volunteers for, which does a lot of work with refugee integration in Berlin. She arrives a bit earlier because she promised David and Jonas she would, even though her mother is frustrated with her for not coming to the mosque for some kind of "women in islam" lecture held by a panel of men. Kiki's asking the group chat for a pre-party and since Amira is arriving at the club, she just turns the sound off and heads in, following the music to where she expects to at least find Jonas. She sees Matteo and David hanging out by the stage, where Jonas of course is sat on a stool with his guitar. Jonas sees her and calls her over and while she's approaching she takes in the other figures in the room. She mostly sees people she's never seen or people she's possibly passed on campus before. But then she sees Mohammed standing behind Jonas, by the mic, singing quietly and chatting to Jonas about something, brows drawn. He doesn't seem to notice her, so she keeps approaching.

"Study partner!" Matteo whisper-calls out, turning around to grab and open a coke bottle for Amira, "come join the soundcheck squad."

Amira accepts the drink and asks what they're up to, trying to avoid Mohammed's eyes now burning into the side of her head from where he's still chatting to Jonas.

David wiggles his eyebrows at her, "oh, we're just waiting for the jam session to pick back up. They weren't sure on which key to use, or something nerdy like that." He turns to look at Mohammed, who rolls his eyes, but Jonas starts playing. The room is filling up, there are a few people working behind the bar and some others decorating and moving tables around. Everyone's chatting to themselves and no one is really paying any attention to the stage, where Amira assumes the boys ended up helping Jonas with "soundcheck" in order to avoid manual labour. Amira truly hates being a cliche, but when she first hears Mohammed's voice, goosebumps erupt along her arms. She crosses them across her chest, gripping the coke bottle. David's swaying along and he and Matteo whoop encouragingly at certain notes and lyrics. Amira can't help but grin at their contagious hype, but when she turns her attention back to the stage, Mohammed's looking straight at her. She can't help but swallow, caught out, but looks right back, never one to back down.

Dragging along, follow in your form

Hung like the pelt of some prey you had worn

Remember me, love, when I'm reborn

As the shrike to your sharp and glorious thorn

Amira can feel her face flushing as she narrows her eyes at Mohammed. He just smirks back at her, and finishes the song. The boys clap and cheer so loudly that they draw the attention of some official looking person with a clipboard, who sighs and huffs and splits them up. David and Matteo grab Amira to head towards the back and David turns on the way to yell some more compliments towards the stage. As they walk, David hums, "You know, Hozier is a man that I'm sure you would agree is an exception to the general rule of male shittiness."

Matteo snorts, mutters, "fucking Hozier…" but David carries on. "He doesn't write boring love songs. He doesn't get intimidated by confident women. To be honest, he loves a strong and terrifying woman-"

Matteo interjects to say, "It's one of those 'choke m-'" but thankfully gets interrupted by David clapping a hand over his mouth before Amira needs to bleach her entire brain and soul.

David sighs and hands Matteo a box of string lights that are supposed to go up somewhere. Matteo takes them with a wink and walks back into the event room. David shrugs, looking at Amira. "Anyways, Mo's got a good voice, right? I keep telling him, but he acts like it's no big deal."

Amira immediately feels suspicious. "How do you all know each other?"

"Huh? Oh, Jonas met him at some kind of open mic, jam thing. I don't really know. And then Jonas and Matteo, you know. We went to one of Jonas' gigs and Mohammed was there." David gestures in an encompassing way, like he's trying to say the rest is history.

- - - - -

The girls all arrive and 'ooh and ah' over how magical the location looks. Amira has to admit that it's nice, even if she's slightly on edge due to how often she keeps bumping into Mohammed while turning a corner. Sam happens to be next to her one of these times and she sighs and goes, "He's so charming. How is he so charming?!" Amira sighs and switches subjects by asking about Sam's nephew, which is honestly the most effective subject change ever. She even gets adorable baby photos out of it.

Later on she's walking from the bar with Mia, when Jonas announces a new song and Amira spots Mohammed by the stage. Based on earlier, she really can't handle another song so she slips away into the back garden. She can see Mia shrugging and looking questioningly at her through the large open doors, but she plants her feet and starts up a conversation with a girl she knows from her European History class. A few minutes later, Mia appears at her side, looking like the cat that got the cream. Amira tries to drag the conversation out, but she and this girl, Anna?, really don't have much in common so she leaves shortly after. Mia's arms are crossed, shit-eating red lipped grin and all.

"How's it going with Mohammed?" she asks.

Amira huffs, assuring Mia that there is nothing going, but she'll apologise when she gets a moment, thank you very much. Of course this is when Amira's Maghrib alarm goes off. Mia looks like she wants to protest, but in the end she realises she can't really argue with it so she just gives Amira her unimpressed tm look when Amira starts backing away, to find somewhere to pray. She was planning to scout out a good location while helping to set up earlier, but Mohammed had ruined those plans for her by distracting her with his face and voice. She asks one of the bartenders and gets led to the staff room, which has an adjacent but tiny bathroom. She's honestly had to settle for worse, even if the staff room could really use a lockable door. She decides to just hurry, and hope no one interrupts her.

Afterwards, she feels centred and calm, like always. She touches up her makeup, and quickly checks her phone. Sam's sent multiple messages to the group chat, the most recent being:

omg how sexy is mohammed's singing voice?! how is he so charming???????

Amira pockets her phone as she opens the door, but hits something. She pauses for a second and tries again. This time the door opens smoothly. Standing on the other side, running a hand through his stupid hair, is Mohammed.

"Sorry," he mumbles. "I was heading to the bathroom and one of the bartenders was about to head in, so I-" He waves a hand at the door.

"Oh," Amira can't help but feel stunned, because she definitely doesn't deserve that level of consideration from him of all people. They stand in a slightly awkward silence, Amira looking everywhere except at Mohammed. She realises she's being a bit childish about it so she squares up, clears her throat. "Hey, listen, I'm sorry about my behaviour." She dares a glance up at Mohammed's face. He looks annoyingly smug, arms crossed over his chest. He waits her out, smirking. "I perhaps judged you a bit early. And harshly. It's.. It doesn't happen ever, really, but, I guess… I was wrong. Sorry."

Mohammed nods slowly, looking off to the side. "No harm done. So, listen-"

The door separating the club space from the staff space slams open and a frazzled bartender startles at the sight of them, looks confused. Amira takes this as a perfect opportunity, explaining herself, "Oh, sorry, I was just praying, you know," while gesturing at the locker room behind her and also her head. When the bartender nods, still confused, Amira hurries out to find the girls.

- - - - -

Amira's back at her parents' house for a weeknight dinner. She's helping set the table because her parents don't want her near the food, but she also does not want to sit and chat at the table since Essam's started the night by badgering her about Mohammed in front of their mother.

"Seen Mohammed any more?" Essam asks with a grin when Omar arrives. Amira sends him a look that could kill from across the table. Her dad perks up, "Oh, Mohammed's a good kid. You know Mohammed, Amira?"

Amira sighs, "Yeah, we have a class together, and some friends in common."

At this, Omar looks thoughtful. "You'd like Mohammed," he says, as if it's only just occurring to him, as if the gears are starting to turn.

Her dad latches onto this idea, "Yeah, that's a good point! You're very similar, Amira, stubborn but very smart." He pats her on the shoulder as he walks back into the kitchen to help their mother with the cooking.

When Amira walks back with a stack of plates, Essam's gleefully feeding Omar blackmail material about how Amira had unfairly snapped at poor Mohammed in front of everyone. "I was planning to try and convince them to date but Amira hates him."

"Hä? What did he do?"

"Thanks, Essam," Amira sighs, "He didn't do anything, he was just arguing in favour of stupid shit, and-"

"Like what?"

"Just… He keeps advocating for inclusive events in the islamic society. Having all our events open for everyone even though that always means a whole bunch of people appear and demand us to hold them by the hand and explain every single thing that's going on. Every single event. I'm sick and tired of having to educate ignorant white Germans who can't just google it. That's not why I joined the islamic society."

Omar hums. "Mohammed grew up in Syria, you know," he points out. "He didn't have to grow up in a country full of Almans who know nothing about islam and require hand-holding. So, maybe he just has a higher tolerance for that than we do?"

It's a fully reasonable argument, which Amira kind of hates. She hasn't really ever asked Mohammed anything, barely even spoken to him except to argue with him or be hostile to him. "Yeah, okay, sure. We're just not compatible people, that's all." Essam snorts. "Listen, it doesn't matter anyway. I'm not going to ever date a guy who isn't a proper muslim, so that's that. Leave it."

They both look confused. "What do you mean 'not compatible'? And why would you think Mohammed's not religious? He's in the islamic society, isn't he?"

Amira shrugs, "He doesn't pray? He's- I don't know, Essam said-"

"I was surprised he was on the committee, because he's been struggling. But what even is a proper muslim, Amira?" Essam asks, with a grimace. "If Mohammed isn't then I've barely been one lately either, but you don't hate me for it?!"

"No, of course I don't hate you."

"You said my crisis was valid, and I can assure you that Mohammed's was valid, too. Is this why you snapped at him?"

Amira groans, "I don't hate him… I just. Lost my temper, I don't know why. It wasn't like I snapped on purpose. He just aggravates me. He just keeps aggravating me for no good reason." She realises she's been gesturing pretty aggressively, so she drops her shoulders and lets her hands fall to her side. "What do you want me to say?"

"Oh my god, you like him."

- - - - -

Of course, it all comes to a head at Omar and Nour's Henna night. The girls have all been invited and some of the boys (specifically Jonas and Carlos). Amira had tried to convince her brothers that she absolutely did not have any feelings for Mohammed, but it seemed as if she was not very convincing. At least, she managed to get them both to agree to leave her alone and definitely not mention anything about it to the guy in question. And Amira knows they wouldn't dare cross her. During the night she has managed to mostly avoid the aunties and uncles that have been giving her far too wide smiles all night, and she's managed to duck out of several conversations before she had anyone ask her when's your turn, habibi and ended up snapping at anyone. She's chatting to Jonas and Hanna in a decently secluded corner, teaching Jonas the accurate pronunciation of all the sweets he's eating. He's shockingly good at it, and he's really pleased about that fact.

Then, there's a tap on her shoulder. Hanna's eyes widen, and she gently but firmly drags Jonas away. Amira feels this sense of doom impending, but she's also got a few hardcore butterflies appearing in the depths of her stomach. She turns, and there's Mohammed. He's got a piece of baklava in the palm of his upturned hand and he grins at her.

"Frau Bundeskanzlerin," he mutters, doing a really douche-y bow. Amira can't help but laugh, and glances around the room. God, everyone can see this, Amira thinks, even though realistically no one is looking in their direction, but instead talking to the future bride and groom.

"What's your deal?" is what comes out of her mouth.

Mohammed snorts, smile faltering just a little, "my deal?"

"It's really not cute to be flirting with a girl if you're not even fucking religious, you know. Do you know how fucking impossible and rare it is to even have decent interactions with men as a hijabi without them wanting to save or objectify you? It's literally not something that happens. I am sick and tired-"

"Wow," Mohammed mutters, though grinning, popping the piece of baklava he was supposedly presenting Amira with into his mouth and chewing. "What have I done to deserve this utter annihilation?"

"What have you done? You're impossible to read. You're debating in the islamic society one day, then you're not a practicing muslim, then a day later you're in the mosque. What's your deal?"

Mohammed rolls his eyes, crosses his arms in front of his chest. "I'll hold a full length lecture on my relationship with islam in the morning, if you want, but as for what my deal is, I've been trying to ask you out on a date." He shrugs one shoulder, like it's obvious.

Amira splutters in surprise. "You've…. what?"

"It's not my fault you're distracting. You know, you're the one who's impossible. I've literally been in love with you since you gave me that stink eye in ISOC. I think you're amazing even though you're infuriating and judgemental as hell."

"Hmm, we'll agree to disagree."

Mohammed bursts out laughing, "What? No, we definitely won't! Come on!"

Amira notices, from the corner of her eye, that a few aunties and girls she knows from elementary school are taking an interest in them and then she realises how close they've drifted during their conversation. "Shit, people are looking at us."

Mohammed hums, looks around. He shrugs, takes a demonstrative step back. "There we go, much more appropriate."

Amira rolls her eyes, cheeks aching from smiling. "So, your method of flirting is just being oppositional, then?"

"Might be… It worked, though, right?" Amira snorts. "Maybe I should've been more direct and asked for an audience through your secretary?"

It shouldn't make Amira giggle, because it's not really funny, but she still giggles like a schoolgirl she definitely is not. "Hey, Mohammed?"

"Yes?"

"Do you want to go out with me?"

Mohammed bursts out laughing, "I'd love to."

#yousanaexchange #druck fic #mazzouk #thickskinandelasticheart #izzy writes #let there be no typos...... and let all my italics pls still be there

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jamlally · 4 years

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Takes a village

This was written for the 25 days of Christmas Challenge that is hosted by @panicfob . The Day 8 Challenge prompt was Gingerbread house

Warnings: Fluff and hints of a relationship

Pairing: OFC x Tony Stark

Summary: A painful incident and distraction therapy help Belle realize that family can be more than the blood you are born too. Family, Ohana, can be what you make it

“Barnes, confirm all clear on the west?”

“Confirmed”

“Rogers, Widow, Status?”

“Clear”

“OK ladies and gentlemen it looks like things are all wrapped up/. Return to the rendezvous point. Barton, are read for extract on 60 and Wilson complete the clear down protocol”

Belle waited for confirmation to come over the coms before starting to transfer the streamed data and run things through the banks of analysis tools that helped her with her work. It had been a long couple of days without the team being around. She and Tony had been enjoying their growing relationship and she felt so comfortable with him that it was hard to believe that he hadn’t always been a part of her life. They were still kind of feeling their way, working on boundaries and learning how to share with each other, but things had been going well.

Things had been quiet for long enough that she had been shocked when an emergency alert had come in and the team had quickly been dispatched en mass. Keeping herself distracted was easy to do when she had her job to fall back on, but at night, when she had some downtime she found that she missed Tony and the others. Sleep hadn’t come easily and Belle had found that wrapping herself in one of Tony’s hoodies that had been left in the common area helped. It would be another couple of days if things went well before the team was home so now she needed some other way to busy herself,

Tony looked through some of the data that they had retrieved on mission, but he wasn’t really putting all his attention into the task, his mind was thousands of miles away, thinking of a a woman whose eyes showed everything she was feeling and whose smile made him feel like he was the greatest man to walk the earth. He would be home to her soon enough and the unease he felt at not being there to protect her would fade back into the background.

“Mr Stark”. Tony blinked awake slowly “Mr Stark” Rubbing his hands over his face Tony tired to focus. “FRIDAY?” His voice was rough and croaky and he quickly lowered the volume when he realized that the others were asleep around him, well at least Rogers was, the man snored like a bull. Disengaging the harness from over his shoulder he slipped out of his seat and heading up to the cockpit where Barton or Wilson would still be up.

It was Clint who turned and nodded in his direction when the cockpit door opened. There was some vaguely familiar turn playing quietly and Bartons hands tapped gently with the rhythm.

“Ok FRIDAY what’s up”

“Apologies for disturbing you sir, but I thought you should know that there was an incident at the compound”

Tony froze for a second slumping down into the co-pilots chair “Define incident. Do you mean, Oh a window broke or oh aliens invaded and burned the place down?” His heart was pounding, Belle was at the compound - if something had happened to her then…..

“There was a phone call this evening from Col Fury asking for a status update”

“Ok and I am sure that Belle was capable of handling that “

“Indeed Sir, however at the end of the call the Colonel informed Agent Porter than he didn’t appreciate all of her belongings being sent to SHIELD. He was somewhat annoyed that Agent Porter had compromised security.”

Tony groaned, he had no idea what FRIDAY was talking about “FRIDAY I have….”

“Agent Porter was most distressed and arranged for her things to be delivered to the compound. Her distress increased further when after she made a second call. As for 10 minutes ago she has not slept for close to 24 hours”

Suddenly things started to slot into place in Tony’s mind “FRIDAY confirm who Agent Porter called”

“Agent Porter spoke with Dianne Porter for approximately 10 minutes”

“Ok I need you to monitor Agent Porter and let me know if anything else upsets her and get me on the line to Fury”. Tony waited his fingers drumming on his leg as he heard rising and waited for Fury to pick up. He was suitably annoyed by the time the other man was on the line that he didn’t give him a chance to speak “ Nicholas, you want to tell me why the hell you decided to upset my mission analyst and then leave her dealing with the fallout?”

Clint raised his eyebrows, he could only hear one side of the conversation but it was enough to understand that everything wasn’t ok. Without being asked, he started to adjust the settings increasing the speed and checking the route to see if there was any way he could get them home faster.

Belle used the back of her hand to push a piece of hair that had fallen over her face. Her eyes burned from tiredness and the tears that hadn’t stopped falling for at least a couple of hours after her phone call with the Director. She hadn’t thought anything of the call, she often spoke to him or Maria Hill on the back of missions, not usually as quickly as this but maybe there was some other importance that she wasn’t aware of. What he hadn’t been expecting was the rollocking that came from an seemingly innocent question

“Tell me Agent Porter, you are aware of the fact that SHIELD is an at least somewhat covert organization, are you not?”

“Of course Director” Belle was thrown, based on his tone he was obviously furious about something and she had no idea what.

“Really because if that was the case I can’t help but wonder why you would have all your belongings shipped to me because that DOES NOT SOUND LIKE YOU ARE RESPECTING THAT”

Belle had stumbled over apologies and confusion. A number of boxes had been shipped to SHIELD for the attention of the director with an accompanying letter explaining that they were unwanted at their current location. Fury had ranted at her for a solid 5 minutes before winding down when Belle promised that she would have the items shipped to the compound. He had finished the conversation with the request to have pertinent report details sent to both himself and Maria Hill.

There was only one place that the items could have come from but before Belle could tackle that she needed to calm herself, Fury had made it clear that further protocol breaches would come at the cost of her position and Belle figured he wasn’t the joking sort. Loosing her job wold break her heart, but losing her family and Tony would cost her so much more. She would find some way to serve the job, but Tony and the others were snarled so deep into her heart that loosing them may just kill her. The more she thought on it the more she panicked, the faster her breathing became and the more tears fell. She lost track of time as she paced the halls working through worst case scenarios her panic rising by the moment

FRIDAY had eventually pulled her out of her spieling state with a blast of cold air and a calm voice, which, despite its feminine tone reminded her of Tony. She felt emotionally exhausted but knew that she needed to deal with this. FRIDAY placed the call and she waited for her mother to pick up.

The conversation had been short and to the point. As far as Dianna Highland (formally Porter) was concerned she didn’t have a daughter. Any child she had ever look-up wasn’t a part of her life and any shit that was left behind she didn’t want to deal with. The solid tone let her know that her mother had closed any contact with her one time daughter and there would be no further discussion on the matter.

Belle had paced and ranted and cried before deciding that she should prepare the reports and stay on Fury’s good side. FRIDAY had helped by setting up the coffee maker and making sure it stayed warm while Belle worked through the analysis and filled in the paperwork.

Sitting still at her desk, and drinking a boat load of coffee left Belle twitchy. She knew that the others would have packed up and would be heading back. She didn’t want to bother them on the journey so she needed to find something to do. She had seriously been considering a work out when she had seen the gifts under her tree and had a sudden moment of inspiration.

Her hands were sticky, her body was sore and she wasn’t sure if she was seeing straight anymore as the tree she was attempting to balance next to the double sized gingerbread house seemed to be leaning quite alarmingly to the left. She used her finger to push it upright, at which point it leaned to the right. Belle let out a huff of annoyance and rubbed at her eyes, managing to smear a dollop of the sticky blue icing she had been using across her cheek.

The damn tears that had dried up sometime around the second tray of ginger cookie shaped went into the oven. She hadn’t lost her new family yet and she was going to make them a tat festive treat as a surprise for when they got home. She had mixed, chilled, rolled and baked assembling what she needed. FRIDAY had organized for her items to be delivered so she was able to just sink into her project. Other than the tree which was currently causing her no end of problems, she was happy with what she had produced. She had managed to create her own little gingerbread village, each of the houses had been decorated with the insignia of the team members and on each individual’s house she used some of their favorite candy’s to add decoration. She had decided to create a small woodland around the outside, and wanted to add some powdered sugar for snow and maybe some sparking stuff but if the tree wouldn’t co-operate.

“Agent Porter, may I make a suggestion”

“Sure, I’m all out of ideas” Belle clenched and opened her hands a few times relieving the ache

“I would recommend that you take a moment to rest and think through options. I believe you may need a stronger glue substance as the trees are heavier and larger than the other items”

Belle scowled at the tree, she didn’t think that she had made them larger, maybe the AI was right though. Taking a moment she sat on one of the stools looking across the counter at the model, perhaps the tree did look a little bigger. Her head rested on her arms and she blinked once, twice and then her eyes didn’t open again.

Tony was furious when he managed to get FRIDAY to stream the conversation between Nick and his Snowflake. While the other man had no way to know that Belle was important to him, he had no right to threaten her job or anything else.

Barton had managed to shave a couple of hours off of the journey time and as they landed FRIDAY let him know that Belle was currently asleep in the common room. He had informed the others they would debrief later and was off the jet as soon as the doors opened. Barton had waved the others back and he was fairly sure the other man had also explained a little of what what happening back at base.

Striding through the compound he pushed his sleeves up - he was going to to have to think of someway to get back at that utter bitch that his girl had to call a mother. He desperately wanted to do something awful like wait until she went to work and then blow up her house, but he also didn’t want to upset Belle.

Seeing his girl sound asleep, had resting on her folded arms, sprinkles and icing smeared on her cheek his heart felt like ti both melted and broke at the same time. He could see she had been crying and he figured that he could maybe blow up her car as well as the house. His hand was soft when he ran it over her cheek, but still her brow furrowed and her eyes slowly opened.

“Tony”

“Hey Snowflake, I heard that you had a bit of a day baby”

“I screwed up Tony, the Director is furious and I can’t say I blame him. I probably over reacted and well, yeah.” She looked down and took in the state of herself. She was covered in sticky icing and sugar and god knows what else. Her face flushed “I had meant to tidy up”

Tony grinned “Well it looks like if you choose to leave us you probably shouldn’t look for a job in architecture, your walls and trees are listing a bit” he teased looking over the small village she had created

Looking at the houses Belle could see what he meant. She had been sure that it looked better than this before she fell asleep

“You know what though, there is a lot of beauty in the imperfect my Snowflake” he pulled her up by her hand “the things that matter to everyone, those things are perfect. Look at how you thought about each of us” He lifted a piece of candy off the side and popping it in his mouth, humming in pleasure “The love that’s right here, that’s the most perfect thing of all”. He hooked his finger under Belle’s chin and turned her face so she was looking up at him.

“This is perfect, and for us, you are perfect Snowflake”. He pressed his lips against hers, tasing the sugar sweetness, letting go of her hands his own wound into her hair pulling her closer, as he deepened the kiss, his tongue brushing against her own

Belle couldn’t keep the groan in as she melted against this wonderful man who always seemed to know what to say and when. Her arms wrapped around his neck her fingers carding int the shorter hairs at the back of his neck. As she pulled slightly she felt the rumble in his chest and then heard Tony’s groan of pleasure. He pulled this lips from hers resting his forehead against her own staring deeply into her eyes.

“You’re all sweet and sticky baby, and only some of it is in the good way. Let's get you cleaned up” He stepped back lowering his hand to grab hers again and pulling slightly. Belle went happily. Pressing into his side

“You’ll come with me right?” She felt his kiss on the crown of her head

“You couldn’t get rid of me if you tried baby. FRIDAY, let the others know we’re done for the day, I don’t want to see them until tomorrow, and make sure they don’t touch the bit of that village Belle made for me”.

Standing in the elevator heading up to Tony’s floor Belle pushed up kissing her man again. No matter what she wasn’t going to let anyone take this man, these people, from her.

#panic's 25 days of christmas #oneshot #fluff #christmas

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lightsandlostbells · 5 years

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Skam France season 3, episode 9 reaction

Okay, I finally did this one! I’m not sure how many people still care since Skam France S3 ended back in March, but I wanted to complete the whole season. Sorry for the delay, anyone still interested! I apologize if I forgot some crucial details in writing this since there was such a large gap between viewing the rest of the season.

Episode 9

Clip 1 - Guru advice for a sad boy

Lucas is lying on the couch after his rough night. Are they still going to make him sleep on the couch after this shit went down? Why is he even there anymore after he told them sobbing that this was his room now a few episodes ago? Or when he stumbled in with his boyfriend to fuck on the sofa and Lisa was like, yeah, make Manon sleep on the couch instead since she’s not getting any? Because I refuse to believe that Lucas chose to camp there voluntarily either when he was a) getting laid or b) in the throes of despair.

Mika checks in on him and tries to comfort him. There’s a nice, humanizing part where he says just because he seems happy all the time doesn’t mean he’s never sad, and just because he sleeps around now doesn’t mean he’s never been in love. Lucas apologizes for saying a dumb thing and Mika says it’s OK to be dumb when you’re sad. But don’t be dumb too long, meaning don’t be sad too long. He gives Lucas a kiss on the forehead. So at least we’re getting some of this affection between them later in the season.

Lucas asks Mika how you move on and Mika is just like … shrug. Like he literally shrugs. I mean, I get that there’s no easy answer, but you could have said that instead of leaving Lucas hanging, dude, give the guy a little relief.

Clip 2 - Lucas’ dad suuuuucks

Lucas is doing laundry and looking up bipolar disorder on his phone when Eliott sends him a picture, kinda similar to the one on IG of his raccoon fursona throwing away crumpled drawings? I think it’s be the same one. It’s like he’s trying to say something to Lucas but doesn’t know what. He sends another pic where the raccoon seems to want to call out to hedgehog but the hedgehog spurns him and doesn’t want to talk. Eliott then sends him a bunch of photos at once and Lucas texts him not to contact him because he's not dealing well right now. Which is kinda different from Isak’s reply to Even the night after? It might be lost in translation, but Isak was more “I don’t know what’s going on” and Lucas is like “I’m not dealing well with this,” so confusion vs. hurt/upset feelings.

More dramatic piano music as Lucas gets another text. not from Eliott, but from his dad, asking if it’s true he has a boyfriend. OK, so Dad is a homophobe? Because he sure took a while to answer his son (compared to Isak’s dad who answered him immediately). Like did he need almost a full week to process that his son was dating a guy, he didn’t text or call in the meantime? Dad says if that’s true that Lucas has a boyfriend, it’s not a good idea to bring him to church. He attributes it to Lucas’ mom not being able to understand, but this seems way more like Lucas’ dad’s problem.

Isak’s dad wasn’t a great guy, but I think he genuinely didn’t have a problem with Isak being gay, or at least not a huge one. He responded to Isak’s coming out right away, said it was nice if Isak had a boyfriend and he would like to meet him, and checked in with Isak about whether he was sad about breaking up with his boyfriend. It’s very possible he wasn’t 100% fine with it, but it seemed like he was awkward at worst rather than actually disapproving. Lucas’ dad feels like he is seriously not OK with it even if he’s trying not to come across that way. He waited almost a week to respond to his son coming out to him and then didn’t say anything nice like “I’m happy for you” on top of that, he just said went into how it wasn’t a good idea to bring his boyfriend to church. Lucas’ mom’s possible reaction felt like an excuse for his own problem. And I don’t think it was even her potential response as a religious person, but maybe the dad thinking that Lucas should keep his gay relationship away from the church as a general rule.

Lucas starts to type out that it was a joke (about having a boyfriend), but deletes the message and doesn’t reply, then seems about to cry again. So like Isak, he can’t bear to say it wasn’t real.

Also, by this point in Isak’s season, Isak had come out to both his parents, and he got his mother’s acceptance text right at his lowest point, when he needed it. So at least that weight was off his back. Lucas hasn’t even told her about having a boyfriend yet, so it’s just pure misery for him with no relief. He’s probably even more anxious about his mom rejecting him because of his dad’s text.

Clip 3 - Charles is THE ACTUAL WORST, NO EXAGGERATION

Manon and Emma are talking about Charles when Lucas gets home. Can we please inform the remake writers that this storyline is not even necessary in adaptations where the William actors don’t leave the show? Remember how much Noorhelm there was in S4? If it’s like this in S3 what will the Manon and Charles drama be in Imane’s season? Or will it be toned down in that season and is only more prominent in this one as a way to incorporate the girl squad more in a boy’s season?

However, Manon says Lucas can stay to hear about what happened with her and Charles, which is seriously a sweet moment since it shows how close they are and how much she trusts him. Additionally, he gets to return the favor (of sorts), because Manon supported him and Eliott and was there for him when he was falling apart, so now Lucas can listen to Manon’s story and support her in her time of need.

Manon tells her story. At first it was great with her and Charles, then he got busy working for his dad and Manon had classes, and she didn’t make many friends. I like that she’s all “not my strong point” to Emma; that’s nice continuity, since Emma was the first friend she made at her new school, and they bonded over not having friends, heh. Manon got summoned to testify against Nico and she was upset about it; Charles noticed but she couldn’t talk about it. Then Charles went back to Paris to see his mom and Nico was invited without warning. They talked, Nico cried a lot, he was depressed and regretted what happened. Charles thought Nico needed therapy, but prison would fuck up his life. Especially because Nico didn’t even rape Manon. Yes, that is what Charles actually said to Manon. The fuck.

Charles said he would support Manon in whatever choice but really, while he didn’t impose anything on her, he also didn’t support her. The day of the trial, she went to court but ended up leaving before it happened. Charles asked how it went and she told him the truth, but that she wasn’t coming home, either. Manon didn’t tell anyone what happened because she was embarrassed about leaving for London with her dream man and coming back after only a few months. She felt so stupid. Manon cries, Emma is supportive, Lucas suggests they all drink. Emma is like YESSSSS. Lucas is not surprised Emma wants to drink.

Manon is like, the last time I drank wasn’t exactly great. I mean ... good point, maybe not the best idea to remind her of Nico right now. Except Emma is like, I won’t make out with you, OK? Lucas is like, neither will I. Heh.

I’ll pay a compliment before I get into my rant: Marilyn Lima did a great job depicting Manon’s breakdown. I really felt for her. And that made me angrier at this narrative choice, honestly.

OK, I’m just like ... exasperated. And disgusted. I am not a Noorhelm fan. I didn’t like this story in Skam about why Noora left London. I think it illustrated why Noorhelm were not compatible as a couple, because the same mistakes were happening in S4 that happened with them in S2; just like when he ditched Noora at school when he heard from Niko and then ignored her texts telling him it was rape for days as she begged with him to talk to her, this incident again showed that William was not capable of supporting Noora to the degree she needed it. Sure, it’s a lovely moment when he holds her as she’s panicking, but what about when he cruelly removes that tenderness and love when he finds out why she’s panicking? It was her sexual assault, not his, and I know it’s more complicated because his brother was the perpetrator, but he still needed to put his own feelings aside and support his girlfriend, the victim. When he can’t do that, repeatedly, then we really need to question whether he is the right person for Noora. Not to mention that this issue was resolved off-screen, with Noora being vaguely like “we talked and I understand him so much better now” as if Noora’s failure to understand William’s feelings is the real problem here. Not to mention any other criticism I could say about Noorhelm. And in some ways I think Marles was worse than Noorhelm; there were times when Charles was more of a domineering asshole than William (the scene where he leaves Manon crying on the ground, for example, is even nastier).

So I say this as someone who doesn’t really care about the pairing … did they have to make Charles so much of an irredeemable asshole here?

Charles probably has some “good” reason for his behavior that we’ll find out later. Too bad I don’t give a fuck what it is. He minimized his girlfriend’s sexual assault because the attacker - his brother - didn’t technically rape Manon, because the brother is just so upset about it and crying and he needs therapy, not prison. Fuck Charles. Nico is probably manipulating him, or maybe Charles is doing this for his mother’s sake so her son doesn’t go to prison, who knows, but whatever the reason, he basically planted the idea in Manon’s head that Nico didn’t need to go to jail. He downplayed her need for justice. He downplayed her trauma. Like … the only acceptable explanation is that Charles was replaced by a pod person or an evil clone in Paris, and in S4 the real Charles fights his way out of the underground secret laboratory where he’s being held hostage and tells Manon the truth. That is the only way I will accept Charles and Manon endgame after this.

I would not have a problem with this development were I confident that Manon and Charles were going to break up for good. Okay, that makes sense as a factor that permanently separates them. I do still think it’s kind of frustrating and pointless, like why the fuck did we spend a whole season on their supposedly great and epic love if Charles was going to commit the same selfish and hurtful mistakes he did in S2? I think it would be fine to do a storyline where Marles/Noorhelm doesn’t work out because Charles just can’t be the guy Manon needs him to be, but like … that should be the story of S2. When they’re the focus of a season. When you can develop that idea clearly because the POV allows it. You could get them together earlier in the season and do an arc similar to Eva’s where the Noora realizes that while she loves William, it’s best if they break up because they don’t work as a couple (even if this might be a redundant storyline after S1, I think it could still have value in trying to portray girls not putting up with their boyfriends’ bad behavior). But not “we spent a full season trying to convince you they belong together, but something happens off screen and they broke up.” That’s narratively unsatisfying. And anyway, this whole rant is probably pointless, because my issue is that I don’t think they’re going to break them up for good. Charles will come swooping back later in S4 just like William did. He’ll likely have some weak excuse that we’re supposed to accept as justified for putting Manon through all of this pain. For fuck’s sake, even if, IDK, Nico was threatening Manon if she testified against him, or something dire like that, so Charles had to find a way to discourage her - in what world is it not better to tell Manon about this than to keep it to himself?

You know what? Even if you have sympathy for Charles, even if you think it’s understandable that he doesn’t want his brother to go to prison, however loathsome said brother might be - that still doesn’t mean he’s right for Manon. Maybe they love each other, maybe it’s not fair, but if he cannot support Manon entirely over his brother here, then this relationship will never ever be healthy. She is a victim of sexual assault; Nico is the one who assaulted her. There is no grey area to this situation. So if Charles cannot accept that, then he and Manon cannot and should not be in a romantic relationship; Manon deserves someone who can support her through her recovery of a harrowing experience wholeheartedly. I do understand if Charles has complicated feelings about the issue, but frankly then he needs to go to therapy and work them out with someone who is not the victim of a traumatic crime.

I mean, shit happens, sometimes you have to account for sudden unplanned factors, like when Thomas Hayes left the show. But Michel Biel didn’t as far as I know, so there was no reason to insert this frankly evil drama into the narrative. There was no reason to send Manon to London at all? She was going to move in with Charles. That was literally what was planned for them after S2 to free up a room for Lucas. It’s just so goddamn dumb.

I’m trying to consider if maybe the purpose of this crap was to make a parallel to Lucas’ situation, maybe to show Lucas how Eliott must feel to be abandoned by the one he loves by showing Manon breaking down? But nah. If that was the case, it’s really not highlighted enough, I don’t think we see Lucas clearly link it to Eliott. I know subtlety isn’t this show’s strong suit, but this would have been so subtle as to not be present at all (which is why I don’t think it was intended). And it’s also way too big as drama not to have drastic consequences in itself.

God. I just. Why. Whyyyyyyy.

Clip 4 - Pity party turns to pity rave

They’re all hanging out and drinking, nice to see all three season leads so far get a scene together. Manon’s lying in Lucas’ lap, that’s cute. They’re bemoaning their love lives and it’s Emma’s turn to vent about her relationship with Alex. Manon suggests talking to him to find out if he has good qualities other than sex. See, I would buy this if all we knew about them was that they were hooking up, but we’ve seen through social media that they do hang out together outside of the bedroom? They go places together enough to document their experiences on IG. So they would’ve attempted conversations already, they would’ve tried to bond. I think it’s time for Emma to call it like it is: a satisfying sexual relationship, nothing more.

Lucas is like, you’re lucky, you have a boyfriend unlike Manon and I. Dude, Lucas, come on. Emma is just FWBing it with Alex anyway, according to her. He’s drinking and getting sloppy and telling them about Eliott’s freak-out and him being bipolar and Emma is like, I have it worse. Lmao shut up, no you don’t. I get it in the sense that having a bipolar boyfriend is not a terrible thing, but Eliott’s manic episode is certainly a more drastic and serious thing than just being with some conversational dud who knows how to maneuver his penis. Even Lucas is like BUT MY BOYFRIEND IS BIPOLAR, though in his case I think it’s still the ableism peeking out.

Manon is like, excuse me, I have it the worst. They agree. I also agree. Charles is undoubtedly the worst.

Mika and Lisa come home and join in the debauchery. They put on a disco light and everyone dances. It’s very tonally jarring and I think it’s supposed to be kinda not actually happening? Or rather, some version of this is happening but Lucas’ POV is exaggerating or distorting it because he’s drunk. The lyrics are like “Take control” so I suppose this is his desperate way of reclaiming his messy emotional state

I do like the shot of Mika showing off his nipples and Lucas seeing it and being like … nope.

Manon and Emma make out and Lisa and Mika make out and I’m kinda cranky about it, because I don’t need more straight girl hawt drunk make-outs or a gay guy kissing his female roommate, like what a double dose of bullshit. More generously, I can attribute this to Lucas hallucinating and being out of sorts while he’s drunk and so imagining “wrong things” like everyone around him standing still, Manon and Emma kissing when they’re not a couple, Mika and Lisa kissing when Mika is gay, etc.

It’s all fun and games and party electronic dance makeouts until Lucas slows down and gets miserable. Things get blurry. He can’t drink his angst away, not for long.

There’s a shot spliced in of Eliott making eye contact with him on the dance floor in episode 3, as Lucas is coming down from his high. Nice inclusion as Lucas is trying to escape his problems but of course he can’t get over Eliott or his sadness that easily.

There’s possibly more you could analyze about the composition of the ending but the editing kinda gave me a headache so I only watched the clip once, sorry.

Clip 5 - Basile isn’t a dumbass for once

Lucas is very hungover at school on Monday. Yann is like oooo, night out with Eliott? Lucas explains that it’s because of Eliott that he got drunk. He says Eliott is bipolar as Arthur and Basile sit down. Arthur is like, Kanye West is bipolar. Maybe not the best example to use in 2019, bro.

Honestly they’ve ruined Basile SO FUCKING MUCH with his horrible creepy sexism that I can’t even enjoy this moment from him where he talks about his mom. I mean, this is easily the best Basile has been all season, and if they hadn’t made him so disgusting, it’d be a great scene for him. And I completely understand people liking him in this moment. Hell, divorced from anything else in this season, I like him in this moment! But I cannot get over how atrocious their depiction of him has been elsewhere in the story, like I’m glad he dropped some wisdom on Lucas but this isn’t some magical fix-it that will erase my negative feelings about him.

Like for example, Basile says the first time his mom saw a Tom Cruise movie, she fell madly in love with him and flew to LA and went to his house and got removed by the cops. And not to be insensitive since this is an example of her mania, but my first thought was, “Oh, stalking runs in the family.”

The rest of the dialogue is pretty similar to OG where Basile inquires about how Eliott is doing and he suggests Lucas talk to Eliott, Lucas is a dumbass for listening to Eliott’s ex, etc. Basile says it seems like Eliott really wanted to be with Lucas, and that there are times when it will suck, but if Lucas wants to be with Eliott, he’s got to do it, you have to take people as they are. I dislike the music intruding over the end - I don’t think it’s well-timed and it feels forced - but other than that, the message is fine.

Clip 6 - Bye bye foyer

I like how Lucas and Yann are kinda cuddled into each other as they share earbuds and the couch. Lucas is still wearing his ROMANCE sweatshirt despite being deep in heartbreak. I admire his commitment to love.

There’s a little meta joke because they’re watching a show on Yann’s phone, and he says it’s episode 9, and it’s almost over. Which is of course a reference to it being episode 9 of Skam France with the season almost over, heh.

Lucas gets a text from his mom about going to confession and how God forgives those who deviate from the path as long as they come back to it. This leads into the coming out from his mom, and THAT GODDAMN TINKLY PIANO MUSIC starts up again. I do think it’s been used appropriately at times, but at other moments it feel so soap opera-ish and overly dramatic. Sometimes it seems like Skam France is a really insecure show, like how they have characters state the obvious like they were afraid the audience wouldn’t get it, or they go for the OTT music as if the writing, acting, and directing won’t be enough to elicit an emotional reaction.

I mean I realize it is Bad and Wrong to compare Skams but remember in the original version of this scene where Isak just sat and typed out this entire, very long message, and it was silent except for the cafe noises and the camera stayed still on him the whole time, because Julie trusted the audience not to fidget and for Tarjei’s acting and the importance of the scene to hold everyone’s attention? And in Skam France we get the music and the camera will not stop moving like they assume the audience is made of easily bored toddlers who need stuff swirling in front of their eyes at all times. Speaking of, WHY ALL THE FUCKING PANS, why does the camera need to move so much, whyyyyyyyy. It’s distracting and doesn’t even fit for the emotional tone of the scene, really? Like isn’t he actually pretty steady writing this to his mom? Shouldn’t the cinematography reflect that?

Lucas starts to type a text about how he met someone and don’t get mad at him, but he deletes it and just types out a message saying he’s gay, sorry if it hurts or disappoints you, see you on Friday, love you. And Lucas’ mom texts him back immediately to tell him she loves him, too, and that she’s proud of him.

Heavy sigh. I feel bad being negative about this scene because it is important and beautiful for Lucas to hear, he’s profoundly touched by his mother’s acceptance, but boy oh boy did they minimize the impact of this scene, even aside from my gripes with the cinematography and music.

So the Religion clip was the catalyst for Isak coming out to his mom, and he specifically uses Sana’s words to come out to her. None of the S3 remakes seem to understand that clip’s importance to the Isak character except that hey, talking about religion and homosexuality is good! It aggravates me because it makes it seem like the writers missed a basic connection within the story; they think stuff just happens in the season Just Because and don’t get the cause and effect (like the generalization dialogue earlier in the season, something both France and Italia included without really seeming to get why it was there other than “the message is important”). And I mean, you can adapt the religion scene so it’s not the same! You can adapt the message, it doesn’t have to be verbatim. But not connecting the religion clip to Lucas coming out to his mom makes that relationship between Lucas and Imane less meaningful. It makes the scene more of a tangent rather than an important stepping stone in Lucas’ coming out narrative. It’s just there.

Again, I hate being sour about this but it just makes me grumpy, like I feel this is a demonstration of the differences between Skam and Skam France. Skam did this simple, quiet coming out scene where we just lingered on the actor for a while and which was built up to within the narrative by a prior scene that linked the two thematically, and which delivered the “punchline” with some excellent pacing (where Isak’s mom didn’t reply until when we least expected it, and with powerful timing and execution, when Isak most needed to hear it), and Skam France flies by this pivotal scene and does it in under two minutes like it’s getting it out of the way, with nothing remarkable about pacing and timing, but with dramatic music and camera movement.

Part of my problem is that honestly, I feel like Skam France kind of ... doesn’t care about this moment. Consider the amount of time given to Lucas’ coming out to his mom and her acceptance, versus the amount of time for the foyer stuff that takes up the rest of the clip. I feel like other than Yann’s random initial rejection, all of Lucas’ coming out stuff has been so smoothed over and easy, not just from an outsiders’ perspective, but from a personal psychological perspective. And it’s not that I expect CONSTANT TORMENT but it feels massively oversimplified, like these scenes are just obligatory. I hate to say this because I know the screenwriter is gay and I don’t want to diminish any personal anecdotes on coming out he brought to the story, whether this reflects his own experience. But I almost feel like they knew the Evak fans would flock to this season (which is true, we know with all the behind the scenes stuff and cast interviews they were doing that were blatantly to appeal to shippers) and so they allocated some screen time to getting in the shippy romantic content while pushing aside some of the pesky, less exciting stuff that doesn’t have to do with romance. Like for instance, coming out to one’s mom.

I do like that when Lucas is crying, Yann asks him if he’s OK and Lucas is just kinda like, yeah, I’m fine, and Yann smiles at him. It’s a simple, nice moment.

But here I go again. Just the fact that this incredibly pivotal and meaningful scene is cut off so we can get to the fucking common room drama?? The common room is more important that Lucas coming out to his mom?? They could have at least made the coming out moment a separate clip from the foyer stuff with the principal. It’s not like they haven’t been doing that all season, splitting up big scenes into two or more clips. (And yeah, Isak’s coming out to his mom didn’t have its own clip, but the content surrounding it was at least extremely important and concerned Isak on a very personal level, compared to the foyer stuff.)

The principal storms in and yells because the students have been snatching the Wifi. Daphne takes the blame and gets in trouble for it. Then the principal hears giggling from another room and there is the nerd dude who set up the Wifi and Chloé’s friend Maria, getting cozy on the mattress. They get up and run off when the principal yells at them. Okay, who the FUCK thought it was a good idea to put a mattress in a room behind a closed door, in a school full of hormonal teenagers??? Did you not think this is where it would lead? Idiots.

The principal is roaring mad and yells at Daphne more. What’s next, a Fight Club (lmao, I wouldn’t be surprised) or a heroin den? He singles out the mural as peak bullshit and tells the students to pack up their things. The foyer is closed. And they have to come in on Saturday to repaint the mural.

Lucas is like, no, that’s where I lost my virginity! It’s a monument to my first experience with gay sex! No, actually he just defends it as an homage to Jackson Pollock. Yann defends it more calmly, but the principal gives them both detention. Well, that’s not fair, Yann didn’t deserve that.

Imane stands in front of the principal and gives a speech about how they all participated in the mural and how it means something to them and represents their differences, difference races and sexual orientations. It shows how they can all live together. And now he wants to paint over the mural in white, of all colors? It’s a good speech not because she means it, because L M F A O they did not all paint that fucking mural, Lucas and Eliott splashed some paint on the wall before fucking against it, but because it appeals to the principal’s sense of self-preservation. Does he really want to erase the mural that represents his marginalized students and the harmony and diversity of the school? Does he really want to risk the backlash?

The principal backs down from the mural and leaves. Wait a minute. Imane didn’t actually mean that speech did she? Because lmao, this mural did not mean anything about diversity. There’s an ass print on the wall, for fuck’s sake.

I think she was definitely manipulating the principal and going over-the-top, but the issue is that the rest of the season then tries to play her words as sincere, like that’s the whole point of them standing up for the foyer in the finale, that it’s a place that brings different people together.

Anyway, they’re all sad. The foyer is closing! Daphne says there will be a solution, the others comfort and reassure her.

Maybe because I’m in a bad mood from the coming out part of the scene but: I do not care about the foyer. Actually, I care about it a tiny bit in that Daphne would be sad if it closed and Daphne is my girl but other than that? Nah.

And you know what? The principal had a fucking point! Multiple points! They did host a party after school hours where dozens of students broke into the school and potentially caused mess or damage. They were stealing Wifi to the point where it was slowing down the network. They did have a room with a mattress where two students were just caught in the act of trying to hook up. He was being petty about the mural, but other than that? He’s not wrong. I love Daphne but looking at it from the POV of a meanie adult, she’s enabled a lot of irresponsible actions with this foyer regardless of possible negative consequences.

But mostly? I don’t care about this. I’m weary of how the foyer has encroached on Lucas’ season the way the bus took over Sana’s season. I only gave a shit about the bus because as it meant something to Sana with reconciling her Norwegian culture with her Muslim/Moroccan culture, and because I wanted to see the girl squad have fun in the bus, not because I cared about the bus in itself and how big it is or whether it has certain features or if they can afford a bus as opposed to a van. Likewise, I care about the foyer only in how it relates to the main characters, and so far mostly it’s just Daphne’s investment in it. Lucas’ investment in the foyer is mainly that he and Eliott did the mural and fucked there, a scene that was ridiculous in itself, so I have a hard time caring about it.

But like … if Lucas really cared about this foyer instead of seeming just along for the ride for most of its development? It would make more thematic sense in the season. Like if he and Eliott were more actively involved in fixing up the foyer all season instead of just the mural scene, if it really represented something to them. Say he and Eliott had more meetings and flirtations in there. Or Lucas secretly crashed here when he was having problems at home. If this foyer really felt important to Lucas. Because honestly, I feel like his involvement is mostly “the girls asked him to do something and he did it because he had nothing better to do/got railroaded into it.”

He does text later that the mural is all he has left of Eliott. But the mural is now safe? The principal backed down from painting over the mural. So again … who cares.

IDK, I feel like there were so many ways this could be better. For example, if the foyer was more actively a place that represented diversity and LGBT rights and anti-racism and political activism. If the mural had some legitimate political commentary behind it, or they’d hung a pride flag somewhere and the principal came in and told them to take it down. Or maybe he just got word that a gay couple (aka Lucas and Eliott) were being snuggly in here - not that they banged, just that they were kissing and holding hands in a place that made them feel safe and welcome, and he came in to shut it down in a way that was loaded with microaggressions against them. Then the foyer would genuinely feel like something that needed to be protected. As it is, I’m just like … he’s not wrong about anything he said, lmao, and the idea that the foyer is some haven of diversity and different people coming together feels totally tacked on.

Clip 7 - Lucas’ mom is great

Lucas goes to church and meets with his mom. His mom greets him warmly and hugs him, so that’s very sweet. But it turns out Lucas’ dad isn’t coming. Mama blames it on leaving too many voicemails for him, and that she thinks he doesn’t want to see her anymore since the separation. Nah, I think Lucas’ dad is just a turd, and probably a big homophobe.

Mama says people are the way they are, you can’t try to change them, they have good qualities and their faults. We just need time to understand. So kinda similar to what Basile said earlier about taking people as they are. Lucas ponders that and they go inside the church.

I’m kinda ehhh on them using a church for this scene, considering there hasn’t been as much religious symbolism in this season? Lucas’ mom did send him Bible texts, and there was the Lucas light/dark stuff, but that didn’t seem explicitly tied to religion the way the Isak birth/rebirth stuff was through the 21:21 reference, or the baptism imagery, Even’s Halloween costume, the presence of Christmas? However, I could totally just be missing something. And I don’t think it’s wrong for them to use a church, just that I think it’s a church because it was a church in Skam, rather than because they built up the religious symbolism in this season.

Clip 8 - Run for your love

Lucas and his mom are in church. There are some shots of candles so I guess that’s a tie-in to the light/dark imagery. Or that Lucas is finally seeing the light, heh.

The mass starts and soon Lucas gets a text from Lucille about how no one can find Eliott and they’re freaking out. So Eliott himself doesn’t send Lucas a text, let alone a goodbye text. He’s totally gone off the grid.

We get a montage through Lucas and Eliott’s relationship as the priest talks about how believers can find peace and comfort in God, God gives us the strength we need. No matter your sorrow, God accepts you and you’ll never be alone because God is with you. The church is your shelter. Mixed in with the priest’s words are images of Eliott, so it comes across pretty clearly that Eliott = God in this scenario? Lucas finds peace and comfort in Eliott, he gets strength through him, he’s not alone with Eliott.

I think this would come across a bit stronger if they had built up that religious symbolism throughout the season, because otherwise the Eliott = Lucas’ God thing is a little ... random. I get that they probably just wanted the priest’s words to resonate with Lucas rather then trying to say Eliott = God as a metaphor, but it’s one of those those things where they could have subtly planted connections all along. (I don’t remember any but I’m also finishing this recap like two months later, so I could’ve forgotten something.)

The montage is kinda funny if you consider that Lucas is in church, flashing back to the better times of him boning Eliott. I mean ... who wouldn’t, really.

I enjoy Seinabo Sey and appreciate Skam France using so much of her music, but at first I wasn’t sure how I feel about this choice of song. Is it too on the nose (“I’ll remember you” for a flashback montage)? Skam used plenty of songs with lyrics that described what was happening on screen. Does it fit the church setting? Eh, I don’t think a church scene needs a religious soundtrack. So the song choice has grown on me a bit since then.

I think the reason I was somewhat hesitant about the montage is that Lucas gets a text that Eliott is missing and he just sits there for a few minutes flashing back to the good ol’ days instead of reacting immediately like oh shit, Eliott’s disappeared. Even if they’re not in a relationship, that’s still cause for concern. Whereas with Isak, he didn’t quite understand Even’s text at first; he just smiled and sat down because Even loved him and he read the text in a purely positive way. It was when he realized Even’s text was a possible suicide note that he left the church to go after him. I guess because Lucas was remembering his relationship with Eliott, he was able to figure out where Eliott might be? But still, seems like he should’ve reacted instantly to Eliott possibly being in trouble.

Lucas decides to go and tells his mom. They exchange I love yous, which is sweet and a great closing note for this relationship. The shot of him walking down the aisle feels like a direct homage to OG.

“Remember me under the sun” - OK so I guess that’s another light reference.

The growing intensity of the music is good and I was getting into the scene but dear lord, the slow mo of Lucas running is ABSURD. Why did this turn into Chariots of Fire all of a sudden? Why is Lucas running through the actual street and not the sidewalk, he’s going to get by a car!

OH MY GOD HE ALMOST DID GET HIT BY A CAR, WHY WAS THAT NECESSARY, I STARTED LAUGHING MY ASS OFF

Like was that some outtake where Axel Auriant almost got mowed down because they asked him to run in the fucking street and they decided to keep it in for the ~drama? Talk about a mood killer.

I do like that Lucas knew where to go because he knew it was a place special to Eliott, and to the two of them. And that he found Eliott in the dark and that Lucas brings the light on both of them (literally, with his cell phone). Maxence does a nice job of crying and looking heartbroken.

This scene isn’t bad (except for the running and almost getting hit by the car…. why) but it does makes me think the remakes really need to start from scratch with the climax of this season. Not just recreate an O Helga Natt-ish clip with similar setting, music, dialogue, or story beats, but to look independently at what the themes of the season are - not OG, their season - and then build up something that’s consistent with that. That’s a big part of why O Helga Natt is such a masterpiece: It ties together Isak’s main lessons throughout the season, as well as paying off foreshadowing and incorporating multiple motifs and threads of symbolism that have been developed along the way.

So for example, just a small observation: Lucas tells Eliott he’s not alone anymore. Which is of course a line from O Helga Natt, and a line that does have a powerful meaning in this context. I’m not saying it’s a bad line in the slightest. But in O Helga Natt, Isak was saying it as a direct response to Even’s text message, in which he says “everyone is alone anyway.” And also in response to something Even said back in episode 5, about “the brain is alone” and being alone with your thoughts and the only way to escape is death. And to some degree in the hotel clip when Even said the alone way to have something forever was to lose it, just after they were talking about Isak and Even in infinite universes, as if Even was talking about losing Isak and being alone. It was established that Even had a fear of being alone. Here, Eliott does not send Lucas a text, so “You’re not alone anymore” is not a direct response to anything. And I don’t remember Eliott saying anything about being alone in episode 5, having that line of Even’s, or in episode 8 (Again, I took a long break between recaps so it’s very possible I just forgot Eliott’s prior comments about being alone to Lucas, feel free to remind me.) So while the line is sweet and supportive and powerful, IMO it lacks the extra punch that Isak’s “You’re not alone” did simply because Skam’s writing was tighter. I mean ... if Isak hadn’t said “You’re not alone,” would Lucas have said it to Eliott? Might he have said something else relevant to their relationship, rather than recreating an existing iconic line? I don’t know if I’m explaining myself clearly, and I truly don’t mean to make a mountain out of a molehill, because the line is perfectly fine here. It’s just that I think the remakes need to not lean on O Helga Natt so much, and instead rely on their own ingredients in the season to craft this climactic scene, if they want to create something with the most impact.

Social Media/General Comments:

Lucas doesn’t text Mika after the boat clip, he texts Manon. Which seems completely in line with those relationships, in my opinion. Isak texting Eskild and Eskild dropping everything to go home after the hotel is a testament to that relationship’s strength, but Lucas and Mika still don’t seem to have that degree of closeness, even if their relationship has gotten stronger. It’s Manon who Lucas seems closest to, the one who can cry with him and sit in silence together just for comfort.

However, Lucas doesn’t give Manon the details or even imply something is wrong in his text to her; he writes a (typo-filled) draft where he explains what happened on the boat and then deletes it. I’m assuming he told her afterwards, but this is a really good detail! Skam France and other remakes sometimes miss innovative ways to use social media to enhance the story, and I think this small touch is quite clever. Lucas is shaken and distraught after the boat and writes this messy draft of a text to Manon, spilling everything, but he deleted it and went with a neutral text, holding back the information. The reason I think he deleted his explanatory text is not just because of how messed up it was, but because writing out everything - Eliott disappeared, he’s bipolar - would make it more real, and Lucas cannot handle that it the moment, it’s too much.

Mika sends Lucas a link to a sad song, for help with his wallowing, I guess. Maybe not the best thing to send tbh, but it was kindly meant. And Lucas posted on his IG story that he was listening to it, so perhaps it helped him.

The pity party was documented quite well on IG. I wonder what Eliott thought if he saw any of it? Lucas drunk and dancing ... could go “he’s upset” or “he’s glad to be rid of me” which tbh I could see happening in a depressed mindset.

Eliott posted colors to his IG - like just colors - and deleted them really fast. Which is another good use of social media here, possibly to illustrate his changing moods, to hint at his mindset (like his depression being just a dark gradient) I’m kind of like ... why didn’t they do something like this last week to hint at his mania?

Lucas contacted Eliott via text, saying he wanted to see him or talk. That would’ve been good to see in a clip, really.

People using Imane’s BS speech on IG to promote the common room cause = LMAO.

Lucas says the mural is all he has left of Eliott, which is at least some reason he’d care about protecting it and the foyer. The boys encourage him to go to Eliott’s place, and Lucas is hesitant, saying he was told to stay away. However, then there’s an IG story of Lucas outside Eliott’s building.

Lol, OK, that’s something that definitely would be better as a clip rather than a stalker-y IG post. I mean, when you think about it, isn’t it kind of weird for him to broadcast that to the world? I guess he hoped Eliott would see it and know Lucas cares and wants to talk to him?

But sooo many questions. Like ... did Lucas try to ring the bell or contact Eliott while he was there ... or did he just stand looking up at his window like a creep ... how long was he standing there ... I don’t think they thought this one through. Yeah, absolutely should have been an actual clip so we know what the hell happened.

Ok I realize it is sooooo after the fact, and regarding this topic that has already been discussed to death, I hate to come back with another rant like AND ANOTHER THING!!!! but at some point I came to another realization about why Yann’s reaction to Lucas’ coming out is bad and stupid and I wanted to get it out because it has been bugging me.

Yann’s reaction is bad and stupid because the “you weren’t honest with me/told everyone else but me” reaction is often fake and disingenuous. Like I hate to generalize and I’m sure that somewhere in the history of the world, someone has genuinely been hurt that their friend came out to other people before them, but also, sorry, I don’t think it’s a common authentic reaction. It’s a smokescreen for homophobia.

So let’s talk about Please Like Me. Please Like Me is one of my favorite non-Skam shows ever. Like Skam S3, its protagonist, Josh, is a young gay man just accepting that he is gay and coming out (although he’s older than Isak). Like Isak, Josh has a mentally ill mother. Like Skam S3, Josh gets into a relationship with a mentally ill person. It’s less idealistic and more painful than Skam, but still completely worth a watch, I highly recommend checking it out.

At one point in Please Like Me, Josh goes with his boyfriend, Arnold, to Arnold’s birthday party with Arnold’s family. Arnold is not out to his family yet and is planning to come out to them at the party. However, in a previous episode Arnold told his friends that his dad has said he doesn’t like gay people and told Arnold to quit singing in a choir because people would think he was a (homophobic slur) and beat him up. So, Arnold’s dad is an established homophobic asshole!

At the party, Arnold announces to his family that he’s gay and dating Josh. Arnold’s brother and mom are like “Yeah, we knew,” which is not the best thing to say but they’re overall chill and supportive. Meanwhile, Arnold’s dad stands there with a sour look on his face. When he does finally speak, he says that he’s been “backed into a corner” - presumably because the rest of family supports Arnold, and because they have other guests with them looking expectantly at him waiting for him to say he’s OK with Arnold being gay. Like he’s basically saying he doesn’t have the freedom to react negatively. You know, something a total non-homophobe would say! Then he starts going in on Arnold for lying to him, and saying the biggest problem is that Arnold didn’t feel he could be honest with him. (Then he knocks over a croquembouche.) Arnold’s dad leaves, but not before telling his wife that Arnold should be gone when he gets back.

Why am I bringing up Please Like Me? Because Please Like Me, created-written-directed-acted by real-life gay man Josh Thomas, is smart enough to recognize that homophobes often direct their disapproval into other excuses to be upset when someone comes out. Arnold’s dad didn’t stand there and rant about how homosexuality is wrong or gross. He didn’t say anything about homosexuality at all. Instead, he funneled his feelings into the weaselly excuse of “you weren’t honest with me.” (This right after Arnold has said, in his coming out speech, that his best chance at happiness is to be honest. Honesty in this case acknowledging he’s gay and has a boyfriend.) But let’s be real: if that were the case, if Arnold’s dad were upset about the lying rather than his son’s sexuality, would he really get that angry? Enough to effectively kick his son out of the house? To knock over a goddamn croquembouche? No, this scene is obviously about a father being pissed that his son is gay. But he feels “backed into a corner” and it’s not like he can say he’s upset that his son is gay in front of everyone else, in front of the guests, his son’s boyfriend, his wife and other son who have known for a long time and are fine with it.

Circling back to Skam France: we had Yann upset enough with Lucas coming out to him, for Totally Non-Homophobic Reasons, to walk away from him because he was hurt Lucas didn’t come out to him first. And I do believe the writer intended for Yann to not be homophobic at all! But it’s such a shitty, cheap excuse for drama, such a flimsy rationale for Yann’s reaction, one that doesn’t fit his prior behavior at all, that frankly, it pings too close to a smokescreen. Like Skam France is trying to pass off this blatantly artificial reaction as genuine. If someone reacted like this IRL, my gut feeling would be that they were a fucking homophobe. They’re most likely homophobic but aware that openly saying bad things about gay people, openly expressing their disapproval, is not a good look for them. Or they’re homophobic but trying to tell themselves they’re not by channeling their disappointment into other reasons that don’t rely on discomfort with homosexuality. It’s completely plausible and even probable for people to have some homophobic hangups under the surface, that in theory they were OK with gay people but when your best friend is staring you in the face telling you he’s in love with another man, those hangups might suddenly rise up.

And if somehow we give these reactions the benefit of the doubt, that someone is truly upset because “you lied to me” or “you didn’t tell me first?” - that person’s still a selfish asshole. Think about it. Your friend is confessing an extremely vulnerable secret about themselves, something that may have caused them great internal stress and pain, and you’re mad that they didn’t tell you sooner? Fuck off.

Anyway. The point I’m making is: in a Doylist sense, I think Yann’s reaction is not homophobic. The Skam France team really didn’t think of it that way. In a Watsonian sense, I call bullshit. Yann walking off during the coming out scene is most plausible if Yann actually had a homophobic reaction to Lucas’ coming out, and needed some time to process it before accepting Lucas’ sexuality. His explanation to Lucas is weak and unlikely. If it is true, that makes Yann a self-centered asshole. I know people don’t react perfectly and obviously Yann stepped the fuck up for Lucas afterwards but let’s acknowledge it for what it is, prioritizing one’s entitlement to someone else’s deepest, most painful secrets over their comfort and safety in keeping those secrets.

To be clear, I don’t hate Yann, not at all, and I attribute this mess solely to bad writing. It’s one of those things where the intent is different from the finished product. In analysis of Yann or Skam France or whatever, I’d acknowledge the intended purpose of that creative decision to make Yann walk away. But I’m also acknowledging that this creative decision is some stupid shit, lmao. And I’m aware the screenwriter is gay, and for all I know this is based on personal experience, but for now this scenario feels fake and manufactured only for drama, and inauthentic to how people would genuinely think and react in these scenarios. Someone who walks out on their friend when said friend comes out is probably homophobic to some degree, or else self-centered as fuck. Simple as that.

I am not French, so please feel free to correct me on any translation or cultural notes that I missed.

Like I said, I took a break from recaps, so I also might have forgotten certain details of this season, feel free to remind me of any of those, too!

If you got this far - and if you are still reading this after all this time - thank you very much, I love you!

#skam france reactions #skamfr reactions

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wahbegan · 5 years

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The Scary Asylum Trope (From Somebody Who’s Been Committed)

I can’t help but feel that the very loud and righteous voices of people with the best of intentions....who also have no idea what the fuck they’re talking about often overshadow those with a more nuanced and realistic view of the world because they’ve been through the shit. Especially on this site. In the real world, of course, both are drowned out by the man who both has bad intentions AND no idea what he’s talking about, but either way, the fact remains: people with first-hand experience of the ugliness of society saying shit nobody wants to hear, especially shit that makes the world a bit more morally grey and a bit more frightening than anyone would like to deal with are never listened to.

Although it’s often overlooked, I think we can all agree that the mentally ill and substance-addicted are among the most cast-off and overlooked members of society. Junkheads and crazies are already struggling to survive and nobody wants to give them a job, get too close to them, give them money, have them wandering the streets or coming into their businesses. Unlike other forms of oppression, one of the most insidious things about this is it’s opposed by almost nobody. “Don’t give that guy money, he’s a crackhead”, “stay away from that bum, she’s not right in the head, she’s dangerous”, “we can’t give you a job because of your history with substance abuse”, none of these statements are remotely controversial with the vast majority of people. A lot of people get angry when you say they should be or even suggest the mentally ill (not disabled, mind you, just ill) or addicted are even oppressed by society at all. Addicts, particularly. The general consensus is they ARE dangerous, they DO do illegal shit, they ARE unpredictable and unable to work reliably or have an interpersonal relationship with you, and most importantly...they brought this on themselves. This, of course, brings us to that great garbage bin of society’s dregs, the mental hospital.

Okay, so a bit of background. In Senior Year of college, I was alcoholic, cartoonishly depressed, and trying to deal with vague, unspecified shit that may have been trauma or a personality disorder or something I do not know, all I have ever been officially been diagnosed with is depression, but that doesn’t cover everything. I don’t know to this day exactly what’s wrong with me and I’ve gotten too old and used to it to really care enough to speculate. But long story short, one night I got too mouthy about a suicide attempt as I often do...to be honest, I think my crippling fear of the oblivion i believe follows death tends to manifest as loudly telegraphing my intentions to commit so that I have a chance to wake up even if I don’t chicken out at the last second...but anyway. My friend Vanessa came by my door and helped me down out of the home-made belt noose in my closet, and the cops were called. Cue being taken away in a cop car in handcuffs and 96 hours in a mental hospital without ANYONE believing any of my attempts to defend myself or even being put before a judge how’s that for due process ladies and gentlemen?

I won’t say what hospital I was in due to all the horrible shit I’m about to say about its character, but I WILL say when i first got there, many a joke was made about a then very topical certain someone who was known as a whistleblower and/or traitor depending on where you fall on the political spectrum who leaked a bunch of CIA and NSA shit. Oh, yeah, completely unrelated, did I mention I went to the University of Mary Washington in Fredericksburg, VA? Just a fun tidbit.

Anyway, I know this is slow in getting to the point, so let’s cut to the meat of the thing. From Outlast (the good one), to Arkham Asylum, to Silence of the Lambs, Session 9, Halloween, to House on Haunted Hill (the bad but enjoyable one), to that story some kid in grade school and/or your older sister wouldn’t shut the fuck up about that had an escaped mental patient who apparently the staff had deemed wise to give a pirate hook for a hand, the common consensus is: mental hospitals are fucking scary. More specifically, crazy people are fucking scary.

In recent years, as we’ve all grown a little more compassionate and people give the mentally ill at least a few months or years before they decide your shit is too much for them to deal with and throw you out like a leper, there’s been very strong pushback against this. Particularly on places like tumblr and other random blogs and op eds around the internet. It’s easy to see why. Dehumanizing the mentally ill is not only offensive to people who CAN actually generally understand and remember what you say about us, thank you very much, it’s just lazy. People like Michael Myers (no not that one the scary one) and Joker, who would NEVER see the inside of a hospital due to their clear intelligence and control over their actions, are thrown in an asylum as a cheap plot device, and classifying a character as crazy lets you ignore pesky little things like “character motivation” and “consistent characterization in general, fuckwit”. People may even praise your character for lacking those things if they’re cuh-RAZY enough. Again, Michael Myers (still not that one) and Joker.

I’m a huge fan of the pushback against the escaped mental patient with a hook trope. Having been a mental patient myself, I can assure you that almost all ANYONE wants to break out of that shit hole to do is get some good fucking food, sleep in a real bed, and pork their significant other. Mr. Pirate Hook, in a realistic version of that story, may have jumped the teen lovers for their car just to drive it to the liquor store and then his girlfriend’s house.

The problem is, and this is the main point of this giant fucking essay, that there is now also considerable related pushback against asylums being scary places. Ironically enough, this is coming not mainly from certifiable and dangerous-to-themselves-or-others type people. This pushback is coming from very well-meaning young adults with anxiety disorders and/or depressive episodes who are very sweet and god bless them I just know for a fact have never EVER seen the inside of one of these fucking places. It is coming from people who don’t want asylums to be seen as scary places because they want the mentally ill to want to go to them. To help them, ostensibly, but a tiny little cynical “fuck everyone” part of me thinks it’s more like to sweep their mess into someone else’s room so they don’t have to fucking handle it.

Now, before I continue, let me stress that the place I was in was a bit renowned for being a terrible shit hole. I’m sure my experience would have been a lot nicer at a suburban 50k a day mansion rehab for celebrities in the hills of Los Angeles. You don’t condemn all hotels in the world because of one particularly traumatic stay at the bumblefuck nowhere clown motel next to the old graveyard (yes that is a real thing), right? And unlike hotels, there’s no such thing as an asylum critic. A lot of people do NEED to be hospitalized for safety, and a lot of people DO, through one method or another, find themselves better off by the end of their stay. And I’m sure the go-to solution for any and all of life’s problems isn’t “tranq them in the ass and throw them in an isolation room” in EVERY hospital. But I get a sneaking suspicion it’s most of them. With that disclaimer out of the way, let’s continue.

Mental hospitals are the most terrifying fucking places in the world. Every time one of my well-meaning friends who’s never been committed says they think a brief hospital stint would do me good, I want to throw a blender at their fucking head. Every one of your relatively well-adjusted but probably on an anti-depressant or anxiety meds guidance counselor and social workers friends will list their good qualities until they’re blue in the face and tell you it’s not at all like the movies and there’s nothing to be scared of. It’s not like the movies, most of the time. Not exactly. But that resort and bond with people who have been through the same thing as you and time to work on yourself and group therapy and art class pitch they sell you on? Yeah, it’s bullshit.

Let’s continue with my story. When I was brought in from the main hospital, they first sent me to acute. I’ve been to county jail, and I’ve been to the acute treatment (read: high risk/high security) wing in an asylum, and I would pick county. Every fucking time. Bless her heart, my patient and long-suffering girlfriend at the time, who had been by my side for the whole process, was sitting next to me and holding my hand as they did the intake survey. They were at least compassionate enough or smart enough to know I would be a lot more placid and manageable with her around to let her stay for the intake process. Outside, the hallway was dark, one guy was on a prison-style wall-mounted phone, some dudes were playing cards, a woman was wandering up and down the hallway....and up and down and up and down and up and down the hallway. And from somewhere, someone was screaming. Not words. Just...screaming. Nobody seemed to do anything about it, see what she was screaming about. I don’t know if it was agony, misery, or fury. Maybe some combination of the three. On and on and on, with breaks seemingly only to get her breath back. I was in the acceptance stage at this point, and was busy shutting down emotional channels one by one and going into survival mode, steeling myself for my stay, but my girlfriend at the time...she looked terrified and broken-hearted. The thought of her leaving a loved one in this windowless pit (this wing, you see, was underground) destroyed her. I could tell. It would me, if I were in her situation. It is a traumatizing situation to be in. There’s no way out, nobody believes anything you say unless you tell them the worst, you can see that woman out in the hall passing back and forth and back in forth in the door window, and someone is screaming like she’s in Hell. Maybe she was.

The screaming was when I first realized an ugly truth and my morals were shaken into a grey zone: people who are mentally ill can be pretty fucking scary. Even if they’re harmless. I never saw that woman or found out why she was screaming. But in that moment, I desperately feared her and hoped I would never find out. It’s easy now for me to look back on her with compassion and pity and feel ashamed for my reaction, wish I could have helped her, but then...I was already in a fragile place. She scared me. And this leads to the next conclusion, even worse. You scare other people, and maybe it’s understandable that they’re scared.

I deeply repress my anger. I have never in my life been violent or had the urge to be, and I don’t plan on changing that. But my anger is repressed. It can take a lot of battering before it shows itself...but when it comes out, it’s in a sudden, explosive, deep-throat scream worthy of a jump scare in a horror movie showing a protagonist is losing his mind and can’t be trusted any more. I usually only get about half a sentence out in this way before I scare myself, my eyes go wide with horror, I clap my hands over my mouth and run out of the room crying. But by then it’s too late. I got so drunk so often I forgot huge chunks of my past and have no idea what I said or did. I emotionally wounded people. I acted unpredictably. I asked to borrow a friend’s cigarette while she was DRIVING, and casually, with no warning, ground it out on my arm. My girlfriend often found me passed out through booze or asphyxiation or covered in blood. Crazy is undeniably scarier to live with than it is to witness, and I often get frustrated when it feels like people don’t remember or fully understand that. But...that doesn’t mean witnessing it isn’t fucking horrible. People were being perfectly rational to be afraid around me. Never afraid OF me, everyone who knows me knows of my physically gentle nature (with others) and desperate desire to be a good person. But they were afraid: afraid of my behavior when I wasn’t in control, of what reckless and insane shit I might do to self-destruct and/or inadvertently hurt people around me.

Thankfully, my intake survey and a nurse who noticed my relatively normal behavior both indicated I should be in the (above-ground!) high-functioning wing, so I was quickly moved there. I never figured out who that scream belonged to. But even in high-functioning...it wasn’t much reprieve. A woman shit the bed, a man fresh out of acute regaled us with stories of getting tranqed and thrown in isolation because he had barricaded himself in his room with all his furniture and berated the orderlies as they tried to force their way in about “you should really bolt the furniture down it’s a safety risk I could be killing myself in here” because he was bored. My only friend in the wing, who I really did like quite a lot and still do even though we fell out of touch, had a roommate who was always acting like she was just on the edge of doing something fucking stupid. Once, her husband smuggled her a shaving razor, which she whipped out in front of my friend, waving it around and threatening to kill herself. When my friend alerted the orderlies, this woman put it (IN ITS CASE I always feel I should clarify) up her pussy to hide it and feigned ignorance, resulting in my friend going to isolation. No tranq though. This was the high-functioning unit, after all.

Your one-on-ones with the psychiatrist were roughly 3-5 minutes in length and consisted of medication questions and asking if you were literally going to beat your head against a wall until you died in the next 15 minutes, otherwise talk about it in group. The more you insisted to this man that you were fine and shouldn’t be here and inquired about the legal status of your incarceration and when you could be released, the worse he thought you were.

There were times to gather and talk about feelings. There was art. Some people were very good at it. Visiting hours. But most of the time was just...sitting. Sitting, bored out of your god damned skull, so bored you might just barricade your room with all of its furniture and laugh and laugh and laugh as the orderlies try to force their way in. The patient man doesn’t need to inflict physical torture to break someone. Isolation and boredom do things to the human mind, maybe sooner, maybe later, but...up there, I said hospitals make a lot of people better. They also make a lot of people worse. Then they have to stay for longer. When they’re finally released, they don’t remember how to live in the normal world and soon end up back inside.

Just like prison. Make no mistake, the asylum is a prison. A prison where nobody believes a god damned word that comes out of your mouth. A prison for people nobody wants to deal with. A prison where they stick you with people whose crazy does NOT fuck with your crazy and you start to think maybe people are right for not wanting to deal with you after all. That’s the worst part of negative emotional reactions to symptoms of mental illness. How god damned much they remind you of yourself. The trauma I mentioned off-hand up there was that my ex from High School may or may not have abused me it’s complicated and fuzzy i don’t remember it’s not important. What is important is a new girl came in once who casually admitted to abusing her boyfriend. I backed away slowly and retreated into a private room, where my one friend had to comfort me. Later, the class clown, Mr. Barricade Tranq-in-the-Ass, made a rape joke in front of her. A rape survivor.

Everyone’s mind breaks in very similar ways, but for very different reasons and with just different enough symptoms and fears and psychotic hatreds that there WILL be people in your unit you fucking hate, whose crazy and yours grind on each other’s gears. There will be people you are afraid of, people you’re stupidly attached to for no reason other than they’re there and nice to you.

Throwing all these people in a hole and throwing away the key does not create an environment conducive to anyone’s mental health. Then, of course, there’s the treatment. Yes, like I said, if you’re willing to petition like 5 people about it and constantly remind them, you may get some good one-on-one time. You may get some good nuggets out of group therapy. You might make nice art. Mostly, though, they cut you off from the outside world and take you away from everything you love and put you with a bunch of potentially terrifying strangers and just fucking leave ya there. To rot.

The problem with mental hospitals is the problem they’ve always had. No, obviously nobody’s head is in a cage and they don’t electrocute and lobotomize you, but the theory is the same. They want you to stop being crazy. But first, and foremost, they want to keep you there and keep you under control. That is the primary goal. Not treatment. Keeping you there and controlled. I suppose if you consider the history of asylums it’s quite humane, but I wasn’t joking up there about the tranqs in the ass.Everything from death threats to trying to pork another patient to getting too lippy with a nurse is treated with the tried and true ass-tranq isolation room. How long will you be in there? Who knows!! Until they remember they put you in there and/or the shit that you’ve smeared on the walls starts to smell.

And all of this leads to the most horrible conclusion of all, the kind that makes people truly lose their minds if they think about it too long in that Lovecraftian/Poe kind of way where your hair turns white: maybe there is no right way to handle mentally ill people, and if there is, we sure as fuck haven’t found it yet.

The mentally ill are oppressed and deserve compassion. Love. Support. But we can also be terrifying to the mentally well, to each other, to ourselves...and forcing all of these people into a cage they don’t want to be in with strangers who they’re irritated with and scared of who are irritated and scared right back at them and leaving them in this weird, artificially constructed, regimented society until you deem them fit to leave is....ha. Well, it’s crazy!. And it is scary. And it can and often does make people worse.

So please, don’t...don’t say mental hospitals shouldn’t be seen as scary or shouldn’t be used in horror. By all means, do it. But do it well. Look to Outlast. See, in Outlast, the set-up is very trite. Big asylum, patients escaped and massacred the staff. But you’re there on a tip that human rights abuses and clandestine experiments were being performed. Most of the inmates are doing vaguely unnerving shit but are harmless, just like a real hospital. Some are just fucking watching TV. And the game is never satisfied with “this guy’s crazy.” Walker, the ‘UGE FUCKIN GOI who everyone’s terrified of has awful PTSD and if you listen to his idle dialogue, is always muttering about containment protocol and stopping the spread of something. And by the end of the game, you realize he might not be as crazy as he seemed, and that the patients massacring the hospital staff was completely understandable and maaaybe even a little bit their own fucking fault. One guy, in an absolutely heart-wrenching and my absolute favorite part of the game, is just sitting broken in a burning kitchen talking about how this place took everything from them because nobody cares about a few abused or dead lunatics, so he’s gonna burn the whole fucking thing down.

You know what it basically comes down to? Most of the crazy people aren’t dangerous. Some are, but the ones that are have clear motivations. Crazy ones, but motivations. Almost like........ooohhh the point emerges REAL FUCKING PEOPLE! Make villains crazy. Well, all right to be honest, it wouldn’t hurt to slow down a bit on that, but I don’t want it to stop entirely. Depict asylums as the Hellish shit holes they are. But for God’s sake, just write mentally ill people like human beings. A human being you can’t understand isn’t the same thing as a non-human. Nobody does things for NO reason at all. If you’re writing a crazy villain, don’t make him evil because he’s crazy and the symptoms of his crazy are being evil; if you’re setting something in an asylum, make sure the horror doesn’t start and end with guys in straightjackets frothing at the mouth and screaming about how they want to fuck whoever’s walking past them in the aorta.

I don’t want the truth about us, our condition, our capacity for harming those around us, or how fucked up it is how society treats us because it has no idea what the fuck it’s doing sanitized because it’s difficult to deal with and there are no clear good guys.

#mental illness #ableism

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stopgenitalism · 5 years

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Text “Antigenitalism” by Zara Paz (Raw Version) for an Activism Mag in Vienna

Here is another super exciting political article about a phenomenon / movement called "Antigenitalism".

Berlin 2013 - A group of women who have been born with dicks, have experienced shit all their lives and continue to experience shit, fight, have depression, etc., came together. Previously into activism yet, like Antifa, Antipsychiatry, Anarchism, etc. We are thinking about what we want. Whom we still want. And what we are against. Quickly, now. after 15-20 years of activism and thinking about what and who we actually are, a term comes up: genitalism.

This is what has wanted to put us down all our lives long. Wanted to kill us. And what has killed and will still kill many of us: the claim that every human / baby with a penis would a man / boy / male / belonging to the male gender, while each person/ baby with a vagina would be a woman/ girl / female / belonging to the female gender.

As if that would be clear, self evident, natural or supported by us. No. It is not. This claim, this procedure ruined our lives.

Our families and friends are incited against us. Before, until 1994, we / our "sisters" were imprisoned if we started something with a man because of that (the German "gay paragraph" §175 that criminalised so called "homosexual sex amongst men").

For me it was like this: I have always positioned myself as a girl and recognized as soon as spoken out gender position were stated (parents and all people actually do this from birth on, nonverbally children internalize it, even without words / language, logically, right?), first I was allowed to express & dress myself as I wanted in the kindergarten (skirt, long hair, jewelry, etc), but at some point my grandparents got scared that I could "become gay",

because in the documents / following the official doctrine "I was a boy" and later "wpuld become a man", of course, a hetero, everything else was criminalised & tabooed in the 80s, was considered to be perverted, wrong and unacceptable.

Suddenly at one day they shaved my hair, I was put into boys clothes against my will and gradually my toys were exchanged. Suddenly I should be interested in "boy things". A shock that still sits in my bones today. Simply because I so suddenly felt the force of the normative system, had bad presages, which should later prove true.

So far, everything reads like a harmless, exaggerated mimimi. Only if you hit the bridge from there to the many murders of women with cocks and men with pussies, e.g. if the "they fooled" because they said to be, for example, a woman, had sex, gave a kiss to someone or just were flirted or desired by a stranger (without being able to change it), a stranger who then felt "injured in his honor," just because of genitalism (penis = man, vagina = Woman ideologies).

Or, think of teacher Lucy Meadows, who was personally bullied with newspaper articles by Daily Mail reporter Robert Littleton ("you men in a man's body," "stop harassing children, they'll lose their innocence soon enough,", "not in the wrong body, but especially in the wrong job", etc.), until she finally took her own life.

What is new is that someone speaks about it, mockery like that had always happened. In the 90s, the rainbow press liked to publish the private addresses of women who have been assigned a male gender (which is why they legally could not defend against it and then), so that many times such a house was then set on fire ("public disgrace", "something like this may not exist," "what if more people do something like that?").

I grew up with stereotypical, vicious fairy tales of "men in women's clothes" (the, in my ears, sick and exotic-sounding labels "transvestite" and "transsexual" were even sounding more respectful compared to the stuff that was usually said and written), for example in the movie "The Naked Cannon 33 1/3" Leslie Nielsen immediately puked into a tuba after discovering that his dream-woman, who had "something to confess" to him, shows to him that she has a huge tail, what was meant to be the biggest joke in that movie, while in "the silence of the Lambs", the psychopath is a bizarre, "female dressing", androgynous (surely male looking) being that hates women because they can "get" the men/sex he/she dreams of. (The murderer is always shown as a male, like all people with dicks / male assignments are shown in the 90s... except dragqueens because they always told to be male "in reality" in the mainstream media what made them less a danger for the gender security of those times).

In Amsterdam we met a pair of extremely glittery, sequined and extremely high heeled drag queens who became introduced to me as "men who want to be women" under the suggestive emphasis that they are "on the hunt of some men" tonight/in general.

It has always been said "if you have a penis but you do not behave as a man, do not wear menswear and / or are not satisfied with your body, then you are necessarily gay, perverted and disturbed, you have to be all that because you are then a danger and a serious nuisance for the society (well, that's what I always wanted to be anyways but thats another story) and something about you has to change, because that's just not the way how you and society can work together (soon more about that).

"Unfortunately" I was mainly attracted by women (whatever that was supposed to be), so I was automatically perceived as a man, although I (yet for that) took the freedom to put on make up, "behaved as femaie as I could" and did also everything I could not to be perceived as a man/male, but since my family had bullied and punished me for the girls name I had given myself in thekindergarten,

I was still scared to "completely go for it" or" to really claim honest respect to be a woman "(with intention I am writing this in a vague way, because I never could precisely define/find out what gender / a woman / not male should be exactly), how do you "do that" or "how do you get rid of that?", what do all of them want me to do and why do they stage this gender shit and then pretend me to be the only one who is actually trying to break out of it to be the one staging it??)

This led to many detours, at some point then came the phase where I realized I do not want to marry a man necessarily, but still I want to be allowed to use a women's toilet (instead of risking to go to jail for it), I would maybe also let my body " get modulated" so that everybody perceives me as a woman, always and everywhere, it would be easier for me because then I do not always have to discuss everything with everyone, especially not beeing exposed to any fomented homophobia of all people around me.

The big problems were starting in that phase. For psychologists have to approve the name change and the body modulations (even if you pay by yourself, which was the case with me in the end), you can get your arm amputated, if you're funny, make implants and tattoos, as much as you want , but taking hormones like estrogen or testosterone or altering the genitals or having breasts operated can only be done after 3 years of "therapy" that is supposed to "help", whether or not "this help" is needed or not. (To my point of view, "help" against my will is never help, but force and therefor violence, so the phase "forced therapy" I use to describe for the shit the state forced me into, is an intentional oxymoron if you look so close).

Furthermore you are forced to tell and subscribe you would be ("strongly feeling to be") "born in the wrong body", "hating your body" and wanting to modulate it (into the way the law defines a "male / female body", also here doesn´t matter if you really want this or not) and that you" feel like a woman / man " (NOT that you ARE a woman / man - notice the difference !)

and that you would be "into the sex change" towards the court, doctors, authorities, public representatives, the health insurance (always, even when paying yourself), offices and many other institutions then again and again) to be able/allowed to change your name/sex entry or get prescriptions/indications for hormones, surgery and epilations (the only way to do it legally and not having to take the risks that illegal hormones and surgery imply, to be said, a high risk that yet demanded and demands many death victims).

And you have to get and pass documents ("expertises") paid by yourself to many many strangers, institutions and doctors which include lots of very herrassing normative, sexist remarks about your body, the clothes you wear, your underwear, your voice, your hair, your genitals, and your lifestyle.

And, of course, depend on and have to deal with psychologists and psychiatrists who make such decisions (whether or not you are allowed to surgeries and legal name change) are often not casually into these jobs, but having a fetish, groping your body, asking you sexual and intimate questions, record you naked on video or ask you to try and report on certain sex practices with men / women. All around the world.

These laws that say that you are a man / boy when having a penis and you are a woman / girl when having a vagina and otherwise you have to beg for recognition to be "the opposite sex" exist everywhere in the world, in any state. We all had these experiences. We were all permanently bullied, insulted, laughed at, threatened, sexually harassed and / or looked at badly and hostile on the streets, regularly at the latest after psychiatrists forced us to their so-called "everyday test" asking us to wear the clothes that to their opinion "women have to wear" (skirt or dress, even at minus temperatures, shoes with heels, make-up, bra, even with small breasts, possibly tights, etc.). Each of us had had countless experiences of violence, each of us had been bullied, teased and persecuted, mostly by strangers,

been (sexually and otherwise) harassed, "even" by authorities and doctors, etc. everyone of us had been discriminated and mocked, so we decided that we now are fed up with this shit and that we want to do something against this damned madness that destroys our lives and seeks to erase our existences plus our stories, just as oppression always deals with the people it seeks to destroy and exploit.

So we developed a short, catchy concept: we want to fight for an area where the genitalist assignments ("penis = man, vagina = woman") are abolished and everything related to that (gender in documents, anywhere, nowhere) , no newspapers spread the lies of "gender changes" and "born as a boy", which in the end lead to hatred and violence, no transphobic, genitalist media, movies, documentaries, newspaper articles, books, diagnoses, court judgments that repeat and state only "their" viewings on us, strengthening their perspective, but never tells a word about how we perceive our selves, how we see and perceive gender, how we perceive bodies and their meanings. Also not a "biological gender" propaganda bullshit, no "trans" / "cis" / "inter" shit from the outside, which, if you look closely, is the same oppressive stuff.

Because If I am called a "trans woman" for beeing a woman with a dicj and the other woman gets called a "cis woman" because of her body/vagina, this is the same genitalistic procedure and leads in the end just to the same special treatments, discrimination and problems, as if you would directly talk of me as "a man" or a "fake women". Finally in both ways you just take some physical attributes and start emphasizing they would make a "very big difference between two human beeing to either have these or those

attributes". Then you start telling and repeating the claimed differences would be so big you would even have to make two categories of humans

along those body shapes/attributes.

This is also how the categories "trans (gender)", "cis (sexual)" and "inter (identity)" work that we deny, unless you call yourself like this.

No one has the right to impose such stamps on you / us / who ever. Etiquettes kill.

We want to fight for spaces free of all gender assignments, while every state presses us into a genderrole at birth, puts a gender stamp on, with devastating consequences, every newspaper writes about all people and their bodies in body shape related manners and this normative way of stamping and norming people and bodies is what we want to completely leave behind us and be free of, to create own channels, symbols, spaces, language, paroles, culture and stories that are free of all this bullshit,emancipative, not repressive and therefor to show that one can step out of the assigned genitalist sex cramp of all existing States, the media, the "oppressor´s language" and binary gender change lies fairy tales, with which they are trying to justify their violence against us and to legitimize their asshole laws against us, for which there can be no excuse, even if its seeming to be self evidently the dominant doctine and order for many after more than 4,000 years of genitalistic terror and permanent global states of murder, persecution, criminalization and stigmatization of us and our mates.

This is why we are here and standing up against our oppressors, stepping out of this hostile society and leaving its filthy body

normative corsets behind us to unite with our people to found and fight for our own territories free of majority terror, genitalistic

slavery and its hateful impact on our lives, health and possibilities to interact or be perceived as what we really are and may be.

#Antigenitalism #Zara Paz #Text #activism #storytelling #life #oppression #gender #entry #stamp #category #cis #inter #trans #state #mag #vienna

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