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bigballofstress · 3 years

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Pickpocket Part 3(Avengers x Child!Reader)

Description: You have been allowed to stay in the Avengers Tower, but your trials aren’t quite over yet. You still have one major hurdle you’re going to have to get over if you want to make this thing permanent.

To @sweetpeaflower01 and to anyone else who wanted to be tagged in this, I’m sorry I don’t have your usernames! It’s been a while since I’ve been on here!

A few weeks later, I woke up to the sun shining on my face through a nearby window.

“Good morning to you, too, kid.” I turned to see Tony, still lying in the bed beside me with his hand placed gently over mine. He had spent every night since I’d arrived in there with me except for one, which had immediately resulted in a nightmare, with my screams waking up the entire tower. “You think you’re ok to get up? We’ve got someone who wants to meet you.”

Immediately, my entire body tensed, and I could feel myself pale. My vision went blurry, my heart hammering frantically in my chest. “Hey, hey, it’s ok, kid, I’ve got you. Nothing’s gonna happen to you, I promise,” Tony spoke gently, his tone even as though he was attempting to sooth a wild animal. I nodded slowly, doing my best to calm my heart. He had promised me. He promised they wouldn’t send me back. I’m not sure why, but I trusted Tony.

Tony helped me to my feet, but my knees were shaking too much. Slowly, he scooped me up into his arms, careful not to move to quickly and frighten me, and wrapped his arms around my back. His arms were still so warm.

“Ah, miss (Y/N), I presume.” I lifted my head from Tony’s shoulder to see the rest of the Avengers surrounding a large African American man in a black trench coat with a patch over his eye that was grinning back at me. My heart almost stopped as I stared back at him, fear clawing mercilessly at my chest. He reminded me of Nat in how he regarded me with nothing more than cold, merciless calculations; except, unlike Nat, he didn’t have that small spark of empathy. Instead, there was excitement -- greed almost. I made my decision then and there. I didn’t like this man.

“I’ve got a question for you, kid. How exactly did someone like you manage to steal from four of Earth’s mightiest heroes?” he asked, glancing me up and down.

I didn’t want to answer. I didn’t want anything to do with this man.

“It’s ok, just answer the question,” Tony nodded reassuringly. I could feel his worried eyes on me, trying to grab my attention, but I refused to take my eyes off of the newcomer for a single second. Still, I didn’t want to go against Tony.

“I have small hands,” I said slowly. “And I know how to read people.”

“What do you mean read people?” Steve asked. “What does any of that have to do with stealing a wallet?”

“It has everything to do with stealing a wallet,” I responded monotonously, still stubbornly refusing to drop my gaze from the man. “Reading people helps you pick a mark -- someone with their guard down who isn’t expecting to actually be targeted. More than that, though, reading people is what actually lets me get away. With Steve, I was sweet and innocent, but with Tony, I was sarcastic but pitiable. If I had been the opposite, Steve would have been more annoyed and therefore more aware of what I was doing, and Tony would have been less distracted.”

“You figured all of that out by talking to them for a few seconds?” Nat asked, taking a small step forward as she surveyed my curiously. I nodded silently.

“Show me,” the man said. Finally, I tore my eyes away from him to glance at Tony for confirmation. He nodded back, gently setting me down. I grabbed his hand instead.

“Who do you want me to mark?” I asked softly.

“Try Natasha,” he smirked, crossing his arms. I glanced over at the redheaded woman and frowned. “Something wrong?” he asked.

“I would never mark her,” I responded, glaring up in annoyance at the confidence in his tone. “She is guarded and always in a stance to protect her vital points. Someone like that is too aware of their surroundings not to notice a pickpocket.”

“Do your best anyways,” he smirked.

I grit my teeth in frustration and turned to Nat. As I looked over at her, an idea slowly began to form. I smirked inwardly. It was perfect for dealing with this man. Sunglasses, a phone, a watch, a ring, a swiss army knife, and a custom pen. If I did everything perfectly, not to mention getting a bit lucky, I might be able to grab everything.

I squeezed Tony’s hand to draw his attention to it as I pressed my body into his slightly so that I could grab his sunglasses, which were hooked onto his pocket. “Fine,” I growled. “But don’t blame me when it doesn’t work. Now move out of the way.” I grabbed him by the sleeve and pulled him backwards, using that split second to simultaneously put Tony’s glasses on my head and slip my hand into the man’s opposite pocket and pull out his phone, flicking it upwards into the overly-large sleeve. I took a deep breath and approached Nat, tucking my hands, and the phone with them, into my pockets. I flicked my eyes carefully over her, looking for any loose item that I could grab. Finally, I noticed that I could just barely see the edge of a few dollar bills in her back pocket. It wouldn’t be easy, and I would have to stay in front of her the entire time to avoid her suspicion, but it wasn’t impossible.

“Excuse me, miss?” I asked softly, glancing up at her with wide eyes.

“Yeah?” She responded, lifting a brow.

“I-I was wondering if you had any food,” I croaked, allowing my body to shrink in on itself so it would look even smaller.

“Sorry, kid, I don’t have any on me,” she shook her head slightly, furrowing her brows.

“Ok, I understand, thank you,” I muttered softly. “I’m sorry to bother you. My mommy says bothering grown-ups is bad. I-I don’t have the belt with me. But I’m sure I can find a stick,” I offered quickly, as if to try and placate her. I stumbled to the side a bit, pretending to look for a stick. I forced my toes to catch on my other shoe, falling right in front of Steve’s feet. “I-I’m so sorry, sir,” I winced, making sure not to meet his eyes. I took his outstretched hand and pulled myself up, wrapping one hand around his wrist, where I slipped off his watch. “T-thank you so m-much,” I gushed, my voice shaking ever so slightly as I brushed the nonexistent dirt from his shirt. Quickly, I put his watch onto my own wrist while his attention was focused on his shirt.

Nat frowned slightly at this. “Your mommy, did she hurt you?” she brought my attention back to her, studying my face carefully.

I glanced back at her, before quickly looking back down to avoid eye contact. I knew what I had to do -- that I had to tell the truth if I had any hope of doing this. So, I forced myself to remember the face of my old caretaker. “O-only if I’ve been really bad,” I shook my head slightly. “A-and only if she’s at home.” My voice had gone hoarse, tears building up in the backs of my eyes. It was easy to cry when I thought about that terrible woman.

“How often is she not at home?” Nat asked.

“N-not that o-often,” I shook my head again. “I-I think she just f-forgets sometimes. She’ll come home soon, though. She’s almost never gone for more than two weeks,” I smiled up at her softly, wrapping my arms around my torso to accentuate how small my waist was as well as provide a sense of insecurity and fear.

Nat frowned slightly, falling silent for a moment. Finally, she looked up at the man and said, “Alright, I believe her. I’d probably go take her to get some food then call the cops. I’d imagine you’d be long gone before they arrive?” She added with a slight chuckle.

“Really?” I asked, my face lighting up in a wide smile. “Thank you!” I gasped, wrapping my arms around her torso. She immediately tensed, and I took the opportunity to grab the few bills, tucking them into my opposite sleeve. “U-um, sorry,” I stuttered and quickly released her, my face growing red. I stumbled backwards and straight into the arms of Thor. I grabbed his hand in my own as though in an effort to keep my balance as he righted me gently. I thanked him softly and slipped my hand out of his grip, taking the beautiful golden ring from his finger in the process.

“How would you escape, though?” Nat asked. “I wouldn’t think you’d want to go to the police.”

“O-oh, well, it’s not too hard,” I smiled slightly. “I just need to lose you in the crowd. I would probably do something like this.” I walked forward, and slipped between Clint and Bruce, using both hands to grab the swiss army knife from Clint’s pocket and a gorgeous custom pen that was clipped to Bruce’s. “Then, once I’m out of your sight, I’d start running-”

“It was a good scam, kid,” the man cut in. “But I thought I asked you to pickpocket her.”

I whipped back around to face him, suddenly feeling vulnerable again with all of the adults surrounding me. “You’re right, I’m sorry; you asked me to pickpocket only her,” I hissed, my teeth grinding together. “But I thought you wanted me to show you what I could do.”

“And what exactly is that supposed to mean?” he frowned, narrowing his eyes.

“As long as I’m not seen as a threat, I can steal from anyone,” I said, walking up to Tony and handing back his sunglasses. “And I would do anything to keep myself from being seen as a threat.” I took the watch off my wrist and handed it back to Steve. “Everyone has something that brings their guard down.” I pulled the ring from my finger and handed it back to Thor. “And whether they acknowledge it or not, they all want to see the good in people,” I pulled the swiss army knife and custom pen from my pockets, handing them back to Clint and Bruce. “They all want to see me as some innocent little kid,” I returned Nat’s money to her. “Even you,” I held out the man’s phone, staring up at him in defiance.

Every one of them stared at me in pure, unadulterated shock. All of them, that is, except for Tony, who grinned and welcomed me back into his side, wrapping a strong arm around my shoulders. Finally, the man chuckled a bit and snatched his phone back from me. “Not bad, miss (Y/N), not bad at all. Natasha, from now on, you’re training her to be a new agent.”

My eyes widened, and I frowned, subconsciously shrinking further into Tony’s side. He squeezed my shoulder gently.

“Hey, Thor, why don’t you take (Y/N) for some poptarts. She hasn’t had breakfast yet,” Tony said with a small smile.

“I’m not hungry,” I frowned.

“Just go with him for now, ok, kid? Don’t worry, I’ll take care of this.” I blinked up at Tony and frowned before nodding slowly, allowing the large blonde god to take my hand and lead me out of the room, away from the rest of the adults.

As soon as the door closed, I turned to the god with wide, pleading eyes. “Mr. Thor, could you pretty please toast the poptarts for me?” I asked sweetly, gazing up at him.

“Of course, young lady (Y/N),” Thor grinned and ruffled my hair, moving towards the cabinets. As soon as his back was turned, I pressed my ear to the door, concentrating on trying to hear what was going on in there.

“Did you really think I’d let you make her an agent?” I heard Tony snap.

“I didn’t think you had a choice,” the man from earlier responded casually. “The girl’s got a gift, Stark. She could help us.”

“She’s just a kid! I brought you here to give you a heads up that she’d be staying with us, not to give you a potential recruit.”

“Look, it’s very simple, Stark. Either you allow her to start training, or I deem her a threat to the team. I will inform the police of the location of a criminal and unsupervised child.”

“So what?! I’ll just adopt her!”

“Adoption takes a long time, Tony, especially for someone with a criminal record and a history of alcohol abuse. Do you really want to send her back to an orphanage while you go through all of that, if you’re even granted custody at all?”

Oh, god. This couldn’t be happening. I couldn’t be going back. He promised me I wouldn’t go back! I stumbled backwards, barely making it a few steps before my knees gave out and I was sent crashing to the ground.

“Lady (Y/N)!” Thor shouted, rushing over, but I could barely hear him over the deafening sound of my heartbeat and the blood rushing through my ears. I could feel the tears streaming down my face and the burning in my chest from my hyperventilating breaths. I curled up tightly, my muscles shaking from how tense they were. I couldn’t go back there -- I wouldn’t! Tony promised me I would never go back again!

“(Y/N)?” The familiar voice cut through the haze. Immediately, I reached out and clawed at the air, trying to find him, but with blur of tears in my eyes, I couldn’t see him anywhere. Suddenly, my head was resting against a chest, a pair of arms holding me tight and close. “It’s ok, just breath with me. Focus on me, ok? In and out.” I forced myself to breath in with him, struggling to slow it down like he said. Slowly but surely, my breathing evened out, until finally, it had returned to normal.

As the panic slowly faded away, I could feel the energy drain from my body, and I nestled further into Tony’s embrace. He stroked my back gently, murmuring comforting words into my ear.

“Tony?” I didn’t even open my eyes as I whispered softly, my voice still thick and shaking. My hands gripped his shirt tightly, afraid that if I let go for more than a second, he would disappear. “Do I have to go back?”

“Never,” Tony answered immediately, his voice firm. “I’m not letting you go anywhere.”

“Ok,” I whispered back, relaxing slightly. Tony pulled me even closer, and I let out a soft sigh, my muscles slowly relaxing. My hands released the shirt’s material, falling numbly into my lap.

Just before my exhausted body quickly slipped back into unconsciousness, I was barely able to make out a few words from Tony. “Fine. You win.”

“She’ll start training tomorrow.”

- - -

That was about four years ago. Since that day, Natasha had been training me constantly in different fighting techniques, target practice, the works. Of course, the lying and deception I’d already had down pat. Originally the plan was for me to be homeschooled, but Tony had thrown an absolute fit when he’d heard that, and considering I wasn’t exactly lacking in the mental department, we settled on just a bit of extra tutoring from Bruce every day after school.

Fury’s interest in me never went away. Because I had been so malnourished as a kid, I ended up being way too small for my age. To Fury’s absolute delight, this meant that I was more than capable of squeezing through the smallest of spaces. In other words, thanks to my size, training, and natural intelligence I was absolutely perfect for covert missions focusing on gathering information.

Tony had been absolutely furious when I’d been called on for my first mission. He’d screamed at Fury nonstop for three days until, finally, he was assured both that Nat would be with me the entire time and that he would be allowed to have a direct connection to my earpiece. He couldn’t decide whether he was thankful or disappointed that my first mission went perfectly. Of course he was happy I came back completely unharmed, but his fear that I would be forced into more and more missions due to my overwhelming success was only proven right at every turn. Still, he was always in my ear, talking me through the every single mission I ever went on.

I guess what I’m trying to say is that I wasn’t exactly a normal teenager. Still, that being said, I don’t think I would want it any other way.

Except maybe for the Fury part. Nothing would make me happier than seeing that man get what’s coming to him. But I could worry about that later. For now, I’d just spend my time grateful that I was blessed with the best dad in the world.

#avengers #avengers imagine #avengers reader insert #avengers x reader #avengers x you #avengers x child!reader #child!reader

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hollyhomburg · 4 years

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Reasons Wretched and Divine (Pt. 6) (Yoonminjoon x Reader)

Genre: hybrid au, polyamory au, Hurt/Comfort, Recovery, Pregnancy, Mafia au

Parings: Snake hybrid! Yoongi x Dog hybrid! Jimin x Dog hybrid! Namjoon x Pregnant! Reader, Platonic Vmin, allusions to 2seok,

Summary: After years of abuse, you’ve all finally found each other. But for one of you- the fear still lingers, hidden in the shadows. Yoongi doesn't want much, just a few more weeks, but he only has until the end of the summer.

Tags: Hurt/comfort, physical abuse, polyamory negotiations, Post-traumatic stress disorder, low self-worth, bonding over trauma, themes of healing, mute characters, scent-marking, brief gore, themes of deception, complex characters

W/c: 10.6k

Song Rec: Hozier ~ Eden

Series Masterlist

An informative bulletin on Hybrid sense of Smell:

Out of all of the positives that hybrids inherit from their animal dna- their sense of smell is simply unparalleled. It’s one of the more peculiar and therefore interesting subsets of hybrid behavior. Hybrid sense of smell is just like any of the other senses though, in terms of the amount of sensory information contained, it is more on par with sight than the fragile human nose. It is possible that the vast majority of hybrid to hybrid communication is completely pheromonal. most scent glands are found on the wrists and neck.

When an owner or human initially comes into contact with a hybrid, the flush of new sensory information will be hard to parse out for most hybrids (and all but those with the most sensitive smell). At first, a hybrid will only be able to sense if you are feeling “good” or “bad” the same way we can often only tell when food smells good or bad.

But as time goes on, and hybrids become more accustomed to the particular hormonal balance of their humans they become more adept at deciphering their emotional state through their scent. Eventually, a person smelling simply ‘happy’ or ‘sad’ becomes “amused” and “contemplative” or any other host of emotions. This is one of the reasons why hybrids make intense emotional partners, as hybrids become accustomed to their owners or pack mates and they become extremely attuned. Some hybrids are even able to smell their female owner's ovulation cycle and if they’re pregnant before the owner themselves.

Scent is one of the most highly individualized parts of hybrid society, with no two hybrids smelling exactly the same (some exceptions can be made for close siblings and twins) scent-marking behavior is something commonly seen only between hybrids and their owners, as well as between hybrids in the same pack. As scent-marking leaves sort of an imprint of hybrid's emotional state on their partner. It is also a nonverbal queue for other hybrids “this person makes me very happy- please be kind to them for me” or “this is my human, please stay away” a negative impression will also be left on a human if they cause a hybrid distress.

Of course, certain species hybrids are more adept at this kind of empathy than others, with rabbit hybrids having the most sensitive sense of smell and therefore pungent scents, and most exotic hybrids including bird hybrids and snake hybrids, having a less sensitive nose and more mild scents which are harder to discern.

Many other tidbits of information can be conveyed through scents, weather a possible partner will be compatible for a heat/rut cycle, if they are upset and if they are injured or hurt, and their emotional state. There is even some debate that deception can be gleaned through scent (but that claim will need further research).

~~~~

- You wake with a start, started into wakefulness by a piercing shriek and then shouting. Out of all of the times you’ve suddenly woken out of a dead sleep this is by far the least violent. There isn’t anyone in your room but you, the covers overly warm, golden early morning light seeping through the windows, peaceful and idyllic.

- it isn’t one of the times that your late husband had dragged you out of the bed, kicking and screaming because he’d found something on your phone, a strange charge on your credit card, or woken to the feel of him above you, or woken to his screaming at Namjoon.

- You tell yourself that it’s just any other day, that this morning isn’t one of those. but your heart dosent understands that. thundering, your hands shaking.

- The days when you wake up slowly in Namjoon’s arms- those are the best mornings. But Namjoon isn’t next to you- and somehow your heart won’t start shuddering. Namjoon isn’t here and you want him there and your mind somewhere else entirely as you shakily exit your bedroom, tying your robe around you deftly.

- One benefit of living in an old house is that you can hear nearly everything that goes on, and you can hear Jimin's words below you “Yoongi- don’t look”

- Sometimes- you still have days where you hate your bedroom. Days where you won’t cross over the threshold with Namjoon already there, his every presence comforting to you- willing away any bad thought that might arise, any trigger or memory. You’d painted the walls a different color- the dark green changed to a light pastel blue- but some of the memories still linger even though it looks different and far warmer than it did when it was your husband's old bedroom.

- Most of the positive change has to do with Namjoon’s presence, the countless pillows that he likes to sleep with, the fluffy throws, his organized but slightly wry shirts in your open closet, his small stack of parenting books by your dresser. It might be the same room you were hurt in, but it feels different most of the time, especially when you’ve got namjoon all stretched out in your bed, All of the peace you have starts and ends with Namjoon.

- But maybe that’s changing, maybe you find a certain calm in Yoongi and Jimin too. Jimin is the first one you see, sending you a panicked glance as Namjoon cleans his face of blood, trying to stand in front of Yoongi for whatever reason the snake hybrid looking a little paler than usual.

- You stumble to the bottom of the stairs in your thick fluffy robe, some of your hair sticking up at the back. You take one good look at the snake, rub your eyes a bit, and then turn to the cat hybrid sprawled in the grass. Your eyes are steely, unflinching as you help her up, ask if she’s okay. All the while, Yoongi, Namjoon, and Jimin blink back the sleep from their eyes, not knowing what to do about the snake, hanging flayed open on your front door.

- You take one long look at the snake too. All of you silent for a moment before you jump into action. “We’ll get this cleaned up before you get back with the others, wake Taehyung too if you wouldn’t mind? Tell him I’m calling a meeting before breakfast to make sure no one slips away for chores.”

- That Jimin understands, Many a time had he seen the younger and teenaged hybrids leave the table the second their plates where finished. Though he has to admit- this feels less like a prank gone wrong and more like I direct threat with the way Yoongi is blinking behind Namjoon, the other hybrid talking to him in his low voice. Hands out like they might touch him, Namjoon’s tail hanging low between his legs.

- You’re just about to turn away when Jimin grabs your arm. “There’s something you should know,” he’s quick to explain what happened last night, who kicked him out of his bed and the reason why he’d been asleep on your couch. Your mouth turns down the more he talks. “Bring Minhyung too okay? Are you okay lovely?” you keep Jimin’s hand in yours, giving it a reassuring squeeze.

- The cat smooth’s out a wrinkle in her skirt and clears her butt of any dirt that might have gotten on it when she’d fallen backward, her tail flicks agitatedly “I’m okay miss, it just gave me a fright.”

- “I can’t imagine how none of us heard anything,” Namjoon says- finishing cleaning the blood from his face, thanking Yoongi for the towel. He looks a little shaken but mostly all right. “I know” Jimin agrees- “it was barely 10 feet from me and I didn’t hear it.” You grimace, still looking at the door and the snake, Namjoon finished wiping the blood off his face and you gesture for the rag.

- Jimin steps up “I’ll do it- you don’t have too” surprisingly the nail isn’t that deeply driven into the wood once Jimin gets over his initial squeamishness over handling the dead animal. Namjoon heads off as soon after Jimin gets it free to bury it in the garden. Still in his pajamas. You usher Yoongi upstairs while Jimin cleans the door of blood.

- You’ve been in Yoongi’s room a handful of times (when it was just your husband's house it used to be an office) but the dark blue walls fit Yoongi better now. His queen mattress pushed in the corner, an old ladder that Yoongi had repurposed hanging with half a dozen thick blankets and fluffy duvets, assorted space heaters and fans sitting on the desk pushed up against the foot of his bed. It’s cozy mostly- the curtains all drawn so the room feels more like a den or a cave. Dark- but warm and comforting, it feels safe even.

- Now that Yoongi’s away from the others it looks like he doesn’t know what to do with himself, raking his fingers through his hair and twitching a little, He can’t relax or standstill. You set a cup of coffee for him on his bedside table and linger. Unsure if you don’t want to leave him alone or if he wants to be to regroup for a second. “Yoongi” he turns and looks at you, and sometimes- like this time. It almost seems like Yoongi wants to say something to you- but just- can’t get the words out.

- You wonder more than you’d care to admit- if his muteness is selective or something physical. Namjoon wonders too, what his voice sounds like if his laugh is more of a giggle like Jimin’s or something crackling like Nam Joon. “Do you-“ a little noise stops you, Yoongi’s hands clench and unclench by his side.

- You reach out a hand unthinking, stopping a second before you actually cup his cheek. You and Yoongi are no stranger to almost touches, especially on his good days. Many times you’ve felt the almost brush of his hand on your lower back when you stand, sometimes you actually do feel it.

- You were no stranger to slight touches either, always in the secluded privacy of your garden or the house when it’s late and the curtains are drawn. In front of namjoon too. You’d linked pinky’s more than once over a bed of flowers when you were taking a break. as he fed you a sweet strawberry or green beans from the garden. The pad of his finger lingering on your lower lip for just a second too long to not be intentional.

- But never had you initiated the touch, not like this. Your hand cups his cheek and Yoongi leans into it, eyes fluttering closed. The bags under his eyes are almost black-purple. The scales under his chin feel cool under your fingers, only slightly smoother and cooler than the rest of his skin.

- You’d asked Namjoon about it, pacing in your room after one day when you’d seen Namjoon watch you and Yoongi with a strange look on his face. You didn’t want to do anything that made him uncomfortable. At the end of the day, it will always be Namjoon. You won’t leave him or hurt him- not ever if you can help it. Thought at the beginning, you feared you could hurt him by accident with Yoongi.

- It was back when your baby bump had barely been visible- not like now when even your baggiest dresses barely conceal your bump. Nothing but a strategically placed pillow concealing Namjoon’s nakedness as he laid back in your bed late at night. Namjoon scrolling through his phone (new, a gift from you. though it will only last about a week until he decideds to try and ‘wash’ off the dirt that got on it and compeltly ruin it)

- You’d had minor disagreements over other hybrids in the past. Namjoon was mostly okay with you giving out pets like they’re one-dollar bills at the strip club. And was equally as nonplussed when some of the younger hybrids that don’t know any better cuddled close enough to you that you ended up smelling like them. But there had been one incident where one of the older canine hybrids had mistakenly scent marked you.

- Namjoon had been a little angry growling at you the second he’d smelled the fox’s scent on you and demanding you shower. Rightfully upset, he’d explained that that was practically a claiming mark. He’d been touchy and a little bit grumpy the rest of the week, an arm thrown around your waist whenever the other hybrid was around.

- But Yoongi Doesn’t seem to upset him in the same way. “I don’t get what you’re so worried about- it’s fine- it’s not like he’s not part of our pack or a stranger.”

- You’d stopped where you’d been pacing a hole in your carpet. “What do you mean- apart of the same pack?” Namjoon sighed, tossing his phone to the side (he doesn’t quite understand that he needs to be gentle with it yet). “it’s like- it’s not the same as if it was a random farmer across the street- because it’s Yoongi and he’s one of us, it doesn’t make me feel possessive because he’s mine too you know?”

- They had been getting close recently, there aren’t many hybrids at the farm yet, and Yoongi, Taehyung, and Seokjin are the only ones who’ve stayed any length of time you’d consider significant. You’d woken alone late at night a few times in the last week and gone down to the living room lower level only to find Namjoon and Yoongi asleep on opposite ends of the couch.

- “But he’s not a canine hybrid Joonie? Don’t you only form pack bonds with other dog hybrids?” Namjoon shaking his head, ears flapping a little, “not at all, though it is rarer- and Yoongi won’t exactly feel it the same way I do, he’s still apart of this too.”

- It hits you like a truck, “you mean- you love him too?”

- You’d been meaning to ask Namjoon- if the pack bonds now extended to Jimin too, you had a feeling they did but it was probably better to ask…before anything more significant happens.

- You know that Yoongi is okay with touch as long as it’s not skin on skin and if he can control it. But you can’t not offer the affection now- not when you think it might help- not when Yoongi looks like he’s about ready to jump out of his skin with how afraid he is.

- You can tell his whole body is shivering but he doesn’t move to pull away when you lift up your other hand to slowly cup his cheek. He doesn’t move away when you get up on your tippy-toes to press your lips to his forehead. He smells soft and sweet like freshly done laundry. His hands come up too, loosely settling around your waist like he’s not sure he wants to pull you in for a hug yet.

- “We’ll get to the bottom of this yoongi, I promise” you give him one shorter squeeze and then separate. And Yoongi looks like he wants to keep holding you and also like he doesn’t. So you figure it’s best. You hover in the doorway, “take your time coming down today okay? We’ll have the meeting and then we can have breakfast up here if you’re not feeling up to being around the others today.”

- Your front door is clean, the light blue wood spotless when you come down the stairs, and By that time the cat hybrids have already returned to the kitchen. after changing into a loose knee-length dress, spotted with little flowers. It’s too hot for anything-tight today- but with your growing bump- everything feels tight. You’re only a few weeks away from the end of your second trimester, and you’re thankful that so far- you haven’t felt much morning sickness. You think you have a doctor’s visit later this week though- you’ll have to ask namjoon, he’s better at remembering that sort of thing than you are.

- One hybrid comes through the backdoor with a clutch of eggs from the chicken coop, the egg basket piled high, Jimin is with them too- holding a few eggs in his shirt- held out tight to make a basket, the cat hybrid smiles at you, “got almost 3 dozen today miss!”

- “Perfect for the frittata?” Jimin asks, unsure. “Quiche.” you and the cat hybrid correct at the same time. The three of you filing into the kitchen, Jimin careful not to break the eggs.

- A certain sleepy wolf hybrid is already sitting at your prep table, looking nervous, his scent souring when he sees you and Jimin. Jimin stays, this time crossing his arms and leaning up against the cabinets to watch Minhyung squirm. You sit down at the prep table across from him and pour him a cup of tea.

- He looks worried- sending a glance back and forth to Jimin and then to you. He knows what he did last night was wrong- and though Jimin can’t see any snake’s blood underneath his fingernails, the suspicion and dislike of the wolf hybrid still linger.

- But he doesn’t look like he’s trying to conceal anything. He just looks scared, eyes flicking from hybrid to hybrid, to the door and then the window and anywhere but at you and Jimin. Before the conversation’s even started, Jimin’s suspicion dissipates. While he agrees that Minhyung may be a dick, Jimin can’t believe that a hybrid would do this- they all know what discrimination feels like. Which is what makes their distaste of Yoongi particularly abhorrent.

- “I hear you have a certain problem with how I treat Yoongi, Minhyung. Would you like to elaborate? Or maybe explain why you kicked Jimin out of the bunk room last night? Or why you left a snake nailed to my front door-“

- “What?! I didn’t- I promise that wasn’t me,” Minhyung is smart- he understands what the commotion this morning was about. By now Taehyung must have woken everyone up- must have already told everyone about the meeting. Jimin doesn’t know if they’ve ever had one before, but judging by the general tense atmosphere in the kitchen alone- it must not be a regular occurrence.

- “I’m sorry,” he says, turning to Jimin, “I honestly thought you would be sleeping up here. I don’t sleep well and when you woke me up- I reacted badly. I promise I’ll be kinder- just don’t- please don’t throw me out.”

- “It’s not up to me,” Jimin says, his voice small, he gives you a look- that he hopes you interpret as ‘it’s up to you- I’m done with this’ and leaves the room. Only to find Yoongi hovering just outside, hidden behind the wall listening in.

- Jimin hears you and Minhyung starting up the conversation again, mostly it's him speaking this time- talking about his old owner who used sleep deprivation as a tactic to make him obedient. You don’t say much, just listen sipping at your tea. Yoongi lifts a finger to his lips and hands Jimin a carefully folded piece of paper. “I don’t think it was him.” By now Jimin is used to the way Yoongi sometimes converses on paper when he needs to communicate.

- “Do you know who it was then?” Jimin whispers, Yoongi shakes his head, but there is something about the tilt of his eyes that Jimin can’t find it in him to trust. But if there is a reason that Yoongi has for lying to him- then Jimin will trust it’s a good reason.

- He goes back into the kitchen, summoning you; you stand and walk to the door so that you won’t be overheard. Teetering a little bit, you look a little shaky too like you aren’t quite awake. Maybe that’s it- or is there something else? A shakiness behind your eyes too? Jimin can’t decipher it. Minhyung stays there, sitting looking contrite and like he’s close to tears. Fiddling with his hands under the table.

- “What are you going to do?” Jimin asks, Yoongi waiting too, his note crumpled in his fist. Namjoon comes thundering down the stairs in his work boots, looking intimidating as ever in all black. He must have snuck upstairs to change after he buried the snake in your garden. “I don’t know,” you say easily, crossing your arms over your baby bump, looking at Namjoon and sighing before you meet Jimin and Yoongi’s eyes. “Do you think he did it Yoongi?”

- Yoongi shakes his head, pursing his lips and Jimin decides that damn- he’s either a convincing liar or what he noticed earlier was just something else. Maybe Yoongi feeling uncomfortable. The buttons on his usual linen button-down aren’t buttoned right and his hair doesn’t have that usual perfectly swept out of his face look. Jimin is the only one still in his pajamas (which actually belongs to Yoongi) but he’ll try to change during the meeting.

- “If I throw him out there is a chance I could be punishing someone innocent, and if I let him stay there is a chance he could be guilty” Namjoon sits across the armrest of the old couch. “You’ve never thrown out someone before,” he says, bending down to tie his work boots.

- “No,” you say, eyes sharp on Namjoon, “but I’ve let you do it.”

- Namjoon freezes, standing up looking contrite, “I didn’t know you knew about that” Yoongi sends Jimin a panicked look; worried they’re about to witness some sort of fight between the two of you. But you just raise an eyebrow at Namjoon looking more tired than annoyed. “I’m not angry, but this should always be a joint decision,” you fiddle with Namjoon’s sleeve, tenderly smoothing over the edge of it. “So it’s settled then?”

- “This isn’t only our home anymore” you peer into the kitchen, keeping part of your body hidden by the wall. Minhyung still sits hands underneath his thighs, his head snaps up, black ears still buried in his hair. “You can stay, I trust you know that if anything else happens…” you trail off, he scrambles up from the prep-table. “Well, I trust you’ll have more sense than that.”

- He scrambles up from the prep-table. Minhyung almost breaks his back bowing to you, promising that he won’t do anything, that he’ll be the perfect hybrid again and again before he’s off down the hill- back to change out of his pajamas.

- It’s a humid day out and it isn’t even sunny, the moisture in the air oppressive. The hybrids are sleepy- hair and ears ruffled from sleep, some of them in work clothes and some of them still in their pajamas.

- Jimin sees one of the little ones make grabby arms at Seokjin (who looks clean pressed as ever) and the alpaca hybrid heaves the young one up into his arms, where it promptly closes its eyes and leans on his wide shoulder- the perfect place for a nap. Seokjin blushes when the new hybrid from a few weeks back, the otter Hoseok, comes over to coo at the little doe hybrid. His hands smoothing up and down her spine.

- Someone gets you a step stool and though Namjoon makes a face- he lets you use it to climb up onto a table. His hands anxiously hovering around your waist to make sure you won’t fall, he whines. But you ignore his instincts to be overprotective. Jimin can see the tension in Namjoon’s arms- he seems so worried that you’re going to fall- it’s almost cute.

- “This morning, a snake was nailed to my front door.” This is greeted by a few murmurs, nervous glances, and internal cringes. You hold up a hand, and the gathered hybrids all fall silent again. “You should all understand what safety means for a hybrid, and the fact that you would make one of your own feel unsafe and unwelcome- it hurts me. Because I obviously haven’t done a good enough job of taking care of you if you’re lashing out at one of your own. Yoongi is not to blame for your hurt.”

- Jimin is impressed by the way that you command their attention, The surrounding hybrids look scared; some look contrite, but most just look uncomfortable at being called out. They all know that Yoongi staying up in the main house and not in the barns isn’t a result of favoritism, but a necessity because of his inability to regulate his own body temperature. And even if you were playing favorites- it’s not like you don’t do the same with Namjoon?

- “If anyone has any complaints or is upset by the way I treat any one of you- you should come to me and talk about it. Not take it out on each other or my front door for that matter.” that gets a few chuckles out of the crowd. And it’s mostly the cat hybrids that have left the dishes in the kitchen to simmer rather than miss your announcement.

- After the meeting and breakfast, the four of you linger in the lower level of your house. The cleanup crew already blasting country music in your kitchen, and Jimin can see every twang of the country music irritates Yoongi and Namjoon

- Namjoon even making a small noise and rubbing his ears. You sigh, straightening out your dress on the bottom step, your hands shake a little. And you’re not the only one, Yoongi sits, his shoulders hunched. It only takes one glance up at them all for you to stop. Setting your sun hat back on the hook.

- “You know what- fuck this. We need to get out of here today.”

- All of you piling into your beat-up red truck, the same one Jimin had come to the farm in. Namjoon runs back in at the last moment to grab your purse. Yoongi and Jimin in the back two seats, a little cramped. Namjoon gets the front on account of his long legs. None of you talk about a destination as you make a three-point turn rather than try and back out of your near mile-long driveway.

- Not one hybrid lounging in the fields or moving about had given them so much as a look when you’d drove down the long hill. Pausing at the end only because Taehyung was nearby, the hybrid calling to you and trotting over to lean at your car door, his smile as happy as ever. Bear ears flickering in the holes cut out of his baseball cap.

- “Want to come with?” you offer, but Taehyung just shakes his head, “Nah my queen needs me” he tilts his head back in the direction of the bee hutches. is it Jimin’s imagination, or do you look a little crestfallen? “Need anything?” you’d proffered. He’s so tall he has to slouch to be at face level with you. Taehyung doesn't ask where you’re going, only looks as Yoongi leans over the front seat to fiddle with the radio, as if judging how affected the snake hybrid is by what transpired this morning. he flicks from channel to channel trying to find a song he likes. “Nothing really, maybe some more jars for honey if you can find them?”

- You nod softly “that I can do.” Taehyung steps back and waves as you pull out of the gates of the farm. And Jimin feels anticipation build underneath his skin. He’d rarely ever been outside of his old home before and now- now he was leaving the farm too- the destination uncertain.

- “Please don’t speed,” Namjoon says, Yoongi leans back from the radio, finally settled on some song with a low thread beat, more musical than anything else. The snake seems to vibrate with the force of the music and between that, the sound of the engine, and the wind whipping through the open windows, Namjoon has to shout to be heard. The wind tickles, but it’s the only relief from the muggy June heat since your air-conditioning is busted.

- You smile at him lightly; at 10am on the dusty dirt road there isn’t a sing soul with you on the road. You gun it. Namjoon grips the handle on the roof looking green, but when jimin looks over and sees you and Yoongi smiling at Namjoon’s queasy ness- his anxiety dissipates. It doesn’t matter that your truck is rusty and that you’re barely going over 40 in a 35- to Namjoon, one mile over the speed limit is breaking the law.

- You stop at the drive-through before you get on the highway, iced coffee for Yoongi, blended lemonade for Jimin, a hot chocolate for Namjoon (a travesty when it’s this hot) and an iced tea for you. The yellow lemons in your tea Jiggling with the ice as you hit potholes with little care for your truck. Yoongi leaning over periodically to change the song. Namjoon telling Jimin what genre is playing when he confesses he doesn’t know one, “is it jazz or ska?” Yoongi holds up two fingers- indicating the second choice, Namjoon nods.

- You look over your shoulder- sharing a special secret glance with jimin, rolling your eyes a little. Now he understands why you rarely ever play music when you work- if you did yoongi would get up to change the music every few seconds.

- “So where are we going?” you tap your fingers against the steering wheel, waiting to turn south onto the highway. “Probably not the beach, but maybe the State park? What do you think Joonie?”

- “I wouldn’t mind the state park, it’s got a pretty view” Jimin tries not to let his Disappointment show, especially when Namjoon turns to Jimin, sensing the whine that died in his throat. Yoongi nudges Jimin's foot with his own. The light turns green and you start to turn onto the highway. “I’ve never seen the ocean.”

- “What!?” you and Namjoon shout in tandem, you lurch to a dead stop, suddenly turning, around instead of just turning left. Yoongi turning to jimin mouth open. “Yeah- I’d never- I’d only been outside of like one block before coming to you?” Yoongi shakes his head as you get going the opposite way on the highway- getting into the slow lane because your truck just can’t handle going over 60 no matter how much you want it to be able to do that. “You don’t have to” Jimin tries to say; you smile when you glance over your shoulder at him. “I’m already on the highway Jimin.”

- Jimin pretends it doesn’t make his heart hurt a little bit to see you change so easily for him, the truck thudding along. Yoongi holding out the last half of his ice coffee for Jimin to try, smiling when he makes a face at the bitterness. You hold out your ice tea too, trading it for a sip of Jimin’s frozen lemonade. Namjoon offering him, but you being a little snarky, “sorry babe but I don’t think anyone but you want a hot chocolate in the middle of June.”

- Namjoon turns his full lanky body in your direction, thighs bulging out on the pleather, tipping his back and out of the window. “It just makes me unique,” you swallow, and jimin sees how viscerally you’re affected by the long line of him stretched out in the front seat of your car.

- Yoongi’s writes something on his notepad and handing it over to Jimin. “Yoongi wants you to know that you’re as unique as a dog sticking his head out the window of a car.” Namjoon scoffs, you laugh, Namjoon’s smirk as he looks at Yoongi is shy, and Jimin knows how that feels- the pride you feel at being known enough to be teased. “At least I know the difference between Ska and jazz now, that has to count something for uniqueness.”

- Jimin scoffs, “you gonna keep an imaginary tally or something?” Namjoon flicks his ears in Jimin’s direction, grinning, happy to be teased. “Yes- we can keep track, start being really weird like cutting our shirts into crop tops and painting them and shit,”

- “Oh please do that,” you say, and it’s a surprisingly attractive offer. Jimin has seen Namjoon’s stomach, all hard lines, and juicy skin when it pulls up or when it gets really hot and he takes off his shirt. And he can’t say he disagrees and judging by the high blush on Yoongi’s cheeks, he dosent either. All of you laugh with the way that Namjoon blushes and grumbles and fiddles with the edge of his shirt. The puppy is just too easy to tease.

- After some prodding, Jimin is tempted to lean his head out of the window too, and when he does he has to admit- looking down the narrow stretch of highway, eyes watering, his ears getting battered like hell because of the wind. It is worth it, his sensitive nose catching bits of something that smells like salt and fish the closer you get.

- Even Yoongi is tempted to do the same, though he might not get the same amount of joy the dog hybrids get from sticking their heads out the window. The wind sending his hair all windswept against his forehead. Curling because of the humidity.

- Yoongi’s tongue sticks out a little, as a snake hybrid his sense of smell isn’t nearly as good as Namjoon and Jimin’s, but it’s better when he can taste the air, the saltiness thicker the closer you get to the coast. Namjoon and Jimin’s tails wag out a rhythm on the seats.

- The beach is absolutely beautiful, the waves rolling and curling light blue but stormy the further out you go, Namjoon leaves his workboots in your truck and Jimin gets his knees and shorts all dirty in the sea spray, Yoongi declining to join in the water, writes that the salt makes his scales feel sticky and sits in the sand with your and Jimin’s shoes. Content to lean back and watch.

- Namjoon holding your hand to keep you steady as you dip your feet into the spray, your dress wiping in the wind. Jimin going crazy with excitement for a moment before he kicks at the spray and chases a few seagulls. None of you brought your swimsuits but Jimin dunks his full body once you gesture for him to take off his shirt so it won't get wet. You and Namjoon seem to have enough fun just dipping your feet in the cold water- but Jimin can’t get enough of the ocean now that he’s seen it. The way the waves curl, the thunder, the sharpness of salt on his tongue.

- He gets to knee height, and then to stomach height, the water is cold and a little unpleasant, but it’s worth it for the way the small waves ripple around him. Looking down at his body in the sea spray Jimin realizes- he doesn’t have a single bruise left on his body. It’s been some time since he came to stay at the farm and besides a few scars and aches, he doesn’t have a single mark on his body from what happened to him.

- The marks that lie underneath his skin- on Jimin’s soul could never go away as easily as that- but for a moment, he lets himself believe that the water could wash away even the wounds unseen. The last few weeks have taught Jimin that it’s not that easy, but if grief is the cousin of healing then Jimin will let himself feel sad about this if it means he can hope that one day he’ll barely feel broken.

- When he submerges his body and feels the drag of the ocean out to see, he lets himself imagine that the ocean is taking something from him and dragging it to a deep place where it can weigh on him anymore. And maybe when he gets his head above water- he feels a tiny infinitesimal bit better. but only time will tell if it actually makes it better. Jimin is on his way to healing and he knows he only needs time.

- When he gets back out, he almost stumbles in the surf and looks back at the beach, where the three of you are waiting for him. The three of you watch him separate himself from the waves. Your eyes going up and down his chest. Yoongi looking away after a moment. Writing on his pad of paper and scribbling it out angrily after a moment. Handing it over to Jimin

- “Feel better?” “Yeah- it’s” he shakes his body, ears flopping and sticking to his wet hair, the seawater beading in the sand. “It's nice in there. You should go in” “next time,” Yoongi writes. “You look a lot better Jiminie,” Namjoon says, handing over his flannel so that Jimin can use it to dry off. “What do you mean?” you stand to poke playfully at Jimin’s little poochy tummy, “you’ve gained a lot of weight you look healthy, I love it. ”

- He feels the fire in his cheeks, your words making his heart stutter. “Just one second” he turns away and hides his blush in Namjoon’s flannel, a high-pitched and very loud whine building in his chest or something like the need to scream swallowed by his throat because- ah fuck. He’s feeling something he shouldn’t be, isn’t he? But he must make some noise because you’re all laughing, Yoongi’s shoulders shaking as he hides his smile behind his hand.

- Before he’s turning back and handing it back to Namjoon face redder than a tomato. The other hybrid doesn’t say a thing about how it’s soaked in both water and Jimin’s scent, he Just ties it around his waist like Jimin’s scent clinging to him is the most natural thing in the world.

- You go back to the car so Namjoon can get his shoes, you talk about heading back but Yoongi isn’t ready to leave, wants to stay a little bit longer. You walk along the boardwalk; you buy some fried food that the three of you snack on, cyclone potatoes, and fried clams. Yoongi crunches into them happily, his cute little fang curling around his lip.

- Eventually, the boardwalk turns from games and restaurants into a small flea market, kitschy decorations, an overpriced Pepsi sign from the 1950s, a table made out of a glass coffin, curling horns mounted from some sort of creature. You mill about when your phone rings, shrill. “Hey Tae, what’s wrong?” you fiddle with a glass wall hanging; the stained glass fashioned to look like a cherry. Prattling onto Taehyung over the phone as Namjoon, Yoongi, and Jimin look through the tables of knickknacks.

- Yoongi eyes a silk dress shirt- Kind of garishly patterned. As behind them, a little girl points in their direction. There aren’t many other hybrids out on the boardwalk today, so Namjoon smiles at her, his scarred lip always moves a little less than the rest of his face, and the little girl’s mother pulls her closer and moves on quickly. Namjoon’s smile falls crestfallen.

- But as quick as the disquiet comes Yoongi is making him laugh by showing him a figurine- a piggybank that looks like a butt, the crack a hole for a coin. And the moment is forgotten. Most of the time- Jimin forgets what Namjoon must look like to the others, the scars that stretch, one from his jaw to halfway up to his cheek, another across and eye, and the newer one- from his chin to his lip.

- Jimin spies a weird metal holder, a sun on the front, mostly rusty, weird holes and test tubes set up so that they can stand in the holes. The man who runs the stand comes over to him. He’s not unkind to them, seems to be something of an outcast himself with his tattoos and gauged piercings. He greets jimin with a wide smile. “It’s meant for flowers, the test tubes hold one a piece” Namjoon smiles at him too. Sidling up behind Jimin, putting a hand on his shoulder. Namjoon’s warmth splaying over half his back “how much is it?”

- By now it's no secret how much Jimin loves flowers, a love both of you share (Yoongi’s thing is more vegetables). “Namjoon you don’t have too- I don’t need it” he looks like he’s about to say something, Yoongi scrawling something but before either of them can say anything, you get off the phone a few feet away. Pinching the bridge of your nose and their attention is diverted.

- You look substantially more stressed and they don’t need to ask what happened. “Apparently everything goes to shit when we’re gone, but a fuse blew in the house and now none of the refrigerators are working. We also got another call but the old owners are gonna drop the hybrid off later tonight. And apparently, a goat got into the garden but Seokjin got to him before he’d done any damage.” Yoongi looks about ready to run back into the truck at that.

- “Probably because he was distracted running after that otter hybrid again” you slap Namjoon’s arm good-naturedly. “Hush they’ve got crushes, and you remember what that’s like right?” Namjoon glances at Jimin and then at Yoongi, “yeah- I think I do.”

- As you’re on the way out you pass by the fruit section of the flea market- the place that is more a farmers market at the edge of the boardwalk. “those watermelons look good” you divert your course, and Namjoon rolls his eyes, “next thing I know her cravings are going to have me putting watermelon in sour cream soon”

- “That doesn’t seem like a bad combination at all” Yoongi makes a disgusting face, suddenly freezing when he looks over your shoulder, someone walks close to him, nearly knocking into Yoongi and his scent, disquieted and afraid fluffs towards Namjoon and jimin, they hover- instantly surrounding Yoongi while you are unaware.

- Which is fine- you’re not a hybrid and you can’t smell Yoongi’s distress like they can, you’re distracted by the lady who owns the stand coming upfront to greet you. Namjoon shrivels his nose, the smell of cigarettes permeating and making it hard for him to smell anything else.

- He tries to waves his hands and tell Namjoon and Jimin he’s fine but they won’t listen, the two of them stand on either side of him, staying close but not touching Yoongi- keeping anyone else in the crowd from coming close.

- You start talking to the woman who looks like she owns the stand. she gives one of the watermelons a hearty slap and yoongi flinches. She’s got long black hair and a wide smile- but she looks nice. She makes a wry comment about your baby bump and the watermelons, which you laugh about good naturedly about even if it is a little rude in Jimin’s opinion. Saying that you’re not at the true watermelon part of your pregnancy yet.

- In the end- you part with 10 (for everyone on the farm- it can never hurt to have easy snacks like watermelon in storage) and a half-bushel of their assorted vegetables. As much as you want to be completely self-sustainable your vegetable garden isn’t nearly ready to support every hungry mouth at the farm, and their English cucumbers are long and hard. You look happy to do business with them all said and done.

- The lady directs one of her farm hands, a big burly man with a bunch of tattoos to help Namjoon, Jimin and Yoongi carry them back and fort to your truck. Yoongi stops you when they’re finished. Shoving a note in your direction. “There’s something I want to go do, can you give me a second?”

- You nod, already taking out your wallet. Behind the two of you Jimin sneaks a handful of grape tomatoes into his pocket- they’re still his favorite. “we’ll get a few snacks for the drive home, take your time” he tries to not take your money but you won’t take no for an answer. Eventually shoving it in the breast pocket of his linen shirt if he won’t take it with his hands. He grumbles, shoving the wad of 20’s deep in his pocket.

- The three of you don’t think anything of it at all. After all- snake hybrids have uniquely tricky scents to parse out. So it’s no wonder why Jimin and Namjoon don’t smell the distress coming from him still. You think you notice something- but you let it slide. You’re never one to let Yoongi’s sudden mood changes affect you or take them personally.

- Sometimes he just gets too overheated to process things right. And you can tell from the way he’s listless that he’s at least approaching overheating. Getting into the car with the air-conditioning will be good for him. You make a mental note to pick him up another ice coffee.

- But meanwhile- while you’re waiting in line at a fast-food stand, Namjoon grabbing a few bags of chips off of a rack and jimin screwing around with a soda dispenser- figuring out how many different types of soda he can fit in one cup. Yoongi is being thrown into the side of a truck with a loud clang. His back hitting it and then his head jarring painfully. The sound alone sending him reeling into the dirt. But the man doesn’t let him fall. A hand savagely yanking his hair back. The unwanted contact sending shivers all up and down his body.

- “And here I thought you’d be more careful not to come so close. Did you think no one here would recognize you? We knew you where here the second you stepped out of that shitty truck.”

- Yoongi blinks, trying to keep the black spots out of his eyes. And she’s right. He did know better, the beachfront has always been their territory. Yoongi remembers the days he’d sneaked out and walked down to the beach in the middle of the night. The only time he ever felt some semblance of freedom. As long as he remained unseen and unheard she didn’t care. But today he’d been the opposite of unseen.

- He can’t respond. And Knows better than to try. His owner has never been fond of Yoongi’s voice, and she’s trained him well enough to know not to use it ever in front of her, his whole body had almost jumped out of his skin when he’d seen her, and seen you in front of her. All of the protective instincts in his body screaming at him to get you away from her to get you away from danger.

- Yoongi might be a liar, and a filthy double-crosser, worth every bit of ire and distrust from the other hybrids. He might not deserve your kindness or your care- not even a little bit and still, he’d never let anyone hurt you.

- She kicks off a crate of peaches; her black boots clicking on something metallic in the dust, cracking into one with a pop of her teeth into the tight skin. Coming close and getting in Yoongi’s face as the man holds him there for a second more, but then releases him. Both of them know they can’t rough Yoongi up like usual- any bruises would be too suspicious.

- “Did you like my little present this morning?” Yoongi flinches and she laughs. He’d suspected but hadn’t really known for sure if the message this morning was from her. But now he knows, he’s even more afraid than he was opening the door this morning. At least he’d come when called, Yoongi doesn’t want to think about what would have happened or what might have popped up on your front door had you gone somewhere else today.

- Yoongi is a good hybrid. Years of getting thrown into walls and slapped and kicked and burned by the stray end of a cigarette have trained him well, he always comes when he’s called.

- “You have until the end of the summer Yoongi- after that if you’re not back and with what I asked for, I’ll make sure that house goes up in flames.” She flicks a lighter, starting up a cigarette that makes Yoongi’s nose twinge uncomfortably. Bad memories. So many bad memories from looks like that as she puffs on her cigarette and blows the smoke in his face.

- “It’s a cute house, especially the garden. I didn’t know you had a thing for that- maybe I’ll have you grow some kale or vegan shit for me when you get back. And then I’ll really be like little miss high brow too huh? Looks like she eats healthy” Yoongi shakes and his owner laughs. So then she has been watching him. He doesn’t let himself wonder who at the farm might be there for a reason like Yoongi. What other snakes you might have in your garden.

- Yoongi can’t be there for long, can’t be absent. But he knew from the second he met his owner’s eyes over your shoulder that she would expect him to report back. That to not come when he was called would be as good as promising violent retribution, something far worse than a snake nailed to your front door.

- She leans in close to Yoongi, and Yoongi can’t resist leaning away, as she breathes the smoke in his face, his hands shaking at his sides. He watches her put out her cigarette in the peachy pink flesh of the peach wincing.

- He knows better than to talk back now or even squirm as she leans closer, barely a centimeter from his face. Even though a hook on the side of the truck is digging into the small of his back. “Remember little viper- if I see you so much as touch them- or let out even a fucking whisper- I’ll kill them in front of you then kill you myself”

- Yoongi understands- how could he not- he’s nothing more than her plaything- her spy. Yoongi wonders what she’d do if she knew he’d already broken the first rule. No touching though there had only been a few times, your hand on his arm when he was in the middle of a heat-induced meltdown, and this morning when you’d cupped his cheeks and kissed his forehead.

- Before anything else happens, 3 other men of her’s come around the corner of the truck, two of them hooding up the third who looks close to passing out. blood dripping down the side of his shirt. Yoongi has seen enough fights to know how someone looks when they’ve lost one. What’s more surprising is the fact that they’ve lost one here- the boardwalk is supposed to be his owner's territory. To touch her operation here- that means something significant, but even more strangely, his owner and her right-hand man don’t even look surprised.

- He struggles to put the situation together, Yoongi remembers one time when they were teenagers- back when it wasn’t his owner's gang, but her father’s. How he’d gone into a rage because some rival had decided to even vacation on their beaches- nearly unloading the full clip of a gun into their group in broad daylight.

- If they’re being pushed back- even to here, then there is something wrong- a rival gang or the police- whichever party had earned his owner's aggression this time, was surely soon to fall. But a gang war isn’t something that Yoongi’s ever seen. She fusses over the man two others holding him up, and Yoongi slides away, back into the crowd of the boardwalk. Knowing this time- he won’t be missed.

- Yoongi walks back to the car, telling himself to enjoy every minute that he has left. Because once the summer heat fades. He knows it’s all going to go away. As he walks, even as he knows there’s probably someone watching him. He stops in front of the flea market. His feet unable to take him closer to you, the closer he gets- the less safe you are. and still- he wants to be close to you- for just a little longer, so that he knows what it’s like.

- To have a pack, a family, people who care about him and love him. Before he goes back to how he lived before he wants you to know that he loves you, loves Namjoon and Jiminie too. That he would stay if he could.

- He might not be able to touch any of the people he wants to touch in the way that he wants or say the words that he wants to say, but he can show you all that you mean to him. At least now- before time runs out and it’s too late.

- Maybe some acts of defiance are less about trying to live, and more about making sure you have a chance to live before his misdeeds eventually catch up with him. And if anyone is deserving of some sort of karmic judgment It’s Yoongi.

- He hopes you won't hate him when you find out- if you ever do.

- It’s worth it- it’s all worth it to see the way that Jimin’s ears perk up when Yoongi brings back the flower holder from the stand for him, that and a silk bandana for Namjoon to keep his hair back when he’s working, and the little wall trinket you were looking at. stained glass cut in the shape of a pair of cherries. (He won’t know- but later- you’ll hang it in the window of the nursery of your and Namjoon’s room)

- The puppy holds the flower holder in his lap the whole ride home. Nearly getting his chubby finger stuck in one of the test tubes at one point. That nearly makes Yoongi laugh out loud. As you wind your way back to the farm, snacking on fried dough and blooming onions making Namjoon’s breath stinky enough that you press on his chest when he leans in for a kiss and eventually relents when he lets out a heartbreaking wine.

- Yoongi doesn’t let himself dream for more of this- because however long he gets he know he won't deserve it either way- he doesn’t deserve a single act of kindness from you. Let alone the kind of care and love you’ve all shown him. He just closes his eyes, leans his cheek against the open window, and lets his soul rest. Just for a little longer. All he needs is a little longer.

- Yoongi lies to himself and tells himself that the summer will be enough.

- Later that night, You’re already underneath your covers, turning restless in your too warm sheets. Namjoon lingers in the bathroom brushing his teeth. “Did you notice something strange with Yoongi today?”

- “No- why?” you fiddle with the edge of your coverlet.

- “He seemed super tense on the way how and somehow I got it into my head that there was something more wrong with him than usual” Namjoon sets a glass of water for you on your bedside table pulls himself over the top of your bedspread. Pressing a toothpasty kiss to your mouth that makes you smile. His hand coming up to cradle your hip, thumb rubbing wide strokes over your baby bump.

- He always gets this look in his eyes. A little lost in his own love when he looks at you late at night like this. You pepper a kiss down his cheek and over his scar, making his face twitch a little-you know it tickles in the same way he knows you’re teasing him- just a little. “If you want to go check on him, I don’t mind.”

- Namjoon’s point is clear, the emphasis on check you know what he means and what he wants. The emphasis on hybrid pack dynamics, that it really wouldn’t be strange to Namjoon If you went to Yoongi’s room…and ended up spending a little time there. If anything- it probably seems weird to him if you haven’t.

- You let the moment slide, lean over to turn off the light, and kiss Namjoon a little more, his lips are hot but gentle on yours. Taking the time to kiss you without a rush for more, nipping at your neck once before he settles in- you’re getting into the stage of your pregnancy where its hard to lay on your side too much so instead- Namjoon mimics your usual position, his leg slung over your thighs, head tucked close to your shoulder.

- And he makes these cute little noises, little huffs and small growl groans that remind you of a puppy before he falls asleep. But you can’t sleep- you stare at the ceiling in your bedroom and can’t help but think about Yoongi earlier. How you thought for a second you’d seen him crying on the way home, spied in your rearview mirror, head hanging out the window and his cheeks wet. somehow your bed feels more empty than it used too. Even with you and Namjoon in it.

- after a few more minutes where you wonder if you’ll ever get to sleep, You slip out of your and Namjoon’s bed and sneak down the hallway. Your footsteps cushioned against the carpet as you head down the hall to Yoongi’s room. and you know it’s late but you can’t leave him alone- not when you could fix it and help him.

- You knock softly; thinking about all of the times in which you try to help- on your worst days- when it feels like helping others is all your good for. nothing else in you but that, nothing to appreciate or love beyond what you can do for others because you feels so broken- too broken to be loved without giving up your time like an apology. A lot of the time it feels like you have nothing but acts of service to offer. But on those days, it’s always Namjoon, Yoongi, and jimin that soothe you without even trying,

- Your lover cupping your chin in his hand and telling you that he can’t get enough of you, that he thought about you all day and couldn’t wait to just stand close to you. The quiet care he shows you, massaging the puffy ball of your ankle. The way sometimes he’ll come up behind you when you’re fiddling with your outfit in the morning, his wide hands fisting in the sides of your dress. Making a low whine and scent marking along your shoulder so that every hybrid on the farm knows you’re his.

- The way namjoon can tell just by looking at you if you need his help, and knows better, like today, when you need a little distance to get your thoughts sorted.

- Yoongi’s soft companionship the way he’ll shake his head and take the heavy things from you, the roll of his eyes doing the speaking for him, “what would Namjoon think if I let you carry this on your own” or the way that he’d sometimes tap the edge of your hat with his long fingers making it bounce, lip pulling up to show his cute little fangs.

- When jimin looks at you like you’ve hung the stars in the side for him. Ready to ramble on and on about whatever new thing he’d tried today. Wanting to include you in his process as he became adjusted to the world. The way that he hangs on to every word you say, following you around like a lost puppy, but you would never mind that- how could you? When he was so smitten that it made your heart flutter to be liked with such loving intent.

- You knock on Yoongi’s door, and he answers with wet cheeks, looking startled, rubbing his cheek with the side of his hand. “Yoongi, are you alright?” he shakes his head, hovering, body swaying. You can tell from the hum that the air-conditioning is on high. Not too surprising given the heat of the day, and you know it’s easier for Yoongi to make his room cool and then work up to the kind of warmth he needs then do it the other way.

- His blinds are all drawn, no light on in his room. Thought you peeked outside and sure enough- the stars were shining bright, no moon in the sky. “Can I come in?” Yoongi looks like- fuck- this is going to hurt him, but he nods anyway.

- He scoots over in his bed and moves one of the covers down and lets you climb in on the other side of the bed, and the covers are cool and comfortable beneath your skin, the only light in the room comes from the display panel of the air-conditioning unit and the green makes Yoongi’s eyes glow yellow. “You can tell me- something’s wrong, isn’t it? if its something I can fix you’ve got to tell me- Yoongi- I-“

- Yoongi pulls himself up to hover over you on one arm, his other hand coming up to comb back your hair, you’re stunned into silence. The words leaving your mouth as you find yourself inches away from him, the cool line of his body pressed up against yours. And you think- because you’re both in pajamas and not actually touching skin to skin- you think that is the reason why it might not bother him so much.

- Yoongi is all lithe muscle and harsh edges, but he’s nothing more than gentle with his hands when he softly brushes over your cheek, his eyes molten gold as he tilts his chin up, his soft lips press against your forehead for just a second, the reverse of what you’d done for him this morning.

- Maybe you were both too worn out from the day’s events not too need each other’s company. He tilts his body to the side and leans up on his elbow to watch you. And you might expect it to feel strange- his body and it’s the absence of heat, but underneath the covers it actually feels comforting, cooling amid the summer humidity that just won’t quit.

- He leans in close to poke at your cheek with his nose, nuzzling with slow curling motions as if to tell you- go to sleep, and sleep you do, the coolness of the bed and Yoongi’s body supplying relief to your overheated muscles. Yoongi knows what you needed without you having to say it- the same way that you always knew what he needed. Yoongi stays close and curls around you tightly- his arm and his leg wrapping around you, protecting you both from something you might not see.

- Your last thought before you fall asleep is a question, is Yoongi’s strong grip on you- like he’s holding on for dear life, something to do with his snake genes? Or is there some other reason why his muscles and legs tremble when they hold you close like he’s afraid something is going to be able to separate you.

- Before you truly fall asleep, you think you hear a low voice say something, just a few words, but regardless of what Yoongi might have said- or if he spoke at all, You won’t remember it in the morning.

Kofi

BONUS: Jimin’s little flower holder!

1K notes · View notes

lloydskywalkers · 4 years

Text

any port in a storm

Pixal and Lloyd and the evolving nature of friendship, as highlighted by the regular burning down of your city.

(desperately trying to break through writer’s block and classes again, this was supposed to be under 2k and it is...very much not hdfjkgh but! i’ve been meaning to write for Pixal and Lloyd for a while so here are a whole bunch of feelings about the two of them and s8)

Pixal meets — truly meets — Lloyd Garmadon shortly after his brother’s been blown to pieces.

She says truly, because if you ask her, Pixal will tell you she met Lloyd Garmadon at exactly 8:48 in the evening outside his father’s monastery, moments before a horde of nindroids led there by Pixal herself descended upon them.

But Lloyd argues that since they said about two words total to each other, it doesn’t really count as meeting, and by the time Pixal’s spending the better part of her day with him running high and low around Ninjago City, she’s learned that it’s easier not to press the point.

Lloyd can be stubborn, like that.

She’d first learned that when she’d met him, just after they’d lost Zane. That loss hadn’t lasted long, especially for Pixal, but the immediate aftermath of it had been devastating. She’d watched with blank eyes as the team had fractured, splitting at the seams as they all fled their separate ways, too heartsore and dizzy with grief to do much otherwise.

All of them had fled, save Lloyd. She hadn’t paid him much attention before that point, the surprisingly small bearer of the Golden Power. Of course, he wasn’t the bearer of that power anymore, but his eyes alone had shown the experience of it. There’d been a brief, lost look that had crossed his face as the others had mentioned leaving, before it had been swept under a mask of stubborn, determined blankness. He wouldn’t be leaving. Someone had to stay behind and watch out for things, he’d claimed, even as the loss had bled through his voice.

Pixal hadn’t quite grasped the concept of empathy at that point, but she’d felt something dangerously close to it.

At any rate, the only interaction they’d had alone was brief. In fact, the only one Pixal can truly remember — and her memory never fails — is the quick exchange they’d had in the hospital lobby directly after the battle. The hospital was for Mr. Borg, and for the ninja’s minor injuries.

There was nothing any hospital on earth could do for Zane.

Pixal had found herself next to Lloyd in the waiting room, trying to distract herself from those thoughts while Lloyd stared at the stark white tiling with dull eyes.

“They never mentioned what your power was,” she’d asked him, almost absently. Collecting data, processing information — anything she could do to distract from the crushing grief.

“Oh.” Lloyd had blinked, startling back into awareness. He’d suddenly looked painfully young. “It’s, ah, I guess it’s just green, now.”

It had been Pixal’s turn to blink. “Green.”

“Yeah.” Lloyd had bit his lip, rubbing the back of his head awkwardly, two habits he’ll never quite lose. “I mean — it’s more than that, but it’s like — energy, I guess, is the best way to put it?”

“Interesting,” Pixal had remarked.

“Yeah.”

They’d stared at each other in silence after that, before they’d both been called off to other errands — and then they were having Zane’s funeral and then Pixal was making realizations she never got to tell anyone, and that had been that in her early introductions to Lloyd Garmadon. Quiet, awkward, and possessing an incredible power he hardly even knew the name of.

Looking back, Pixal figures her introduction hadn’t gone much better.

They’d continued as passing acquaintances as time went on, separated by danger and the confines of Zane’s head, and Pixal had figured that’s all they’d ever be. But then their Sensei goes missing and, despite Pixal’s increasing disappearances on Zane as she rebuilds her own body, she’s been given the role of watching out for Ninjago city along with Lloyd.

She quickly learns that quiet is not a term fit for Lloyd Garmadon when you’re trapped alone with him.

************

“How is there not a single station playing actual music?” Lloyd seethes, flicking through the channels almost manically. “It’s two am, who’s gonna be listening to your stupid commercial for toothpaste now, are you kidding me?”

“Statistically speaking, this is the prime time for long-distance driving near Ninjago City,” Pixal supplies, her voice a hint scratchy where it comes through the his car’s radio speakers. “Or, if you factor in the construction in the east district, there could still be traffic from late-night bars.”

Lloyd groans, thunking his head against the steering wheel as another ad screeches through the small space. “Wonderful.”

“Your vocal tones suggest you find it otherwise.”

“Dont trust ‘em, my vocal tones are traitors.” As if to solidify his point, Lloyd’s voice cracks in the middle of his sentence, shooting up an octave higher. Lloyd goes bright red, and thunks his head against the steering wheel again.

Taking pity on him, Pixal aims for reassurance. “It is normal for your voice to break, Lloyd. It shouldn’t last too long.” She pauses, momentarily scanning through another article. “On second thought, this one suggests it could also take two to three years for your voice to stabilize.”

Lloyd gives a strangled moan. “End me.”

“Unfortunately, that would defeat the purpose of why I’m here in the first place.”

Lloyd tilts his head, cracking an eye open as he glances at the camera feed he knows she’s watching him from. “Unfortunately, huh,” he muses. “So you’re saying if Zane hadn’t made you promise to look out for me, you would end me?”

“That — no, that is not — of course I wouldn’t end you,” Pixal backtracks. An odd feeling flickers through her, almost as if she’s lost her place, floundering.

Or embarrassed might be more accurate, she thinks wryly. She briefly considers projecting a a glaring face at Lloyd from the monitor. This is his fault. She rarely stuttered before Lloyd started teasing her at all hours of the morning.

“I mean, you wouldn’t be the first,” Lloyd continues, conversationally. “And if we’re being honest, I’d definitely rather you be the one to off me, instead of like, random bad guy number eighty-five—”

“I know you think you are funny,” Pixal cuts over him. “But casually planning for your death is something Kai listed I was not to let you do. Also, it is not nearly as funny as you think it is.”

“Ouch,” Lloyd mutters, though he looks chastised. “Never mind, you just took me out in one sentence.”

Chastised might be the wrong term.

Pixal studies him through the monitor, then sighs. “I am, however, honored you think highly enough of me to offer the right to murder you,” she gives in.

She’s rewarded as Lloyd breaks into a bright grin.

He still looks painfully young these days, but it’s less obvious. His voice is pitching lower and he wears his hair different, and he’s gained a whip-like tendency to quip at people, as Pixal’s experienced firsthand. Kai calls it sass in grumbling but fond tones, and Nya calls it snark somewhere between the fourth book series she’s sent for Pixal to try.

The ninja have been kind like that, sharing the interests they have in an attempt to make her feel…well, more human, she supposes. Less confined to a voice in a computer. Of course, Pixal isn’t confined to a voice in a computer anymore, but they don’t know that yet. She’ll tell them someday soon, she promises herself. Any day now.

In the meantime, it’s easy enough to keep up with Lloyd by lurking in his car radio, as he spends half his time in there anyways.

************

“You’d think we’d have found their hideout by now,” Lloyd notes, as they wait in a darkened alleyway again. It gives them an excellent view of the major highways, so if the rumored biker gang does show up, they won’t miss it.

If they show up being the key point.

“Whoever their leader is, they certainly know how to keep a low profile,” Pixal answers, closing out another dead end police report in frustration.

“It’s weird,” Lloyd says, propping the notebook he’s sketching in on his knee as he squints at the paper. “Normally the boss types aren’t this quiet. They like to show off, y’know? Make a big scene, dramatic speeches and all.”

“Are you referring to the villains, or yourselves?”

“Touché,” Lloyd snorts. “But still, you gotta admit it’s weird they haven’t even made any demands. What’s their end game here, elaborate advertising for motorcycle design?”

“I would hope not,” Pixal says. “Their color coordination is lacking.”

Lloyd fights back a smile, his pencil scratching as he shifts his notebook again. “I don’t know, I kinda like the punk look.”

“I noticed that, when you tried to redecorate the car.”

“Hey, skulls are cool.”

“They are also conspicuous, especially when they come in acid green colors.”

“Everyone’s a critic,” Lloyd sighs, making a face as he scrubs the eraser across the paper. Pixal tries to tilt the camera further, to see what he’s drawing tonight, but the angle he’s holding it at remains just out of sight.

She could probably guess what he’s drawing, if she tried. The notebook is one they’ve been steadily working their way through on these late-night patrols, the pages filled with little hangman games and Lloyd’s sketches of animals and his teammates. He’s drawn her a few times from memory, and she’s been tempted to ask him to draw her in the new Samurai X armor more than once.

Soon, she tells herself.

“What are you drawing?” she finally asks, curiosity getting the better of her.

Lloyd’s cheeks tinge pink, and he quickly plasters the notebook to his chest, hiding it entirely from view. “Nothing.”

Pixal waits, letting the silence fill with her judgement. “Lloyd, I have seen your drawings before.”

He doesn’t reply, and Pixal tries again. “It gets boring, being stuck with the car monitors for eyes.”

“I know you can hack other cameras,” Lloyd mutters, but he sighs, relenting as he turns the notebook over. Pixal’s eyes rake over the detailed sketch — it’s a comical little thing of her and Lloyd, jammed together on a tiny lifeboat in the middle of a darkening ocean. She can spot the smudges where he’s redrawn her head several times, and the numerous attempts he’s made at his own hair. Pixal studies Lloyd’s portrayal of himself, which is noticeably lacking in facial features. While Lloyd draws the others plenty, it’s a rare occasion that he draws himself, and she can’t help but be curious.

“I thought you were drawing the others again,” she admits.

“They’re on the ship,” Lloyd says, absently. “I’ll draw them when they remember to pull us back in.”

There’s nothing bitter in his tone to suggest it has any bearing on their actual lives, but the lost expressions Lloyd ends up giving their tiny caricatures feel familiar nonetheless.

“Zane has assured me they will be back as soon as they can,” Pixal speaks ups quietly.

Lloyd finally looks up fully, and flashes the monitor a smile. “I know,” he says. “So we better have this thing busted by the time they do, or they’ll never let us run a city on our own again.”

“If only we were truly running the city,” Pixal grumbles. “I could do a better job in two days than the current leaders could do in a year.”

“I’d vote for you,” Lloyd says, sincerely.

It’s a sweet gesture, but Pixal is unable to resist. “You don’t know how to vote.”

“Yes I do, it’s not hard!”

“Really? Then why are you not currently registered in the Ninjago voting system?”

Lloyd makes a strangled noise. “That’s a thing?”

She’s unable to keep the smugness from her voice. “I make my point.” Lloyd scowls, and scribbles a mustache on his drawing of her in revenge.

Pixal thinks it looks nice nonetheless.

************

She can’t really hold it against Lloyd for talking as much as he does, considering she does the same. It gets dull, sitting on patrol for hours on end, and there are only so many hours of light reading they can do before the silence begins to drive them both insane.

Pixal finds herself talking about more useless things with Lloyd than she has in her existence, pointless conversations in circles with each other. She also finds she doesn’t entirely mind. She’s become quite good at quipping back and forth with him, at least. It’s different than the kind of talk she has with Zane, lacking in the depth of feeling with the love they share. Her exchanges with Lloyd are lighter, though that’s not to say they’re less sincere.

For example, Zane hasn’t tried to teach her how to redesign a gi in poor lighting in the early hours of the morning because he’s bored out of his mind, that’s for sure.

“I’m teaching you how to sew,” Lloyd corrects, wincing as he accidentally stabs himself with the needle. “And I’m not redesigning the whole thing, I’m just adding some designs to spice it up.”

“I did not know you were allowed to wear colors other than green,” Pixal comments.

Lloyd pauses, squinting at the monitor. “You’re teasing me,” he finally says. “You’re making fun of how much green this gi has in it.”

“I would never,” Pixal replies, her tone flat and even. “The intricacies of your human humor evade me—”

“Human humor, nice—”

“—unlike the unusually bright shade of green you’ve chosen will fail to evade any eyes of your enemies.”

“I knew you were making fun of me!” Lloyd accuses, then flinches as he stabs his finger again trying to point at her. “And bright colors are our thing. Being subtle is, uh…not. Usually.”

Pixal is losing the battle to laugh at his expression by the minute. “I am shocked.”

Lloyd glares at the monitor, shifting his sewing to rest on his knees as he slouches in the car seat. “How’d you even get so good at sarcasm, anyways,” he mutters. “Zane still doesn’t get it half the time.”

“Perhaps it is part of my glowing personality,” Pixal says. Lloyd gives a huff of laughter, relenting.

“Fair enough,” he says, shifting in his seat again. “Fine, you win. The green is probably too bright, but that’s not the point. I’m gonna show you how to do a backstitch."

Pixal falls quiet, letting Lloyd gesture with the needle as he explains. There are a hundred, a thousand tutorials she could pull up online, digitized knowledge instantly learned on all the countless types of stitches she could use, sorted and categorized in neat columns of use and effectiveness. All of them more detailed, more easily understood than Lloyd’s absent rambling and unsteady hands as he struggles with the end of a knot.

Not one of them will care whether or not Pixal learns the odd way Zane likes to loop his stitches, or will quietly add which stitches knit skin back together quickest.

So Pixal ignores her programming, and does her best to follow Lloyd’s rambling instructions, watching as his scarred fingers tug another thread of dull gold through the green mess of fabric, the city quiet around them.

“You never did tell me where you learned how to sew,” Pixal says, as Lloyd starts up a new thread of black on the other side of the gi. “Was that something the others taught you in training?”

“They’d have to know how to be able to teach it,” Lloyd snickers. “And, uh, no. I taught myself to back at Darkley’s.”

“Oh,” Pixal falters. She’s heard about Darkley’s, both from Zane and the legal reports she’s read online. Neither gave a positive impression of the place. Her mind is suddenly filled with images of a younger Lloyd trying to give himself stitches, and her heart twists.

Lloyd starts, seemingly having picked up on her train of thought. “I mean, I did it for fun, mostly. I like sewing,” he explains. “It’s useful. You can pull things back together, and fix ‘em.”

Pixal is quiet, but she hopes Lloyd takes her silence as agreement with his motive. She likes to think he knows her well enough for that, by now.

************

Pixal finds, somewhere during their fourth month alone, that she’s glad the team elected to stick her and Lloyd together. Not because she doesn’t want to be with Zane — there’s never a moment she doesn’t miss him, and with every day that passes her resolve to keep her secret from him grows weaker, as the longing for actual connection grows stronger.

But there are conversations she can have with Lloyd that she can never have with Zane, and the dangerous thing about spending time with Lloyd, Pixal finds, is that they’re more similar than she’s realized.

“Sometimes I think I’m jealous,” Lloyd whispers to her one night. It’s one of the bad ones, the ones where their enemies struck too sudden to stop, and the mission ends in the hospital. “I think I’m jealous of Zane, and I hate myself for it.”

Pixal is quiet, trying to pick apart the tone of his voice in the words he’s just spoken, and factors in the victims they’ve just left behind at the hospital. She finds herself no closer to an answer.

“Is it the metal skin part?” she finally asks, though she knows that’s wrong. “The, what was it, technical immortality?”

“No,” Lloyd shakes his head. “I’m not afraid of dying,” he says emphatically, his fingers fluttering at over the steering wheel, tapping incessantly with unspent energy. “I don’t want to, but that’s — it’s not what I’m scared of. I’m more scared of how I go out.”

He swallows, and his fingers move to dance over the woven bracelet on his wrist instead, twisting at the tiny beads and tracing senseless designs in constant, steady movement. It’s a motion he does often, and it had puzzled Pixal at first. She’d decided to write it off as an odd tick, a way to spend excess energy.

Now, she recognizes the desperate kind of reassurance that movement gives. She understands too well the need to remind yourself that you can move — that your body will obey you and you alone.

Pixal thinks back to the other factors in tonight’s accident, of the way the drugged man’s eyes had cleared when they’d finally turned him over to the police, the way he’d sworn he’d never do such a thing in his right mind. She thinks of the way the first victim had thrown themselves over their companion.

That victim hadn’t made it to the hospital.

“Ah,” Pixal says, quietly.

She’s silent again, and she thinks back to when she’d met him, the very first time. She recalls the way her programming had rebelled against her in favor of the Overlord, corrupting her body and forcing it against her, twisting everything she was and wanted to be into something different.

She thinks back again, to the searing-hot anger, the terror, the despair as she was torn apart, piece by piece like a machine, burning out at the whims of another. Her end purposeless, her demise belonging to someone else, just like every other part of her.

She thinks of the last glimpse she’d caught of Zane, bright and beautiful as a supernova. Burning with the terrible brilliance of his own, determined choice. Terrible, because the death of something always is. Beautiful, because it was his own. Zane died, not a machine, not a weapon, not a tool of anyone or anything, but as himself. Zane died to save the ones he loves. Pixal could’ve died for spare parts.

Never again, she promises herself. If she goes out, she goes out on her own terms. This time, they choose the end of their own destiny themselves.

In hindsight, it’s the kind of promise they’re both too young to make, but neither of them have ever seen themselves as such, and promises like that are easy.

“Love can be terrible, sometimes,” Lloyd murmurs. Pixal watches him scrub at the blood on his uniform, and thinks how ironically well-timed it is that he finished the stitching on his new gi this morning. “Sometimes I forget how ugly it can be.”

************

The end of their nighttime stakeouts begins with a break-in at Mr. Borg’s tower. Lloyd argues that she should get to call it her father’s tower, if she wants, but the ninja aren’t the only ones Pixal’s hiding herself from.

And then Lloyd gets very tense at the thought of fathers very fast, and they never finish the conversation.

They stay at the edge of the bridge long after the parachute, emblazoned with the unmistakable visage of Lloyd’s father, disappears from sight. Pixal wonders if it’s burned into Lloyd’s eyes, like the way she’s read black spots linger in humans’ vision after they’ve looked at something too bright. The way Lloyd stares at the river, his shoulders tense and his teeth worrying at his lip, she thinks she might be right.

They’re waiting on the report from the commissioner —they’re waiting for anything, anyone who can offer them any explanation of what’s going on. Pixal’s reminded of how much she loathes this kind of waiting.

“It could be—” Lloyd begins, then breaks off, his voice wavering. He swallows, and Pixal can see the way his fists clench tightly from the cameras they’ve put in his car. There’s a fierce part of her that longs to reveal herself, to meet his eyes herself and offer some semblance of comfort. But there’s a time and place for things, and Pixal isn’t ready.

“It could be anything,” Lloyd finally continues, his voice small. “It could — it doesn’t mean anything. It could mean nothing, right?”

Pixal is silent, her mind racing. She’s run the calculations over and over in her head already, scouring the internet for anything related to the bikers. She’s been foolish, she realizes — they both have. Letting the gang go unnamed for so long, thinking nothing of it. Now, with the name flashing vibrant across Pixal’s vision, a part of her wants to let them go nameless just a bit longer.

Before she can answer, Lloyds phone goes off with a sharp ping, just as Pixal’s sensors alert her to the message from the commissioner. Lloyd snatches for his phone like it’s on fire, and Pixal’s already scanning the message frantically, as if she can salvage this if she’s fast enough, save Lloyd from this one pain.

Lloyd’s gotten much better at reading quickly though, these days.

She can pinpoint the moment he reaches the last paragraph, because his breath hitches. There’s a long, pressing pause of silence, Lloyd’s hands trembling as they clutch weakly at his phone. Then it’s punctured by a reedy, wheezing gasp, and Pixal’s suddenly wishing she’d revealed herself after all.

Instead, all she has is her voice as Lloyd crumples, crouching over in visible distress. Pixal’s mind races, recalling everything Zane’s ever told her about his team, the way their panic manifests in different shades. Lloyd’s is quiet but desperate, rapid breathes that stutter as his eyes slide more and more into a frightening kind of blankness.

“Lloyd, please, listen to my voice,” she begs, trying to reach him in the only way she can. “Please, you have to breathe—”

“He’s gone,” Lloyd rasps, unhearing of her words. “He’s s’posed to be gone, it’s supposed to be over, I’m supposed to be done—”

Pixal fights back the sense of overwhelming helplessness. She knows loss. She knows how to finish his sentence. He’s supposed to be done grieving, done mourning, done clinging to false scraps of hope that his father isn’t lost forever only to be met with heartbreak.

And now, to be met with the possibility of something so much worse.

“We’ll stop them,” she tells him, unflinching. “We won’t let it happen.”

Lloyd’s eyes are a vivid green where they stare at her through the monitor, almost ghostly in the misting light reflecting from the river.

He’s silent, but Pixal is, too.

Pixal remembers the way her head had spun when she’d first picked up the traces of Zane in the system, how the world had rushed then steadied, flooding with color as she’d realized he might not be lost after all. She remembers the surging, overwhelming flood of joy, that someone she’d thought she lost might live after all. She remembers being so happy, at even the smallest chance to get him back, because the voice was Zane’s, without a doubt.

She watches the color seep from Lloyd’s expression as his shoulders shudder, the words from the commissioner’s message almost echoing through the air. Watches the terror as the both of them fill the silence.

Will we?

The radio scratches, as if echoing Pixal’s anxiety. Love can be terrible, sometimes. She’s underestimated how it also be so cruel.

************

She’s also, apparently, underestimated how the universe on the whole could be so cruel.

She should’ve revealed herself to them from day one. That way, when Harumi’s corrupted programming suddenly ravages through her like an electric shock, she could be reassured they’d at least be familiar with the person they were fighting.

Instead, she doesn’t even get to scream. Pixal’s only able to force out a desperate, broken warning before she’s lost again, drowning in her own body as she’s forced under. Furious panic grips her as she screams without lungs, bashing herself against the overwhelming helplessness that’s taken over her.

Not again, not again, not again—

Her limbs creak and jolt against her will, lashing out at the people she cares most about, and Pixal can’t even rage back in her own voice. She’s sworn, she’s promised herself she’d never let anyone do this to her again — she’s sworn she’d die before she let someone reach into her head and snatch control away, and yet here she is, frozen as her body’s used to target her friends.

If she could cry, she might.

There’s not much more to say than that. She breaks free, her body her own once again, but by then it’s too late.

************

If Pixal had the same gift of foresight that Zane did, maybe she would have seen it coming. Maybe she’d have remembered how similar her and Lloyd are, and that this kind of pained desperation always yields impulsiveness and mistakes.

She doesn’t, though. She barely even manages to do what she’s trying to, which is convincing Lloyd to join the others while they celebrate their victory. Their off-key singing is something he normally wouldn’t hesitate to join in on, she thinks, and she hates Harumi a little more.

Maybe she’ll try his mother next. The expression on Lloyd’s face screams unapproachable, and remains fixedly sullen.

Almost to her surprise, he meets her eyes as she draws near— it’s odd, being able to meet his back — and his own eyes are dark, from despair over Harumi or despair over his father, Pixal isn’t sure. She’s thinking it might be both, when his eyebrows crease, and a flicker of concern cuts through them instead.

“You good?”

It takes her a moment to realize why he’s asking, but the answer is obvious. Her head tilts downward, and she watches as her fingers curl and uncurl. Her movements, her choices. She lets out an even breath.

“As I can be,” she replies. Lloyd nods, and his eyes are understanding. His lips twist in a scowl.

“She shouldn’t have done that to you. That was a low blow.”

Pixal’s mouth curves into a humorless smile. “That it was. She’s rather good at those, isn’t she.”

Lloyd’s eyes shadow again, and he looks away, crossing his arms. “This isn’t supposed to be about me,” he mutters.

“Yes, it is,” Pixal counters. “It is why I came over here, in the first place. She hurt—”

“All of us, and who’s fault is that,” Lloyd snaps, his arms crossing tighter.

“I would hope you know it’s hers,” she says, holding firm.

Lloyd looks away again, biting his lip, and Pixal shifts anxiously, rolling her wrists. The sensation of control sliding away still haunts her, worse than it had the first time. She should be better than this, she tells herself hotly. She’s lived without a body long enough that losing it so briefly shouldn’t effect her this much.

Curse her programming, she thinks, tapping agitatedly at the banister. She knew she should have reinforce it sooner.

“Hey, um.” Lloyd is looking at her again, hesitant. He twists at his bracelet, and his eyes lose a fraction of that darkness. “Kai made this for me, after Morro,” he says. “I kept shredding the sleeves of my uniform, so he told me to mess with this instead, when I needed to remember that…that I was in control.”

He shrugs, hesitant. “We could make you one too, if you wanted. It helps, having something.”

Pixal lets out a steady breath, despite not actually needing to. The action is grounding, she’s found. “I would like that.”

Lloyd gives her a ghost of a smile in return. “Soon as this is over, then.”

There’s a heavy weight to his words, and Pixal’s eyes narrow.

“Lloyd,” she says. He looks at her, his eyes dark. “Don’t do anything foolish.”

He’s quiet, not meeting her eyes, and this is where Pixal should stop him. This is when she should see the end of the road they’ve been on since they started this, and force him to turn before it’s too late.

“I know what I’m doing.”

She doesn’t.

************

Lloyd is battered and bleeding by the time they drag him onto the ship, a gruesome portrait of cruelty. Pixal is frozen as she watches him writhe in Kai’s hold, his screams cracked and wet as he thrashes erratically like a broken thing.

Nya is already barking orders before they’ve even gotten Lloyd fully on the ship, and Zane is running scans with a horrified, wavering focus. Pixal follows Cole as he carries Lloyd to the medbay with a blank numbness, the rush of wind streaming past the Bounty sails thunderously loud in her ears.

This isn’t Lloyd, she thinks, staring at his crumpled form. Lloyd isn’t this battered, broken shell of a person. Lloyd isn’t hazy eyes that fail to recognize them and frantic murmuring through bloody lips. Lloyd is bright-eyed and gentle and would rather die before he screams the way he does when Cole moves him to the table.

Lloyd is her friend, and this is where that promise they made has led them. She knows why Lloyd set out for the prison, hot on the collapse of his own star. She also knows he wouldn’t have chosen to burn out like this.

Cole calls out for Zane, his voice ringing in panic as Lloyd screeches in pain again. Pixal thinks of quiet words in the safety of his car, and she feels sick. This is the ugliness of love, the terrible, hideous side of it.

And Lloyd would hate it, if he could see himself, if he were any semblance of lucid. He’d hate to know just how much better he was at breaking himself than Morro ever was.

Zane is gentle as he pushes past her, but Pixal can feel the tremble in his hands. He’s every bit as rattled as she is, if not more so — Zane’s heart is larger and softer than hers has ever been, and he cares about each and every one of them with a painful intensity. It’s a cruel thing, to have to pull those same people back together with your own hands.

Kai’s eyes are streaming as he clutches at Lloyd’s wrists, pinning him in place. Zane’s hands waver again over one of the jagged wounds near Lloyd’s ribcage, the green of his uniform already dyed dark in blood, soaking over the careful stitches Pixal watched him put in himself.

Pixal finally finds her footing, reminding herself of the solid wood beneath her feet. She recalls the steady, smooth stitch Lloyd’s scarred fingers traced out for her.

“Here.” She takes the needle from Zane’s hands, squeezing his briefly before letting go. “I can do it.”

She sets the needle against Lloyd’s skin and wonders what kind of stitch it’d take to pull your heart back together.

************

Pixal cannot cry. It’s one of the features Mr. Borg spent hours debating, weighing the pros and cons of giving her the ability before he was truly sure how rust-proof she was. He’d never gotten the chance to, as the Overlord had interrupted him, then Pixal had lost any body to give the ability to cry to, which had eliminated the need entirely.

She cannot cry, but she can hurt, and the rain that streams through her hair, dripping down her forehead spotting raindrops on her cheeks, could be tears if she pretended.

She doesn’t, though, because tears are a waste of water and overall useless in the grand scheme of things. She doubts they’d have helped her fare any better in the battle with Colossi, either.

Tears won’t bring anyone back.

Lloyd cries anyways. She can’t see him, but she can hear it in his voice, the way it wavers and breaks over the radio, nasally tones pronounced.

He’s barely able to gasp a few coordinates to her before he cuts the radio off abruptly. Pixal’s spent enough time with him to envision his scarred fingers snapping it off with a particular desperation, green sparking from his hands in distress.

She reminds herself those sparks are gone, now, bled away into nothing like the vivid green of Lloyd’s eyes had. The thought makes her sadder than she’d expected. She had a joke, about his eyes, she had wanted to make. Now that she has a body, and her own set of glowing green eyes, she’d — there was something he would’ve laughed at, she thought —

It doesn’t matter, now. Neither of them are likely to laugh anytime soon.

The coordinates blink brightly in her vision, and she’s almost surprised she managed to key them in. She’s running on autopilot, she supposes. It could be ironic — she’s been so desperate for control, it’s been so important that she’s the one feeling. Now, she’d give anything not to feel at all.

She lets out a shaky breath, dispelling the mist in her vision left from the rain. She leans forward, just over the edge of the building she’s crouched on, and her loose hair falls forward, silvery and synthetic and horribly tangled. Irritated, she reaches for another hair tie, and her hands falter around her wrist.

Lloyd had promised her a bracelet there. But he’d promised Kai would make the bracelet, hadn’t he, and Kai couldn’t make the bracelet if he was dead, could he.

Pixal blinks, her breath hitching. She’s been so numb to the pain of Zane’s loss, it hasn’t yet occurred to her that she’s losing Kai, too. And Jay, and Cole, and—

She sucks in the same shuddery kind of breath she’s seen Lloyd do, and carefully fists her hand in the area of her uniform above her chest. Her fingers dig in tightly, clutching in a hopeless attempt to feel some sort of comfort she knows she’ll never find.

But perhaps, for these few seconds, she can pretend the action is holding her together.

************

“It was inevitable,” Pixal tells Lloyd blankly, as he rasps out his third apology in the dark cover of their small hideout. “That one of us would fall, eventually. It had nothing to do with you.”

Lloyd swallows thickly. “It could’ve — it should’ve been—”

He doesn’t finish, but he doesn’t need to. Pixal’s hand shoots out, clamping tightly around his wrist, and there’s a beat of gratitude that she doesn’t need to rely on her voice alone anymore.

“Don’t.” Her voice is strung tighter than the tension in their shoulders. “You cannot change anything. You can’t, Lloyd, and you should not wish to — to change it that way.”

Lloyd jerks his hand free, wiping miserably at his eyes. He sets it back down within her reach, though, and if Pixal were any different, she’d take it.

But Pixal isn’t that different from Lloyd at all in the end, and neither of them reach for the other’s hand, no matter how desperately they crave the contact. Fear is more familiar, and it’s easier to give into it than it is the clawing need for comfort in your chest, after all.

“Still,” Lloyd finally whispers. “Still.”

Pixal swallows. She doesn’t disagree. If one of them had to fall, she knows she gladly would have taken it upon herself. She knows the others care for her, certainly, but she also knows her place in the grand scheme of things. They were six before she came along, and even now she’s kept far too many secrets to be fully counted among them.

She listens to Lloyd’s quiet, cracked voice, and she wonders if he’s thinking that they were five before he came along, younger than Pixal got to know him as.

Now they’re three, hollow and heartbroken. Though counting herself as one whole feels like cheating, right now.

Pixal squeezes her eyes shut, and wonders what it’s like to cry. Perhaps it helps, though Lloyd doesn’t look any less miserable.

************

“I was thinking,” Lloyd tells her, during one of the precious few quiet moments they have while trying to overthrow Garmadon and Harumi. Pixal’s turning the tiny tea flower he’d given her over in her hands, a part of her mind already marking articles about flower-pressing, another part wondering if it’s already too late to save the blossom. “About that promise we made, before all this.”

Pixal finally tucks the flower into the pocket of her uniform, pressed close to her chest. If anything, it can be a reminder of the lives that are safe — the life that’s coming back to her, if she has to drag him back from another realm herself. “And?”

Lloyd’s hands twist together. “Maybe we should focus more on staying alive.”

Pixal coughs out a laugh, breathless and startled. Lloyd wrinkles his nose at her, but his eyes are amused, even with their light lost. “I mean, the emphasis would be on keeping everyone else alive, but it’s kinda hard to do that if we’re dead, so…yeah. Priorities.”

“Staying alive should always be a priority,” Pixal corrects him, but she tugs the edge of his armor out of place with a smile.

“Why didn’t you teach me how to graffiti?” she nods at the designs on the green leather. “Or was this another Darkley’s tradition.”

“This is a refined art, called whatever I had on me that showed up on dark green,” Lloyd grumbles, fixing his armor. “I’ll teach it to you when we get out of this.”

“Another reason why staying alive would be a more productive focus,” Pixal points out. “I’ve heard teaching is easier when you’re alive.”

“And I’ve heard you’re a real riot,” Lloyd mutters. “It’s a promise, okay? I promise to teach you how to do cool armor design if you promise not to disappear into another realm on me.”

Pixal nods, adjusting her own armor tighter as screams ring out from a street nearby. “A promise, then.”

She keeps both the promise and the flower, the tiny blossom dried and faded by the time she’s escaped from the prison, heart racing with leftover adrenaline as Zane sweeps her into his arms. She clutches back every bit as tight, listening to his breathless laughter as cheers rise from the streets behind them, the smoke drifting across the early morning sky above them pale against the lightening blue. Pixal buries her face in his shoulder and breathes, tucking the moment away in her heart where it won’t fade. There’s a future stretching out before her, and she’s got the limbs to walk her path on her own, but all she wants right now is the steady ground beneath her feet and the bright laughter of what she’s managed to keep.

Lloyd meets them shortly after, his own promise kept as he tears his gaze from his father, handing him off to the authorities before sprinting for the others. Pixal barely snags a moment alone with him, and even then no one’s particularly keen on letting him out of their sights.

He meets her eyes as they pick their way through the wrecked streets, the city more alive around them than it’s been in weeks. In the dark of the early morning, Pixal’s eyes glow a bright green, reflecting oddly in the windows they pass. It’s always been her preferred color, in contrast to Zane’s bright blue. Lloyd glances at her, his own eerily green eyes glowing back. He bites his lip, but it’s to hold back real laughter this time.

“My eyes were green first,” she tells him.

“Sue me,” he shoots back, before Kai’s throwing an arm over his shoulders again, tucking Lloyd neatly in between him and Nya. Pixal smothers a laugh at the look on his face, and tightens her own arm further where it’s linked firmly in Zane’s.

It’s going to be an easy promise to keep, she thinks.

#lego ninjago #ninjago #lloyd garmadon #ninjago lloyd #pixal #there was a point to this but it got lost in pix and lloyd do arts and crafts #either way i'd die for both these characters #ninjago where is the pixal love i miss her #my fic

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mbti-notes · 3 years

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Anon wrote: Hello mbti-notes, How do you do? Hope you're having a good time in your vacation!

I'm a 25F (unhealthy, level 1) INFJ, and my mother (late 40s) is ISFJ. I- have some issues myself and it's affecting my relationships. I currently stay away from socializing and bottling up my issues and problems. If it gets bad I cry alone in the bathroom dealing with mixed feelings of love and resentment.

I don't know how to start but I recently realized my mother has toxic traits and this causes some inner conflict. I understand she has went through a lot in life (so did my dad, still typing him)...but I want her to realize she too is flawed, not just us. There are various times she hurt me with words and during some of those incidents, we end up fighting and I say things in anger that hurt her. She believes she is never in the wrong and adapts the victim mentality. Whenever I try to reason with her, she doesn't admit her faults and immediately brings up things I did in the past. She actually repeats whatever we say in a taunting manner out of spite. As I write this, I am realizing this sounds ridiculous.

While growing up, she hated me being close to my dad and manipulated me using the victim mentality, so she succeeded in making me dislike my father in childhood. One time when we fought, I told her, "now I understand why dad doesn't bother to clear up things with you! You never listen and twist words!" She took this as betrayal and thinks I'm completely on dad's side, who hurt her. I did not dismiss her pain. I want her to understand all of us are messed up and we need to work on ourselves and fix things.

I fear that as she grows old, she'll grow more stubborn and become narcissistic. I fear that I would become like her in the future after getting married and act like her to my children and spouse in the future. My parents themselves are unhealthy due to having grown up in unhealthy and toxic environments themselves, and their parents were bounded by toxic traditions like patriarchal misogynistic practices. I am afraid of this cycle continuing, the cycle of unhealthy parents hurting their children and they grow up like that too. What should I do? How do I make my parents realize we all need help and need to improve ourselves?

I know first and foremost I should be improving myself, but I am also worried about them. I am not saying I am perfect, I also have some toxic traits but I watch myself when interacting with others. There are so many I's and reeks of narcissism, need to stop that. Also realized that I'm probably having a problem with my parent's toxic traits, maybe it's my high standards not letting me accept these flaws. They took great pains to raise me and my sibling, but it also hurts me to see them like this, I just want them to be happy and be in harmony. Apologies for this rambling, it's hard to put them in order since English is not my first language.

--------------------

The main problem is that neither you nor your mom is capable of healthy relationship boundaries. When two people don't set, respect, and enforce proper boundaries, they easily end up in a vicious cycle of conflict, even when they love each other. Why? In a close relationship, two people know exactly what buttons to push and how to bait each other into conflict. Why bait each other into conflict? When there is a serious underlying problem and/or traumatic wounding in the relationship that remains unresolved, the two parties will rehash the problem or replay the trauma over and over again, in an unconscious attempt to achieve resolution or feel a sense of closure.

Unfortunately, resolution or closure rarely happens, because during the conflict, the pain is never truly heard or addressed. The cycle of conflict then gradually escalates, as both parties get more aggressive in wanting to be heard and validated. Each person uses the conflict to act out their unresolved ego dramas and traumas. You both claim to be victims and you use each other to reinforce the victim narrative. While it might be true that you are both victims in some form, it is unproductive to keep accusing each other of being the enemy or victimizer. Nobody will ever "win" this conflict because nobody is really listening to the pain that is being expressed. The blame game destroys the good will required to reach mutual understanding.

A repetitive cycle of conflict continues because BOTH parties are putting energy into it and perpetuating it. Oftentimes, one major contributing factor to the original problem/trauma was poor communication skills or hurtful communication habits. Until at least one of the two parties improves their ability to listen and communicate maturely, there is nothing to stop the cycle of conflict, short of severing the relationship for good.

Your mom has "toxic traits" that created a toxic environment for you growing up. You acknowledge that you have similarly toxic traits and want to address them. Good. You're an adult now. An important part of growing up is becoming independent and taking personal responsibility for the trajectory of your life. You make the decisions as an adult, so your problems are in your hands. Her problems are hers to handle. Your process of healing should not require anything from your mom or even blaming your mom.

The fact that you want her to admit fault, accompany you, or work on herself means that you are violating her boundary. You want her to change, when she isn't ready or doesn't want to. You use criticism to pressure her and that causes her pain. Her maltreatment of you during conflict is an expression of the pain that you're causing her. Similarly, the way that you mistreat her is the manifestation of the pain she has caused you in the past. The longer the pain remains unresolved, the more likely it is that the hurt turns into anger, then rage, then spite...

You don't like the ways in which she tries to manipulate you to be who/what she wants you to be. That's fair. But you're not fully recognizing that you're doing the same thing to her. You're essentially saying that you won't be able to grow up and move on with your life until she becomes the mom that you want her to be. In a way, you're holding the both of you hostage. It doesn't matter if you believe that you're being altruistic and it's "for her own good" - she believes exactly the same thing when she tries to change you. Trying to change her, against her will, amounts to an attack on her being. If you're not able to love someone as they are, you're in no position to help them. If you're not able to communicate with someone without causing hurt to yourself or them, you're in no position to help them. "Helping" is about supporting people in their efforts, not about constantly pressuring them to live up to your standards.

You are too emotionally entangled with her. You want her validation, her support, her empathy, her cooperation, her confession, her atonement, etc. It sounds like none of that is forthcoming, nor is it even necessary. As long as you can't face the reality of who your mom is and keep expecting her to be different, YOU are choosing to keep yourself tied to her and her toxic ways. Yes, everyone needs social support in life, but as an adult, you should no longer need a "mom".

To become independent, you need to draw your own personal boundary in life and work within it to heal your personality problems. When you become a capable boundary setter and carve out your own space in the world, you know to rest and recuperate within its bounds and you know to keep people out when they don't respect its bounds. If you need help or support with your healing, she is obviously not the right choice, is she? She is not capable of entering your boundary without the conflict arising again, is she? There's nothing wrong with needing help/support, but you are not going to find much success by seeking it from the least qualified of sources.

Children aren't born knowing how to conduct healthy and mature relationships, so they can't be expected to understand boundaries when no one taught them. However, as an adult, it is your responsibility to address that knowledge deficit, if you hope to break past patterns and have healthy relationships. Do you understand what a boundary is, how to set one, and how to enforce one? It's about respecting your own being, respecting the being of others, and learning how to mingle with people without allowing hurt or violation. I suggest that you work with a therapist who specializes in relationships and boundary setting. Judging by the nature of your disagreements with her, you need to work on your communication skills and conflict resolution skills too. See the related tags and book suggestions on the resources page.

#parent child relationship #infj relationships #relationships #boundaries #independence #conflict #ask

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ecoamerica · 1 month

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youtube

Watch the 2024 American Climate Leadership Awards for High School Students now: https://youtu.be/5C-bb9PoRLc

The recording is now available on ecoAmerica's YouTube channel for viewers to be inspired by student climate leaders! Join Aishah-Nyeta Brown & Jerome Foster II and be inspired by student climate leaders as we recognize the High School Student finalists. Watch now to find out which student received the $25,000 grand prize and top recognition!

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ayuuria · 3 years

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Yashahime Translation (Partial): Pash! Plus Interview 1/23/21

Please do not repost this translation without my consent! This includes screenshots of any type and amount. If you wish to share this translation, simply link to this post.

For more information regarding the use of my translations, click here.

This is another interview with the 3 voice actresses and many of the questions they asked have already been answered in previous articles which I’ve translated. Hence, I have only translated portions that are unique to this article.

“Hanyō no Yashahime” Interview with Matsumoto Sara, Komatsu Mikako, and Tadokoro Azusa! What “future development” are the three of them anticipating? “I want to see parent-child exchanges!”

— With every episode, various mysteries are gradually becoming clear, but is there anything that particularly surprised you?

All: This is difficult (to answer)! We’re surprised every time!

Tadokoro: For me, it was when Sesshōmaru-sama left without saying anything despite hearing Zero tell Homura “Burn that forest to the ground” in episode 15. I became uneasy thinking “It can’t be. Does he not love his children...?”.

Matsumoto: You would think that if you looked just at that part.

Tadokoro: I was also surprised by the story following that.

Matsumoto: The part where Inuyasha and Kagome were put inside the black pearl right? That part moved me like “Father…”. No, probably more like “understood” rather than moved. Like “Sesshōmaru-sama wouldn’t do something like that without thinking”

Komatsu: Sesshōmaru just doesn’t say important things after all.

Matsumoto: I’ve learned that he’s simply not good at talking.

Komatsu: What surprised me the most is something that actually happens later on. It’s a spoiler so I can’t say anything but… Riku’s identity is… *mumbles*

Matsumoto: We also just happened to overhear it (laughs)

Komatsu: It’s a topic we actually weren’t supposed to hear about (laughs) We truly aren’t told what’s going to happen until we get the script.

Matsumoto: Regarding the subject of Riku, we were surprised like “So that’s how it was!?” when we happened to overhear a keyword, so I think the viewers will be quite surprised as well. Look forward to it (laughs)!

Komatsu: It’s hinted at a little bit when Riku makes his initial debut…

Matsumoto: I think those who are perceptive would think “Huh?”

Komatsu: Then there’s the scene that I also said left an impression on me which is what Miroku-sama had been up to until now.

Matsumoto: Me too! I was also surprised that he properly aged.

Tadokoro: He aged well didn’t he (laughs). He was so awesome! I was curious as to what he was doing after the wind tunnel disappeared.

Matsumoto: I knew Miroku and Sango had kids from “Inuyasha” but the child rearing and conversations with them weren’t depicted, so I had wondered about that for a long time. However, seeing the communication with his son moved me like “You’ve become such a good father!” since he is my favorite character as well. That Miroku-sama hadn’t changed even after becoming a father gave me feels.

Tadokoro: Don’t you think the conversation between Kagome-san and Sango-san as fellow mothers was good too? Mom friends talk (laughs). I could keenly feel how Sango was looking out for Kagome-san when she said “Yours is going to be born soon right? Watch your step okay.”. As someone who plays Moroha, episode 16 is a must see!

Komatsu: We never had an episode that greatly featured Moroha’s past until then.

Tadokoro: It’s the episode where you learn why Moroha earns money. She had been asked once before “What are you going to do with all that money?” but she dodged the question.

— There are a lot of episodes that should be checked out (laughs)

Matsumoto: Episodes 14, 15, and 16 are pretty deep after all! (laughs)

Tadokoro: Indeed

Komatsu: They have a lot of information.

— Earlier, Matsumoto-san said, “I like Miroku-sama” so could all of you please tell us your favorite characters?

Tadokoro: My favorites are Kohaku-kun and Sesshōmaru-sama. Kohaku-kun went through something terrible and seeing him living a painful way of life by making himself a sacrifice made me think “I want to make him happy”. There’s also the major fact that I liked Yajima-san’s (Akiko) acting, so the feeling of tragic heroism oozing from his voice aroused a protective urge within me. Now he’s an adult and is firmly continuing the work of demon slaying… I feel proud for some reason (laughs). He’s become such a fine man…

Matsumoto: I love Miroku-sama and Naraku too much! Regarding Naraku, at the beginning, the shock of “There’s this kind of warped love!” was huge. While it started off as something suddenly lighting a fire in his heart for Kikyō, to think that from there things would end up going the way they did… The emotions that budded from a small happening became, more than anything, this big energy to Naraku and caused him to act the way he did. It’s probably strange for me to say, but I “learned” that that’s one form of “love” (laughs). In terms of Miroku-sama, I thought he was purely awesome. He’s the one person within the group whose position is really helpful. Figuratively speaking, the part of him that’s like the vice president and not the president of the student council is what I like. He’s the unsung hero who follows under the person who rampages the most. I also love the gap of how his tongue becomes sharp once you get acquainted with him.

Komatsu: While Kagome influenced me, my favorite was Kagura. She was part of Naraku’s group, but her heart wavered so much that you wondered “Was she really born from Naraku?”. There was something human about her. I think those born from Naraku were born from something Naraku had in the first place, so Kagura probably had the faint “human heart” that was in Naraku. I had a lot of empathy when she became the wind and was freed at the end. I could never forget the scene where she died attended by Sesshōmaru. It was precious in any event… Kagome is who I wanted to be but the one who stole my heart with her way of life was Kagura.

— If you were to apply Towa, Setsuna, and Moroha’s relationship to yourselves, what would happen?

All: It would still be the same (laughs)

Komatsu: It would relatively stay the same. How to put it, roles? For example, for Sara-chan, she’s a mood maker, friendly, and isn’t timid about anything. In a sense, she’s the commanding officer of the raid. I think she’s just like Towa in terms of position. Moroha’s character is very energetic with a lot of vitality and she’s completely inherited Inuyasha and Kagome’s blood. However, she’s the balancer among the Yashahimes. She reads the mood quite a bit and she has a territory where “she won’t proceed any further from here”. For example, when she didn’t talk about why she earns money. I think the part where she doesn’t fully open up at the beginning is similar to Koroazu-chan (Tadokoro’s nickname).

Matsumoto: I know! That’s exactly why you want to get to know her more. Like “Show us more!” (laughs)

— What do Komatsu-san and Setsuna have in common?

Komatsu: Setsuna is a child who can clearly state her opinion on serious matters. She calmly makes judgements and has a solid feeling for not talking when she doesn’t talk and talking when she does talk. I have a feeling I also make judgement calls of “I should stay quiet here.” Setsuna is probably listening to what other people are saying in scenes where it doesn’t look like she is. However, she purposely doesn’t say anything. She has the option of “Not answering”. She’s not silent because she doesn’t want to listen or respond. Rather, I think it’s a time when she’s thinking about various things to herself. I feel that I personally understand that very well.

Matsumoto: I think Setsuna is the “axle” of the three Yashahimes but even among the three of us, there’s a sense of “We need Mikako-san”. When there’s a problem, I look towards Mikako-san’s direction (laughs).

Tadokoro: Mikako-san calmly watches over everyone, so we end up relying on her when there’s a problem. There was a time when the three of us went shopping and I asked, “Am I buying too much?”. Mikako-san responded, “You’re buying too much” and I returned the item to the shelf (laughs). I leave the judgement to her and end up depending on her.

Komatsu: I’m unexpectedly not thinking anything though (laughs)

— What do the three of you think is the appeal of “Hanyō no Yashahime”?

Tadokoro: For those who enjoyed “Inuyasha”, they’re probably wondering how their favorite characters are living their lives. You can find out in “Hanyō no Yashahime” which I think is a big appeal.

Komatsu: In “Inuyasha”, the grudge against Kikyō and the romance with Kagome were components of the story. However, this time, a big component of the story is discovering their births and that’s what I think is appealing.

(translator’s note: There is more to this section, but these are the only sentences that I considered unique to this article)

— Thank you. Well then, please tell us if you have any anticipations for the upcoming development in “Hanyō no Yashahime”?

Matsumoto: I would have to say I want to anticipate both fathers doing something. If they were to come running when the Yashahimes are in a bind, that would make me happy.

Komatsu: I want to see parent-child conversations.

Matsumoto: That makes me nervous….

Tadokoro and Komatsu: Indeed! It does make me nervous!

Komatsu: I’m getting all sorts of wild ideas like what sort of conversation they’ll have or what things will they address.

Matsumoto: How will they address them when they meet face to face? There was an episode where Kagome address’s Moroha as "Moroha” but… If Sesshōmaru addresses me as “Towa”, I might have a nosebleed (laughs).

Tadokoro and Komatsu: (laughs)

Komatsu: Setsuna basically said “I don’t know who Sesshōmaru is!” during their conversation with the Tree of Ages (laughs). Even when she meets her father, she’ll probably say “So you’re Sesshōmaru”. But I want (him) to address her as “Setsuna” (laughs).

All: Basically, we want to see parent-child exchanges (laughs).

— Thank you very much!

#Yashahime #hanyou no yashahime #yashahime: princess half demon #translation

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daydreamreality · 3 years

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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kaznejis · 4 years

Text

I choose you- Marco Peña x reader

@rayof-sunnie said: Hi! I absolutely love your Marco fanfics and I hope to see more of them, since I literally fell in love with him. I was wondering if you can write a fanfic where the reader (a singer) knows Marco is falling out of love with her and she lets him go and it’s all sad and angst but bam he realizes she’s the one after she sings I choose you by Alessia Cara. Sorry if it’s too much to ask

A/N: Thankyou so much for sending this prompt! I’ve noticed this is a recurring quote during requests and I just want to say that no request is ever too much, I enjoy writing and I love turning your prompts into something real! <3

Sorry for the wait on this one, I had a first draft that I wrote about 1200 words of but then ended up scrapping it- so here’s the second draft!

Word Count: 2820 words

Feel free to send in any prompts!

High school relationships don’t always last. It’s what the people around you had said for years- their advice was always to save relationships for college because then the two of you would have a better chance at surviving the real world. You’d promise to stick to this, going to the lengths of keeping to yourself so that you wouldn’t ever be enticed.

But then, Marco came to your school.

Obviously, you hadn’t jumped straight into it there and then. The two of you had been mere acquaintances at first; nothing but polite smiles in the hallway and casual conversation if you were seated beside each other. Marco had been focusing on sport and Elle Evans at the time, so nothing happened between the two of you.

Though you did think the guy was hot- you couldn’t deny that. With his dark curly hair, broad muscles and smiles to die for; what wasn’t there to like? You brushed it off as just a small interest though due to the whole, you know, saving yourself until college thing.

Nevertheless, Marco’s sort of relationship with Elle quickly crashed to the ground almost as soon as it had started- leaving the boy devastated and confused. This is where you came into the picture, going from an outlined figure in the background to the centre point of the illustration.

It had been like any other day: walk to school, grab essentials from your locker, go to class. Despite this, an interruption came in the pursuit to said class. Marco, leant against his locker with his head resting on the cool metal.

“Hey, uh, are you okay?”

“What?” Marco’s head shot up, his hair a wild mess as he turned to look at you, “Oh, hey Y/N.”

“Hey,” You smiled slightly before repeating your previous statement, “Are you okay?”

Marco turned to lean his back against the locker and practically crumpled into it before releasing a heavy breath out of his nose, “I think everyone in this school is aware of what happened.”

“Yeah,” You coughed out as you lent against the locker beside his, “I’m sorry that happened to you.”

“Don’t be, I’m better off without her.”

“Well, at least you're staying confident and optimistic?”

“Yeah,” He laughed, it looked like he hadn’t done that in a while, “It’s the only way to stay afloat.”

You nodded, pursing your lips as you stared at the sad boy beside you, “Do you want to skip class and grab a coffee?”

“Sure.”

And that is where it all began.

It looked like a whirlwind had swept through your dorm room as you rushed to find the bracelet Marco had gifted you for your previous birthday- the two of you were going on a date, something that you hadn’t been able to do in forever due to the stress of college and separation in general. It was weird though, you and Marco had attended the same college therefore causing you to be relieved that a long-distance relationship wouldn’t be necessary.

Despite this, you felt like Marco was far away and not in the vicinity of a 5 minute walk across campus.

At the start of the school year, you and Marco had been attached at the hip- meeting before and after classes, sleeping in each other’s room most nights, doing homework/studying and just generally being together. Eventually, the stress of exam season got to the both of you and seeing each other every day turned to seeing each other once a week.

But now you were just confused, exam season had ended weeks ago but at this point you and Marco saw each other once or twice every two weeks. So, you swallowed your pride and arranged a romantic night out consisting of a candle lit dinner.

Turning in the mirror and running your eyes up and down your outfit- you decided that you looked good. After weeks of wearing nothing but sweatpants and oversized hoodies, wearing a flattering dress was exactly the confidence boost you needed; seeing Marco’s reaction would only fuel that. For the date itself you’d decided on a small Italian restaurant only a few minutes walk from campus, after that the two of you would stroll leisurely back to campus before returning to one of your respective dorms where you would spend the night together. A perfect, fool proof plan.

At least, that’s what you had thought.

The most essential factor for a successful date with your boyfriend…is that said boyfriend actually shows up.

This is the thought you mused to yourself in a burst of sarcasm as you curled into your stupidly thin coat on a bench in front of the restaurant you had arranged to meet Marco at- 40 minutes ago. Exhaling harshly, you hauled yourself up from the bench and did nothing but stare up at the sky as thunder crackled from above. At that moment, you made a decision- one that did not make your dorm the desired location.

Embarrassment filled every fibre of your being as you trudged through the halls of the college dorms completely alone wearing a tight dress and heels. Once you reached the dorm in question, you rapped loudly on the door (which earned you a number of dirty looks) and waited for the person on the other side of the door to answer.

“Hello, Who’s there?” A voice called sleepily from the other side of the door as it opened, “Oh...hey Y/N.”

“Marco,” You pushed past him and walked into the room, moving to grab a fluffy towel, “You better have a great excuse for what happened tonight.”

As you made an attempt to wring out your soaked hair, Marco went and sat back down on the messy bed at the side of the room- he must’ve been asleep, “What do you mean ‘what happened tonight?’ I’ve been asleep since 7, you know college has me exhausted.”

You stopped your frantic scrubbing and paused, letting the towel drop to the floor, “What?”

“Uh, I don’t-”

“You don’t know what you were supposed to do tonight,” You wiped a hand over your face in disbelief, “What we were supposed to do.”

Marco froze, chewing on his fingernail as he visibly tried to remember. “No, I’m sorry-”

“We had plans,” You snapped, causing Marco to snap his mouth shut, “Solid plans for an actual night out for the first time in months.”.

Realisation dawned upon Marco’s face as his whole figure slumped, though his actions showed no signs of regret, “I completely forgot.”

“Yeah, I assumed that.”

Marco huffed loudly, before leaning back on his elbows, “Y/N, I-”

“How long is this going to go on for?”

“What?” Marco raised both eyebrows.

“How long are we going to go on like this?” Despite the sadness you felt your eyes were completely dry, “How long are we going to be in this dying relationship where we never talk and never see each other,” You let out a deadly laugh, “I mean, I haven’t even said I love you in weeks let alone touch you.”

Marco looked down, unable to meet your eyes, “I noticed.”

You had been ready to go off on another rant, but the lack of empathy and straight up emotions in Marco’s voice left you mystified- leaving you feeling defeated, “Me too.”

“What have you noticed?”

“You don’t love me anymore.”

Marco didn’t reply. He just stared blankly at the wall behind you, his face portraying no emotion. That was all you needed in order to nod numbly before hightailing out of there. As the door slammed shut behind you- all you could do was slide down the wall beside it and stare at the bright red heels adorning your feet.

Although not a single emotion slipped out during the initial breakup, the fallout hit you during the following weeks. You did nothing but eat, sleep and go to class; the first two were still very much lacking. To say the least, the people around you were worried- some would pop their head into your room every now and then only to find you curled up in a ball beneath the covers.

Marco, on the other hand, had seemed completely fine; hanging out with friends and keeping up with his usual routine of work and play- at least, that is what your friends had told you. It was almost like he didn’t care, that he was happy you had ended things. A small part of you knew that wasn’t true though. You knew Marco, having seen him at his lowest and highest points- you knew that he hid his sadness behind a mask of either anger or pure joy. This instance was obviously the latter.

Stumbling out of the shower you had finally managed to drag yourself into, you pulled on an old hoodie as you walked towards the exit; where a notice board stood.

There, on the board, was an advertisement for a Karaoke Night in a local bar.

This is exactly what you needed. A chance to let go, sing silly songs and possibly even meet someone new. You would do anything to fill the crater in your heart that Marco had left behind. So, you texted all your friends (who were really just glad to see you enthusiastic about something) and invited them to go with you- it took place that very night, meaning you only had a number of hours before it began.

The bar was a small, hole in the wall venue that students of the college tend to frequent regularly. Despite the majority of patrons not yet being of legal age, the workers found their way around these guidelines and supplied students with the majority of their alcoholic intake.

“It’s really busy here tonight,” Molly, one of your close friends, spoke as you entered the main area, “You sure you still want to sing?”

Shooting her an amused look, you followed the group over to the bar, “That doesn’t faze me, it means more people can appreciate my gorgeous voice.”

“As someone who has never heard it- I’m not sure about that one.”

The whole group burst into laughter, you just shook your head and let out a small huff yourself, “I cannot wait to prove you wrong.”

As each of you settled into a seat on a high-table close to the bar, you all broke into conversation as you fed off of the energy the bar supplied. For once, you weren’t curled into your bed antagonising over what went wrong in your relationship with Marco or sitting in class unable to concentrate because your ex was all you could think about. For the first time in over a month, you felt really great.

Of course, that was abruptly cut short.

“Y/N,” One of your friends gasped, staring at something behind you with wide eyes, “Don’t turn around but Marco just walked in.”

Your entire body seized up, a cold wave of shock trickled down your body, “You’re joking, right?”

She shook her head, sympathy painted her features before she reached forward and squeezed your hand, “Don’t even give him the benefit of looking at you.” All you could do was nod, blinking through the panic that was quickly rising.

“Mhm,” Molly nodded, rubbing your shoulder, “Don’t even talk to him and then blow him away with your singing.”

“Yeah!” A few girls at the table cheered around you, “You’re still going to do that right?”

“No going back.” You twisted your mouth into a nervous smile as the group surrounding you cheered and held up their respective drinks. Taking the girls advice, you didn’t even look at Marco- which was extremely nerve wracking as you had no idea what he looked like or what state he was in. Your night went from being calm and a relief from drama to a tense and gnawing situation as you fought to not look over at Marco; wherever he was.

“The karaoke event is beginning soon! If you want to take part just come up here and grab the mic from whoever is on stage.”

“That’s your queue.” Molly squealed, shaking your shoulder excitedly.

“Not yet.” You laughed, moving away from her teasingly, “I have to work up my confidence first.”

“Hey,” Molly shoved at your shoulder a lot softer this time, “You’ll be great, don’t even think about Marco.”

“How do you always know what to say?”

Molly shrugged, a smile crinkling at her eyes, “I guess I’m just a great friend.”

“Oh, shut up.” You both broke into laughter and continued to talk until the first act came onto the stage, which you all turned to watch and cheer on. The event had a mix of talent, to say the least- some were extremely talented and left the crowd erupting into cheers, though some were obviously there as a dare or joke.

“Who wants to come up next?” The current singer behind the microphone grinned as they held it before them.

“I’ll go!” You yelled without thinking twice, having drunk a little bit of liquid since the original announcement- your friends around you cheered for what felt like the millionth time but the most interesting point was the head of black hair across the room that whipped around in shock at the sound of your voice.

As you clambered up the stairs towards the stage, the guy manning the sound beckoned you over and asked for your song choice, “I choose you by Alessia Cara.” You grinned as the guy gave you an encouraging thumbs up. Grabbing the microphone, you stood in the middle of the stage and waited for your queue to begin singing.

Relishing in the cheers the crowd gifted you with, you grinned nervously as you walked back to the table; laughing as your friends pulled you into their arms and shouted numerous compliments at you.

“Thanks guys,” You smiled, allowing yourself to breath now that you weren’t under the bright lights of the stage, “Told you I could sing.”

“You sure can,” Molly laughed brightly, slight shock showing in her features, “You should do that more.”

Before you could reply, an unusually timid voice sounded behind you, “Hey Y/N.”

Slowly, you turned to face Marco who stood behind you- he had a nervous look on his face as he wrung his hands in circles and silently begged you.

“Marco.”

“Can I talk to you?”

Oh, hell no.” Molly barked, stepping in front of you, “You’ve already broken her hear once.”

“No, Molly,” You pulled her back, smiling at her reassuringly, “I’ll be okay.”

Marco nodded before leading you out of the building as you walked together side by side- it felt weird for him to not have his hand on the small of your back like he usually would in places like that, which only drove in the fact that you were broken up.

“You were amazing up there.”

“Thanks,” You smiled tightly, hugging yourself with your arms with the same enthusiasm.

“Y/N-”

“What do you want Marco?”

He frowned at you, his eyes teared up slightly, “You didn’t give me the chance to speak, Y/N.”

“What?”

“When you said that I didn’t love you anymore,” He gulped and looked down, “You left before I could prove you wrong.”

You pressed your lips together tightly, “Your reaction was enough of an answer.”

He just shook his head, smiling slightly at your antics, “I left you alone after that because I assumed you wanted nothing to do with me...but then I saw you singing tonight and I realised that you are the one for me.”

“Marco-” Your voice wobbled as you looked on at the man before you.

“Please let me speak,” Marco laughed, “I never stopped loving you and I’m so sorry that I made you feel that way. The stress just got to me and I shouldn’t have let you be a victim of that too.”

“It’s okay.”

“No,” Marco wrapped both of your hands in his, he was begging now, “It isn’t and if you let me I will never shut you out like that again.”

“Really?” You hiccupped slightly, tears sliding down your cheeks.

“Yeah.” Marco whispered softly, letting go of your hands to wipe the tears coating your face, “Unless you realised that you’re better off without me and if so-”

“Shut up.” You sighed before reaching forward and pressing a much needed kiss to his lips. Finally, you thought.

“Fuck, I missed that.”

“Just that?”

“No,” He laughed, stroking your cheeks with his thumbs, “I missed everything about you. I know I’ve seemed happy but I really wasn’t.”

You smile sadly at him as you snaked your arms around his neck, “I never stopped loving you too.”

If you would like to be added to my taglist for any future posts- please let me know!

“Good.” And the two of you met in a kiss once again as a nearby street lamp illuminated the night-cold air surrounding you.

#marco peña #Marco peña x reader #Marco x reader #the kissing booth #the kissing booth 2 #Marco #fanfiction #oneshot #imagine

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ithinkhesgaybutwesavedmufasa · 4 years

Text

Bury Me Face Down

A Max Phillips x Reader BTVS AU One-Shot

Summary/Author's Note: You are a Slayer. One girl born into the world for the sole purpose of hunting down the paranormal and keeping people safe. But what happens when the Order you work for sends you a Vampire to be your mentor?

Okay. I caved. An idea that stemmed entirely from my wife @vaxxildan and was pushed upon me by a few of my favorite people. (/Cough/ Stevie, Rachel, & Ash) so, fuck it-- this is part of my Follower Appreciation Week. I love you girls. This is a ONE SHOT for now. I may do drabbles or another part if inspiration strikes but I have a lot going on at the moment. [Title Song]

Pairings: Max Phillips x Slayer!Reader Word Count: Warnings: R--Blood, language, death, violence, stabbing/staking, sassy douchebag vampire Max in all of his glory, sexual tension/themes

[MASTERLIST]

"And I haven't seen him in five days! He's a good boy--gets straight A's! He's going to be a lawyer, you know?" She blew her nose into the overused tissue in her hands as you slid the entire box across the desk and she mumbled her thanks.

"What was he majoring in?" You said, trying to connect to the crying mess of a woman in front of you.

"Philosophy." She blubbered out and as she blew her nose the man sitting next to you let out an undignified snort.

You glared at him and he tried to turn the laugh into a cough before motioning to the client. "Excuse me," he apologized with a nod. "Please continue, Mrs. Garcia."

"Ms." She corrected, batting her big, watery, doe-like eyes at him. "I'm divorced."

Unbelievable. This suburban soccer mom was crying to you to find her missing son, and she still couldn't resist putting the charm on your partner. You knew this was the effect he had on normal women, but it still never ceased to baffle you. He gave a small smile and another nod, correcting himself and addressing her by the title she offered and asking her once again to go on with her story.

"Like I said," she put her hands in her lap and played with the pleats of her skirt. "I haven't heard from my sweet Jason since last week."

"Did anything new happen to him the last time you spoke?" You asked, jotting down a few quick notes on your yellow pad of paper.

"No, I don't think so. Wait--" she said, abruptly making you look back up. "He met a girl."

"Oooh, nooo," your business partner said next to you, his voice sounding full of utter despair, drawn out just enough that the client would think he was sincere while you knew he was mocking her. You kicked his foot under the table and he bit his lip.

"Do you think that's important?" She asked hopefully and you made another note.

"It's hard to tell, Ms. Garcia. Anything else?"

"He said he has been feeling really tired all the time. Like no matter how much he sleeps, he is always so drained."

"Maybe he has mono."

"Max." You hissed, kicking him again as the woman blew her nose loudly.

The truth was you knew what was wrong with her son. It was the same thing that had been wrong with five other boys at the community college on the other side of town. All of their parents had sat across from you in this office, begging you to find them and bring them home safely.

Max cleared his throat and sat up a little straighter in his chair. "Ms. Garcia, does your son play sports?"

"Why, yes," she nodded. "He plays varsity soccer. He's on a scholarship for it."

"Ah, I thought that might be the case," he nodded and you wrote it down. Max never took notes and it drove you up the fucking wall.

"Is that a clue?" She asked, hopefully.

"Just trying to find out as much as we can." You looked at the photo that she had brought, and felt a little saddened. Should you tell her that her son was dead? That he wasn't coming home? As you looked at the smiling yearbook photo of such a handsome young man it really struck you that you were tired. So very tired. "May we keep this for your file?"

"Of course. I brought extra." She said, somewhat proudly as she patted her knock off Michael Kors bag in the chair next to her.

Max glanced at you and saw that you had retreated back into your thoughts. After six months of working together, he knew when it was time for a breather. He looked back to the client and adjusted his suit coat before standing up.

"That's all we need for now, Ms. Garcia. We will be in touch if there is anything new or if we have more questions." He walked around the table and waited for her to grab her purse before he led her to the door.

"You have my number, correct?" She looked up at him with hopeful eyes as he towered over her.

"Yes, it's in your file." He gestured back to the table.

"Feel free to call me, anytime. And I mean...anytime." She touched his yellow pocket square on his chest and he chuckled deeply.

"Of course," he said, moving her hand off of him like it was something slimy and undesirable. She didn't seem to notice.

You rolled your eyes as the door clicked shut behind her and Max leaned against it with a heavy sigh. "Really?" You asked and he raised an eyebrow.

"What?"

"Do you have to do that?" You ask, gesturing to the door.

"I was absolutely, one hundred percent, professional."

"Ah, yes, I forgot you cannot control the hordes of lonely women that throw themselves at your feet." You scoffed, gathering your notes and the papers from the Garcia file and stacking them neatly.

"It isn't my fault that my powers don't work on you. If they did then maybe you would believe that I didn't have any control over that situation," he waved his hand in a circle indicating the woman who had previously been occupying that space.

Max was right about that. Since the day you met, his telepathic powers of suggestion had failed to work on you, and it wasn't for his lack of trying. You had chalked it up to your natural Slayer resistances. Just another talent in your arsonal to go with the above average strength, extended life span, and ability to get your ass handed to you by the undead and walk away without so much as a limp.

He shimmied out of his suit jacket, hanging it on the coat rack before moving back to the desk and sitting on it. "Besides," he grinned down at you, letting one leg hang off the table and leaning in close. "She's not my type."

"Get over yourself, Phillips." You rolled your eyes and walked over to the swivel chalkboard, turning it from the blank side that clients got to see, to the side that was full of your current notes on the situation.

"Ouch, back to the last name?" He put his hand over his heart like he was in pain. "Come on, Pookie. I thought we were past this?"

Six months. Six whole months had passed since the Watcher’s Council had sent the most arrogantly frustrating man you had ever met to your doorstep. Max Phillips was, on the outside, the definition of most of the Watchers you had had the pleasure of meeting. He was intelligent and well read, but he was also vain and meticulously well dressed. His three piece bespoke suits were always pressed and tailored, his tie was always bright and made a statement, and you could have seen your reflection well enough to do your makeup in his leather shoes. His brown eyes sparkled as brightly as his jeweled cuff links, and his charm was only matched by his wit. The only unorthodox thing about him was that he wasn’t human.

Before Max came into your life you were under the impression that vampires weren’t allowed on the Council. And until Max, that had been true. It went against everything they had stood for for the last thousand years or however long they had been in business. That business being to hunt and eradicate people exactly like Max. But someone on the council had fucked up--and fucked up big time. It was their fault Max was the way he was, and to make good on their transgressions they cut him a deal. Instead of death, they restored his soul, made him a Watcher, and after five years of service, he could be a free man...err, free undead man?

“Why won’t you just cut to the chase and tell her that her son is either dead or a vampire?” he asked and you shook your head.

“We’ve been through this, Max,” you said thumbing through the file and getting familiar with everything you two had learned from your new client. “If we told them that, it would scare them off--we have to hold out hope.”

“I mean, sure, if you want to give them a nice comfy sense of delusion.” He shrugged and started to turn but stopped on his heel. “I’m still charging her our full rate.”

“You’re heartless.” You looked up from the file and narrowed your eyes on him.

“Yes, exactly,” he gestured to his chest and said slowly like you were hard of hearing. “V-am-pire. Remember?”

“I meant your lack of empathy for humans never ceases to shock me.”

“Honey, I was an asshole before I was turned,” he continued to hold his hand to his chest. “I may have died but my personality carried over into the afterlife.”

“Lucky me.” You gave him a large smile that was entirely too much teeth. Everyday with him was exhausting, just once you wished you could find a way to shut him up. Peace and quiet. A Max-less thirty minutes to hear yourself think would have been the best present he could ever give you.

You moved to the chalkboard and taped Jason’s picture next to the line of other dead college boys. Of course there was a chance that Ms. Garcia’s son was still alive, but you seriously doubted it. By the time they came knocking at your door, most of the time, it was way too late. You had lost count of how many times you and Max had already solved the case before you even got up from the table. The two of you would share a knowing look as the person on the other side of the desk told their sob story, and by then it was all said and done.

Max picked up a piece of chalk and blew the dust off of it distastefully. “Who still uses chalk? Can we at least get a smart board?”

“We can’t even afford a dry erase board, Max.” You took the chalk from his hand and tried to ignore the lingering brush of his fingers against the back of your hand.

Times had been tough. You had opened this little detective business out of necessity for money, not many places were hiring someone with your specific background and skill set. But there had been an alarming increase in the amount of vampire related deaths in this small town, and that was something you could help with.

“You asked if Jason played sports,” you said, writing your notes neatly next to the boy’s picture. “Was there a point to that question?”

“There is always a point to what I say.” He grinned, unclipping his cuff-links and starting to roll up his sleeves.

“Max.”

“Okay, okay,” he held up his hands in surrender as he leaned his ass against the desk and crossed his arms over his broad chest. “Write this down. The first kid played football--”

You started a list at the top of the board and wrote down each sport as he ticked them off on his fingers.

“Then we had lacrosse,” he tapped a different picture on the board. “Track. Swimming. And then--” he tapped his finger on the last boy in the row and bit his lip. “What was this one?”

“Ultimate Frisbee.”

“Right!” He snapped his fingers and shook his finger at you in conformation. “The one you thought wasn’t a sport.”

“Because it’s not.”

“And that’s where we disagree.”

You rolled your eyes and finished writing the list of sports off to the side. Crossing your arms, you shook your head. This wasn’t much to go off of--all victims had been junior or senior boys, all played sports and had the reputation for being stereotypical jocks. But despite what little they all had in common, so far they had all met the same end--left in the middle of the woods, completely drained of blood.

“Look on the computer,” you said. “See if there are any cemeteries close to the university.” Max sat behind the desk and opened up your laptop, typing in the password and clacking away at the search engine. You looked at him and raised an eyebrow. “How do you know the password to my computer?”

“The same way I know you’re wearing that t-shirt bra for the fifth day in a row,” he mumbled without looking up. “I’m observant.”

You looked down at your chest on instinct before glaring back at him, feeling the heat rise to your cheeks. “Well, cut it out.”

“As you command, sugar tits,” he smirked and before you could say anything he turned the lap towards you and pointed to the map of the university. “There are four cemeteries within hunting distance--but I say we start with this one.”

“Why?”

“It’s the only one with a mausoleum. Doesn’t matter the flavor of vampire--we all gotta sleep somewhere when the sun comes up.” He smiled, looking somewhat proud of himself and the expression almost made him look endearing. Almost.

“Good job, Max.” You nodded before moving to write the address on the chalkboard and put it in your phone for later.

“Oh, say that again--but slower.” He pouted his lips and pretended to give a full body shudder and you contemplated punching him.

“Get some rest,” you tossed him the manila folder to put in the filing cabinet. “Eat,” you nodded to the mini fridge that contained his snacks from the local blood bank. “Be ready to go by nightfall.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said, giving you a small salute after catching the folder. As you grabbed your car keys off the hook and your jacket off the coat rack, you could almost feel his eyes on your ass. Nothing in the world could have made you give him the satisfaction of letting him know though, but you did slam the front door a little harder than normal on your way out.

The cemetery on the other side of town was just like every cemetery you had ever been in since you took on your role as a Slayer over a decade ago. You thought things were simpler back then, but looking back you weren’t entirely sure how you had lived this long. Slayers were notorious for burning bright and dying fast. They were an intense flame that danced with danger so often the odds were never stacked in her favor when it came to living to see the next sunrise.

It was these odds that took your first Watcher from you. He was everything Max wasn’t. He was soft spoken, kind, and he cared for you. Against the Watcher’s code, he became the father you never had and in the end it had gotten him killed. Maybe that’s the reason they sent you Max in the first place, you needed someone to look after you that was a little more sturdy--a little less human.

You shined your flashlight on the ground as you and your partner walked another line of gravestones. This was your third lap around the plot lines and thankfully Max had been quiet for most of it.

“You think she’s going to show?” he asked, putting his hands in the pockets of his slacks.

“She?” you looked at him with a raised eyebrow.

“Call it a hunch,” he shrugged.

“Oh, I gotta hear this. Please share your theory, Detective Phillips.” You tried to scoff but it turned into a laugh as he smiled sheepishly.

“All the victims are male. All of them are jocks--most likely douchebag muscleheads--”

“Are you familiar with the type?”

He ignored your quip at his expense and continued talking. “I’m guessing we are dealing with a female vamp, scorned by an ex boyfriend and now that she has the power to do something about it, every poor sap that resembles him is getting the ax.” He drug his thumb across his Adam's apple and made a ‘ack’ noise in the back of his throat.

“Solid theory,” you nodded, having to hand it to him.

“I’m also guessing she’s freshly turned by how messy the kills are and the tearing on the bite wounds.”

“Tearing? The police reports didn’t say anything about tearing.”

Max nodded and looked down at his shoes as the two of you turned the corner of a new row of gravestones. “Vampire fangs are like hypodermic needles--hollow on the inside. Let me show you.” You both stopped and he turned to face you. He held up his first two fingers and curved them down to imitate fangs, placing them on the side of your neck. “If done correctly and you bite straight down, then pull straight back up once you’re done,” he mimicked the action with his hand, pressing the blunt edges of his nails against your tender skin, making your arms break out in goosebumps. “The bite is hardly noticeable.”

“And if you pull out too quickly or to the side, it tears the skin?” You asked, swallowing hard and letting your shoulders relax as he moved his hand away from your neck.

“Exactly,” he nodded. He held your gaze for an extra moment before clearing his throat and the two of you continued the path down the middle of the road that led to the mausoleum. “Unless you’re an experienced vampire, you don’t have the control to keep the bite that clean.”

“Charming,” you grimaced and he chuckled.

“What? Does a big, bad slayer like you not enjoy talking about fangs and blood?” He teased and you stayed quiet.

It wasn’t that you didn’t like talking about those things, you lived those things, fangs and blood were a part of your daily life. It was that you weren’t particularly fond of hearing him talk about those things. Lately the moments it became increasingly apparent that Max was undead had started to make you uncomfortable. But like all thoughts and feelings you didn’t fully understand, you pushed them down and compartmentalized them until they faded away.

A crash of glass came from the back of the stone building and you thanked the universe for saving you from having to answer Max. The two of you looked at each other and you dropped your shoulders to let your leather jacket slide off into your hands.

“Show time?” you asked, putting the jacket over a small statue of an angel with outstretched arms.

“Absolutely.” Max mirrored you with his suit coat. He left the cuff-links at home to make it easier to roll up his sleeves. He adjusted his tie and tucked it into his vest for dramatic effect and you fought not to roll your eyes. He cracked his neck and if you weren’t staring at him you would have missed the flash of yellow amber that engulfed his normally brown irises. You were never going to get used to that.

You had a wooden stake in the holster on your thigh, freshly sharpened and ready for whatever was about to come around that corner. You hoped this was the vampire that had been killing all of those boys. You hoped this was the night that the two of you could finally stop this string of murders and crying parents.

“Take right, I’ll take left,” you nodded your head in each direction and watched as Max returned the motion before disappearing into the shadows on his side of the building.

With eyes and ears straining for any sign of movement, you were careful of your steps. Your boots found easy purchase on the soft, marshy ground as you scanned the treeline on the other side of the pointed wrought-iron fence. Freshly turned baby vamps were your least favorite. There was a certain level of feral-ness to them that made them more dangerous. They lunged, they fought, they bit and scratched without abandon. Their actions were unpredictable and sporadic as they literally fought for their life with about as much coordination as a baby deer with too many teeth. You knew the myth that baby venomous snakes were deadlier than their parents--well, it was actually true when it came to vampires.

Another sound came from the back of the building and you quickened your pace. Just as you topped the small hill at the back of the crypt a blur of white hit you at full speed like a freight train. Your back hit the ground hard. The dull pain of a stone or something blunt on the ground blossomed between your shoulder blades and took the air from your lungs. Whatever had hit you landed on top of your chest, making breathing more difficult than it already was.

“Fuck!” you gave a strangled gasp and threw your forearms up to cover your face and neck.

Just like you expected, it was a vampire. If it was the one you were looking for, that didn’t matter right now. All that mattered was getting it off of you.

It’s blonde hair fell around you as she hissed and spit and flashed her fangs. Her face was grotesque, pinching in the middle towards her nose, her cheekbones sat way too high up on her face, and the curve of her eyebrows arched in an almost cat like way that made her skull look perpetually angry. Her yellow eyes looked sickly and diseased, the black of her pupils forming into an elongated slit.

You pulled your fist back the second she closed her mouth and punched her in the jaw. She reeled back a bit but it didn’t get her off of you. “Have you been killing those boys at the university?”

“They got what they deserved,” she snarled and you nodded.

“That answers that.”

Max had been right and you were never going to hear the end of it. You pulled your knee up and tried to press it into her chest. With the right amount of leverage, she toppled backwards and you held onto her letting the momentum pull you to your feet. You stumbled and caught yourself on a gravestone catching your breath before she grabbed you by the hair and slammed you into the marble wall of the crypt. You bit your lip, refusing to cry out and instead said through gritted teeth, “Where's Jason? Where’s your new boyfriend at?”

“Dead,” she smirked, pinning your arm behind your back and leaning in to whisper against your hair. “Where’s yours?”

“Right here!” Max said as he barreled into her and took her to the ground over one of the benches intended for visitors and mourners. He grabbed her by the base of the neck and snarled in her face as he bounced her skull off of the sidewalk.

His face was contorted much like hers and as you slowly got to your feet, you forced yourself not to look away from it. That was the real him and you didn’t see it as often as you probably should in order to remember that. You pulled the wooden stake from its holster and started walking towards them.

“Max!” You called and he looked over his shoulder and caught your eye.

He looked at the stake before giving a short nod and flipping the two of them over. He braced his arm as he held the snapping, snarling woman away from his face and you stood over her. With a raise of your arms and a quick line of sight to make sure you hit the heart, you brought the sharp piece of wood down into her back and felt it go through to the front of her chest.

She screamed, jaw widening before her entire body exploded in a cloud of black dust that quickly dissipated into the night air leaving no trace of her existence. You let out a hard breath and held out your hand to help Max stand up.

“Thanks,” you said, as he took it and got to his feet.

“Any time.”

“She got the jump on me. I’m off my game.” You shook your head and silently cursed yourself for letting it happen.

“I see that.” Max motioned to your cheek and you watched as his pupils dilated like a great white shark. His face was once again the smooth perfection that it always was, but his eyes stayed that alarming yellow.

You touched the apple of your cheek and it felt wet, the bright red drops of your own blood sat on the tips of your fingers. “Shit.” It was as if bringing your attention to it made a dull ache settle on the side of your face. “I guess she got me against the stone.” You nodded back to the pillar of the crypt and went to wipe it off on your jeans.

“Wait,” Max said curtly as his hand shot out and wrapped around your wrist. The muscles in his neck twitched and if he had a working heart you were fairly certain you would have been able to hear it from where you stood. His tongue licked his bottom lip slowly.

“Max--” you cautioned, starting to pull your wrist back but his grip tightened.

“Tell me to stop,” he said, flatly.

It wasn’t a command, it was a challenge. If you wanted him to stop, he would, but he was banking on the hunch that you didn’t want him to stop. He knew that after months of back and forth, of testing each other, and pushing one another’s buttons, it was bound to come to a head eventually. If you were being honest with yourself, Max fucking Phillips was the only constant thing in your life recently, and that should have scared you to death.

“Even I know--it’s a shame to waste a single drop of Slayer blood.” He brought your fingers to his mouth and held your gaze as he wrapped his lips around them, hollowing his cheeks gently and sucking the small amount off your skin. You bit your lip and blushed as he freed your fingers with a gentle pop and hummed. “Just like I thought.”

“What?” You asked, hating how breathy and soft your voice was.

“That’s the sweetest thing I’ve ever tasted.”

The groan that came from the back of your throat was downright shameful but you wanted to do anything in your power to wipe that look off of his face. If you looked insufferable up in the dictionary, you knew there would be a picture of Max, but that didn’t stop you from raising up on your toes, putting your hand behind his neck and crashing your mouth against his. He closed those unnerving yellow eyes and dropped his head slightly so you didn’t have to stretch as far. When you felt his large hands settle on your hips, you knew it was game over.

Max tasted just how you thought he would, like expensive liquor and a twinge of copper, the latter not being something you particularly wanted to dwell on. You gave up control of the kiss and let his tongue slip inside your mouth and taste you as well. Fair is fair. When you tried to pull back his head followed you like a dog on a leash and you gripped his hair to keep him at a distance.

“Oh, boy--” you said, any anticipation you felt was mixed with the regret and trouble that would undoubtedly come with kissing Max Phillips.

He chuckled deeply and wet his lips again with his tongue, the action plucking the chords of things low in your body. “Oh, boy, is right, sugar tits.”

“Shut the fuck up,” you sighed heavily and shoved him back against the concrete before devouring his mouth with your own again. Maybe if he didn’t speak you could pretend like whatever was happening wasn’t the end of the world as you knew it.

“Yes, ma’am,” he mumbled against your lips as he bent his knees slightly and put both hands under your thighs. As he lifted, you jumped and wrapped your legs around his waist. Once your arms securely around his neck, another moan bubbled out of you when he flexed his hands on your ass.

You thought you would never hear the end about his theory being right about the vampire, but this--this was a whole new level of trouble. And trouble was never something you wanted or particularly went out of your way to seek, and yet, it always seemed to find you.

Tag List: @stevieharrrr @winters-buck @zeldasayer @rae-gar-targaryen @sendhoots @seawhisperer @synystersilenceinblacknwhite @robbinholland @scorpionsandhoney

If you want to be added to my permanent tag list please let me know, I need to get one together for my one shots and stuff.

#max phillips #max phillips x reader #bloodsucking bastards #Pedro pascal #pedro character fic #katryns FRW

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anonymouslyangsty · 3 years

Note

What do you think Assassin!Taka would do if he figured out how much his grandfather was manipulating him? Also, what do you think of an alternative Assassin!Taka where his first kill was his grandfather?

Very good question and very good concept.

Minor derailment for a sec (i swear it's relevant), but let's talk about Takaaki and Toranosuke in this au.

(warning, it ended up not being 'a sec'. I bolded the part where I ACTUALLY start talking about your question)

I feel like Torano's downfall was a bit of a slippery slope. He needed to gain some momentum before he went to murder and child grooming, as ya do. And I think the major step towards extreme corruption came through Takaaki.

I feel like those two have a rather tense relationship early on in the au. Takaaki knows that some of his father's dealings are fishy. Perhaps not criminal at that point, but not exactly clean either.

But Takaaki is still human. He's got a wife and young son to care for. If his father's slimy actions got out, they'd ruin the Ishimaru name. Plus, he isn't hurting anyone, right? So Takaaki leaves it alone.

That kind of dismissal only lasts for so long however, especially when you're as honest as Takaaki. Eventually, he's not going to be able to turn a blind eye, even if acting puts himself and his family at risk.

Perhaps Torano does something that goes a bit too far, that actually hurts people and ruins lives. Takaaki wouldn't be able to stand for it and, even if he cares about his father, he isn't going to deny his duties as an officer because of it.

But I think that Takaaki would make the critical mistake of trusting the goodness in his father just a BIT too much. He thinks he can talk sense into Torano, get him to change his ways without ruining his whole career. All Takaaki does is give him ample warning.

Torano cares about his son. Takaaki is a decent man, hardworking and honest. But he'll be damned if he lets his soft heart get in his way and ruin his legacy. So when Takaaki threatens to release info on Torano's illegal activities, he knows he has to keep his son quiet.

Toranosuke is very careful with how he does it. He can't just kill the man. If Takaaki shared his suspicions with anyone, his sudden death would be damning.

So he does the next best thing. Torano gets Takaaki declared clinically insane and locked in an asylum. He weaves this detailed, damning story, bribing as many people as he needs to to create a false narrative. Takaaki attacked him in his office, spouting conseracy theories and accusing him of murder!

Toranosuke deeply cares for his son, so he obviously wouldn't send him away unless it was for his own good, right? And if Takaaki's wife suddenly finds herself overwhelmed with life under the camera's eye, well. What kind of grandfather would Toranosuke be if he didn't care for Taka while his mother was away visiting family? He's just looking out for his family after all.

So that's all to say that Takaaki is alive in this au, locked away from crimes he didn't commit. After so long of being told he's insane, he slowly begins to believe it. Maybe he was becoming paranoid, seeing crimes where there weren't any. Maybe he had overreacted. Did he attack his father? He didn't recall doing so, but there was video evidence, so it has to be true.

It takes years for Takaaki to be deemed sane. By that point, he's convinced himself that he really had made up all those accusations. Taka's already gone at this stage, off training for his grandfather's purposes. But Takaaki thinks he's just off at boarding school.

Now I'll get to the point of this 'little' tangent. I think Takaaki's the one who proves to Taka that he's being used. Takaaki's an officer, likely far higher in standing than in canon. So it's plausible that he'd be employed to investigate a string of strange deaths that's caught the eye of a few officials.

It would be quite interesting for Takaaki to realize that the 'string' of murders is actually far longer than they'd realized. It'd be even more interesting for him to realize that his son is the one behind the deaths.

Takaaki is a father first and an officer second. There's no way he'll allow his son to take the fall, especially not once it becomes clear that Torano placed him into the role. Takaaki would absolutely try to make his son see reason, which means making him see that he's being used.

Okay NOW I'll actually get to the point.

If Taka found out he was being used by his grandfather...Well it sure wouldn't be a pretty sight. We already know how Taka responds to his world being destroyed: denial, unresponsiveness, and manic behavior. That's how he responded upon learning that a guy he was friends with for 3 days was a killer.

Assassin!Taka doesn't see himself as a murderer. He sees himself as an executioner, dealing out capital justice to those who abuse their power. He kills those that are irredeemable, who harm others without any empathy.

But if that was all a life, if he was working for the corrupt rather than against...He'd be just as bad as the corruption he sought to destroy. He'd be a murderer.

Put that revelation onto the realization that the man who raised him since his parents left, the man he looked up to as the pinnacle of greatness, is himself corrupt. Has himself committed the same crimes Taka killed to stop. That Taka was nothing but a tool for that corruption.

Literally everything that Taka is in this au would be a lie. He's not killing for justice, his mindset isn't the correct path, his grandfather isn't fighting for justice.

I honestly think Taka would have an extreme, violent response to that revelation. He'd see both himself and his grandfather as irreparably tainted, absolutely dripping in the blood of the innocent. And Taka has known no means of removing such blots on human society but to personally wipe them out. So that's exactly what he go out to do.

Now I'm thinking about Taka and Takaaki hunting down Torano for some vigilante justice. All while Takaaki subtly tries to convince his son not to kill both Torano AND himself. It would be very hard for Takaaki to convince Taka that he was a victim of his grandfather, and not equally as guilty.

(this is also making me think of an au where Taka's hired by the FBI for his skills in a Black Widow situation)

Speaking of that, let's get to the "Taka's first kill is his grandfather" au.

The first and biggest question is: who the heck puts Taka up to it? It would not be easy. I'm thinking that, in the normal Assassin!Taka au, Torano spends YEARS grooming Taka into accepting killing. Nobody else would have that kind of extended access to Taka except his parents.

...

Except his parents. I'm literally having ideas as I type this. New idea! I'm going to make Taka's mom relevant (and evil)! Also I'm calling her Nori because I just need a name.

Perhaps Takaaki's marriage was arranged for political reasons more than love. He had to marry wealthy, and ended up marrying the daughter of a wealthy businessman.

And that's a very useful position, isn't it? Nori is in a perfect place to learn the intimate details of the Ishimaru family. She can learn what little squabbles the family has amongst one another, what weaknesses there are, anything she could need.

Her parents are well acquainted with several politicians, all of whom are more than willing to act in favor of her family's company. All of whom are itching to become Prime Minister.

So a plan is made to leave the position of PM vacant. Assassinate Takaaki, frame Torano, get someone who'll act in favor of the company in control. Maybe throw in some Yakuza connections for flavor.

Nori is nothing if not a good actor. So when a bullet comes through a window during a banquet, going straight through Takaaki's skull and spraying the table with blood, she acts just like you'd expect a loving wife to. The event falls into chaos instantly, guards swarming the area. And little Taka, who'd been so excited to wear his new suit to the event, has to be dragged away from his father.

Nori's job at this point is to act the part of the mournful wife, suddenly finding herself a single mother. She also is tasked with beginning the rumor mill, whispering of the animosity her poor late husband and his father had for one another. How she's afraid that Toranosuke is somehow involved and, if she isn't careful, will act against her and Taka.

Somehow Taka ends up hearing about it. And well, Taka isn't the type to hide his feelings as a teenager, and he certainly doesn't do it as a child. It's an unexpected complication to the plan. Taka isn't going to just let the rumor float about. He's ready to go straight to his grandfather and demand answers, which would ruin everything.

They could kill the child, it wouldn't be terribly hard. But perhaps Nori has some attachment to him, even if she knows he was only born as a prop for her role. The only other option is to make him part of the plan.

Why frame Toranosuke for murder when you can convince his grandchild that he's a horrible man? A man so powerful that even the law can't touch him? A man so powerful that only someone truly dedicated to justice can bring him down?

It isn't hard to convince Taka to poison his grandfather. The hardest part is training him to hide his anger long enough to get the job done.

So now Nori has made way for a business partner to become Prime Minister, and she's created a hitman for the company. Taka would be a much more loyal assassin than simple money could buy. He's got a vendetta against corruption and a tarnished faith in the justice system. And Nori is in the perfect position to direct his righteous anger towards those that 'deserve it'. And if her definition of who deserves death is different than Taka's? Well, he doesn't need to know that.

#taka #takaaki ishimaru #kiyotaka ishimaru #danganrompa #talentswap #long post #tw: suicide mention #nothing happens but there's a plan #it's just mentioned in passing #an ask tag

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secondpubertyscene · 3 years

Text

8.14.21

This year has been one of major change. In Octavia Butler’s Parable of the Sower, there’s this quote, “God is Change. Beware: God exists to shape and be shaped,” and I think for the first time since reading it, I get what was being said. While I subscribe to the idea that there is a higher power of some kind, I also believe that we (as in, us as individuals) have great power as well. That power lies in our ability to change, to grow, to persevere. This year has been one of major change, and we really have to talk about it.

It is easy to look at this last year and think, “Well, that fucking sucked” because frankly, it did indeed fucking suck. I could write you a list of things that brought me great pain this year, unbelievable, undeniable, unrelenting pain that still lingers now. But, see, the beauty of it all is that none of that pain happens in a vacuum. Along with the pain, I’ve come through it all with more wisdom, more compassion, more empathy, more gratitude, more peace, more love, and more confidence. I’d like to share how those things all are connected, but first I would like to acknowledge something.

While I don’t know for sure if this is just an American thing, it does seem very clear that Americans aren’t fantastic at processing grief, death, and pain collectively. We often are encouraged to suck it up, to shut up about it, to not make others uncomfortable with our tears and trauma. I believe this is in large part due to the fact that American Exceptionalism doesn’t quite allow us to acknowledge when our systems have failed us or when we are suffering in the “greatest country in the world.” I don’t intend on participating in that toxic positivity or to dismiss the seriousness of the year past. I simply intend on acknowledging the nuances of my experiences, the complexity of it all. Now, let’s begin.

Without recounting every moment in large detail (in part because that would be far too much and also because I don’t need to relieve my traumas today), the events of the last year have been as follows: 1) COVID hit, 2) I had a severe emotional breakdown that resulted in a short stay at the hospital, 3) my grandma passed away, 4) I broke up with my partner of a year, 5) I was officially diagnosed with adult ADHD (inattentive), 6) I got into a PhD program for sociology (fully-funded), and 7) I moved to Ohio (two weeks ago now). So much happened in what feels like a blink of an eye. When you’re a kid, you think a year lasts forever. Now, a year feels like a couple months!

Anyhow, all of these things had super intense negative impacts on my life and most of them had super intense positive impacts on my life. Let’s talk about how. I won’t say that COVID had any “positive” impact on my life, because it’s still currently making things difficult and it is still destroying lives (full worlds) every day. The emotional breakdown that I experienced shortly after COVID began, however, was the impetus for some of the greatest change I would ever make in my life. It began with new therapy, medication for the first time ever to treat my mental illnesses, and a new relationship with boundaries.

Out of this breakdown, I came to realize a few things. 1) I wasn’t really feeling most of my life up until that point. That isn’t to say that I didn’t feel at all or that I wasn’t aware of my feelings all the time, but to say that most of the time, I numbed everything out that was too hard to bear. I didn’t cry, I didn’t write, I didn’t even take the time to try to identify exactly what emotions I did feel. I just lived through it and waited until I felt better. Or, I would breakdown with rage and then feel better. Therapy, especially the group therapy I participated in for a couple weeks after leaving the hospital, changed that in huge ways for me.

Because I was able to sit in my pain, in my discomfort, I was able to actually work through some of my issues. I began to identify the areas in my life that made me genuinely unhappy and began to grant myself permission to feel disappointment. I granted myself the permission to expect more, to want more. I granted myself the permission to set boundaries without guilt or shame. I granted myself freedom. It is an ongoing journey of mistakes and back-peddling and trying again, but it is mine and I am proud of it. Had I not had that breakdown, I don’t know that I would be where I am now.

My grandma dying is one of the most painful things I’ve experienced and honestly, I haven’t dealt with it all the way yet. I didn’t get to say goodbye to her in person, I still am battling the feelings of guilt despite knowing that there likely was nothing I could have done, and my chest still feels heavy thinking about her. Even as I write this, I feel that pain. I know she is not truly gone and that she lives within me, but oh, I do miss her physical presence. The nagging, the phone calls, the hugs, the cooking, her soft hair and beautiful hands. I miss her. Because of her, though, I have been able to rehabilitate another relationship in my life. The relationship I share with my mother.

My mother is a lot of things, but for whatever reason I continually forgot that she too is a victim of hardship brought on by nothing but sheer luck. In this last year, she lost her mother, the man that she loved, multiple cousins, friends that went back to childhood, and who knows who else. She suffered a lot this year and she has suffered a lot over the course of her 61 years of life overall. For the first time, I have been able to really acknowledge her as a full being with a complex history and understand her as a person, rather than just as a parent. I’ve set new boundaries with her as a result, boundaries that have completely change the dynamic of our relationship and will continue to do so as we both learn more about each other. Gone are the days where she relies solely on me for emotional support or financial support. Gone are the days where she feels comfortable talking down to me and then expecting any kind of favors from me. She understands and respects that I am an adult, that I am independent, and that I can terminate our relationship should it get to a point where I feel unsafe again. While this might sound like a threat or even negative, it is in fact quite the contrary.

We now share the belief that I deserve better from her and that my continued relationship with her is founded upon our mutual growth. That’s a beautiful thing that arose from us being pulled together by the loss of someone we both loved more than we maybe even loved ourselves. Thankfully, though, I have come to love myself more than anyone else on this planet. This newfound self-love and respect resulted in the severing of my relationship with my partner.

I won’t pretend like my ex was this horrible person because she wasn’t. She was kind, loving, intelligent, hilarious, unique, complex, and so many other amazing things. I still love her with all of my heart and have thought about her every single day since we broke up. It is not for lack of love that our relationship came to a close. The issue was that I needed more than what she could give. I needed someone who could really sit in my shit with me without invalidating my feelings jokingly because they didn’t know what else to say. I needed someone who could make me feel safe and secure, not fearful and insecure. I needed someone who understood boundaries as openings for futures, not closed doors. I needed someone who could show up for me the way I showed up for them, even when they hurt me, even when they lied out of fear. She wasn’t able to do that. She wasn’t able to stick beside me during the worst days of my life. She wasn’t able to see me beyond our relationship. When my grandma passed and our relationship was on the rocks, she made it about us. She didn’t stop pestering me about our relationship for long enough to give me support on losing someone who meant the world to me. I couldn’t trust her after that and I also realized, I wasn’t required to.

Boundaries in that relationship weren’t healthy. I felt unseen, unprotected, and sometimes even unloved. While I am sure that she has grown even more since we have parted, the reality is that when I ended things, I knew that doing so was the most fair thing I could do for the both of us. This is because I deserve someone who sees my value inherently. I deserve someone who takes the time to understand me, to love me, to see me. Not just see me and them together, but me as an individual separate from them. More importantly, I needed to be able to ask for those things without feeling guilty or bad. As of now, I still don’t know that she sees me as me, as a singular person, and maybe she never will. That is okay. I still love her anyway. I just love me more now. As a part of that love I’ve grown for myself, I also now have sought out more help for myself. This seeking of resources led me to realizing that I was ADHD and helped me change my life.

Being diagnosed with ADHD at 21 felt absolutely ridiculous. How could I be ADHD when I can sit still most of the time and have a pretty decent amount of impulse control? The answers came from my psychiatrist, breaking down the stereotypical understanding of ADHD and allowing me to find myself within the diagnosis. Finding the right combination of medication has been difficult, but what hasn’t been hard at all is finding more resources that help me manage my symptoms. It’s because of some of these resources that I am able to sit here and write this.

A huge part of ADHD is this perfectionist mentality that makes it nearly impossible to start or complete some tasks. Every time I sat down to write in the past, I told myself that I absolutely had to write every single day, once a day, or I should just not do it. When it came to this blog especially, I had so much shame when I failed to post for a long time or had a lull, that I would either consider deleting the whole thing to start over, or just never posting again. I realize now that those were just cop outs for my brain, that I can write as little or as much as I want because it is for ME. It doesn’t have to be perfect; it doesn’t have to be anything but what I need it to be. Waiting for perfection would have me waiting forever because it’s simply not how my brain works. Accepting that is a large part of how I got into my PhD program.

I’m not going to lie. I am still trying to figure out all of the feelings I have regarding this PhD program. I am shocked that I got in, shocked that I got full-funding, shocked that I am now in Ohio, shocked that I am in my own apartment, and overall shocked that I’ve made it this far in general. While I do not believe that I am stupid or not capable of greatness, I am realizing that I’ve always seen myself pursuing something more straightforward. When I was younger, I had a pretty clear idea of what I wanted to do even as those things changed. I knew what was required of me, I knew what I would ultimately do, and I took refuge in that. Doctors go to medical school. Chefs go to culinary school. Forensic anthropologists get masters degrees and do field work. It felt clear cut, straightforward, safe. This is uncharted territory. What do you do post PhD? What do you do DURING PhD years? I suppose I’ll just have to find out!

Anyhow, this year has been intense. Change is always present in our lives and sometimes it brings with gifts that we can only receive when we’re healed enough to take them. I’m hoping to keep healing, keep growing, keep loving, and keep going. I’m learning so much about myself and about the world. I’m loving myself more than I have in the past. I am incredibly proud of where I am. And I’m not done yet.

#personal blog #vent blog #black ftm #black transman #black tpoc #black mental health #personal writing blog #sociology #sociology phd program #covid #grief

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muertawrites · 4 years

Text

Two Halves - Chapter Twelve (Zuko x Reader)

Part 11

Word Count: 3,000

Author’s Note: Let’s talk about Azula. I know a lot of people really want a redemption arc for her, and it’s something that’s written a lot in the fanfic community, but (like everything else) I have an unpopular opinion about her - I don’t think she deserves a redemption arc. This doesn’t mean I think she’s a bad character. I actually think exactly the opposite - she’s so perfectly written that I feel changing her to make her any less problematic would ruin her.

Characters can be great without ever redeeming themselves, and Azula is a perfect example of one of A:TLA’s major themes - that there’s no such thing as absolute good or bad - in that she’s clearly vindictive, manipulative, egotistical, and sociopathic, but the way the series leaves her convinces the watcher to feel sympathetic towards her. It’s such a beautiful destruction of preconceived notions in fiction that I don’t think it needs to be touched. Azula is evil, but I love her that way.

~ Muerta

Appa’s feet don't touch sand until late evening, by which time it feels like you've been flying for weeks.

A group of about twenty guards is waiting when you land, each of them wrapped from head to toe in white gauze; the woman at the front of the group removes her face covering and introduces herself as the warden of the compound, her expression hard and motionless behind sun-darkened skin. She leads you through a maze of buildings enclosed by high, interlocking stone walls, to an empty store room that’s been converted into a bedroom for your stay.

“We only have what we need out here,” she explains. “The guards’ bunks are all filled, and we don't typically have guests. I'm sorry we couldn't give you more appropriate lodging.”

“It's alright,” Aang assures her. “We’re used to sleeping rough.”

Dinner is composed of a combination of dried meat and pickled vegetables, paired with water from a well in the center of the surrounding block of buildings; you're advised only to use it for drinking and not to bathe, saving it for the guards stationed at the compound. Even after the sun sets, the air feels arid and scorched, the sweat dripping down the back of your neck doing nothing to cool you.

“It's awful out here,” you remark as you settle into your bed roll for the night. “I can see why Sokka went insane.”

“Sokka went insane because of hallucinogenic cactus juice,” Katara corrects you, smirking at the memory.

“I can't believe I missed most of that,” Aang laments. “He must've been a handful.”

“You had more important things to worry about,” Katara softly reminds him. She wraps her arms around his shoulders, placing a tender kiss atop the crest of his head; you look away, your stomach churning uneasily at the intimate display.

You lay and attempt to sleep for the next few hours, finding yourself unable. The ground is too hard beneath you, your thin blankets too heavy and hot. You toss and turn over and over again, trying to find a comfortable position that seems not to exist. Your mind races and refuses to slow down.

Despite your guilt over doing so, you go out to the well and fill a small basin, splashing your face with warm water in the hopes it'll make you feel better. Katara joins you a moment or two later, having noticed your unrest. She dips her hands into the water and runs them comfortingly through your hair to cool you off.

“What's wrong?” she asks.

You sigh as you lower yourself onto the base of the well, holding your knees to your chest.

“I'm worried,” you admit in a murmur.

Katara sits down beside you and rests her hand on your arm.

“Aang and I won't leave until after you speak with Azula,” she promises. “And even then, we’ll be right outside the room the entire time. You're not doing this alone.”

You shake your head, afraid to look her in the eye.

“That's not it. When you go to the Northern Air Temple… they're going to expect me to get pregnant, too. But I'm not ready to have a baby, and I don't know if I'll ever be.”

Katara curls her arms around you, pulling you into her lap in the motherly way she used to do when you were kids. She strokes your hair, and you nestle into the fabric of her night gown.

“What does it feel like?” you wonder. Your voice is nothing but a breath. “To… have sex?”

Katara’s hands pause their ministrations. She sits absolutely still for a moment, gazing off as she mulls the question over.

“... It hurts,” she says after a while, “but only at first. Then it feels exciting. It's sort of like getting hit by lightning, but gently, over and over again. You feel it in your whole body; it's unlike anything else. The best part is being so close to someone you love in a way that nobody else will ever be close to you. It’s like magic.”

“But I don't love Zuko,” you reply. “I didn't choose him like you chose Aang. How could it be the same for me?”

“You did choose Zuko,” Katara contests. “Do you think Dad would have forced you into marrying him if you fought hard enough against it? You might not have chosen him because you love him, but there's a reason you're together. I think you will love him. There's something about the two of you that just… fits. I've never been very good with intuition and even I could feel it the first time I saw you together. You will love each other; and we both know Zuko cares about you too much to force you into anything before you're ready. Trust him. Follow what you feel for him.”

You sigh, shutting your eyes tightly as the weight of the desert heat squeezes down on you; nonetheless, Katara’s hands are chilled as they begin to rework the braid knotted down your back.

“I know he’ll protect me,” you say. “That's all he's done since we met. But I don't know if I want to be protected.”

“You don't have to be,” Katara tells you. Her voice is soft and serious. “You've never let anyone tell you what to do; not even now.”

“Keeping that up is dangerous though,” you whisper. “Doing the wrong thing could get me killed - it could get Zuko killed, or you, or any number of people I care about. And I've been really stupid about it up until now.”

“Has Zuko ever talked to you about redirecting lighting?” Katara asks.

You shake your head.

“It's a water bending technique,” she explains. “The idea is that you take your opponent’s force and turn it back against them, but you have to keep your own energy steady to be able to do it.”

She takes one of your hands between both of hers, pressing it tightly between her palms.

“Keep doing what you're doing,” she urges. “If one of us gets hurt, you can't let the loss break you; you have to use it to fight back. Anyone who wants to destroy you needs your permission to do so.”

You sit up so you can look her in the eye; her expression is resolute, brows drawn together with agency and concern. Your arms fall around her, pulling her into a tight embrace; she holds you close as you bury your face in her hair.

“It'll be okay,” she promises. “You'll survive; it’s what we do.”

The next morning, you meet with Azula’s psychological counselor before going to see her.

The center of the compound is devoted entirely to the disgraced princess and her keepers, each of them living within the bounds of a large wall lined with guards every few feet. Her counselor’s home is divided from the main house by an ornate fence, painted red and black and gilded with gold detail; guard houses stand at either side of the gate.

“This part of the compound is designed to look like a Fire Nation neighborhood,” the counselor explains. “We don't live luxuriously by any means, but a homey atmosphere is important to Azula’s rehabilitation.”

“How has she improved?” Katara asks.

You remember her retellings of what would've been Azula’s coronation, how she lost her mind with power and corruption. Thinking back on them, you almost pity her.

“She's much more stable than she used to be,” the counselor states. “We know her vindictive behavior will never go away and that her condition prohibits her from understanding or feeling empathy, but she's learned not to act on those tendencies. She's also greatly overcome the anger her father instilled in her.”

“I need something I can use as leverage,” you say. “Zuko’s told me that everything she does is a negotiation, and I need something to trade for her insight.”

The counselor nods, tapping her fingers against the table you're seated around in thought.

“The information alone won’t be enough incentive for her,” she concludes. “She’s seemingly lost interest in the outside world or trying to get out of the compound in the past few years, but I have a feeling she’ll use that to try and get more out of you. Perhaps offering her a chance to see her father will hold useful.”

“She still wants to see him?” Aang gasps, incredulous. “After everything he did?”

“She blames him for the breakdown she suffered at the end of the war,” the counselor elaborates. “She’s expressed a desire to confront him for years, and I’d like to help her find the catharsis in it without setting her back in her rehabilitation.”

“We’ve spoken about the possible need for execution,” you say; your voice is meek, the shame making it difficult to meet the counselor’s eye. “Would the threat do anything? As a last resort?”

“... I don’t know,” the counselor admits. “It truly depends on her mood. She swings between bouts of stability and episodes of deep, manic depression; were she depressed, the threat wouldn’t do much. She unfortunately is always on the brink of an episode, and I don’t think death is much of a fear to her.”

You nod, unable to respond any other way.

“Be civil,” the counselor advises, “but don’t let your guard down. She’s improved greatly, but she’s still extremely dangerous.”

Azula’s home is quaint, consisting of only four rooms, but is every bit the palace she grew up in compared to the rest of the compound. The walls are painted deep, warm crimson, every inch decorated in elaborate murals; in the dining room where you meet, images of giant salamanders curl around pillars of forest and flame - they're terrifying, but as beautiful as any more traditional work of art.

When Azula enters the room, she smirks at you. You're stricken by the fact that she looks nothing like her brother, her features much softer and rounder, save for her eyes and brow bones which are drawn downward in a permanent scowl; it occurs to you that while Zuko closely resembles their father (something you've learned he resents), she’s almost a perfect mirror of their mother. Her clothes are simple - a shapeless dress over loose trousers - and her hair is knotted messily behind her head, loose tendrils falling carelessly around her face. Her cheeks are gaunt, years of living on only what the compound can provide clearly having taken their toll.

“So Zuzu’s got himself a wife,” Azula chirps, sitting down across the table from you. “I suppose that's all you Southern women are good for - selling off to more powerful nations so you don't get yourselves pummeled.”

You ignore her harsh words, bowing your head respectfully in greeting.

“Zuko and I have actually known each other since we were teenagers,” you tell her. It isn't exactly a lie, but you decide that forfeiting her game is the best way to defend yourself. “It's an honor to finally meet you, Azula.”

If she's put off by your deflection, she doesn't show it. She leans forward on her elbows, leering at you over the table like some sort of heinous, bloodthirsty predator; you stare back unfazed, reminding yourself that there's nothing she can do to you if you remain stoic.

“To what do I owe the pleasure of my dear sister-in-law’s visit?” Azula wonders, grinning. “I doubt this is a family reunion given Zuzu’s absence.”

“We need your help,” you tell her. “We’re facing serious problems with outside opposition and our advisors have failed us; Zuko suggested I come to you because of your intelligence in these matters.”

Azula scoffs, her sickening smile disappearing as she leans back and crosses her arms over her chest.

“I may be captive, but that doesn't mean I have to help you,” she spits. “I no longer hold any loyalty to the Fire Nation.”

“We don't want to force you,” you reply. “Zuko and I are willing to offer something in return for your expertise.”

“There's nothing you can give me that will convince me,” Azula states. “My brother lost any sympathy I had for him when he locked me up here.”

“We both know you never had any sympathy for him.”

Azula’s eyes shoot upward, meeting yours in a chilling glare.

“He's the eldest,” you continue. “Despite your talent, he was still in your way - if he hadn't been banished, he’d have taken your father’s place. You hated him for that. You hated him for earning your mother’s affection. You hated him for things neither of you had any control over, and all you've ever wanted to do is have control. He defied that. So you took matters into your own hands and tried to kill him.”

Azula glowers at you, her eyes icy as her face sets into stone. She's not used to being on the other end of this sort of needling; behind her muted, immobile shock, you know she's calculating her next move.

“It wasn't fair,” you go on. “I've heard what people in the Fire Nation say about you - that you shaped the odds of the war while your father took all the credit. That's why we need you. Zuko himself admitted that he can't do it. This is your chance to show him once and for all who the true heir to your family name is.”

Your sister-in-law studies you for a moment before tilting her head, the nasty smile she entered the room with returning.

“Thanks to my shrinks, I'm no longer motivated by personal vindication,” she drawls. “And besides, what good would it do me for Zuko to take all the glory like Father did? He always liked to believe he took after Mother. He's wrong - he's just as cruel and underhanded as the rest of us.”

At this point, you decide that bargaining is going to get you nowhere. Instead you turn your attention to the murals, standing so you can run your fingers over the scales of the nearest giant salamander; they're so realistic that even their grooves have texture, delicately carved between layers of thick paint.

“These paintings are stunning,” you comment. “Are they yours?”

Azula nods, though her expression remains shuttered and somewhat threatening.

“Since that little brat took my bending, I had to find a new hobby,” she hisses. “When I run out of space on the walls, I'll start tattooing myself.”

You smirk at her joke, but she doesn't reciprocate. Her eyes narrow, and though she doesn't move from her position at the table, she seems to prowl closer to you, caging you in with the sheer power of her presence.

“I know why Zuzu married you,” she claims; her tone is matter-of-fact, her golden irises cutting through you. “You remind him of that Southern wretch he used to chase around during his banishment. He was enamored with her. But of course she chose the Avatar over him, since she wanted the alliance for your puny little nation, so it seems he rebounded with the next best thing. He's always been weak that way - falling for anyone dumb enough to buy into that kicked kitten act and let him use them for sympathy.”

For a split second, her words bite you in a way you don't expect them to. Just last night, you told Katara you didn't love Zuko - now, at the thought that his affections could lie with anyone else, that you could mean nothing more than a placeholder to appease the ache of an unrequited love, your ribs feel as though they've caved in and are crushing your lungs. You do your best to keep your expression void, but the corners of your lips flinch with the ghost of a frown, your eyes fogging with a shadow of fear before you can stop them. Azula grins - she knows she found a weak spot.

“I heard she's knocked up,” she spits. “Tell me, does Zuzu even bother to fuck you? Or is it just too painful, knowing you’ll never be the woman he loves?”

The sting in your chest subsides the moment she speaks, the rest of her scathing going unheard as you look her dead in the eye, suddenly unmoved by the attack.

“How do you know that?” you murmur.

Azula’s face falls. She doesn’t avert her gaze, but instead locks it with yours, frozen as if debating whether or not to admit defeat. It doesn’t matter if she does or not - she’s stabbed herself in the gut.

“How do you know Katara is pregnant?” you ask again.

You pace forward, pushing back on the way she attempted to close you in with her criticism. Her poisonous grin once again makes a comeback, this time accompanied by a cackle as sharp as a spearhead.

“You’re in far too deep, little girl,” she lilts. “All of you are. None of you can see the danger that’s been in front of you all your lives.”

“Tell me what you know,” you command. “If you do, we might be persuaded not to execute you.”

Azula huffs, tossing her head back as her laughter continues. By this point, the guards standing in the room’s corners have converged on her, taking her by the arms to hold her still; she doesn’t fight, instead leaning into their grip as if the touch is welcoming.

“Zuzu could never bring himself to kill me,” she jeers. “Sniveling little cad he is. The world isn’t perfect because the war is over, and you’re a fool if you think that my grandfathers were the only men to ever destroy for the sake of their hate. Everyone has evil in them - some of us are just smart enough to embrace it.”

As she growls out her last words, the guards drag her from the room, her laughter subsiding but her hideous, manic grin remaining splattered across her cheeks. The door slams as she's carried away, and you’re left with nothing but the looming silence of terror and dread.

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countessofbiscuit · 4 years

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What are your Bobasoka headcanons? I've already gone through all of the (criminally little) fic on ao3 and I especially loved Smothered and Covered, and I saw the majority of the fics in the tag were gifted to you so I'm assuming you're the OG shipper. Feel free to essay if you like!!

Thanks for the ask and kind words about that fic :3

Oh, Bobasoka … where to begin? It’s a pairing that’s been bumping around in exchange requests for a few years — I figure it’d be easy for anyone invested in Ahsoka’s relationship with the clones to be compelled by the idea. Lledra used to draw Boba and Ahsoka interacting, and it was probably a few panels of their incredible Destinies comic that set my Bobasoka wheels turning. I’m also drawn to them because their journeys traverse so much canon; there’s not just a sandbox to play in, but a whole goddamn stretch of beach, stretching far out into the horizon ... (#AhsokaLives #BobaSurvived :D)

I have to lead with the proviso that almost everything I write/daydream about/headcanon has a groundsheet of Rexsoka. Ahsoka’s interest in Boba, in my head, is intimately tied up with her attraction to and/or relationship with Rex — or, at the bare minimum, her intimate fellowship with the clones. She went through puberty (maybe with heats!) surrounded by a literal army of handsome, roughly college-aged dudes; that must’ve been a heady mix of heaven and hell. If she didn’t quench her thirst before war’s end and her (eventual) separation from Rex, she’d probably be pretty dehydrated when stumbling across Boba. As for Boba’s attraction to Ahsoka, well ... she’s very pretty, she’s potentially useful, she’s not likely to skewer him in his sleep (+2) on account of being a Jedi (-1), and now she’s the one down on her luck; if he falls in bed with anyone, why not this girl who isn’t afraid of him and stares a lot at his lips?

And Boba is like a hot shipping potato — satisfying, hard to fuck up, goes well (read: makes for an intriguing story) with almost everyone. And I think it has everything to do with his liminality, something he shares with Ahsoka and probably recognizes.

Their neither-this-nor-that-ness overlap in such interesting ways, and they each bring their identity issues to the table — Ahsoka as an on-again, off-again Jedi; Boba as a clone who isn’t a Clone™, a Mandalorian by birth and bearing, but not by the book. At different points in their stories, they identify as different things, and that would affect their headspace and color their view of the other. They wrestle with themselves and each other. Force-user and bounty hunter; privileged topsider and orphaned juvenile delinquent fugitive; GAR commander and outcast clone; Jedi and Mandalorian; Disillusioned veteran and disaffected army brat; Rebellion agent and Imperial contractor.

And as much conflict is baked into these dynamics, it also generates a certain magnetism; and I believe they recognize, on some level, their shared trauma and the symmetry in their experiences. Boba and Ahsoka both have happy childhoods with very little to distress or vex them (beyond the art, I do not jive with Age of Republic: Jango Fett, a Disney-canon comic that not only doubles-down on the Jango-wasn’t-Mando nonsense, but shows him being rather cavalier about Boba’s life); Geonosis happens and their adolescent lives are dominated by war (which is how they came to actively threaten each other as space!secondary-schoolers — whaaaaatf!); they are both dubiously (even wrongfully) imprisoned; and they both suffer alienation and incredible personal loss.

Boba was set apart from the clones before he was even pulled him from the jar, othered and elevated from the beginning. He never bonded with brothers, he does not identify as a clone. And while there are examples of clones making overtures to him, canonically his relationship with them is fraught and probably made worse when he gets banged up in Republic Central at the tender age of eleven or twelve — and of course, Ahsoka is an accessory to this, the second chapter in his tragedy at the hands of the Jedi. He needed help (whether he wanted it or not), it was not given by clones or Jedi alike (hamstrung by bureaucracy, sure, but surely some other means of intervention might have been lobbied for?), and Boba becomes a right teenage disaster, well-balanced only in the sense that he has a chip on both shoulders.

(n.b. Putting my RepComm hat on for a second, I can’t help but sniffle-laugh at the idea that the Alphas watched him get thrown in a maximum-security slammer and were like “Ah, there he is, the feral vod’ika. First time, we’ll let the little snot earn his stripes. Second time, we’ll bust him out and send him on a tough love retreat with A’den or Jaing.”)

Ahsoka, meanwhile, is part-and-parcel of the institutions that Boba sets himself against, even after she too has been cast out by circumstances beyond her control. She grows up in a supportive Jedi community and then spends some seriously formative years with a whole slew of brothers — brothers that should have been Boba’s!

Boba, on the other hand, is a great example of the proverb that a child who is not embraced by the village will burn it down to feel its warmth. (As he tells Hondo, “Why should I help anybody? I’ve got no one.”)

The resentment that must create! But also, later, the quiet empathy too — maybe when Boba’s having one of his better days and Ahsoka’s obviously not.

And all of the above is interesting enough, without also touching upon the wildcard that is Mandalore.

Boba’s relationship with Mandalore .... well, that’s contested in- and out-of-universe and I won’t allow myself to essay overmuch. I subscribe firmly to a Mandalorian Fetts construction of canon, even though Boba must be someone who struggles mightily with Mandalorian identity. He’s raised by a bona fide Mando, a solicitous, loving father who’d have no reason not to pass on his language and beliefs; but at the same time, it takes that village, and when Boba’s clan of two is shattered, he has no one else. The loss of his dad unmoors him from his only anchor to Mandalorian culture and clan.

If Boba had been close to the Cuy’val Dar, one would think he’d have turned to them rather than fall in with Jango’s criminal acquaintances; or maybe the bounty hunters just scooped him up first, and troubled lil’ Boba was shepherded through bereavement by folks who enabled and encouraged him to externalize his anger in a way that gave him a (false) feeling of agency and strength.

Whatever the reasons, Boba does not repatriate himself to Mandalore (much to Fenn Shysa’s melodramatic dismay). He strikes me as a lapsed Mandalorian; he doesn’t exactly follow the creed besides wearing the armor (scavenged? his dad’s sans helmet? canon is confused on this point, but he doesn’t go Mando until the unfinished arcs at the end of TCW, either for lack of stature, lack of armor, or lack of enthusiasm). I feel like if someone rocked up to Boba in a cantina and had the balls to ask “hey, so you a Mandalorian?” Boba would be like “<ominously slow helmet tilt> who’s asking” and never give you a straight answer.

Meanwhile, Ahsoka gets a crash course on Mandalore from none other than someone who, at one point, belonged to a sect that wanted to expunge Jaster’s legacy from the galaxy — and at the very least, had reason to dislike clones. This isn’t the place to explore my Boba/Bo-Katan feelings, but know that they are fathomless, and I would pay good money to be a fly on the wall of that Kom’rk when Bo-Katan gives Ahsoka Mando History 101 with her own special sauce. Ahsoka is probably more up-to-speed on Mandalore than Boba, and at one point, she may even own more beskar than him! (n.b. After the crash, I think one of the first places Rex and Ahsoka bounce is just inside Mando space, to scope out the Sundari situation and maybe try to scramble a signal to Bo-Katan; she’d have the goodwill to at least get them back on their feet if she can’t help them lay low herself. For a variety of reasons worth maybe ficcing down the line, they aren’t successful.)

I don’t really have a concluding statement except, I just think Bobasoka’s neat :) They hit all my depressed-Millennial buttons.

Headcanon by bullet-point isn’t really my style, but this is tumblr so ... tl;dr:

They recognize a lot in each other, even if they’re slow to admit it, if ever. Boba’s a cagey bastard and Ahsoka doesn’t ever like him enough to be emotionally honest.

They bump into each other during Ahsoka’s walkabout(s) ‘cause Coruscant’s Underworld ain’t big enough for the two of them. Without Slave-1, Boba couchsurfs at Nyx Okami’s garage, but he does his laundry at Rafa’s. He might even borrow the Martez’s new, useful friend for a job or two.

Ahsoka eventually matures enough to be sensitive about her use of the Force on and around clones, and she definitely doesn’t use it around Boba. Definitely not during sex.

Boba is privately weirded out every time Ahsoka uses Mando slang she picked up off the clones or the Nite Owls.

Boba absolutely kills Cad Bane in that shoot-out, keeps the hat, and lets Ahsoka have it. She shoves it out the airlock and uses it for target practice.

So many great smut flavours! Hatesex. Acquaintances with benefits. “You’re traumatized and touch-starved and you look just like him/them, and I know how to be gentle and what to do, so maybe we could … ?” They’re both privately comfortable with their bodies and sexuality, but Boba’s got trust issues a parsec long and Ahsoka’s lost confidence; it’s always an awkward affair, but desperation wins out.

They exchange comm codes every time they run into each other, which is kind of pointless because they both use burners.

Ahsoka hitches a ride on Slave-1 more than once. There really is only one bed, so it’s either sleep upright, sleep in a pokey prisoner hold, or sleep with him.

For a few years, Boba can pass as a last-generation clone — the ones that got sold off in bulk units to slavers before Kamino sunk another three years’ food, board, and training into them. Boba pretends he doesn’t notice, easy to really, since he tells himself his helmet is his face. But occasionally, when Ahsoka can convince him there’s profit in it, he agrees to play sleeper agent and assists in liberating a few here and there.

They don’t talk about Aurra Sing.

When an Imp really crosses him, Boba passes on intel to Ahsoka to ruin their day.

Once, when they’re both super skint, Ahsoka volunteers to get handed in to some relatively minor and out-of-the-way Imperial garrison, so Boba can collect, bust her out, and split the pot with her. It’s the closest she ever comes to telling him “I trust you” — and when he brushes the idea aside, citing something about risk, it’s the closest he ever comes to telling her “I love you.”

Boba sees Inquisitors as muscling in on his game. There are so many lousy Force-users around nowadays, it should be easy pickings, but Inquisitors get privileged information. So he makes sport out of misdirecting them, especially from Ahsoka.

When he pisses her off, Ahsoka fantasizes about Bo-Katan taking Boba down a peg or two while she watches :)))

Boba experienced Ahsoka’s heat once, secondhand through a cabin wall. He thought he was being clever by shooting Rex up with some Nevoota stim pollen, locking him in with Ahsoka, and hijacking their locked ships. Longest three days of his life, limping on broken hyperdrives and shared fuel stores to the nearest waystation to a soundtrack of violent lovemaking : \

Bounty hunters invariably bump into spies and agents because they work in the same areas. The agents pretend to be bounty hunters, eccentric business people, sex workers, or a range of other things. Sometimes each party knows all about the other, but it’s only polite not to mention it. This happens to Ahsoka and Boba A LOT, especially once she becomes Fulcrum; rebel cells and Imperials often want the same people. Occasionally they exchange fire. A couple times Boba gets imprisoned in Ahsoka’s own brig. Once, Boba blows her cover and definitely lives to regret it.

(this essay was originally punctuated with pics, but replies with images won’t show up tumblr tags so ¯\_(ツ)_/¯)

#bobasoka #boba fett #ahsoka tano #rexsoka #the clone wars

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drummergirl231-2 · 4 years

Text

Happy Autism Awareness/Acceptance Day 2020!

To me, true awareness and acceptance go hand-in-hand. I still don’t mind the word “awareness,” since most people, even people who think they’re spreading Autism awareness, aren’t totally aware of what it is or what it’s like. But I also love calling it Autism Acceptance Day, because that’s what we need more than anything.

To spread some awareness, I’d like to address some misconceptions about Autism and share some other thoughts I wish people knew/understood.

1. Autists/Aspies do not lack empathy.

I found this thing and it explains it super well so I’ll just leave it here:

Imagine a scenario where you say something totally innocent and it triggers the person you’re talking to. They start flying off the handle at you and you don’t know why. But because they’re angry, you are, too. But since you don’t know why they’re angry, you don’t know why you’re angry, either. It’s crazy overwhelming and confusing. And you want to fix whatever you did because you don’t want this other person to be angry or hurt, but you don’t know how, because their all-consuming rage makes it really hard to think and try to put yourself in their shoes. Also, you’re scared on top of it all.

That’s what having high affective and compassionate empathy and low cognitive empathy is like. It’s not that we don’t care. It’s that we care too much, and all the super specific nuances of socializing are things we have to learn one at a time, through either our mistakes or others’ mistakes. These things don’t come naturally to us, but it’s not like we can’t learn. If I were to compare math to socializing, it’s like you all have calculators or other doohickeys to do all the math for you and we just have paper and a pencil... and no eraser.

2. Autism is not a mental illness to be “cured.”

Now don’t get me wrong, I am ALL FOR people finding ways to help us be able to deal with the world better, whether that’s a better diet, items to block out sensory stimuli or items that stimulate, or counselling that can help us navigate social situations and talk through anxiety and/or depression. But those things don’t “cure,” us because Autism isn’t a disease or something wrong with us. Autism gives us different challenges, sure, but neutotypicals have their own challenges.

The symptoms typically associated with “low-functioning,” Autism don’t necessarily have to be a part of Autism. Many non-verbal kids grow up to be verbal. That doesn’t mean they stopped being autistic. There was a celebrity mom years ago who claimed to “cure” her son’s Autism with a gluten-free dairy-free diet. He’d been so trapped in his head, he couldn’t engage with the world around him. She altered his diet and one day he laughed at Spongebob, and that was a turning point. He became able to interact with people and react to things on TV. It was a huge breakthrough. But he was still autistic. If you were to have plopped me down on a rug as a toddler next to a toddler like this celebrity’s son before his altered diet, you wouldn’t think I was autistic at all by comparison. But I was, and I am.

Autism is a different neurological blueprint, and yes, brain-healthy diets and detoxes can do wonders for us because it seems like our brain type does make us more susceptible to negative effects from neurotoxins. But if you think someone has lost their Autism just because “the bad parts,” went away... no. That’s not how it works.

3. Not everyone is “a little autistic.”

When I was newly diagnosed and trying to process it, someone told me something along the lines of, there there, we’re all a little autistic. But that’s not true. There are a lot of traits associated with this brain type, and yes, a neurotypical person can have a few of them. That doesn’t make them a little autistic. To be considered autistic at all, you’d have to have a large number of quirks plus social delays (not associated with excessive technology use), odd or repetitive behaviors, unusual and intense interests, communication struggles, and unusual sensory processing. Suppose you’re white. If you are white, this should be easy to imagine. Say an African American just told you about some of the challenges they’ve faced, whether it’s race-based bullying in school or racial profiling later on. Would it be appropriate to say, “There there, we’re all a little black?” NO. One, it’s false. Two, while all people struggle with stuff because to be human is to struggle sometimes, the struggles of different groups of people are totally different, and you can’t say you know exactly what it’s like or pretend everyone’s the same. We all have equal dignity and worth, but beyond that, everyone’s different. Don’t pretend differences don’t exist. Just value them.

4. Autism doesn’t have a “look.”

When I tell people I’m autistic, this is usually what I hear: “Wow! I wouldn’t have guessed! You don’t look autistic.” ...What does that even mean??? Is it supposed to be a compliment? Because if it’s a compliment I “don’t look autistic,” then that’s kind of an insult to other autistic people. Or do they mean it like, “I don’t believe you’re really autistic because I have a preconceived idea of what an autistic person looks like and you don’t fit the bill so I’m not going to give you grace if you act weird?” I don’t know. Y’all say weird things too, sometimes, ya know? But Autism doesn’t have a look. There is a sort of distant intensity in our gaze sometimes... and I can legit see it when Jim Parsons plays Sheldon Cooper, but when I see an interview with him as himself, it’s gone. It’s not a fixed feature of our faces, and a talented NT could totally put it on.

5. Autism presents itself differently in boys and girls.

You know how not a lot of people know the symptoms of heart attacks in women because mainly people only talk about what a heart attack is like for men? It’s kinda like that with Autism, too. Typically when you hear about Autism, you’re hearing about the signs and symptoms in boys. Even most pediatricians only know to look for the way it presents in boys, which is how so many girls don’t get a diagnosis until later in life, if ever. One difference is that, for whatever reason, girls tend to be better at nonverbal communication and taking hints. We’re mimics. Chameleons. We take on the mannerisms of those around us and who we see on TV as we force ourselves to adapt. Verbal boys might speak at unusual volumes or with an unusual voice, rhythm, or cadence, but verbal girls learn to mimic the speech patterns of others. Our special interests/obsessions aren’t typically seen as strange given our age and sex. For example, a six-year-old autistic boy might be fascinated by WWII. I was interested in fetal development. People thought, “What’s so weird about that? She’s a little girl who loves babies.” We often play with Barbies or other dolls long after our peers have stopped. It helps autistic girls process social situations. When I was shamed out of liking Barbies, I started writing stories in notebooks or in my head. Autistic boys usually struggle with social communication from an early age, but autistic girls usually don’t have any major communication struggles until adolescence, when relationships, platonic or romantic, get way more complicated. Since little autistic girls can mimic their neurotypical peers, and since some doctors only know how to look for Autism in boys, we tend to fly under the radar, causing that huge gender gap in diagnoses.

6. Mental illness is common with Autism, but NOT part of it.

I read an article by an autist in the UK who struggles to get help for his anxiety or depression because therapists have brushed him off, saying “Well, that’s just part of being Autistic, so it can’t be helped.” NO! Just like neurotypicals can be mentally healthy or unhealthy, Autistic people can be mentally healthy or unhealthy. Just because something is common for us doesn’t mean it’s how it’s supposed to be, or that it’ll always be that way, or that it’s part of who we are and we need to embrace it. People with mental illnesses should be embraced (literally or figuratively, depending on what they’re comfortable with). Mental illnesses should not be embraced. Ever. Because autistic kids and adults often face abuse, bullying, discrimination, and are ostracized, anxiety (especially social anxiety) and depression are common for us. In more serious cases, especially in autistic teens and young adults, dissociative disorders can develop. What’s worse, it doesn’t take much looking to find the dark corners of the internet where people, autistic or not, are encouraged to embrace their developing dissociative thoughts and feelings. I once saw an interview with someone who found healing from a dissociative disorder, and she gets emails every day from others with the same disorder she had who regret some of the things they were talked into doing while living with the condition and who want to find the healing she did. She said many of them are autistic and under the age of twenty-five. Autistic people with mental illnesses shouldn’t be talked into believing their mental illnesses are a part of them, or not mental illnesses at all, or something to celebrate and cling to. I reject the notion we should have to settle for being ill in any way. We deserve to be as healthy and whole as anyone else, and it makes me sick there are so many internet predators preying on us in this way, and that there are therapists who think Autism and mental illness has to be a packaged deal.

7. If LGBT people were treated the way autistic people are by the media, it’d lead to outrage. But it seems like no one is outraged on our behalf.

We’ve seen the news stories, haven’t we? A couple invites the news over to their house, upsetting their autistic child who then has a meltdown, the meltdown is filmed and aired, and the parents are just like, “This is what our life is like because of Autism. And it sucks. Pity us.”

There was one video I saw... I’m just so enraged by it, even after two years. A mother was praised for her open honesty as she vilified her autistic son and complained about how he ruined her life and how hard it is to go out and have people stare. I’m sorry, hard for WHO??? I don’t even want to go into the details. I know only sharing this much doesn’t make it sound like that bad of a video, it’s just... ugh. Guys. It’d be a whole separate post. I can’t deal with it right now.

If parents went on the news after their kid came out to them as gay, and wept and begged for pity and said some of the things this woman said of her autistic son (wondering what she did wrong that made her deserve this or that led to this or saying she doesn’t believe in God but finds herself praying anyway that God’ll “fix him”), America would call them the worst parents ever. But parents of autistic kids who do this are praised for their openness and vulnerability as they publicly shame their child.

Another time, after a mass shooting carried out by a teenage boy, the news reported that he was autistic and that might have contributed to the attack (there they go, combining mental illness with Autism as one and the same again).

If a pedophile were arrested, and they said on the news, “And we just got word that he’s gay, so that may be why,” there’d be a riot. But the news can pin autists as mass murderers and no one bats an eye!

All of May last year working at a clothing store, I watched as various departments filled up with pride t-shirts to get ready for June, and I couldn’t help but think,

Where were the Autism acceptance t-shirts in March to get ready for April?

I probably shouldn’t be so surprised with the media painting us as life-ruiners and life-enders.

I know it’s a vile and disgusting thing for me to be jealous of LGBT people in this way, especially since they have their own struggles, too. I just wish society had our backs and celebrated us instead of wanting us “fixed,” for their own convenience, ya know?

8. Almost all of us hate Autism Speaks, and those who don’t are probably just new. XD

I used to be all “Light it up blue!” as well (even though that seemed weird to me, given blue lights might be overwhelming to some people on the spectrum). But then I read something on their site that made me feel really betrayed, and down the line, I learned most autistic people hate them... some because they saw them say the opposite of what I saw they said. Basically we all have different opinions but Autism Speaks spouts whatever information their donors want them to (sellouts), and that donated money doesn’t go towards helping us, but toward more fundraising or research on how to prevent people with our brain type. I guess they’re not fond of the artistic and scientific advancements we bring to the table. They should change those puzzle pieces from blue or multi-colored to white with black specks because they want a world that’s vanilla.

9. Some of us still like the puzzle pieces, even if we hate Autism Speaks.

I’ve talked about this in a fanfic, but I’d love it if we could redeem the puzzle pieces, because they’re still a good analogy if you assign a different meaning. Autists and NTs are puzzling to each other, no sense denying that, but the more time we spend together, the more we start to understand each other. Also, Autism does have a lot of pieces, and figuring out I was autistic was like solving the puzzle of my life. The missing pieces came together and things became clearer and made more sense. Also also, some autistic people are really good at puzzles. And then there are autists like me who aren’t necessarily good at puzzles, but get totally absorbed in working on them anyway (my parents have been doing some puzzles during the quarantine lol they’re traps! TRAPS I SAY!!!).

Nevertheless, I understand why other autistis don’t like the puzzle pieces and prefer the rainbow infinity symbol, and I quite like it, too. It’s very pretty, and the way the colors fade together is a nice symbol of how it’s a spectrum.

It’s a sign of the infinite possibilities in our lives when we’re empowered, because we can do and have done good and great things in the world.

#autism acceptance day #autism awareness day #autism #asperger's syndrome #self-advocacy #I'm like hecka impressed if you read all this

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baldrambo · 4 years

Text

On Jim Hopper....

After reading a myriad of analyses and meta on Hopper’s character in S3 on Tumblr/Reddit/Twitter/everywhere, I've come to realize that my understanding of his character and his arc is very different than most interpretations I've seen. And it frustrates me because i think ultimately, the criticism of him is unfairly harsh and misses the point of his arc.

I will make a few bold assertions (bold=likely unpopular) and address them under the cut because the more I’ve thought about this the longer it got and I want to appropriately address each point.

Assertion 1: S1 Hopper is NOT the Hopper we want, in fact, this is regressive! Hopper and we should be glad he’s gone

Assertion 2: S1/S2 Hopper is inappropriately romanticized and it created unrealistic expectations for Hopper’s characterization in S3

Assertion 3: The circumstances in S3 are dramatically different than S1-S2 and drive the changes we see in Hopper’s characterization in S3

Assertion 4: Hopper and Joyce’s arguing in S3 was a symptom of a shift in their relationship dynamic, and not OOC

Assertion 5: Hopper's negative character traits were intentionally amplified in S3 as a juxtaposition for his redemption arc coming in S4

Assertion 1:

When we are introduced to Hopper in S1 he is a pill-popping womanizer. He is a jerk. In episode 1, he shows up to work hungover cracking "your mom" jokes and when Flo tells him that Joyce is worried about her missing kid he dismisses her and says "I’m gonna get on that." A frantic Joyce has to beg him to look for her son and during the conversation, he's throwing in interjections about screwing Chrissy as a teen in the back of his dad's Oldsmobile and somewhat snidely inquiring about whether Will is gay. Not a very nice dude.

It's not until later in the episode when we learn that he had a daughter who is now dead, and begin to suspect that perhaps there is more to him than the jerk-off cop from a small town. And then the first real introduction we get to Hopper, the real Hopper, is in 1x2 when an agitated Joyce asks him "wouldn't you know your own daughter's [breathing]?" He nearly caves then, caves under the weight of his grief, the pressure of dealing with a case of a missing kid, feeling empathy for what Joyce is going through. So what does he do? He retreats to his cruiser as soon as possible and pops a pill. Why? Because he cannot handle the grief and emotion. So he medicates it away.

For anyone who has ever been on Xanax (or see i.e. Benzos in general) they are typically prescribed to dull intense emotions, such as a anxiety attack. You can be in the middle of an anxiety attack (shaking, crying, unable to breathe), and a Xanax kicks in and it halts the entire thing. You feel nothing. When you're in pain, physical or emotional, it kills that pain almost instantly, too. And that’s what makes it so addictive. And it's not just pain that it kills, but pretty much all emotion with it.

Hopper in S1 is popping Benzos because he is at the lowest point in his life. He lost his daughter and his purpose in life. He is merely existing. He feels like a curse. Part of him even seems to feel responsible for Will's disappearance for no other reason than his own misery. Think about 1x1-1x7 Hopper for a second: can you remember a scene when he smiles? Laughs? Gets angry? Cries? Shows really any emotion at all? I've watched s1 multiple times and I don't remember one. He's so heavily medicated that he isn't feeling ANYTHING.

But then in 1x8, we finally get a glimpse of the real Hopper in glimpses of his backstory. A man laughing and playfully throwing around his daughter. We see a broken man crying in a hallway. We see a tender man reading to his daughter. This is the real Hopper who isn't just existing as Hopper is in S1, but living.

Hopper saving Will, this is the very beginning of his redemption. In that moment, he is able to bring Will back. Save him in a way he couldn't with his own daughter. That wall he’s built, quite artfully, is finally cracking.

So you see. S1 Hopper isn't what we want. S1 Hopper was in a deep dark cave. Sure, he was kind to Joyce. Helpful. He listened. He didn't lose his temper. But it's easy not to lose your temper when you're not feeling anything. It's easy to be calm and rational when you’re emotionally detached. But what kind of life is that?

Assertion 2:

In S2, Hopper is already different. In 2x1 our first introduction to Hopper is positioned similarly to S1. He pulls into the station in his police car. He's still grouchy, he's still joking around about dumb shit (dating Bob Derek) but we see a real smile from him. He goes with Joyce and Will to Will’s appointments at Hawkins Lab (we don't know how often but it's obviously frequent enough that Owens jokingly refers to Hopper as Will’s “Pop”). Hopper has a purpose again. To protect Will and Joyce, keep them safe. These are externalities. And as someone as riddled with trauma as Hopper is, externalities make it easier to function. Hyper-vigilance and overprotective/controlling behavior aren’t exactly admirable qualities, but they come in handy when the people close to you are threatened by inter-dimensional shadow monsters.

It’s at the end of 2x1 when we are introduced to the biggest change for Hopper: he has El. Someone to “feed, protect, teach.” And love. Turns out, love is a feeling. And with one feeling comes many feelings. She brought him out of that deep dark cave so now Hopper smiles. Laughs. Cries. Loses his temper. And with those feelings come all of his own insecurities, imperfections, fears. He confides in El at the end of the season about some of these fears: he believes himself to be a black hole. A black hole that took Sara. Almost took Will. And could take El too and he is terrified that will happen. He apologizes for some of his bad behavior. And we see El forgive him because she not only loves him, but recognizes that his anger and fear come from a different place than Brenner’s did. Hopper isn’t exhibiting controlling behavior to manipulate her. It’s because he loves her.

But here’s the thing. His apology and his and El’s recognition of his toxic behavior doesn’t make it okay, and it doesn’t magically make it disappear moving forward.

The 2 year gap between S2 and S3, I think, gave us a lot of time as a fandom to create the Hopper we wanted in our minds. A Hopper that moved past his trauma at the end of S2. A Hopper that didn’t lose his temper anymore because he apologized to El. A temper he can shut off now because the Gate is closed. A Hopper who would patiently wait around for years until Joyce was ready for him and had moved on from Bob. A Hopper who would be fine with sharing El with Mike because love conquers all. A Hopper viewed through rose-colored glasses.

But this isn’t realistic. Trauma can often be complex and in Hopper’s case, compartmentalized, making it easy to burst forth at any given moment and often inappropriately so. It can make you act badly, irrationally. It can be 2 steps forward and 3 steps back. And as an audience, I think a lot of us didn’t expect this to be a part of his storyline in S3. The expectation was that there would be continuous upward growth from his arc in S2 and when that didn’t happen, it was the subverted expectations that led to the disappointment in how his arc was handled in S3. But this disappointment doesn’t mean his arc didn’t make sense.

Assertion 3:

The Hopper we see at the end of S2 seems content. He has El. He has Joyce’s friendship. Things are at peace, the gate is closed. All is well. Or so we think. The Hopper we see at the beginning of S3 is miserable, lonely, sad, fat, and angry. It’s kind of jarring. But so are the circumstances at the beginning of S3. In S3, there is no longer an active threat. Everyone is starting to move on from the events of S1-S2. Joyce and El don’t need his protection anymore because there is no active threat. His hyper-vigilance leads him to almost shooting Betsy Payne’s dog, not shooting inter-dimensional demodogs. His overprotective/ controlling instincts are no longer useful they’re annoying, over the top, and just plain toxic.

In short, there are no longer externalities for Hopper to focus on, so all he has to focus on is himself. And he is not good at doing that, because that means focusing on his fears, insecurities, and imperfections. And the circumstances at the beginning of s3 give him plenty to personally angst about The two major ones:

1) El is growing up. This is normal, of course. Little girls become teenagers who become adults. But El isn’t a normal girl, and Hopper is not a normal Dad. El has superpowers, and she is not a kid anymore. She is a teenager with a boyfriend, she doesn’t need him the same way she used to, and Hopper cannot protect her the way he used to. Hopper lost his daughter when she was ~6 years old and he didn’t get to raise El for the first 12 years of her life. They’ve missed out on so much together.

And here’s the tragic thing: eventually, she will become an adult, and she will no longer need him at all, theoretically. Hopper isn’t her biological father. So what ties El to him, other than her need for him to protect her? In his mind, nothing. In his mind, her growing up means turning 18 and leaving him. Permanently. He can’t lose another daughter. That would break him. So what does he do? “Try to stop the change. Turn back the clock. Make things go back to the way things were.” When she was his little girl he was not in danger of losing her. And because he has trauma, because he is unable to handle his emotions, he takes it out on Mike and Mike/El’s relationship. He takes it out on their closeness. This symbol of her becoming an adult.

2) Joyce is moving away. Understandable, of course. Her youngest son was snatched by the Demogorgon and she had to venture into another dimension to bring him back from near death, he was possessed in S2, and her boyfriend was brutally murdered in front of her. I would want out of there, too. But doing so means leaving Hopper behind. Joyce, the one other constant in his life, who he can talk to about anything, who he relies on for parenting advice for El, who he can trust completely, who is always there for him, who he loves (who perhaps he’s always loved). And she’s leaving him behind.

So he thinks maybe, maybe, if he make her feel safe, if he gives her a reason to stay (him)...that she will. But she stands him up and she doesn’t just stand him up, it turns out it’s because the threat was back and he not only didn’t realize it but wasn’t able to keep them all safe from it, despite that being his sole driving force. He had one job. And he failed.

So, you see, Hopper’s character arc in S3 is about him, and not the externalities in S1-S2. He cannot hide behind the danger anymore. He can’t hide behind “feeding, protecting, teaching.” His flaws and imperfections are on full display and it’s more difficult for us, and Hopper, to sweep them under the rug. They’re amplified by the circumstances and his arc.

Assertion 4:

This is sort of an aside? But something I still wanted to address because I see it come up a lot. Namely, that Hopper and Joyce’s dynamic in S3 didn’t make sense, was out of character, and/or that Hopper’s behavior was abusive. I think that this particular point is important to review not only for Hopper but for Joyce as well, who is integral to Hopper’s character arc, and who I think the fandom often handles with kid gloves. Full disclosure, I AM a Jopper shipper, and have been since 1x1. That being said, I was not bothered by their dynamic in S3 because I think it was an important bridge in the structure of the show as as well as their relationship.

We still at this point in time don’t know what Jopper’s backstory is, although I suspect we are going to finally get that in S4 based on some of the spoilers/casting calls we’ve gotten over the course of the last few months. What we do know is at the beginning of S1 there is a familiarity between them (she calls him Hop), there are rumors around town that they fucked, and they seem to trust each other on a level that is not shared with other adult characters.

I hear a lot of people say S2 was “peak Jopper.” Their relationship is pretty stable. They are friends, he goes with her to Hawkins Lab, she relies on him for safety and protection, they are gentle with each other. It’s nice. But it’s also not very personal. Joyce is with Bob. Hopper doesn’t tell Joyce that he’s been hiding El. They obviously care about each other (and it seems like Hopper has some feelings there) but they hold each other at arm’s length.

This isn’t the case anymore in S3. In S3, there is no more arm’s length. They’re co-parenting. He shows up at Melvald’s at the beginning of 3x1 (reminiscent of Bob appearing at the beginning of 2x1) for advice, which it appears he’s been doing for months. They really have no one else but each other to confide in, which they clearly do a lot. There are feelings there now on both sides (I don’t subscribe to the theory that Joyce doesn’t reciprocate his feelings, but that is a discussion for another thread.)

These new (old?) feelings interrupted the S2 relationship dynamic. They’re not just comfortable friends anymore reminiscing about high school. Hopper wants to be close to her, but doesn’t quite know how and blunders through attempt after attempt and the more she rejects him the more upset he gets and the worse he handles it. Joyce is still struggling to move on from Bob and (imo) is confused about her feelings for Hopper because he is a little bit like Bob, a little bit like Lonnie (and yet nothing like either of them at the same time) and I don’t think she quite knows what to do with that except to fight her feelings and hold Hopper at arm’s length. The end result is bickering and Hopper losing his temper, because neither of them are able to really discuss their feelings for various reasons.

Most significantly, when they’re bickering and when Hopper loses his temper, Joyce is not afraid of Hopper. She is never afraid of him. She holds her own, she argues back, she stands her ground. When he refuses to believe her about the magnets, she steamrolls him into following her to the Lab. When he shouts at her, she shouts back. When he digs at her, she digs back. The problem with characterizing Hopper’s behavior in S3 as abusive is it fails to grasp the intent behind the bickering. They’re attempting to find a new normal, a new relationship dynamic. The way people refer to them throughout the season is heavily coded in language that describes a “team” a “couple.” Because despite the bickering they do respect each other and care about each other and in 3x8 they start to come to that realization together.

(My other issue with calling Hopper abusive is that it makes Joyce a victim. And Joyce isn’t a victim. She’s own her independent entity with needs and wants and desires. After 2 seasons of being “mom,” shoving her into another archetype reliant on another male character’s actions sorta sucks, doesn’t it? I really do not think this what the Duffers were going for here.)

Assertion 5:

Finally, I wanted to touch on the 3 biggest Hopper blunders in S3:

1) Constantly losing his temper. I italicized this further up because I wanted to emphasize the fact that this was not something new in S3. It’s always been there. In S1 the benzo’s were masking it. In S2, he was screaming at a 12 year old girl about how she cannot do anything right. It’s unacceptable behavior. It got worse in S3 because it is also a symptom of a hurting man who is losing control of everything around him. In S1-S2 attempting to control everything worked, in S3 it didn’t work anymore.

2) Breaking up Mike and El. After nearly a year of it just being El and Hopper, he has to share her with Mike. Combine this with El growing up and Mike and El’s co-dependent behavior, it’s a recipe for disaster. He tries and fails at a heart to heart and starts shouting and carrying on instead. Slipping into cop mode is easier than Dad mode. It was also the wrong way to handle it.

3) Trying to push Joyce into a date before she was ready. I already touched a bit on this above in #3, but his eagerness to make her stay leads him to try to push her into something she is not ready for. The end result is more misery for him when she fails to show up, and him being a jerk about it for the duration of the season (”You know he reminds me a little bit of a Russian Scott Clarke.”)

Here’s the thing though, he makes these blunders because he’s flawed. He’s always been flawed. And the combination of his prior trauma, the circumstances leading up to S3, the shift in relationship dynamics between him and Joyce, and the shift of the narrative from externalities to hhis internalities, make S3 very different than S1-S2. And it showed us that Hopper really is more of an anti-hero than a “good guy” and has been this entire time.

And if you wanted him to be the good guy because he had soft moments in S1-S2, S3 was just a set-up for a let-down because Hopper isn’t the good guy. He’s a jerk. And jerks don’t get the girl. Jerks don’t get happy endings. Jerks die. Unless they survive, and get a chance at redemption.

Being trapped in a frozen Russian gulag can kill you, or it can make you stronger. It can make you re-evaluate what you took for granted, how you handled situations, how you interact with those you love, what really matters. And for someone like Hopper, who loves deeply despite his issues, this is the opportunity to turn all of that around and truly start over. And if you are the Duffer brothers, you want to ying and yang that shit so the yang is that much more noticeable and emotional when it happens. This whole journey for Hopper is just as important as the outcome and as someone who loves his character, I want to be with him for that entire journey, not just the “good” parts.

So I guess, in sum, Hopper is a flawed jerk who loves El and Joyce. Who makes mistakes, but usually has good intentions. Who had a lot of bad shit happen to him. Who made a lot of missteps and mistakes, particularly in S3, but deserves empathy and a chance at redemption. Who should come back a changed man and get the girl and the happy ending. And I think S3 needs to be viewed through this vacuum in order to fully appreciate his character and the arc.

And if you read all the way through this, God Bless you.

#Jim Hopper #Joyce Byers #El Hopper #Stranger Things #Jopper #meta #not sure what else to tag this or if should even be tagging this at all?#anyway thank you for coming to my long winded ted talk #please feel free to discuss and add your thoughts if you so desire

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