#i should put actual tags on this now apologies for the rant everyone | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

zuzuthelord · 6 months

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After about 2 days of writing, I've done it. I wrote a full rant about all my thoughts on C//A. This whole thing is about 10K+ words, and it's not favorable to C//A, so if this somehow ends up in the C//A tag, my apologies for that. I really don't want discourse on this post, so if y'all like C//A, it's cool, but please don't interact with this. That being said...

I just saw a post (I can't find it but all credit to the OP for this sentence) which said something along the lines of "All the other characters carry Catra's redemption arc," which is just so true. Everyone around her just... drags her through her entire arc. She had to pushed into doing a good thing by Glimmer, she had to be saved by Adora to join the heroes... Catra did one good thing but beyond that, she really has no agency in her redemption. She doesn't go out of her way to make up for what she's done, she just goes along for the ride with Adora because she has nowhere to go. She doesn't offer more than a vague apology for her actions, and another way her arc is carried not by herself but by others is that they go out of their way to forgive her instead, rather than her putting in work. They actually don't hold her accountable and just... accept her, rather than her acknowledging her mistakes, which ends up furthering the trend of everyone else having more agency in Catra's arc than Catra herself. The lack of acknowledgement of her actions cheapens her arc and reduces her agency in it, because she can't and doesn't have to work if everyone does the work of forgiving her already. It is the actions and behavior of the people around Catra that make her seem like a good person, not anything Catra herself does. Like, Glimmer doesn't even bring up Angella. You know, her mom who's gone now because of Catra's actions?

Catra's insecurities and issues aren't dealt with so much as they just disappear or are toned down and written to be a non-issue even after we spent so much time building them up. The people around her just conveniently ignore the magnitude of her actions, and the narrative tries its damndest to downplay and excuse her actions, because the writers know they don't have the time to redeem Catra properly if they actually consider the magnitude of what she's done. So, the characters conveniently forget the more egregious things she's done, her more unsavory qualities are toned down, her personal and emotional conflicts are ignored or shown as a non-issue, or even sometimes portrayed as the right viewpoint to have so that it doesn't have to be addressed. All this ends up making it seem like Catra hasn't changed at all. She still has prejudice against the princesses, she still blames Adora for leaving her, she is still selfish and wants Adora to focus on her rather than others.

Her whole problem was that because of the abuse she suffered, she leaned on Adora to be her protector and felt betrayed when Adora left her because she always thought Adora was SW's favorite and therefore had a responsibility to protect her. Catra feels like Adora gets "everything she wants" and feels like she is always overshadowed and overlooked because of her, and that translates to a resentment of her and an expectation that Adora should stay by her side and protect her, since she's supposedly SW's favorite and Catra's friend, so of course that's her job. Which is why she feels betrayed when Adora leaves and she blames Adora for things that never were her fault to begin with. She was obsessed with taking Adora down because she thought Adora betrayed her and hurt her, which is because she was so focused on herself and what she was owed rather than understand the abuse that Adora also suffered. But come season 5 and her supposed redemption, she is still blaming Adora!

I understand the thought process that she is still in the beginning of her redemption and that she has a lot more growing to at the end of the series. I think Catra can truly be a genuinely good person and that she has the ability to change. But the series presents it as though she has already changed. She is not held accountable for everything she did. In fact, she barely acknowledges it, and she cracks jokes about it instead. If it was a one-time thing it would be fine, but there are many jokes about how Catra hates Princesses, and these are treated as comedy than acknowledged as the unwarranted prejudice that she holds. Entrapta even says it's normal for Catra to hate princesses as though it's some quirky character trait and not something she needs to work to overcome.

She also behaves passive-aggressively and blames Adora for fighting her during their previous conflicts when she was always the instigator. She is still possessive of Adora, treating her choosing to save the world over her own well-being as Adora choosing SW over her. Even at the end of the world, it's still about how Adora is hurting Catra's feelings. It's about Adora choosing something else over what Catra wants for her. Sure, maybe Catra is right that Adora is neglecting herself and what she wants for the world. The problem is that she gets angry at Adora for it and takes it as some personal offense to herself, and she makes it about Adora putting someone else before her. Her words are coming from a place of self-interest and not genuine and selfless care for someone she supposedly has loved her whole life.

Even when Adora is begging Catra to stay, she leaves, because it's never been about supporting Adora and wanting the best for her. It's about Adora doing what Catra wants for her, which ties into what Catra herself wants, which is for Adora to choose her. Catra asking Adora what she wants and then leaving when Adora expressly says "Stay, I need you," is the summation of their entire dynamic. In which Adora gives and gives to everyone, and Catra rebukes her for it, but only because she wants all the focus to be on her. This scene would be a lot more impactful if Catra wasn't the person who helped make Adora this way, if Catra wasn't the person who wanted to take away Adora's choices, if Catra wasn't the one who wanted to possess Adora and keep her to herself, if Catra wasn't the one who made Adora feel like she had to be the one to protect everyone else and that she couldn't fail.

Catra wanted to possess Adora then and she still does now. She hasn't changed and she still can't see beyond herself. She still wants Adora, her entire redemption revolves around Adora. She didn't do a good thing because she realized she was wrong, she just did it because she realized she maybe shouldn't let the person she loves die. She's always known she was doing horrible things and she still enjoyed doing them. She knew the harm she was causing, and she didn't care. One line about how it wasn't what she really wanted does not erase the sadistic, gleeful smiles and the world domination and the threat to end the world out of hatred and spite. And the fact that she changed, just for Adora, does not bode well, because it means she still doesn't care that she did bad things, and that she still would gladly be doing them if not for one solitary person on the other side. She's not a colonizer anymore, but it's not because she thinks it is wrong.

Glimmer was held more accountable than Catra for far less crimes, and Catra was treated like she had a mean argument or a falling out with the BFS rather than that she actively tried to kill them multiple times. She did do a good thing, I won't deny it, but it should take more than that to actually be forgiven, considering everything else she did which is like, way worse, and it didn't. Like I said, I understand the thought that she is in the beginning stages of redemption and has a lot more to change about herself. But if that were so, then she shouldn't be in a romantic relationship, or even any kind of relationship, with Adora, her victim, before she has truly done all the work to undo at least most of, if not all, of her toxic ideas. She shouldn't be portrayed as being healed and healthy. How can you be in a relationship with someone you abused if you're still victim blaming them? How can Adora, a heroic person who has a deep sense of right and wrong and is empathetic and selfless, be with someone who still doesn't feel guilty over everyone they hurt, who still carries irrational hatred for the people she loves and who cares only about themselves? Because that's who Catra is. She's the same old Catra.

She may have taken a first step, but that's all it is. The most annoying thing is that the show actually shows that she is still not there yet, and that she still carries many of her toxic traits. She is still cruel and selfish, and she still has her abusive tendencies. She's just not literally a colonizer anymore. These are all traits that the show has shown are bad and damaging to both Catra and the people around her. But in season 5, somehow, they are supposed to be... endearing? It's not supposed to be an issue. It's played for laughs. Her arc just jumps from one extreme to another. All the insecurity and hatred she felt for Adora just... vanishes, somehow. She is suddenly comfortable with being around her and kissing her, but in the finale of the previous season she was still blaming Adora for ruining her life. And somehow three episodes later and with no build up whatsoever, she's gotten over it, apparently? Where did her resentment and anger go? The show pushed for C//A so much that it had to erase all of Catra's conflicts, because there was no real way to deal with them and get her together with Adora, because the solution to most if not all of Catra's internal struggles is to be away from Adora, and that can't happen if they're supposed to be endgame.

It's really obvious that the story for season 5 was written around C//A and not the characters themselves. The penultimate scene in the finale is the kiss between Adora and Catra. The whole confession Catra gives just shows how the show failed to take into account the characters and their arcs. It just slapped all the romance tropes it could into the story without thinking about how it came across considering the previously established relationship between Catra and Adora. For example, we had Catra ask Adora what she wanted and when she got to choose. A classic trope, of course, the love interest being the only one to see the real person behind the hero's facade. Only, it doesn't work, because like I said, Catra is the one who spent most of the series making Adora feel like she had to protect everyone and everything even at her own expense, that everything was Adora's responsibility and that she couldn't fail. She's the one who spent the whole series resenting Adora because "Adora gets everything she wants!" And so, this line coming from Catra as though she is the only one who actually cares about Adora means nothing. Especially since we never saw Catra actually confront her insecurities about Adora. Throughout the series, we actually have Glimmer and Bow say things like "You'd be so annoying if you were perfect," and "we don't like you because you're She-Ra, we like you because of you," to Adora (I'm paraphrasing but that's mostly right), and they were sidelined so that Catra could ask Adora something she realistically has no business asking or even caring about.

Because she doesn't care about it. She still doesn't. After running away, she reveals the reason for why she is so upset. And it's "Adora chose Shadow Weaver! Adora doesn't want me! Not like I want her." On the surface, it's a common romantic trope. This would be a beautiful trope if used in an otherwise healthy and supportive relationship. Watching the normally supportive character finally be sad because they are afraid of not having their feelings returned and having a misunderstanding with the other character because of it is a great trope which I do love very much.

But in an effort to slap it onto C//A, the show neglected one very important thing. It's the fact that Catra has historically been possessive of Adora and has abused her for leaving her and not putting Catra first. So, to have Catra be like "Adora is choosing other people over me! She isn't loving me the way I want her to!" is really weird. Because she's used these same excuses to abuse Adora for four seasons. And to portray this as a romantic misunderstanding rather than the toxic and abusive mindset it is, is pretty gross. Again, if it were a one-off thing, it would be fine to implement this trope. But this is a repeated behavior for Catra, this is something she has been saying throughout the series, and it's something she has used as justification to abuse Adora. The fact that Adora chose the Rebellion over her made Catra abuse her, the fact that Adora just wanted to be friends with someone else made Catra attack her. Now treating this as some sympathetic moment is just ignoring everything that came before. Just because it's toned down to look romantic doesn't mean it's not problematic in the context of their previous relationship.

Again, in any other context it would be fine, but in the context of C//A, it just shows that Catra hasn't changed her toxic mindset, she still feels entitled to Adora's feelings, and her support is conditional on if Adora will cater to her needs and feelings. The fucking world doesn't matter if Adora doesn't want to kiss Catra. Adora is in a lot of emotional pain, she is afraid and hurting, and she needs someone who loves her more than ever. And Catra leaves, because "Adora chose SW over me!" Which could also be fine. Even the most supportive of people can be overcome by their emotions. They can feel resentful of always being placed second. But since Catra historically has an issue of being possessive of Adora and punishing her for wanting something other than what Catra herself wants, or for wanting to simply be friends with someone who isn't Catra, this trope just does not work.

Catra, who spent about 4 seasons trying to hurt Adora for leaving her even though she never did, is now actually abandoning Adora in her time of need because Adora didn't choose her. Her whole speech about asking what Adora wants is pointless because she ran away for a whole other reason, which is because Adora didn't choose Catra like Catra wanted her to. It's just Catra, yet again, being possessive of Adora and being selfish and cruel to her. It ends up showing us that Catra has not changed. Because after she spent so long punishing Adora and hurting and abusing her, she really has no right to expect Adora to feel a certain way about her, and she has no right to get mad about it. And yet, she does, because she's only thinking of herself and doesn't spare any thought to Adora's feelings and pain.

Catra is obsessed with Adora. She doesn't actually love Adora for who she is, she is still obsessed with the idea of who Adora is to her. She realizes she doesn't want to hurt Adora anymore, but only on a very surface level after she's lost everything. But she still hasn't dealt with all the insecurities and resentment she feels for Adora, and it shows. She still believes Adora abandoned her, that Adora likes being perfect and a hero, and that Adora should choose her over everyone else. She is still basing her self-worth on Adora and making unreasonable expectations of Adora because of this. Adora possibly not loving her back is enough to make her feel like she is unwanted, and this turns into her blaming Adora for choosing SW, and she externalizes it and leaves Adora kneeling in the dirt and calling for her. This is exactly what she's been doing all this time! She's tied her self-worth with Adora, and pushed Adora to validate and protect her, which put a lot of pressure and responsibility on Adora. And when Adora left, she felt so betrayed that she tried to murder her over and over, and even then, her self-worth was tied with Adora and taking her down and winning against her.

To let go of her obsession, Catra needed to find new friends and new people to care about her, and to let go of this obsession. She needed to find new value in herself as a person, and she needed to find her own identity and individuality. But in comes C//A, where this obsession that make Catra abuse Adora is a good thing actually and isn't it so romantic that Catra still doesn't have a healthy sense of self that isn't dependent on her victim, no it's not unhealthy or toxic even though that's what we've been saying all this time, it's true love! And it's like... it's not wrong at all to depend on other people and need them. But it has to be mutual, it has to be a give and take. It has to be healthy, and it shouldn't be a cause of pain to anyone. This relationship where Adora gives and gives and Catra takes and takes is the definition of codependency. And this leads Catra to abuse Adora and hurt her when she feels like her needs are not being met. Like, missing someone and thinking all the time about them isn't inherently an unhealthy thing. But it can't literally be the only thing you do. Catra is just obsessed with Adora to the point that this consumes any other ambitions or wants she might have (you know, other than SW's love, and that is also kind of tied to her obsession with Adora). And she can't open herself up to anything other than Adora and her obsession with her, and it negatively impacts her.

This scene where she runs away from Adora also kind of shows this, that it's still just about Adora and how she only cares about her and is obsessed with her. She is part of the Rebellion, a group that's pretty much the world's last hope, and she just... walks away, because she feels like Adora doesn't like her back romantically. And before this, she tried to get Adora to stop taking the failsafe even though it was the planet's last hope. She is willing to abandon the world for Adora, and not in a selfless way, because she's on board with letting the planet get destroyed if it means Adora gets to stay (for how long I wonder, since the planet is gonna be destroyed), and later she abandons Adora because Adora didn't choose her, which makes it seem like she was alright with letting the planet be destroyed so that she could keep Adora for herself, not out of genuine concern for Adora. It makes it seem like Catra just wanted Adora by her side so that she herself could be comforted and validated and loved the way she wants, because she leaves when Adora doesn't do what she wants.

Her leaving when the world is about to end just because Adora doesn't want to kiss her itself does such a disservice to her character. It could have been a moment of Catra finally doing something for selfless reasons, finally looking past her own pain and her own issues to do something for others. To show that she's grown. She once was ready to let the world end because she wanted to possess Adora and wanted to spite and hurt her, but now she is willing to do whatever it takes to save the world, even if it means losing Adora. That's what Catra's arc could have been. Her really realizing what she wanted and the mistakes she made, and working hard to fix them and make the right choices. Instead, we got that awful scene where Catra abandons Adora in her time of need and leaves her crying and alone.

It makes her asking Adora what she wants also meaningless, because when she is alone, she admits that it's really because she wanted Adora to like her romantically, and that thought that she didn't feel the way Catra wanted her to feel was enough for her to just up and leave Adora when she needed Catra by her side. It ends up showing us that Catra still ties her own self-worth to Adora, and that she still externalizes it when she feels unwanted. This is why she is so possessive. She wants to be needed by Adora, and that means that Adora can't need anyone but her. She's wanted SW's approval but was denied it constantly, so she clung onto Adora instead. Her desire to be needed and the way she relied on Adora for her self-worth is why she felt like she was abandoned by Adora, and so she abused her for it. And once more, this needed to be addressed. Catra needed to find self-worth and an identity outside Adora. She needed to be able to love herself, and not be so desperate for the approval of others. That would make her happier, and it would also mean that any apology she gives genuinely comes from actual remorse than her desire to be needed by someone.

However, that didn't happen. Instead, Catra being dependent on Adora is treated as romantic, like an "oh look how important Adora is to Catra, look how sad she is when Adora doesn't choose her!" And the problem is that that's not all it is. It's that Catra feels worthless if Adora doesn't love her back, she feels like she is unwanted and unloved if Adora doesn't feel the way about her that she wants. And she punishes Adora for it by leaving her alone. This is their dynamic. Catra depends on Adora for everything, from protection to validation to affection to her own worth as a person. And Adora, who internalized being needed and being responsible for everything, tries to please and protect others at her own expense, and this is what she does for Catra.

It's unhealthy for both of them, because it causes Catra to place heavy burdens on Adora that reinforces her martyr complex and causes Catra to feel worthless when Adora can't meet those expectations. This makes Catra take out those negative emotions on Adora because she blames Adora, because she can't blame herself. This starts the cycle of Adora giving everything she can (which reinforces her self-sacrificial tendencies and her own lack of self-worth), and once something happens that makes her unable to behave the way Catra wants, Catra descends into self-hatred and externalizes it onto Adora, and punishes her for it. This is why most of their dynamic in the flashbacks and in season 5 is Adora comforting Catra even after Catra slashed her or yelled at her, and Catra then responding with some kind of positive emotion. Adora leaving Catra made Catra feel abandoned, and she spent plenty of time trying to kill Adora for it, even though the problem was that she didn't like herself. And in the finale, Adora choosing to sacrifice herself reads to Catra as Adora choosing SW over her, i.e., not doing what would make Catra feel better, and she leaves Adora in her lowest point.

Again, Catra leaving would be fine if she had been a supportive, constant presence at Adora's side all this while. Because even the most supportive of people have their breaking point and have conflicts with their loved ones that cause them to walk away, and people make mistakes. But having this here with Catra just makes her come off as a douchebag, because she's only been with Adora for like, a few days? And she spent the time before this short team-up hurting and abusing Adora, and now she runs off once again the moment she has any kind of disagreement with Adora. Even as Adora begs her to stay and tries to reassure her, she just shoves her away and runs when Adora needs her most. This could be a standard conflict, except it makes it seem like Catra's support is very conditional on Adora catering to her needs. Out of context it's fine, but when taken into consideration with all the moments in the show, it just drives home the point that Catra hasn't really changed much at all.

She's so dependent on Adora and so unable to see outside that bubble that she doesn't even care about the world that's about to end. And you know, considering that Catra was once willing to let the world end just because of her selfish wish to not let Adora win, it paints a bad picture that she's asking Adora to not do the thing that might save the world, showing that Catra still doesn't give the slightest shit about anyone else other than Adora, which... considering her past as a colonizer who never really admitted that maybe world domination is a bad and horrible thing, is kinda icky. One more point in the "Catra hasn't truly changed as person" box.

This scene also uses the trope of the supportive character putting their foot down and calling out the love interest. Which is fine and dandy until you realize Catra has been using Adora's martyr complex as a way to emotionally abuse her all this time, and she made worse what SW instilled in Adora, that it is on her to protect others with no regard for herself. Catra spent the whole series exacerbating Adora's martyr complex, and the fact that she is the one who calls it out as though she has been endlessly supporting Adora and not actually making it worse, and that the characters who always affirmed Adora's importance and had her back are not involved in this is really gross, especially since the fact that Catra did this is never actually addressed or even brought up.

Catra asking Adora what she wants is... rich, for reasons I explained above. But another thing is the way that Catra blames Adora for this. Adora does have a martyr complex and does try to take responsibility for everything. But what else should she have realistically done? Let the world burn because her formerly (debatable) abusive girlfriend says she doesn't have to save it even though she's the only one who can? Does she have another plan? Is it that Adora chose this option that would sacrifice herself out of other options that don't involve her sacrificing herself? Because that's what Catra is yelling about when she says, "Why are you like this?" This very much is not Adora's fault. And yet Catra is taking the time to yell at her about not choosing for herself. She's placing fault on Adora for something Adora never did. It's so guilt-trippy and gross.

The show makes it out as thought this is about Adora's martyr complex, when it really is not. It doesn't present any other solution. What about this being the only way can be read as Adora wanting to always sacrifice herself? Catra is blaming Adora for things out of her control. And the problem with this is this is a tactic Catra used to abuse Adora and excuse herself of doing it. So, for her to do it again and for it to be portrayed as a good thing is... fucking disgusting? One more time for emphasis, if Catra had never done this before, it would be fine as a conflict. But making an abusive tactic of hers into her being the only one who cares about Adora is really strange considering her past. She should be dealing with things in a different way if she truly had changed.

Again, Catra made Adora this way. At the very least, she greatly exacerbated Adora's martyr complex. So for her to be telling Adora not to sacrifice herself without any push-back from Adora about how this is what Catra always told her she should do, from blaming her for not standing up for her against their mutual abuser to blaming her for the world domination and the end of the world that Catra caused, is bad writing and another example of the narrative bending over backwards to excuse Catra by not acknowledging her actions, and stripping her of responsibility and accountability for her actions so that she and Adora can kiss without seeming like it's still toxic.

And the "fight" part of this trope, the "falling out" part is also really bad, because it fails to take into account their previous dynamic, in which Adora always tried to take care of Catra's emotional needs and was hurt for it. And she's doing the same thing again. Instead of being supported in her hour of greatest need, she is once again comforting Catra and trying to reach out to Catra, while Catra herself is lashing out over some perceived slight that she makes out to be about herself when it's really not about her at all. Again, if it was just this once it would be fine, but this is a constant and repetitive dynamic in their relationship that has been shown to be toxic, so why would you put this at the end of Catra's arc, when her relationship with Adora is supposed to be repaired? I understand why she does it. Catra wants to be loved. She is also being manipulated by SW. That doesn't make it any less of a dick move, especially since this is the series finale and the end of Catra's redemption arc, where she is supposed to be a better person. She isn't supposed to still be blaming Adora. And her coming back means nothing, because even during her love confession, she is still blaming Adora!

The right way to go would be for Catra to confront Adora (even though she isn't the right person for this at all, but if it really has to be her), but continue to support her, even though she disagrees with her and even if she doesn't like what Adora does, even if what Adora does doesn't benefit her. Having her leave just makes her look like a real fucking asshole, and her coming back and saying she's going to stay loses a lot of its meaning. I don't trust that she'll support Adora unconditionally after this, because she's so erratic about it. She saves Adora from Horde Prime but continues to blame and insult her after the fact. She leaves Adora feeling hurt and sobbing on the ground, but comes back to save her and confess her love. This just paints a really unsatisfying picture. She comes back when Adora is on the brink of death but can't be arsed to stay by her side otherwise if it's inconvenient for her or if Adora isn't doing exactly as she likes.

My point is that all these romance tropes that are added to develop the C//A romance just end up making their relationship seem worse. The need to build up a romance in about half a season after having them be enemies for four whole seasons clearly made the writers stuff it with romance tropes with no consideration for how it would come across if you looked at the whole relationship portrayed throughout the show. For example, another trope used is the "character gets mind controlled and forced to fight their love interest," trope. This tries to get you in your emotions by putting the character through the agony of having to fight someone they love and being determined to save them. But again, this doesn't work with C//A because Catra isn't doing anything to Adora that she hasn't already done consciously and gleefully. And the show wants us to forget about all that and get us in our feels about Adora having to fight Catra now, ignoring the fact that Catra has attacked Adora plenty of times before this, so seeing them fight isn't anything to be horrified about. It just sort of reinforces how Catra has treated Adora all this time.

And another line from the finale is "Of course she's gone! That's what she does, isn't it?" Which could be fine, even great, out of context. But it completely ignores everything about the characters. Catra's whole thing is that she perceives Adora leaving as a personal betrayal and as her choosing others over Catra, which is a source of resentment towards Adora. Adora always leaves, she always takes everything from her, Adora gets everything she wants. And the whole point is that Catra is wrong about this! She's so obsessed with controlling Adora, with wanting her to protect Catra and take care of her and be only with her, that anything that Adora does that goes against something Catra wants must be that Adora is taking things from Catra, that she is leaving her. She never acknowledges the abuse that Adora herself suffered, because she is so caught up in her resentment of being SW's scapegoat. Because Adora didn't leave Catra. She asked her to come with her multiple times. She protected Catra with her own body when they were children. She didn't get "everything she wanted."

So Catra spends most of the series victim blaming Adora for escaping a toxic environment and resents her unfairly, because she is possessive and controlling. She spends the whole series obsessed with hurting Adora and showing her up. She spends the whole series being obsessed with Adora, whether it be getting her back or hurting her with no regard for Adora's well-being, because she felt like something was taken from her. Adora running wasn't her leaving Catra, it was her escaping a toxic and abusive environment because she realized how bad it was, not only to her but also to so many innocent people. But Catra was selfish and possessive, and she made it about herself. And this line just shows that Catra is still blaming Adora for leaving as though it was wrong of Adora to do so, as though Adora didn't try to reach out to Catra multiple times and help her too, as though Adora actually did betray Catra somehow. It's still victim blaming, and just because Catra saw it as personal betrayal doesn't mean it is. If Catra really knew Adora, if she was the person who actually knew Adora best, she would not continue to believe that Adora left her for real, and she would understand why Adora left. If Catra truly overcame her resentment of Adora and really was the person who saw what Adora wanted and actually wanted what was best for her, she would know this, and she wouldn't still be blaming Adora for leaving.

Hell, the confession falls apart if you look at it.

"You've never given up on anything in your life, not even on me."

Ignoring the Season 3 finale where Adora glares at Catra, letting her know she's done with her. And she never tries to reach Catra in Season 4. Adora did give up on Catra. It was an important moment for her character in the show, when she finally stops blaming herself and putting pressure on herself and blames who is truly responsible. It is a moment where she reclaims her agency and self-worth. It is an important moment where she rejects Catra's manipulation and gaslighting and her abuse, and it is important because it shows that you don't have to stick with abusive people and try to save them just because you care about them. You can leave. No one is responsible for their choices but them, and you don't have to continue to be hurt. And yet, this moment is forgotten in order for Catra to make her confession. This is yet another trope, where the character is the only one to have never given up on their love interest, except it just erases a whole part of Adora's arc to make this false claim that Adora never gave up on Catra, even when she rightfully did so.

"I've got you! I'm not letting go!"

Ignoring the fact that Catra never has let Adora go. In fact, Catra's whole problem is that she wouldn't let Adora go. She's always been obsessed with her and that has sunk her deeper and deeper. I understand that in the context of this confession, this line seems alright, and it is actually alright for what it's supposed to mean. But considering the overall narrative, I don't think Catra should be the one saying this. Her arc in S1-S4 revolved around her obsession with Adora a lot, and if she were truly to heal, she had to get over it and recognize Adora as an individual with her own wants and needs. She never does do this, because she still blames Adora and gets angry at her for not putting Catra's feelings first. She is still obsessed with Adora. She changed in that she doesn't want to kill Adora anymore, but the way she thinks of Adora isn't all that different. Her obsession was good in the first 4 seasons because it was portrayed as unhealthy and toxic for both Catra and Adora. It is less so in Season 5, where it's not addressed at all, and instead turned into the peak of romance, even when it is still deeply unhealthy. Someone like Glimmer or Bow should be saying this, not Catra, who should have ideally let Adora go.

"Don't you get it? I love you! I always have!"

This is wrong on so many levels. Because then Catra loved this girl, and she chose to abuse her despite it, or maybe even because of it. She chose to let the world end to spite the person she's loved all this time. And we've already established that she hasn't really changed all that much. Their relationship is not healthy now and it's not going to be healthy. Because if Catra loved Adora all this while, we know how this love is going to manifest, and that love won't stop Catra from hurting Adora. Catra still has her abusive traits, she still refuses to acknowledge that Adora was justified in leaving and she still thinks Adora wronged her. She's not attacking her anymore, but since she still holds onto the same justifications and hasn't changed her mind, it will never be a healthy relationship. Not until Catra stops blaming Adora, and sadly that didn't happen in the show.

"So please, just this once, stay!"

As though Adora left her. I already talked about this, so I won't go into it again, but it just shows that Catra doesn't actually know what Adora needs or doesn't know her at all, really. She's still clouded by her own emotions about the situation to be able to understand that Adora needed to leave for her own good.

This confession is deeply self-centered. It's still Catra asking Adora to protect her feelings and do things for her. It's still Catra blaming Adora for doing something for herself. If this was from any other character, it would have been a wonderful way to emphasize Adora finally choosing something for herself, as the character who stood by her side to help her carry the responsibilities she took on also helps her choose something for herself. But the fact that it is Catra, who spends the series being selfish as all hell, who always demands things of Adora and blames her for everything that goes wrong in her life, who is saying this, it sort of taints the whole thing. Hell, the request to stay would make sense coming from Glimmer or Bow more than it does from Catra, because they bore most of the brunt of Adora leaving them behind and "running away" because of her need to take responsibility for everything (which isn't actually running away, it's pretty much the opposite, but that's a conversation for another time). Adora running away from them is due to her martyr complex, which does make her leave them behind even when they don't want her to and when even she doesn't really want to, while Adora "running away" from Catra is an act of reclaiming her agency after learning that her whole life is a lie. And take a guess at which one is actually called out!

This is why I can't get behind the idea that their future romantic relationship will be healthy. Because none of the issues that made Catra abuse Adora have actually been resolved. She still hasn't come to understand that Adora was also abused, that Adora shouldn't have to always cater to her emotional needs, that Adora didn't abandon her and Catra was in the wrong for thinking that. Without these realizations, we can't truly say that Catra will not abuse Adora anymore. Especially since she still shows some abusive behaviors, even if the excessive violence and murder attempts have come to an end. They'll probably have a brief period of happiness, like a honeymoon phase, if you will, but when Catra's insecurities begin to rear their heads again, I have full faith that she will go back to doing what she's always done, hurt Adora because she wants to own her, because none of the issues she has with Adora that made her abuse her have actually been solved. "But she confessed to Adora that she loved her!" you might say. But just loving Adora has never stopped Catra from hurting her before. Catra has always loved Adora. That's the problem.

Any decent redemption would take steps to address Catra's obsession with Adora. It would make Catra develop an identity outside Adora, it would make Catra realize she was wrong to pretend that Adora had it all easy, that Adora escaping the Horde is not a personal betrayal of her but rather something that Adora needed to do for her own well-being. Catra has an image of Adora that is warped by hatred, and that has to change. But we never saw that. Their relationship only got worse and worse until Catra miraculously just... changed her whole tune about Adora with no build-up to the moment, and Adora just forgot everything Catra did and rushed off to start throwing herself at her. This just came out of nowhere. Catra has spent her life connecting her insecurities to Adora. She's happiest when she's not thinking about Adora.

Adora quite literally gave up on Catra in Season 3 and spent Season 4 not giving a damn about her. There was nothing, nothing, that changed about their relationship to prompt Catra into changing her mind. She was even accusing Adora of taking everything from her in the Season 4 finale, and she never even spoke to Adora after that. One talk with Glimmer about Adora doesn't erase years of resentment and feeling inferior, and it doesn't erase Catra's abusive behavior. What the show shows us is that the girls are better off apart. Catra is happiest when she isn't focusing on Adora. Adora is better off once she gives up on Catra. And yet we get them coming together without any kind of proper reconciliation and they just don't address anything Catra did, as though one good thing just erases everything else. And Adora just starts trusting Catra in such a short time without Catra really showing her that she's truly changed herself, like they just had a small falling out instead of the murder attempts and abuse. Catra fights alongside her, sure. She protects her, sure. She also continues her emotionally abusive tactics, whether she means it or not. She continues to be passive-aggressive and continues to victim blame Adora, she continues to be possessive and selfish.

Even her apology is lackluster. "I'm sorry, for everything!" What is this "everything"? Is it how she treated Adora? Well, she hasn't really changed much on that front. She's still victim blaming and possessive. Is it for trying to take over the world and subjugate its people? Well, she has never once expressed regret over it, so that doesn't track either. What even is Catra sorry for? We, the audience, don't have any idea. Especially since she continues to believe more or less the same things she believed as a fascist, so like, what is this apology for? She seems to fall back onto old habits the moment she's been rescued, blaming Adora and accusing her of playing hero, like she's been doing all this time. She refuses to own up to her actions and take accountability for them, which shows that really, she isn't all that concerned about the feelings of the people she hurt. For fucks sake, she literally yells, "I know you all hate me!" in an accusatory tone, like she is hurt and offended by the thought that people could hate her after everything she's done. And the show rewards her for avoiding responsibility by having everyone forgive her instantly.

There's such a whiplash in the portrayal of Catra, that one moment Catra is saying she's sorry, and the next she's pretending like she never did anything wrong. The "It never stopped you before," line is so gross in that way because Catra is being bitter about Adora fighting her even when they were friends. This is, of course, ignoring the fact that Catra herself started all those fights, that Catra was the one who enjoyed hurting Adora, and that Catra basically forced Adora to fight her to defend herself and the world itself. And here, she acts all passive aggressive about Adora having fought her and pretty much blames her for it by saying that she didn't like that Adora fought her and holds a grudge against her for it, when, like, it's entirely her fault? This is like a robber being annoyed at the victim for catching them. Catra has no right to be annoyed about this or to act accusatory towards Adora for this, considering she abused her and tried to kill her. She's the only one in the wrong for attacking Adora. She really has no reason or right to be bitter about Adora having attacked her, and she is not justified in blaming Adora for doing so.

And importantly, they weren't friends either, so the fact that Catra would treat Adora the way she did and still have the gall to say that Adora attacked her friend is ridiculous. She just pulls the friend card out of her ass now just to blame Adora for attacking her. Catra didn't think of Adora as her friend. The one episode they did spend as friends again ended with her letting Adora hang off a cliff to fall and die. And later she expresses that she would very much like to kill Adora herself. Catra treated Adora so horribly and hated her, and yet held an expectation that Adora should have not fought her because they were friends. She still thinks Adora should have thought of her as a friend and not attacked her, showing that she still has those expectations for Adora to cater to her and look after her even if she herself won't let herself be held to those standards, and even if she won't return anything Adora does for her.

She still thinks Adora is the wrong for fucking defending herself! And it's like, do the writers want her to seem like a dick or do they believe this? She's not really regretful about hurting Adora because she thinks Adora defending herself was Adora hurting her, who was supposed to be Adora's friend apparently. So what was her apology even about? She begrudges Adora for defending herself, so clearly, it's not because she realized trying to kill her was wrong, so what is this undefined "everything" that she mentions? If she truly took responsibility for what she did and admitted she was wrong to hurt Adora, she wouldn't be bitter about Adora defending herself!

And this isn't the only time. The line "I know you all hate me!" which I mentioned previously also reads this way, especially since Adora just went out of her way to risk her life for Catra. Catra legitimately sounds accusatory, like she's calling out Adora for hating her, like she's offended by it. Like "I know you really hate me even though you pretend not to, and I've had enough of it, so fuck off!" It sounds like she's calling out a toxic friend group. I actually have experience with having a group of friends pretend to like you when they say horrible shit about you behind your back. This is how I felt, angry and hurt, when they kept trying to pretend to be nice to me when I knew what they said about me behind my back, that I was stupid and weird and stuff. So I get the feeling behind that line. I get why she feels that way, in her flawed perspective.

The problem lies in the fact that it's toxic and is victim blaming, since Catra abused Adora and did plenty of other horrible things, which makes Adora's and her friends' resentment of her perfectly justified. You see, any redemption for Catra would mean that she finally learns that she shouldn't do horrible things anymore, that she finally learns to see Adora as a person, that she finally acknowledges that she had no reason to hurt her and that she is at fault for their relationship. But that's not what happens. Catra saves Adora, sure, but she continues to play victim, she continues to accuse Adora of hating her or whatever without acknowledging that Adora should be allowed to do this. If Catra was truly remorseful, she would accept it. As it is, it leaves me wondering why Catra even saved Adora? It's one thing to be called out for pushing people away, but it's different with Adora, because Catra didn't push her away in Catra's mind. She thinks it's Adora who left her. And she has a whole assortment of other issues with Adora. So, her turn to save Adora makes no sense, because she spent 4 seasons trying to kill her for these reasons, and nothing changed about these feelings when she decided to save her. If Catra truly had changed and realized her mistakes and how she hurt Adora, two things would have happened in this scene.

A) Catra would understand that Adora doesn't hate her, not really. Because she's been looking at Adora from a resentful and negative perspective all this while, without recognizing who Adora is. And redeeming herself would mean that Catra has to acknowledge the truth, that Adora didn't abandon her or hate her, and that using that as justification for her abuse is wrong.

I do think that Adora never truly hated Catra. She was resentful, and she did make the decision to give up on her, but I don't think she could truly just hate her. But she did give up on her, and it was a very important decision which was erased from her arc. Of course, Adora would want to save Catra, but she also did give up on her. I would have liked to see her feel conflicted about Catra. I would have liked to see her want to save Catra but also be hesitant about trusting her and letting her into her life again after everything she's done. As it is, Catra just blames Adora, proving that she still holds onto that negative and flawed view of Adora that Catra used as justification to abuse Adora. And Adora is expected to take the step to mend their relationship in which she is the victim and where Catra is at fault. One vague apology isn't enough to mend years of hurt, especially since Catra hasn't changed in a way that matters.

Catra views Adora in a flawed and untrue light, and instead of her realizing she was wrong and giving Adora a heartfelt apology, we get a vague sorry for some undefined "everything." And instead of Catra coming to see Adora for who she is and treating her as she deserves, Adora is supposed to prove to Catra that Catra is wrong about her, instead of Catra putting in the work to unlearn her toxic view of Adora. Adora is expected and made to put in the effort to help Catra heal, despite the fact that this is something Catra should do on her own, away from Adora. Because Adora doesn't have to do that for her, and because Catra being around Adora will only make her double down, and as we see, it does. She still accuses Adora of playing hero, she still blames Adora for her mistakes, she is still antagonistic, and she doesn't want to assume responsibility for her mistakes.

B) Catra wouldn't be yelling at Adora about how she knows Adora hates her, because she would understand that Adora should be allowed to have negative feelings about her.

Which she doesn't do. She's offended by it and hurt by it. As though they don't have a reason to hate her, and she's unhappy that they do. Catra is still placing the blame on Adora for hating her, almost like she thinks it's unfair. And then Adora has to comfort her and reassure her that she never hated her. She has to console Catra when she's sad about people hating her for valid reasons, and she isn't allowed to assert her right to be resentful after everything Catra has done, which completely ruins her moment in the season 3 finale. The narrative excuses Catra and never wants her to be sad. We're only ever supposed to feel sorry for her and want her to be happy, and that also means ignoring everything she did and the consequences for that. Because actually having other characters have self-respect and rightfully disliking Catra for what she did would make Catra sad, and we can't have that, now can we? We're only allowed to feel sorry for Catra, which is why the show keeps focusing on her trauma and giving more weight to how she feels while conveniently ignoring how her action make others feel and the impact it might have on them, like the abuse Adora suffered at her hands and Glimmer's loss of her mother. Because Catra needs to be portrayed in a good light so that C//A can happen, and if that comes at the expense of other characters, so be it.

Ultimately, there is no reason Catra is with the Rebellion other than Adora. One reason she fought in the Horde is to spite Adora, to prove herself over Adora and take her down. Her obsession caused her to sink lower and lower, and the episodes in the Crimson Waste seemed like they were setting up the idea that Catra would have to let go of Adora to be happy, because Adora represented everything that caused Catra pain. Which is not Adora's fault, and that's something Catra needed to realize as well, which could only happen if she distanced herself from Adora and her resentment towards her and gained an outside perspective. She needed to be apart from Adora. But Season 5 not only reaffirms Catra's warped view of her victim, and also portrays her obsession as a good thing. Catra is stripped of any personal identity or motivation in the final season outside following Adora around and eventually kissing her. She gets Melog, but Melog is like a cop-out for Catra actually putting in the work to change. She says she's working on her anger, but we never get to see her do it, or even why she comes to the conclusion that she wants to work on it at all, considering she's never thought much of it before. She says she'll do it one episode and she's pretty much over it the next.

Her issues and mistakes are, as I said, overlooked or downplayed so that they don't seem as problematic as they are. This is because making all the characters remember her actions would force them to acknowledge the magnitude of all that she's done, and then it would really be a yikes moment if she were to get together with one of them. Because they knew they couldn't make her come back from all she's done within the span of half a season and still manage to completely repair her relationship with her victims and even end up with one of them. The writers spent too much time on developing the enemies part of enemies-to-lovers, and they didn't have enough time for the lovers part to make it seem believable. So, they (the writers) had to gloss over her mistakes and never really address it. They downplayed it and ignored a lot of it so that they didn't have to put too much work into showing us that she's changed, so that it wouldn't seem OOC or just plain awful when they made Catra kiss the person she abused for years with just a little "development." I don't necessarily disagree with the story arc they planned for her, and I don't think that she's irredeemable or anything, even as she got worse and worse. But her actual turn was rushed to hell and back, and it cheapened her whole story, because if all it took was a few vague apologies, getting a haircut and one good action after a lifetime of evil, then what was all that build-up for?

There was not enough of a resolution for all that build-up, and that hurts all the characters. It hurts Adora's character, who's inspiring moment of asserting her self-worth and choosing to stand up for herself is forgotten in order to have her go back to falling over Catra and trying to reach out to her while getting none of it back again, with no acknowledgement of the fact that she once gave up on Catra entirely. It hurts Glimmer's character, whose grief over her mother is invalidated when she barely spares a mean look to the person responsible for it and smilingly invites her to sit next to her. It hurts Entrapta's character, when the pain she suffered at Beast Island where she was sent to die after being betrayed by someone she thought was a friend was diminished, and all was forgiven with just one sorry from Catra. It hurts Scorpia's character, when she forgave Catra in an instant without even a proper apology even though her whole arc was about standing up for herself and asserting her self-worth and that she deserves to be treated well. It hurts characters like Bow and the others who Catra hurt, who were stripped of their self-respect and rightful hatred of her and who accepted her immediately, because any of them actually not forgiving Catra would make her sad and that's not allowed. And it hurts Catra's character, who could have been an inspiring and wonderful character, who showed us that no matter how far you fall, you can still improve yourself, and you can still find a better life. We could have gotten so much, and their stories could have cemented themselves as one of the most nuanced and compelling stories of all time, with wonderful and uplifting messages that show people that they aren't alone, and that all hope is not lost. That they can change, and choose their own path, and find happiness and love and a better life.

Instead, we got SPOP season 5.

#anti catradora #anti ca #anti c//a #spop salt #spop criticism #spop critical #anti spop #spop discourse

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acephysicskarkat · 2 years

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did you think I was going to stop ranting about sp0p’s problems just because it’s a new year? thought i was going to make a clean break? tough fucking luck babes! today’s ramble is on That Thing You Like That Is Also Toxic, a thing that, for example, @adora-deserves-better has been seeing in the old ask box this evening.

as a courtesy note, as I’ve picked up one or two non-pornbot follows from people fleeing the birdsite implosion, if you do not want to see this stuff, please take this opportunity to blacklist “#spopcrit”, which has been my tag for this ongoing narrative and thematic autopsy for at least a year now. I promise that I don’t actually discuss this very often, I think at this point I’ve mostly said what I need to say (hell, even this is kind of a rehash of points I’ve made before, I just can’t be fucked tracking down those posts), but sometimes I do feel the need to dissect another organ to further look into what went wrong.

Anyway.

So the thing about fiction is that sometimes fictional romances are toxic. This is not, in itself, a problem; what matters is the handling of the toxicity.

As a case study, let’s look at the distinguished connoisseur’s enemies-to-lovers arc set in a science fantasy setting with a religious space empire and starring a lesbian with a big sword and a mysterious past, the Locked Tomb. Gideon and Harrow’s relationship is an unhinged mess of cosmic proportions. Harrow literally invented an entirely new way of having an unhealthy relationship just for this romance, and it involved brain surgery, which she performed on herself, at seventeen.

However.

The bit where this holds together is that the messiness and toxicity and general fuckery of the relationship is not an error on Tamsyn Muir’s part. It is a part of the narrative that Muir talks about in interviews. Exploring the mess and how it unfolds is a noticeable part of the plot.

It is, essentially, supposed to be kinda fucked.

This is where SP0P runs into its final season problems, because the framing and narrative treatment is not that this relationship is kinda fucked; it’s supposed to be Big and Heartwarming and they will beat you to death with scenes of them in Elysian-esque fields under golden light to make sure you know that...but that meshes poorly with the prior parts of the story, because as of S2-S3, this relationship was absolutely kinda fucked, there are entire episodes about how and why it’s kinda fucked, and, no matter what S5 thinks, it takes more than one apology to fix that.

The romance doesn’t work as narrative or thematic payoff because the show was previously making a big deal about themes that the romance actively harms, and the transition between the two stages is not smooth and does not feel natural. “The point of C*tra’s story is to explore what happens when you’re the toxic friend” meshes poorly with a final season that is all about everyone hastily forgiving C*tra for being the toxic friend and the people she hurt being stripped of agency to avoid any discomfort for the writers. “Abuse is bad” is absolutely a smart thing to say, but you lose a lot of points when you throw in “but also, the things my favourite character does that are totally indistinguishable from abuse are fine and romantic, actually.” They put in an actually really good episode about how C*tra’s obsession with Adora is wildly unhealthy and harmful to them both, and that she should just move on and let go, and then paid off absolutely none of that foreshadowing because it might make the shippers sad. Hell, Stevenson put “Learn to Let Go” on a C*tra playlist and then wrote an endgame about rewarding C*tra for not learning to let go!

The reason why C*tradora grinds my gears where, say, Griddlehark doesn’t is that Griddlehark is about taking a toxic mess, acknowledging that it’s a toxic mess and exploring how that toxic mess develops, and C*tradora is about taking a toxic mess, rushing through a kinda bad redemption arc that doesn’t meaningfully address the toxicity of the mess, and then just declaring it to be Officially Fine Now so that the showrunner’s favourite character can have a happy ending to a tremendously disappointing character arc.

(Also the pacing is bad and it ends up killing all the foreshadowing for actual interesting things the show had been doing in order to focus on C*tra whining about not being forgiven fast enough and how everything is still Adora’s fault, a thing that is vastly less sympathetic than the writers seem to think it is, but as ever, one crisis at a time!)

#spopcrit #tlt spoilers #locked tomb spoilers

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writing-in-april · 4 years

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Guest Lecturer

Spencer Reid x Female Reader

Summary: Reader gets Spencer riled up during class while he’s guest lecturing.

A/N: This is my 6th fic for my 750 follower celebration! This one kind of got away from me and I’ve been second guessing what I wrote all day lmao- I also imagine this as like season 9/10 Spencer. Thank you again to @spencers-dria who listens to all my rants about my writing AND gave me this idea. She’s amazing, everyone should go check out her fics.

Warnings: 18+, Established FWB relationship, Teasing in public, Spencer gets an untimely boner, Oral sex (M receiving), Unprotected sex, Degradation, Creampie

Main Masterlist Word count: 1.6k

“One of the earliest modern theories about criminology stated that criminals couldn’t help it—they were simply born that way. Cesare Lombroso came up with the theory, which he called “The Criminal Man,” in the late 19th century. Lombroso’s theory helped to unify criminal traits and identification (while also perhaps not paying enough attention to upbringing and environment as criminal factors).”

Whenever I invited Spencer to guest lecture in the criminology course I taught I got even more excited to do my job. The way he delivered every lecture sucked me in immediately, my full attention completely on him.

Today however, was different. The lecture I had invited him to do on the early history of the subject was material I had heard millions of times before as an educator. My mind was wandering more than usual and it had specifically wandered to observing how good Dr. Reid looked today. The two of us weren’t officially together, but all the late nights we both spent at each other’s apartments were not just to ‘hang out’.

I decided to tease him a little, to put my distracted mind to good use, after all he did something similar last week. I was sitting in the back of the relatively small lecture hall, but I knew of ways I could get Spencer’s eyes on me within an instant.

He was rambling on about the flaws in early criminology theories when I started to unbutton and shuck off my blazer. It was an innocent act that any wandering eyes of my students would not question, but the way I purposefully slightly traced over the edges of my bra was sure to get Spencer’s attention.

“S-sorrry class, I lost my train of thought.” I smirked as he stumbled over his words, he was so easy. He picked the lecture back up swiftly after that, though perhaps he was rambling a bit faster than before.

I was unsatisfied, so I continued on in my pursuit to make Spencer blush. I made a show of how I started to unbutton my blouse, but only the first two, I wasn’t trying to get fired here. The top two buttons, however small, served their purpose. When unbuttoned, they showed just enough of my chest that Spencer again started stuttering. My students were rather used to his stuttering, he’d often get talking so fast that he’d trip over his words and have to start the sentence over again. Knowing that in this case, his stuttering was for a different reason made my panties start to dampen.

My final tease towards the end of the lecture was to show him how turned on I was just from teasing him. I looked to make sure none of my students were just as distracted as I was and had wandering eyes before enacting the final stage of my revenge. I shifted to the side in my seat so my legs were facing halfway into the aisle, then uncrossing them which gave Spencer a good look at my panties. Maybe he would also be able to see the wet spot that had already begun to form, I was so glad I wore a skirt today.

His cheeks were starting to flush a deep red as he tried to casually shuffle behind the podium on the other side of the small stage where he finished the last bit of his lecture. I had no doubt he moved there in an attempt to hide his tightening slacks. I smirked again, mission accomplished.

After the end of his lecture I made my way up to the stage and dispersed my students. Once they had all asked their lingering questions to me and Spencer I turned to him and asked coyly, “Could we go talk in my office, Spencer?”

—-

“Sit down.” I commanded and motioned to my desk chair at the other side of the office. Spencer immediately followed my command, sitting down obediently on the chair with his hands laced together in front of him. “Why were you so distracted today Spencer?”

The flush that had been present earlier returned to his cheeks at my words before he started to stutter out, “You were t-teasing me during the lecture, I just wasn’t expecting it.”

“Well- you teased me last week did you not? After all, who was the poet that said- All is fair in love and war?” I asked while making my way to stand tall over where he was sitting in my chair.

“John Lyly.” He did not stutter this time when he answered my question, but the end of it rose in pitch when I started to get down on my knees. I may have been the one getting down on my knees, but there was no doubt who was the one in charge, me.

“You alright with me being a little rougher with my words today Spencer?” We had talked about rougher degradation before, he had even used harsh words on me before, though I still wanted to make sure that he was ok with it. Once he gave me the go ahead I only had one more thing to say to him before. Got started, “And, make sure to be quiet. We wouldn’t want anyone to hear how loud you are for me, would we?”

He nodded fast at my command, already so desperate for me to get started. I pulled his belt out of the loops then swiftly pulling down his pants and boxers, revealing his hard length to me. I kissed my way up his length, following the already throbbing vein that ran up the side before taking him into my mouth. His hands pulled into fists as I started to bob my head vigorously, also making sure to hollow my cheeks. I then batted his hand away when it involuntarily came to rest on my hand, then grabbed both of his hands to hold them down on the seat of the chair. Then, while holding him down partially I took him as far down my throat as possible, slightly gagging on him. His hips squirmed a little and when I looked up through my lashes I could see him biting down hard on his bottom lip to contain his moans. My own wetness was making me just as desperate as him, I pulled off of him so I could have us both indulge. His hips jerked desperately towards my mouth searching out his release he so desperately wanted. At least he was silently complaining and didn’t break my no noises rule. I spoke with a bite in my tone as I stripped out of my own clothes, “Don’t complain, despite being a desperate little thing you have been good so far, I was going to let you cum inside.” I hovered my dripping pussy over his length, I needed an apology from him before I was to indulge myself.

“I’m sorry…” He whimpered. “Please, let me have you?”

“Since you seem so sorry I’ll let it slide.” I scoffed a little before allowing myself to sink down onto his length. I had to bite my own lip hard as I felt all the ridges of his cock while I slowly sunk down on him, he always filled me so perfectly. As I started to move on top of him slowly I reveled in the way he tried to move underneath me, but the way I sat above him in the desk chair had his hips pinned firmly down.

“What do you think everyone would say if they saw you underneath me? What would they say when they found out that their guest lecturer is such a little whore for their professor?” He mewled loudly at my degrading words, so loudly that I had to clamp your hand over his mouth. “I told you to be quiet, I guess since you’re incapable of following my directions all the way through, I’ll just have to keep my hand here.”

He mewled underneath my hand, not stopping himself from holding back his noises now that my hand was muffling them. I could tell he was getting close, so I sped up the rolling of my hips and increased how harshly I bounced on top of him.

“Cum with me.” I ordered just as I could feel my orgasm beginning to overtake me. Spencer happily took my orders, it only took two more thrusts for him to come apart. He greedily grabbed my hips and slammed me down all the way down onto his length, spilling himself as deep inside me as he could. I would’ve normally chastised him for his greediness, but I was too distracted by the devastating orgasm I was riding out to really care.

After we both rode out our highs I let Spencer bask in the warmth of me for a few minutes before I got up to dole out the aftercare. Aftercare was arguably my favorite part of being with Spencer. I enjoyed my post coital conversations with him immensely and he was also the best at cuddling.

“Do you think your students suspected anything?” The worry in his voice was evident as I cleaned up the evidence of our excursion.

“No I don't think so, and even if they did they wouldn’t say anything, we didn’t do anything that would get me fired.” I hummed and sat down on Spencer’s lap, enveloping him in my warmth. I ran my fingers through his hair loving the way his curls felt through my fingers, I was so glad I didn’t have any more classes I had to teach today. I spoke again, with a little more affection in my tone compared to our normal post coital bliss conversations,“You are my favorite guest lecturer.”

“I’m your favorite guest lecturer?”

I snickered a little bit before answering,“Did I never tell you? You’re actually my only one.”

—-

Tag list (message me if you want to be added):

All works:

@shotarosleftpinky y

Spencer Reid/CM:

@calm-and-doctor @destiny-tsukino o @safertokiss

Sub Spencer:

@thatsonezesty13 @pastathighs @virtualpeanutartisanjudge

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid #spencer reid smut #spencer reid fanfic #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds #criminal minds smut #matthew gray gubler #matthew gray gubler x reader #matthew gray gubler smut #750 follower celebration #750 followers

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lord-of-the-ducks · 3 years

Text

Apologies for what is definitely going to be a rant about my own special interests that literally no one else cares about, but I personally think that more people should be talking about Varney the Vampire, a penny dreadful from the 1840s, it’s funny as hell and one of the more interesting vampire stories, and I personally think that it’s the best written thing that I’ve read from this era.

Before I get into the details, I feel contractually obligated to say that this is an absolute monster of a book. I managed to get my hands on a paper copy that comes in 2 volumes of 600-ish pages, so as much as it pains me, I know that this isn’t accessible to everyone. Luckily, since it’s in the public domain, there are audiobooks on YouTube and the text itself is online in websites like Project Gutenberg, but I personally hate reading stuff online. I struggled to get through a lot of it because of my own ADHD, and this is something that I’m actually interested in.

Anyway, unlike most books I’ve read from before 1900, Varney the Vampire doesn’t spend pages and pages describing the weather: it gets straight to the point, while still managing to fit in some great prose. The characters are also really likable, and if you thought that the cowboy felt out of place, just wait until you meet the two random ass sailors who show up out of NOWHERE.

If that pitch hasn’t convinced you already, here are some of the quotes that I’ve highlighted in no particular order

These last two are a couple pages apart but they go together so I’m isolating them

And these are just the one liners! I was laughing my ass off reading this book because the character dynamic are just so delightful.

I should give a warning though, along with the length, that even though I think that this is a really great read, it is very much a product of it’s time, and there are heavy overtones of purity culture, and even though this is true for a lot of vampire media, being attacked by a vampire is equated to sexual assault moreso in this than in any other novels or short stories I’ve read, from the attack itself to the psychological effects and social stigma afterwards, so if that’s something that would upset you, I’d steer clear.

Other than that, this is definitely a favorite of mine. I’ve been suffering due to the lack of knowing anyone who knows anything about Varney besides the character with his name in Castlevania, so now everyone following me or scrolling through the tags I put this under will have to suffer with me.

#vampires #vampire #vampire literature #varney the vampire #gothic #gothic literature #gothic lit

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natvrefairy · 4 years

Note

Hi, I saw ur request rules and wondered if I could ask for a merlin X reader (romantic) and it's like really fluffy? Thx 😊

A/N: Of course! I'm so happy my first request is for Merlin, because both him and the entire show are just so iconic. I really hope you like this. :)

Something Meaningful (Merlin x Reader)

Requested: Yes!

Reader Pronouns: They/them

Word Count: 1,529

C/W: Uther is dead. A little bit of self-doubt on Merlin's side. Occasional rant. A little bit of stream of consciousness. (Cause I'm experimenting with that technique.) Fluff!

Context: Morgana's alive and good. Mordred and the rest of the knights are also still alive, but they're not really mentioned. Arthur and Gwen are King and Queen. Arthur's allowed magic in Camelot, and they know about and accept Merlin! And LGBTQ+ is accepted! (Cause reader is they/them, and there's no angst here. ^^)

✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

When Uther died, Camelot was a bit of a mess. Not that it wasn't before; Uther's reign wasn't a particularly cheerful one. But although he wasn't the kindest person, people still loved him, and his death simply came as a shock to everyone.

Arthur took it the hardest. But honestly, that was to be expected. When most people lose their parent, they get time to grieve, but Arthur didn't have the luxury of time. Uther died, and Arthur was thrown into power.

The first few months were the worst. Not just for Arthur, but the whole castle. But with Guinevere and Merlin by his side, he got through it. And with Arthur as King, it no longer mattered what anyone thought of his relationship with Gwen, because she was now the Queen.

But with Guinevere becoming Queen, a small issue arose. The Lady Morgana no longer had a servant.

Morgana, being as lovely as she was, truly didn't care about the loss of her maidservant. She still had her friend, and enjoyed her independence. But her brother thought it necessary, so the job was given to (Y/N).

Gaius didn't appreciate losing his other helper, but he couldn't say no to the King, so that was that.

But then, Gwen also needed a servant. And once again, the job was given to (Y/N). Merlin most definitely did not approve of his best friend's drastic increase in work load.

"I always knew you were an ass, but I didn't realise you were stupid as well." Merlin told Arthur the following morning.

Arthur's new title as King didn't change Merlin's attitude towards him in the slightest.

"Merlin, you can't address me like that."

"I did before, why is it any different now? Your highness."

"I am the King."

"Doesn't change the fact that you're an ass."

(Y/N) managed to talk Merlin down, but that didn't mean he liked the idea of them having to rush around everywhere all the time. Although, at least it was only Gwen and Morgana, who were both perfectly capable of taking care of themselves.

If it was two Arthur's, that would be an entirely different story.

That was about two years ago now. Camelot has had law changes since; such as the lifted ban on magic, allowing people to freely practise their gift, and the new acceptance of anyone identifying as other than cisgender/heterosexual.

And finally, at long last, the land of Albion was united.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

Having both grown up in Ealdor, Merlin and (Y/N) were always close. (Y/N) would constantly seek out Merlin and William, the three of them soon becoming best friends. When Merlin set off to Camelot, (Y/N) tagged along to look out for him, Will staying behind with his father.

Unlike Merlin, (Y/N) didn't possess any magic. But although being completely normal, they always went out of their way to try understand what their friend was going through. They never understood Uther's hatred towards magic. Even without having any themself, they absolutely adored Merlin's gift. Witnessing him in action never failed to put (Y/N) in a state of awe.

But of course, Merlin is much more than his magic. That, (Y/N) always knew, even when he didn't believe it himself. They were always there for him, and he was always there for them. That was how it always was, and how it always will be.

Which is why it was so hard for either of them to pinpoint exactly when their feelings grew. They always cared deeply for each other, but at some point, both completely unaware, those feelings blossomed until they were both completely and utterly in love.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

The two friends were granted the evening off, and unbeknownst to (Y/N), Gwen and Morgana had something up their sleeve. Having long figured out the pair's mutual yet oblivious feelings, the women decided to take matters into their own hands.

This involved giving them the evening off, and directly telling Merlin to confess.

"I'm sure they feel the same way," Gwen encouraged, "I know it's hard, but try something meaningful. If you can't say how you feel out loud, do something special instead."

So here Merlin was, a nervous wreck as he lead (Y/N) outside of Camelot, to a small forest clearing. What if they didn't like it? What if they turned him down? Then it could lead to disaster and they won't want to be his friend anymore and everything they had built will go to waste.

"Merlin," (Y/N) grasps his hand, immediately gaining his attention, "whatever has you stressing out, it's okay. I'm here, and I always will be. We'll face it together."

Taking a deep breath, he had them close their eyes, before gently leading them in the right direction. Glancing around to make sure everything was in place, he tried his best to calm his nerves.

'You can do this,' he thought to himself, 'you can tell dragons what to do, and they listen. This should be easy.'

"Merlin?"

"Oh, right, sorry. You can open your eyes now."

Opening their eyes, (Y/N) gaped at the scene before them. A rug laid out on the grass, all their favourite snacks and fruit laid out in front of them. Glancing between the dinner and Merlin in a combination of joy and surprise, they struggled for words.

"You did all of this?"

"Well, I may have stolen some things from the kitchen, but... I hope you like it?"

(Y/N) laughed - one of Merlin's favourite sounds - and pulled him over to sit down.

"Thank you."

Just their smile was enough to calm Merlin's nerves, and everything melted away as they began to eat, telling stories and laughing. Everything between them seemed perfect.

That is, everything except for the unsaid feelings.

As they finished and the moon began to rise, they cleared up a bit before laying down to stargaze.

"Star-gazing was a good idea," (Y/N) said softly after a while, turning their head to face Merlin, "but I have to ask, what was this all for?"

"What? Aren't I allowed to just spend time with my best friend?" Merlin replied, a little too quickly.

"Of course, but that's not what I mean. You seemed really nervous earlier. I can tell when you want to say something, Merlin."

He turned his head away in embarrassment, so (Y/N) shifted their body to properly face him.

"Hey, look at me," they said, placing their hand on his cheek and tilting his head back towards them, "you know you can always tell me anything. We've been through so much together. Nothing will scare me away."

Merlin gazed into their eyes in silence for a moment, before speaking up, voice barely a whisper, "It's hard to say it out loud. Can I just show you?"

"Of course. Whatever's best for you."

Slowly, he moved one hand to rest on (Y/N)'s cheek, hesitating slightly as his gaze shifted between their captivating (E/C) eyes and plump lips. Finally, deciding it's either now or never, he leaned forward, tilting his head as he captured their lips in a tentative kiss. He felt them stiffen slightly, his heart racing as his mind flooded with unwanted thoughts. This was the end. They were going to shove him away and never speak to him again.

But then, the thing he expected least of all happened; they actually reciprocated the kiss.

Their hand moved to his hair, butterflies going wild in their stomach. They never expected him to feel the same way about them, and now they couldn't even think straight. The only thing they could concentrate on was the feeling of his lips on their own.

Eventually, the sweet moment came to an end, leaving each of them completely breathless, faces only inches apart. They gazed into each other's eyes, catching their breath while they both tried to process what just occurred.

Then, all at once Merlin freaked out and started a rant, desperately trying to explain himself. Apology after apology flooded out of his mouth, raving on and on about how much he loves them and how he probably ruined everything and should have just kept his feelings all to himself.

(Y/N) cut him off with a small kiss on his lips, leaving him staring at them in shock when they pulled away.

"I love you too, Merlin. I thought I was so obvious about it," she laughed softly, gently running her fingers through his hair. "I'm so lucky to have you in my life, and I'm glad you feel the same."

His shock vanished, and he gave that heartwarming smile of his as he wrapped his arms around them, pulling them close. "You have no idea how happy that makes me."

And so they stayed there like that, laying and enjoying each other's company in the comfort of their mutual feelings. They stayed there until they decided it was time to head back and face Gaius' concerned wrath on them staying out so late. But for once, it didn't bother them listening to his lecture, because their lives had just changed for the better.

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parvuls · 3 years

Text

fic: kintsugi

summary: The day after brunch at Jerry's, Jack and Shitty have a raw, much-needed conversation over the phone. Some issues need to be addressed before they can head down the road to patching things up.

word count: 6k

tags: year 3, post-comic 3.12, phone calls, friendship, canon compliant, apologies, introspection

notes: based on the prompt ‘providence + family’ by @atlasthemayor.

read on ao3

Jack’s stomach churns strangely when he sees Shitty’s name flash on his caller ID.

It’s a disconcerting feeling, a slight jolt and twinge in his gut, both reminiscent of when anxiety coils low inside him and distinctive in some way. It makes Jack frown and set his heated dinner aside on the coffee table with the hand not holding the buzzing phone. He’s not sure he ever had this foreign reaction to Shitty calling him before, so after a brief moment of puzzlement he decides to write it off as a side effect of the exhaustion weighing him down.

The phone vibrates once more in his palm before Jack slides his thumb across the screen to accept the call. “Hey, man,” he greets, balancing the phone between his cheek and shoulder so he can pick his food up again. Shitty won’t mind the sound of his chewing, probably. “Staying up late to study?”

It’s coming up to half past eleven on Saturday night. Jack dragged himself through the front door and into the dark apartment at around ten forty-five, his muscles sore and his body beat from over twenty minutes of ice time. He dumped his gear bag in the entryway next to his shoes and headed straight into the kitchen without flicking any of the lights on, shoved one of his frozen meal plan boxes of grilled chicken and brown rice into the microwave without pausing.

The yellow glow of the microwave was the sole source of light in the room as Jack strapped an ice pack to his shoulder, still aching from Ericsson’s high-stick, stuck Bitty’s handwritten PB&J note on the fridge, and waited. The only thing he really wanted to do was fall face-first into his bed, text Bitty that he was home, maybe break down the game over the phone if Bitty wasn’t too busy -- but his regimen had taken precedence. He knew he needed to put in some calories and take care of his pain if he wanted to get up for his six a.m. run. By the time his phone started ringing, Jack was mechanically chewing on his food in the living room. His couch was more comfortable than a dining chair, plush upholstery engulfing his tired limbs, and it only distantly occurred to him that there was something sad about eating dinner alone in the dark.

Shitty’s call, when it came, was unexpected.

“Hate to tell you this, but eleven thirty is not late," Shitty replies, the familiar timbre of his voice tinny due to cell reception. It's an effect Jack is closely acquainted with after months of daily phone calls with Bitty, so he knows that's not all there is to it when he notices something else amiss about Shitty’s voice; like the rhythm of his speech is slightly off. He registers it as abnormal, but before he can figure out if he wants to ask about it Shitty carries on talking. “How’s everything going for ya?”

“Okay,” Jack answers plainly, piling rice onto his fork. He doesn't have the energy to think of anything more gripping than the truth. “Eating post-game dinner.”

Shitty pauses on the other side of the line, makes the creases in Jack’s forehead deepen. Something feels weird, but Jack doesn’t want to make a big deal out of it if nothing is really wrong. Sometimes people act in ways that confuse him for any number of reasons, and he’s not always good at telling them apart.

“Yeah, yeah, I saw,” Shitty says, clearing his throat quietly. “The Red Wings. Great game, brah. Your shoulder doin’ okay?”

Jack’s mouth slows down his chewing on instinct, and he swallows the rice with difficulty. Shitty never just tells Jack great game. Shitty talks about hockey like he’s the narrator in a porn film, with an enthusiasm unmatched by anyone Jack has ever met. Shitty once sang Jack’s praises for half an hour after a game against UND in which Samwell lost 2-0. That, combined with his tone -- something isn’t quite right, Jack thinks. He's more confident in that observation now, but his brain feels slower than usual and he’s too tired to connect any dots.

“Euh, yeah. I’ll be alright. Really have to shake it off and make sure I’m all there on Monday night, eh? We’ve had a good streak, but it’s always about how we play the next game. We’re getting better as a group.”

Jack’s tongue slips into hockey speak naturally before he can do anything to stop it, but instead of chirp him, Shitty makes a vague, throaty noise and doesn’t comment. “Yeah, I get what you mean. You and Mashkov really seem to hit it off out there, heh. Uh, listen -- I know you had to drive back for your practice, but. We didn’t really get the chance to talk much yesterday, and I guess…” Shitty pauses again, and Jack lowers the box to rest against his knee, apprehensive. “Well. D’ya have a moment? Because I’d really fuckin’ like to apologize for some shit.”

Jack’s hand clenches convulsively around his fork, a piece of chicken breast sliding off the tines and falling back into the box with a dull noise.

The early morning and then noon hours of Friday were an emotional blur. From the anxiety spike when Jack stepped off the plane to the car ride on the flooded highway; from the sleep-deprived, tearful conversation in Bitty's narrow bed to the cathartic brunch at Jerry’s with their friends. Jack drove straight home after his nap and stepped out of the car back in Providence to find his phone overflowing with chirping text messages. The chirps haven’t really died down over the weekend, but Jack doesn’t mind them, and he doesn’t think Bitty does either; it feels good to have a subject that’s been burdening them both treated lightheartedly. Trusting their friends with this secret isn't as heavy on Jack's shoulder as he feared it might be.

Shitty is the only one who hasn’t written much in the group chat. He and Jack talked briefly on the lawn outside the Haus after the six of them had returned from brunch, and then they resorted to roughhousing when the mood got too somber. Jack hoped that it’d be enough to put everything behind them, but if he pushes himself to think it through, a part of him has known that this conversation was coming. It wasn’t like Shitty to let things go so easily.

Jack's glad that Shitty can't see his face right now, because he can feel himself grimacing. He hopes his brief silence hasn’t been too revealing. “Shits -- it’s cool, yeah? We’re cool.”

“I don’t think we are, actually,” Shitty argues. His voice is growing strained. “You don’t have to talk, even --”

“C’mon, man, there’s really not much to say. Everything is good now --”

“Jack,” Shitty cuts him off, and the tone of his voice shuts Jack right up. Shitty can get wrapped up in things, can lose himself in long tirades about rights and wrongs and justice, but this tone sounds different than it has through the hundreds of rants Jack has been witness to. Shitty sounds dead serious. Jack blinks, and realizes: this isn’t Shitty being his normal self. He’s genuinely torn up about this. “Just -- will ya let me…? Please.”

“I…” Jack starts, but he doesn’t really know what he wants to say. He’s never been skilled at these kinds of conversations, and the odd feeling he got when he saw Shitty’s name on his screen squeezes even tighter than before, making him feel slightly nauseated.

“It’s -- I --. Jack, what I said in front of everyone during the home opening kegster… and all the other times I... That was some fucked up shit. I fucked up real bad, and I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Jack tries again, but this time the words feel so wrong in his mouth that he has difficulty shaping his tongue around them. It tastes like an outright lie, although he wasn’t aware he was even lying at all.

Jack hadn’t recognized the churning in his gut until now, but Shitty’s steadfast apology intensifies the feeling and dredges up what Jack has clearly failed to notice. He wants to tell Shitty that there’s no need to apologize, but apparently that’s just not true; it’s only now that he realizes the sharp response he had to Shitty’s call is bitterness. Jack’s feelings actually were hurt by Shitty. Maybe he should be startled by discovering wounded feelings he wasn’t cognizant of for over a month, but if this past summer has taught Jack anything, it’s that sometimes he manages to overlook the most substantial of things.

“-- and it’s not enough to be chill about it now,” Jack blinks out of his thoughts and tunes back into Shitty’s distressed train of words, coming chopped and fast through the ear speaker. “I should’ve -- before, too, I should’ve created a safe enough fuckin’ environment --”

“You were always talking to us about creating safe environments, Shitty,” Jack interrupts him. His voice sounds hollow to his own ears, and he puts his fork in the box and the box back on the coffee table to free his hands. He’s still making sense of his own mental state, and he knows that whatever is going to come stumbling out of his mouth will be barely coherent at best. “It’s not -- it was just that -- you’re always saying it’s important, and then, câlice… It was hard enough, hiding, and then with you as well --.”

Everyone was allowed to be queer, for Shitty. Jack remembers how in sophomore year Shitty marched into the Haus, ecstatic about the five different people who had come out to him that same week, babbling about how great it was and how different Samwell was to Andover. He mentioned sexuality labels Jack had never even heard of, had accepted so effortlessly those borderline strangers who had trusted him with their identities. Shitty has always been the most open-minded person Jack knows, the one to talk endlessly about the inherent toxicity of heteronormativity and to lecture the team about never labeling others without their consent.

Jack’s not always good at pinpointing the root of his own feelings, but the moment he thinks of that thrilled look on Shitty’s face almost three years before, he knows, like a lightbulb going off, why he was hurt. Because it seemed like everyone was allowed to be queer, for Shitty -- except Jack. Like Jack wasn’t queer enough to warrant the same respectful treatment. Like he wasn’t really allowed to be queer at all. Jack had never felt particularly close to his sexuality, but when even Shitty assumed so assuredly that he couldn’t be anything but straight, it stung. He just hasn’t registered it until now.

There’s a split second of tense silence, and then Shitty says, “I didn’t even know you were having a hard time, brah,” the pace of his speech slowed down.

Jack’s eyebrows draw together. His right hand, absentmindedly, pinches the fabric of his suit pants and rubs the smooth texture between his thumb and forefinger. “I don’t -- what does that mean? It’s not like you asked.”

Shitty’s breath comes out in a harsh exhale, crackles in Jack’s ears. Jack can hear springs squeaking and sheets ruffling, the sounds of Shitty dropping heavily onto his bed. “Brah. How was I supposed to ask? You never pick up the damn phone anymore. Shit, man, I know fuck all about your life lately."

The fabric of Jack’s pants stretches in the tight grip of his fingers as he blinks, takes in Shitty’s accusation, and realizes he’s right all in the space of two and a half seconds. He can recall a few missed calls that he never got around to returning, but it didn’t seem so important at the time. He was, and still is, in the midst of his first NHL season, trying so hard not to get so lost in hockey and his own worries that he drowns in it and forgets to be a good boyfriend to Bitty.

It never occurred to him that he was investing so much effort into being a good boyfriend to Bitty that he wound up forgetting to be a good friend to everyone else. He knew Shitty and he weren’t talking as often, that things between them haven’t been great lately, but the truth is he had so many other things to worry about that he let it drift to the margins of his mind.

Jack lets go of his pants, rubs his palm down his thigh to smooth the creases away. His momentary bout of anger deserts him with the release of a slow, purposeful exhale. "You’re right. I’m sorry."

"No, no, shit,” Shitty says immediately, switching back from resigned to guilt-ridden in the matter of nanoseconds. “Don’t -- damn it, don’t apologize, oh shit, I’m victim blaming aren’t I, I totally didn’t mean to put this on you --"

"Shitty --"

There’s the sound of bed springs creaking again and then loud footsteps hitting a floor, which Jack assumes are the background sounds of Shitty rushing up from his bed to pace the length of his room. He’s seen Shitty do it across his small room in the Haus countless times, and it feels strange now, having it happen forty miles away. "It’s just, you know, I tried and you didn’t pick up and I get it, fuck do I get it, remember how in freshman year you forgot to talk to anyone for like a week during the preseason stress?"

Jack cracks a tiny, shaky smile that he knows won’t make it into his voice. His first few months at Samwell were a horrible time, fraught with loneliness and frequent panic attacks, too absorbed in thoughts of the path he was supposed to take to function in the path he ended up taking. His therapist helped with that, later, but before that there was Shitty. Determined to be Jack’s friend for no good reason at all. "Yeah. And you broke into my dorm room to make sure I wasn’t dead."

"So it wasn’t like I was offended you didn’t pick up or some bull,” Shitty hurries to finish, “I know you, I get it --"

But that’s wrong, Jack thinks, frowning deeply. Surely, Shitty must know that. "Shitty."

"What? No, seriously. It’s not the first time it happened, and with the pressure of playing in the league and all, I totally get it -- it’s just --"

"You’re allowed to be offended, Shits." Jack says quietly. His hand reaches up to curl around the phone and tug it away from the crook of his shoulder, but his muscles remain tense even when his shoulder drops down. His other hand is still fisted on top of his thigh and the purple shadows cast by the faint stars outside the windows heighten the grooves of his veins. "I know I -- I know it can get difficult -- with me --"

"No," Shitty interrupts, sounding even more emotional than before, a penitent snowball that keeps on rolling down the hill. Shitty’s capable of rolling on forever, if he thinks something is truly wrong. "No no no, Jack, I didn’t mean --"

"Shut up, Shitty." Jack says firmly. He preserves, reminding himself forcefully that the sentiment he wants to establish is too important to be derailed by Shitty’s atonement. His hands have begun to shake slightly, but he needs to get it out. "I know I’m worthy of love and friendship and all the crap you were about to say. I’m just saying --. You’re allowed to be hurt even if it isn’t new behavior. Just because I -- my anxiety -- y’know. If it hurts you, you’re allowed to be hurt."

The other side of the line goes quiet for a long moment, not even the sound of breathing coming through. Jack closes his eyes, counts to ten, tells himself that it’s Shitty and that the two of them are going to figure it out. Fighting with Shitty has always been mentally hard on Jack, has always felt like shaking the only foundation Jack had to stand on. It didn’t happen often, but Jack tries to remind himself that whenever it did they always came out intact on the other side. Arguing was a healthy way to understand your needs and the needs of the other person, his therapist told him.

When Shitty speaks, he sounds awed. "Christ on a cracker, man. That was fuckin’ wise. That Bits’ influence on you?"

Jack pauses to consider it seriously, taking time to recompose his brain. Being with Bitty -- it has taught him so much, about his own feelings and others' and how to put them into words, the importance of open communication. He told Shitty that the previous day after Jerry's -- feelings could easily not occur to him, even if he felt them very strongly. He coexisted with them without acknowledging their existence a lot of the time, and this phone call is only one example of it. Being with Bitty, having to be aware and give name and give value to his own feelings to make things work between them, has changed the way he interacted with his emotions. Made him understand himself better. He’s not at all sure he would’ve been capable of articulating himself in a conversation like this if not for the progress Bitty and he have made together.

But being aware of his worth as a person, and learning that his disorder didn’t define him but shouldn’t be brushed aside either, that wasn’t Bitty. “No, Shits. That’s your influence on me.”

This silence is even longer than the one before it, and then it’s broken by muffled sniffles on the other side. Jack's heart leaps, panic building in his chest -- but then Shitty says, throat choked up, “I thought -- fuck, Jack, this is gonna sound so motherfucking stupid. But I thought you didn’t, y’know. Need me anymore. I know this is on me too, I’m barely keeping my head above water here and the whole -- fuckin’ Harvard situation, it’s not… but each day we didn't talk and I saw your game scores, or I would see those Falcs vids… it looks like you have this spankin’ fuckin’ brand new life that I know shit about. And you’ve got Mashkov, and St. Martin, and…”

Jack can’t find adequate words for a long moment, and once he opens his mouth he’s surprised to hear his voice is thick, surprised to feel hot tears pooling at the corners of his eyes. “Shitty. Tater is great. And Marty is great, and -- Thirdy, and all of them. But.”

None of them are you, he wants to say, but that sounds too dumb to utter out loud. That’s not how Shitty and he talk to each other, or at least, it’s not how Jack talks to Shitty. Shitty is good at phrasing his feelings in ways Jack can handle, but Jack can’t ever make the right words come out of his mouth.

There’s another pause, his mind blanking, and then he says, “Tater didn’t make me sign a friendship contract.”

Shitty snorts, but it isn’t a happy sound. “Jacko --”

“No. Shits --. Tater didn’t make the effort to be my friend even when I was doing everything I could to push him away. He didn’t drag my ass to the Haus my freshman year after I hadn't talked to anyone but faculty in two weeks. He didn’t argue with Bergey until we were banked together on every roadie and was heartbroken when no one spread rumors about us hooking up.”

That shot goes wide. “Oh fuckity fuck, Jack, I’m a fucking dickhead --”

“Bordel de merde, Shitty, will you fucking listen?” Jack rubs his fingers over the bridge of his nose, feels his skin crease between his brows. “Tater didn’t make me go to Gender in Warfare in Early 20th Century America because he knew it’d end up one of my favorite classes, or learnt my story about the fire extinguisher and the football team by heart, or -- or have been defending me behind my back since the first week he knew me. Tater’s great. I’m -- you know, uh, thankful, for having people on the Falcs. I didn’t think it could be -- after the guys at Samwell, no team would ever be the same.”

“Yeah,” Shitty says, sadly, in the tone of someone who knows exactly what Jack means.

Jack’s throat bobs when he swallows, chest aching. “And they’re great. But Tater -- or Marty, or any of them -- they’re not...”

None of them are you, Jack wants Shitty to hear, gripping his pants in his hand again to balance himself. He doesn’t know how to say it in a way that would make Shitty hear him. None of them could ever be you.

There’s once again silence between them, only interrupted by Shitty’s quiet sniffles and the erratic beating of Jack’s heart. His phone is too warm on his ear, clammy from sweat smearing over the screen, but he can’t bring himself to put Shitty on speaker. It feels like they’re too far apart to have this conversation already, like Shitty should be sitting here on the couch next to Jack in flimsy underwear like he was every time they needed to talk like this over the past four years.

After a long moment, Shitty makes an ambiguous rasping noise and admits, “I was jealous.”

Jack winces. “I’m sorry.”

“No. Yeah, I mean, apology accepted, whatever, just. I was jealous they got to be there for you every day, really be there in the moments I used to live through with you that I now know zilch about. I was used to that being me.” He then adds, much more grimly, “Except apparently I sucked ass at being there for you at all when it counted.”

Jack sighs. They veered off topic to talk about something Jack considers more important, but now they were back to that and he knows in the pit of his stomach that they, both of them, won’t be able to move on until they talk this through. This is a conversation they need to have, even if it would be easier for Jack to not have it at all. “Shitty. I need to tell you something.”

The thing about Shitty is that he has faults like the rest of them, but Jack has always known that he’d drop anything if Jack needed him. He knows because it goes unconditionally both ways. Shitty’s voice goes immediately even and he wastes no time before saying, “I'm listening.”

Jack swallows. It feels -- heavy, on his breastbones. It didn’t before, it didn’t at Jerry's. He doesn’t remember this weight from years ago, when he first talked about it with his parents, and then -- later, too much later -- with his therapist. His chest was so laden with other concerns then that there was no room for anything more, and this burden was only ever an afterthought. At Jerry's he was thinking of Bitty, of Bitty’s happiness and Jack's own happiness with him, and the necessity of the action for their joint happiness. It didn’t leave any space for this weight.

Now he can feel the weight. It’s stupid. Shitty already knows, and besides, it’s Shitty. Jack knows Shitty so well that he can practically predict the exact words he will use, and even if he couldn’t, he knows Shitty would never turn him away. Yet his chest feels tight, like he’s holding in all of his air, and his fingers are again shaking against his thigh. “Shitty, I'm dating Bittle.”

Shitty makes a baffled sound, clearly not expecting this choice of confession. “I -- yeah, dude, I know.”

“I’m dating Bittle,” Jack reiterates determinedly, eager to get it over with. “He’s a guy.”

Shitty goes quiet for a moment, and then he says, voice low, “Okay.”

Jack wasn’t sure he was going to say it, but now that they’re here, this is something he wants Shitty to know. “He’s not the first guy I’ve been with.”

Shitty’s sharp intake of breath at this is audible even over the phone, but other than that he doesn’t react outwardly. Jack's shaking hand lifts up to rub over his chest while he waits for Shitty to say something, and Shitty doesn’t keep him waiting long. “Okay. Thank you for telling me.”

That’s almost exactly the reaction Jack expected to hear, but for some reason he doesn’t feel settled. “It never came up before.”

“That’s okay, buddy,” Shitty reassures him. Jack’s not sure what Shitty is thinking, if he’s thinking anything at all. This probably isn’t as big a deal to him as it feels like to Jack.

Jack frowns down at the shadows of his socked feet in the dark, thinks it over, and then corrects, “No, actually -- no. It never came up with anyone else. But I did think of telling you. More than once. You were the only one… but I had reasons not to. Or, I thought I did.”

“That’s still cool, brah,” Shitty hurries to interrupt. “You don’t have to --”

“No, because,” Jack sighs, trails off midsentence. He doesn’t want Shitty to make this easy for him, to allow Jack to take the exit he’s being offered. He knows they could stop the discussion right there and Shitty would never say a thing, but he doesn’t want this to hang over their friendship for the rest of time, and he knows that it could if he doesn’t force himself to dig deeper. “Because when you assumed that if I had someone it must’ve been a girlfriend, it hurt. I didn’t realize before -- I thought I was upset because Bitty was hurt, and I hurt him even more with my reaction, and it mattered more at the time. But it hurt. And that’s not entirely fair to you, because you had no reason to think otherwise. Because I didn’t tell you.”

There’s more rustling in the background, and Shitty talks over him before the last word is out of his mouth. “Jack, no, you’re under no obligation to disclose your identity to anyone and it doesn’t give them any right to assume -- I assumed and it was so fucking wrong --”

“Yeah,” Jack agrees, because it was. He’s not trying to argue that it wasn’t. Shitty was wrong, but that’s not the point Jack is trying to make.

“I’m sorry, Jack,” Shitty sounds contrite, and Jack can almost imagine the look on his face now. The small wrinkle in his forehead, the downward slope of his mustache, the sharp angle of his jaw. Shitty always looks older when he feels guilty about something. “So fuckin’ sorry.”

“That’s okay, man. Eh. Well, it's not, but it's forgiven.” And it is, Jack knows. He’s already forgiven Shitty, would have to try so hard not to forgive Shitty. They’ve hurt each other in the past and they’ll most likely hurt each other again in the future, but it’s never done intentionally. Shitty’s friendship is worth all of this crap and always has.

“I guess I just... “ Shitty lowers his voice, and Jack has to press the phone harder into his ear to hear him. “Fuck, I don’t want to excuse my actions, this does not in any way justify the shit I said. But I guess, in my mind, even though I know you should never assume about anyone, I did think that because it’s you… that you’d tell me. If there was ever anything to tell.”

“I’m sorry,” Jack says this time. He’s not sure Shitty knows this, but this is what he was trying to get to before. What Shitty is saying is reasonable even if it isn’t ideal.

“Fuck no. What the fucking fuck are you apologizing for, you idiot --”

“I’m not apologizing for not telling you, Shits,” Jack stops him before it becomes another rant. He’s growing tired of using so many words at once, feeling the toll of the unexpected emotional turmoil he’s dragging his overworked body through. “I know what you said was wrong, and I know I didn’t have to tell you. I’m saying I’m sorry if you were hurt by it. And I'm apologizing if it made you feel like I didn't trust you, or. Or some shit.”

Another pause follows Jack’s words, and he has to stifle the urge to collapse sideways into the couch and shove his face into a cushion until everything goes away. This conversation, as necessary as it is, doesn’t come naturally to either of them. They’ve been talking about their feelings for too long now and it’s starting to get awkward and overwhelming.

“I’m not saying I wasn’t super touched by your previous comment,” Shitty says, suddenly. “Because stereotypical masculinity is complete bullshit and I’m not ashamed to admit I teared the fuck up. But Jack -- Bitty has done some serious work on you. Or, like, you know, healthy relationships and all, you two worked on yourselves with each other to be better and all that, but. Man, I don’t think that’s a distinction you would’ve made six months ago.”

Jack considers it. The idea of someone’s hurt being valid even if the reason for it didn’t make sense probably isn’t a concept he would’ve been able to grasp, or at least would not have paid much thought to. Looking back, he was probably hurt dozens of times by little comments in the Haus, or things he heard around campus, or moments of feeling left out by his team; but when the reason for his hurt wasn’t completely logical it was harder for him to allow himself that pain. He would usually distract himself from it, instead. “Yeah. You’re probably right.”

“But can I just say again -- I'm so fucking sorry for being a heteronormative jackass. I’m sorry for hurting you, I’m sorry for hurting Bits, I’m sorry for --”

Esti de câlice de tabarnak. Jack drops his face into his palm and sighs over the string of Shitty’s rapidly escalating apologies. Jack is fully aware that Shitty is just going to apologize until they’re both old and gray if Jack doesn’t stop him. “Shitty, can you knock it?”

Shitty hesitates, but the flood of his words stops. “I miss you,” is what he says eventually.

Jack drops his hand down, leans his weight on his elbows and blinks at the dark room. Shitty used to tell him that all of the time. When they were apart on school breaks; when they were separated on roadies; when Jack had two lectures and a senior workshop on Wednesday nights and Shitty wouldn’t see him for several consecutive hours. Shitty’s affection was always abundant and inescapable, and Jack didn't know it was something he was lacking until he finally hears it. “I miss you, too, man.”

Shitty lets the gravity of it, the seriousness in Jack's voice settle between them, the earnestness he wouldn’t usually hand over easily when they were back at school. And then he says, “It’s hard as fuck, man. It’s hard to admit that it’s hard, too. It’s hard to see Lards’ pics from kegsters I can’t attend anymore, and it’s hard to find friends in this pretentious shithole full of pretensions dicks, and -- Harvard is fucking hard, Jack. And I hate being away from you guys, but I don’t wanna bring you down with my sad. You assholes are my goddamn family, there’s nothing that’s ever gonna replace that. It sucks knowing that I'm stuck here. I miss you so much it drives me fuckin’ insane.”

Jack knows, instantly and wholeheartedly, what Shitty is talking about. He’s living his dream and he loves the Falcs and he’s sincerely grateful for all of it even on his worst days. But sometimes stepping off the ice after a grueling practice and getting pictures of Bitty, laughing with Holster and Ransom on the ice at Faber -- it aches somewhere deep inside him. Sometimes he lies awake in foreign hotel rooms in foreign cities, and while most nights he longs for nothing more than Bitty’s presence, others he closes his eyes and wishes Shitty was there to crawl into his bed again. Sometimes he puts on his jersey before games and imagines the blue and yellow are red and white. His team from Samwell is his family, too, and sometimes missing them feels like missing an amputated limb.

“I wish we got to see each other more,” Jack squeezes out. His windpipe feels strangled, and for a moment he thinks that if he blinks too hard tears might well up again. He doesn’t know if it’s because he’s so tired his body is shutting down, or because he’s been holding on to more emotions than he previously thought. “I didn’t know --. I feel the same way, Shitty, but I didn’t know you felt like that. I’m sorry we didn’t really talk much lately.”

It wasn’t something Jack was consciously aware of, but he more or less assumed that if Shitty was ever struggling he would just reach out for help. Shitty was always the better one of the two of them at communicating his feelings, at saying when he needed something or was going through a rough time. It never occurred to Jack to reach out and ask because he always figured that Shitty would come to him first. It's a startling realization. He really isn’t as good a friend as Shitty deserves.

“‘S not your fault,” Shitty objects, even though in some ways it really is. But Shitty means it, Jack knows, despite the lingering hints of anxiety. Shitty wouldn’t say it if he didn’t honestly believe it wasn’t Jack’s fault.

“Maybe, but you should make time for the things that matter to you, right? I’ll try to be better about that. I wanna be there for you, too.”

Shitty sighs, and the tails of it turn into a breathy, weary laugh. “Fuck, Jacko, this is a fuckin’ sobfest. Shit, man. Yeah. I’ll try, too. We could Skype, even. You know I miss that mug of yours.”

Jack finally pulls the phone away from his ear, wipes the sweat tracks away and switches the call to speakerphone. His calendar app is full of cute little reminders Bitty leaves anonymously, like 06:30 work hard and have fun! or 11:11 someone is thinking of you. He’s developed a habit of checking his calendar often these past six months, counting down the days until he gets to see Bitty next. He’s sure it won’t be easy, especially with the progression of the Falconers’ season, but from now on he’ll have to make every effort to fit more people into his schedule. Bitty makes him happy, but he’s not the only one who does.

Jack scrolls through the events logged into his upcoming week. He’s got a game on Monday and one at home on Wednesday, and then Thursday is American Thanksgiving. Bitty is throwing together a whole meal for the Samwell team. He told Jack that he’s under no obligation to come if practice time doesn’t allow it, but... “Are you going to Hausgiving on Thursday?”

Shitty curses loudly. “Fuck, I fuckin’ wish, but I don’t know if that’s smart. I’ve got this fuckin’ test coming up. But I promised Lar-- uh --”

Jack smirks, even if it’s only to himself in an empty apartment. Lardo texted him after Jerry’s to let him know that the two of them will exchange deets privately like civilized bros, but Shitty still seems to be under the illusion that he’s fooling someone. Like his heart-eyes haven’t been obvious from space -- and Jack is painfully aware that if he noticed, that really says something. “Lardo, eh? Not getting out of that one.”

He can almost see Shitty’s answering furious blush from all those miles away. “Fuck you, Zimmermann, don’t make this about me. What I was sayin’ is, I wanna be there super freakin’ bad -- we all know I will gladly sell my right leg for Bitty’s cooking --”

“And for Lardo’s company,” Jack chirps, incredibly satisfied with this turn of conversation.

“I will fuck you right up, don’t you think I won’t!” Shitty threatens emptily, even though Jack takes him down every single time. “Seriously. Your bro becomes a pro athlete and suddenly he thinks he’s a goddamn comedian. Anyway. For Bitty’s cooking, I will make an effort. You got team stuff?”

“No,” Jack says with finality, swiping his calendar closed. He always feels better when things are put into action. “I think I’m going.”

“For Bitty?” Shitty asks, most likely trying to chirp Jack back.

“Well. Yes,” Jack says, perfectly honest. He’s not in any way ashamed of how much he wants to be near Bitty all of the time. He doesn’t think he can remember ever being less ashamed of anything in his life. “But also for you. Think you can meet me there?”

Shitty’s quiet. And then he says, “For my best friend? I’ll meet you halfway across the universe, Jackabelle.”

After the two of them hang up the call, Jack doesn’t move, his eyes fixed blindly in the direction of the windows across the room. His food is growing cold on the coffee table, but Jack thinks that at this point he might genuinely be too tired to eat. Whatever little energy he had left after the game was spent on this conversation with Shitty. He doesn’t regret it; they needed to say all of those things. Jack needed to hear all of those things, both so he could forgive Shitty for something he didn’t know he was holding onto, and so he could work on being a more considerate friend.

The game plan is solid, though, Jack decides. Thanksgiving dinner at the Haus will bring the opportunity to be completely honest with his friends after months of hiding a big aspect of his life from them. And it’d be fun, too. Ransom would put together actual charts for the seating arrangement, and Holster would draw everyone into a betting pool on the football game results, and Bitty would inevitably prepare insane amounts of food using the frogs as his sous chefs. He would probably insist that they’d hold hands around the table and say one thing each of them wants to give thanks for, as well.

Jack doesn’t mind American Thanksgiving, but he’s never really seen the point of that ritual. He’s known for a long time now what he's truly grateful for.

#omgcp #jackshitty #jackshitty fic #omgcheckplease #pavfics #i decided not to wait for friendship day because i'm not sure i'll be around to post then #but i hope you'll enjoy this anyway?#i wanted to write something about their friendship in early y3 in forever

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ramonahblog · 2 years

Text

Incoming Rant:

Superman and Lois: Season Two Finale.

Yeah, I was bored throughout this episode. With the exception of the Irons. Despite the musical scores doing their best.

SPOILERS

Clark: “this Fortress is for all of us”

Also Clark: *yeets the crystal in the ocean*

I’m going to pretend that this fic is canon and Tal-Rho decked out Jon’s truck to turn into like a submarine thing and Jon can go the Fortress anytime he likes without having to rely on anyone. Details are sketchy but it can get him there in the same amount of time as if Clark took him.

Also Jon’s “for the flying ones” sounded bitchy and I love that for him.

So we’re just ignoring the entirety of Jon’s XK plot, I guess. Although I suppose after forgiving a genocidal maniac (Tal), Clark and Lois wouldn’t exactly be able to ban Jon from seeing Candice.

Also “your grandma can’t wait to meet you” is sad, not sweet. Why hasn’t he met her already Clark?! And I doubt “and Kryptonian technology you can check out” is leading anyway in season three.

I mean season two just spent its entire time beating the fuck out of Jon with no payoff so lol yeah right that’s going to lead somewhere. This just another conversation that doesn’t fix anything.

Also this is just basically throwing gifts at your child so you don’t have to put any effort in. Wait. My bad. Gift. The trucks was from Tal. And what an unusable gift (Fortress) too. At least Jon could have stacked his necklaces in the empty box from season one.

This is a little bit of my fault for watching the 90′s Lois & Clark right before watching this finale.

Don’t get me wrong, ninety-nine percent of it is the show’s fault. But the one percent is me watching L&C:TNAOS before this finale. Because there’s one episode in season four (I want to say season four, possible season three) where Clark worries that being Superman will mean he won’t be a good father.

Also Lana is not the one you should be apologizing for not being there for! The fuck show. Lois and Jon deserved that apology.

Also guess heroes don’t deserve privacy now. This is why I hate the secret-identity reveal trend to anyone other than immediate family. It screams entitlement from the narrative to me. The fuck Lois told Chrissy for?

PEOPLE DESERVE PRIVACY!

This is a hill I will die on. One I didn’t think I needed to die on but here we are.

Also how the fuck Chrissy judging Clark for only working at the Daily Planet (big newspaper) when she only got the Gazette (small newspaper)? Also by this logic, Chrissy shouldn’t have hired Lois.

Love how Jon was actually keeping hope while Jordan wasn’t but Sam yelled as if both boys lost hope. By love I mean of course the show decided that.

Sarah finally apologized for cheating. She also didn’t let Jordan brush it off so good growth for her. She’s showing more growth than her adult mother already 😂. It was obviously tagged on because the audience refused the bullshit “its okay to cheat” narrative they were doing. If it wasn’t tagged on, it felt like it.

I’m going to pretend her actions will match up in season three because I won’t be watching. I’m staying in the fandom though, that is my reward for watching all of season two.

I miss season one Jordan power-wise. I’m just really bored watching his plot now. You had potential. And this is why flight is never a second season power UNLESS the second season is also the last. It honestly seemed like the show saw people’s wariness/concerns after season one and double-downed on its flaws instead of going “hang on this complaint keeps cropping up,”. Pity. I liked Jordan before. And up before the Jon-El crossed over, he did seem to the only family member concerned about Jon.

Normally I would say something along the lines of “can’t believe they forgot my boy Jon-El” but he’s a version of Jon so, yeah. Of course the show forgot him.

Season two has just fucked over everyone really. To varying degrees and on opposite ends of the scale but everyone’s been fucked.

Lois and Jon especially.

So I’m just going to stay in the fandom but not watch the show anymore. Because wtf show. How were my expectations on the damn floor and you manage to limbo under the floor? How?!

I’m actually just relieved the show is over for now. Like really, the only thing I didn’t expect was Sarah apologizing and Chrissy knowing. I’m glad for the Sarah thing, annoyed with the Chrissy one. PEOPLE DESERVE PRIVACY! Fuck you show. You don’t tell your friends everything because privacy is a fucking thing. And it wasn’t even Lois’s to tell!

So yeah, no. I have no interest in season three.

Only in fanfics.

#cw superman and lois spoilers #i honestly cannot wait for the fix-it fanfics to be posted #cw superman and lois rant #my brain told me to be fine with season one before season two aired #but nooo #i did not listen #😔

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taeslovehandles · 3 years

Note

I never meant to target you and I'm sorry you felt that way. You properly tag everything and adhere to the "don't like, don't read" rule. I don't follow you nor you follow, because we simply don't vibe together and that's okay.

But there are posts that are on the more "innocent" side that do represent fat people as a joke and it's like they don't even realize it because it's something so well ingrained in our fatphobic society.

For example, all the characters are having fun except the fat one or referring to someone as "twice his size" (like... If they want to say he's huge, they should just say it, not imply that there's a "right size" for someone to be).

I don't think authors should censor themselves, just acknowledge the role they play in how fat characters are perceived by the community they write for.

-🍓

First of all, since you obviously haven’t blocked me, you could have come to me via direct message. This is not a topic that needs to be brought out into the public eye even more than it already is. I have worked with anons before, I would have been the last person to reveal who you are. You could have made a trash account to message me in dm’s, but since you didn’t, I will reply to you here.

I want to make one thing clear. This will be my last response on the topic. If you do not like me as a member of the community please use the block button and filter me out, because I will stay. I have many friends here, and know that many people enjoy my content. Just because a small handful of people don’t appreciate dark themes in fiction, the contents of which they can easily protect themselves from, won’t make me falter.

Now, I want to debunk this ask because your ‘apology’ actually made me very upset.

I know you don’t mean it when you say you are sorry because you’re backpedaling on what you’ve told your friends and it really rubs me the wrong way. You could have owned up to your mistakes and apologized sincerely like others had but you continue to play victim and excuse your behaviour with tales of your own trauma, projecting your own insecurities onto my blog and thus hating me.

I know for a fact that you despise my blog, especially my writing, because you do not like how “obviously skinny people write about weight gain.”

Honey.

I couldn’t be any further from skinny.

I don’t mind sharing my actual weight, which has actually gotten worse due to COVID. I weigh 490lbs. I am morbidly obese. I have always been morbidly obese. For you to come and be “nitpicky” about a genre you don’t even enjoy? Why are you even reading my fics then?

The way I write about obese people, their struggles with literally everything… that comes from real life experience. I write this to share embarrassing and exhausting daily life tasks I personally struggle with.

A skinny person would never write some of the stuff I do, because they simply don’t know. They don’t know how scary it is to hear the line “we are going to a restaurant.” They don’t know how scary it is to go into that new restaurant, scan the chairs and think “Shit, am I gonna fit? Is the chair gonna creak? Is there enough space for the next table? What if I won’t fit?” A thin person doesn’t have to think this way.

And, let me tell you something else. Yes, I agree. The world is fatphobic.

In one of my recent posts I talked about movies and shows where they make fun of fat people because I hate it. Because it is REAL LIFE. And I am all for the body positivity movement and I do believe that all bodies are beautiful, because they are.

You do not know me personally.

And that leads to my next point. If you personally have issues with the phrase “twice my size”, then that is on you. And guess what? I cannot count how often I’ve heard lines like that my whole life.

“Oh wow two people would fit in one of your pant legs.”

“Wow, you are so fat, I could use your pants as a tent.”

So trust me, I know. I KNOW. But anon, this is the important part for me. Everyone processes trauma differently.

Inked ch3? Or literally any story I have written with a fat character being forced, insulted and talked down to like they’re dumb? That’s what I have been living with my entire life. Most of these stories, some obviously more extreme than how I had experienced them since it’s fiction, have been recordings of trauma I have went through.

My own dad force fed me. Forced me to eat food and gain weight. My first boyfriend was a feeder that manipulated me into gaining more weight and took measurements. Called me pig names and abused me. Hit me, manipulated me into having s** with him and then let all of his fantasies out on me.

I don’t make this shit up. I hate my brain for being so twisted now, that I actually find it hot and arousing. It’s weird. I know, but that’s how it is.

I’ve also never had friends in school. Not even kindergarten. Why? Because my “fat incased body could spread like a virus.” I was being bullied like JK was in Pondus.

I had hot water thrown at me, got glue put on my seats and hair, had my hair ripped out and even got a cigarette burn mark on my arm. Just because I was fat. Just because of how my body was shaped.

I was strangled and locked into a small locker for a night. I was almost killed for running away from my abusive dad from his car and had to listen to things like, “You are going to die when you are 30. No one will ever love you and your body.” That I have trust issues now and am paranoid about everything and everyone.

Those dark stories. I use those dark stories to try to work through my trauma. And yes, it may be absurd to you. It may disgust you, what I write. But sadly, most of it? Most of it really happened to me. To me and other people I’ve talked to as a friend or seen online. Most of what I write will be dark because the human species is made up of terrible creatures.

Fatphobia is an important topic, and I am happy the media has been slowly getting better about it, that people accept us more. But my writing is how I work with my trauma. If I can make fictional characters feel the same things I had to feel, that makes me feel better.

And I’m not hurting anyone with it. So how is it wrong?

I do not support any of this behaviour in real life. I never bullied anyone, I always try to speak up for my friends and tell people if they are being assholes. Because I hate them too and it makes me angry when good people get shit when they do nothing but breathe.

And how @pudgecuddles already said. I don't need you to advocate for body positivity and all that shit when you go out of your way to bully someone that may have experienced the same shit you have. I do not know you or what you went through in your life, but I am sorry. I’m sorry you feel like my stories aren’t okay to write, but this is how I work on my trauma and I need you to respect that.

I’ve said this before. We don’t have to be friends, or even talk to each other.

Just be neutral.

Block me. Filter me out. Pretend I don't exist. But, whatever you do, don’t make posts that call me out while making it obvious you’re talking about me, with the cover that you are advocating against fatphobia. That’s got a name. Cyber-bullying.

Have you hurt me with those posts? Yes you have, but I’ve never wanted bad blood. As you may have noticed, it wasn’t me that made a post. It was my good friend. Because I told her how exhausting it was and she knew about the posts back then.

I have a good idea of who you are.

I remember you.

But I kept my mouth shut. Because this community is my home and the last thing I wanted was for the people who like both of our types of content to feel like they have to choose sides.

In the end, we all rub one out to fat gay boys in a band. No user is better than the rest, and if there are topics you do not enjoy, there is a button for it. No need to drag everyone into it with posts. It’s exhausting and irritating.

Now, I do not accept your apology because you lied to me and I also do not feel like you meant it sincerely knowing what I know now after reading some dm’s. But I also won’t sit here and start shit.

This is my last post about this.

Please block me and enjoy the content you do like.

Nonetheless, I hope you have a nice day and a lovely weekend. Whatever you are experiencing or going through, I hope it gets better. Because even if you hate me personally for creating content you do not support, I’d say that I am a really friendly and nice person.

I do not believe that anyone deserves to be bullied like that and talked down in official posts. It happened before with a friend of mine and you probably remember that I did speak up about it.... But apparently no one learned from it. I really hope this time you do.

Insult me and shit talk me all you want in dm’s, but don’t do it publicly. No one deserves that kind of hate or passive aggressiveness. No one. Since you sound like someone that went through a lot of shit too, you should know better. You should know how it feels to be bullied and what damage it can cause.

I’m already depressed enough and I have bad lows. Let me write my erotica and just enjoy it? That’s all I want? I am a part of this community just like you were. You leaving because you did not like my content, is not my problem. If you cannot block me or ignore it and go so far as to read them and then rant about them negatively, what do you want me to do? I won’t leave the scene just because you don’t like me.

So, you either trash talk me in dm’s from now on so that I do not see it, or you block me. The latter of which would be the more mature thing to do. The more humane thing to do. Because talking behind someone’s back is just as bad.

Again, I don’t know why you felt like it was necessary to send me an ask with lies in it when I got screenshot proof of something else you have said/issues with, so don’t backpedal on me. I know Hun. I know already.

At least stick to what you said and actually apologize or, if you can’t, just block me.

But this ask? This ask just upset me.

Have a nice day.

p.s: The fact that this even needs to be talked about is so absurd and ridiculous to me. The whole thing is a petty party in my eyes that isn't even worth anyone's time? Do people on here really not have any other issues right now or am I in the wrong movie?

#taeslovehandle asks #do not use this post to cause your own drama #this is me answering honestly.#the topic about this ends here.#please respect this <3

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superhusbands4ever · 3 years

Text

The Chain - Chapter 4/15

Fandom: The Bad Batch (Star Wars)

Characters: Crosshair, Hunter, Howzer, Rex, Wrecker, Tech, Echo, Omega, Various Clones

Relationships: Crosshair & Howzer, Crosshair & Rex, Crosshair & The Bad Batch, Crosshair & Omega, Hunter & Rex, Hunter & Omega

Additional Tags: Redemption, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Humor, Found Family, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Graphic Violence, Eventual Happy Ending, Angst with a Happy Ending

Summary: One year after the events of The Bad Batch, Crosshair struggles to reconcile his choice with the harsh truth of the world around him. He finds enlightenment in the most unlikely of places and realizes he may have made the wrong decision. But is it too late to do something about it?

Two years after the events of The Bad Batch, Rex reluctantly agrees to allow Hunter and his squad to help him rescue a man who's been captured by the Empire, an Imperial double agent who's cover has been blown. What Hunter thought to be a simple extraction ends up having far greater consequences for their squad than he could have ever anticipated.

Chapter Warnings: None

Right actions in the future are the best apologies for bad actions in the past.

Tryon Edwards

Rex never struck Hunter as the type to let his nerves get the best of him. That one attempted fist fight with Crosshair when rescuing Echo notwithstanding, Rex was always calm and level headed when they worked together in the past. Skako Minor, Anaxes, on Bracca - it was clear why Rex was the Captain of the famously wild Torrent Company and essentially the de facto commander of the infamous 501st Legion. His calm and steady presence along with his cool confidence made him exactly the kind of guy people naturally gravitated to, naturally turned to for leadership.

Which is why it was weird that Rex seemed fidgety in a way he’d never seen from the man before. Anyone who didn’t know him wouldn’t notice, but Hunter could see the way he kept fiddling with the buttons on the controls needlessly. He could hear the leather of Rex’s gloves squeak as he clenched and unclenched his hands periodically. And only Hunter would be able to hear the way Rex kept consciously making an effort to unclench his jaw and stop grinding his teeth.

After the fourth time in as many minutes that Rex flexed his fingers, Hunter finally spoke up.

“Are you alright, Captain?”

Rex glanced at Hunter, hands deliberately stilling in his lap as he sat up straighter.

“Yes,” he said. “Just restless, I suppose.”

Hunter nodded, staring out at the streaking blue and white light of hyperspace through the viewport of the freighter’s cockpit.

“This operative of yours,” Hunter said after a moment, “you two are close?”

Whatever response Hunter was expecting from the other man, it wasn’t for him to laugh. Even Rex seemed startled by the response, looking sheepishly over at the sergeant.

“Sorry,” Rex said, rubbing a hand over his head. “I just- I certainly never expected to be, but… yeah. Yeah. I suppose we are.”

“You don’t get along?”

“We didn’t at first,” Rex said, crossing his arms across his chestplate. “ Manda , I used to hate the guy. But… he’s a good man. The more I worked with him, the more I spoke with the people he helped, I realized that. He’s done a lot for our brothers.”

Hunter nodded slowly. “How did you two meet?”

“Oh, uh—“ Rex twitched again as he went to fiddle with the pilot controls. “We met back during the war.”

“You served together?”

“Ehh,” Rex hedged, “Only a couple of times towards the end.”

Hunter waited for Rex to elaborate but the other man was silent, continuing to mess with the controls. The ship was on autopilot, so he wasn’t actually doing anything. He listened as Rex’s heart rate slowly started gaining speed.

“So… who did he serve under? Maybe I’ve heard of—“

The navicomputer beeped and Rex’s shoulders slumped nearly imperceptively.

“Why don’t you go back and check on the others?” If Hunter didn’t know any better he’d say Rex sounded… relieved? “We should be arriving soon and we still need to rework the plan now that you all are here.”

Hunter frowned. Rex studiously avoided his eyes. He wasn’t ignorant to the fact that Rex was purposefully trying to get rid of him - the man was apparently as good at lying as Wrecker - but he wasn’t sure why.

Finally Hunter nodded. He tapped his bracer against Rex’s pauldron and made his way out of the cockpit.

Rex mumbled something under his breath as the doors slid shut, but the hydraulics were too loud over the man’s voice for Hunter to be able to make out what was said.

He found everyone in the hold, Tech, Wrecker, Boil, Echo, and Omega sitting around the floor in a circle, with Gregor on a bench in the corner cleaning his blaster. He walked in just as Echo laughed at whatever the reg had said.

“Still, I’m glad to see you,” Boil said as Echo’s laughter died down. “Cody mentioned that Rex had found you, but I didn’t get the chance to reach out before… well…”

Echo smiled sadly, resting his flesh hand on Boil’s shoulder.

“It was always entertaining to listen to Rex rant to Cody about all the shenanigans you and Fives got into.”

“Yeah,” Echo agreed, voice gruff. “Though from what I hear, you and Waxer certainly kept Cody on his toes.”

Boil laughed.

“True. Usually it was Waxer making the plans. I somehow always ended up getting dragged along.”

“Yeah, I know how that goes.” Echo sighed. “I’m sorry, by the way. I read about Umbara. I can’t even imagine--”

“Don’t be,” Boil sighed, rubbing at the red scar on the side of his shaved head. “It felt unbearable at the time, but… sometimes I… sometimes I’m almost relieved? Force, that sounds horrible but it’s true. Sometimes I’m relieved he was gone so he wasn’t forced to become monsters like we were. Sometimes I can’t help but wonder if they were the lucky ones.”

“You’re not a monster, Boil,” Gregor piped up from the corner. “Whatever the chip made you do wasn’t you. You had no choice.”

Boil nodded slowly, fingers lingering on his temple.

“I still did it, though.”

“I know what you mean,” Wrecker said quietly, eyes on the ground. “When my chip activated I nearly killed my squad. If Rex hadn’t been there to stop me, I would have.”

Omega scooted closer to Wrecker and grabbed his hand, leaning her head against his shoulder. He smiled down at her.

Boil looked sympathetic. “It’s a good thing Rex was there, then. Rex was the one who picked up my ship when I left Corellia. I wish I could say I was surprised to see he’d made it out, but I don’t think I was, really. Cody always believed Rex would survive all of this.”

“Did you…” Echo trailed off, rubbing his neck awkwardly. “Did you… work with Cody while--”

“No,” Boil said firmly, shaking his head. “The GAR structure reorganized surprisingly quickly after the order went out. The 212th was recalled back to Coruscant and was divided up after that. Ghost Company went to Grand Admiral Tarkin while Cody and the other Marshal Commanders were sent to work directly under Palpatine. I haven’t seen Cody since we arrived on Coruscant after Uptapau.”

They were all quiet after that, heads bowed in remembrance of both their fallen and lost brothers. Besides Omega, everyone in the ship had worked under Cody’s command at some point and respected him for the great leader and big brother to all clones that he was. To imagine the strong willed, compassionate, selfless man under the direct control of someone like Palpatine was almost too much to bear.

It was thanks to Cody that Hunter and the others had even been allowed off Kamino. He’d been able to pull rank and convince Nala Se and the other Kaminoan scientists and trainers that the Unit 99s, of which Hunter, Crosshair, Tech, and Wrecker had been the last of, could be useful in the war. If it weren’t for Cody, they would have spent the rest of their days toiling around in Tipoca City, completing test after test until they were finally deemed too “defective” and decommissioned like the others in their unit, or put on janitorial duty like 99.

“What about you guys?” Boil’s quiet voice sounded overly loud in the solemn silence of the ship's hold. “How did you survive the order? Did the Commander get you guys out too?”

“No,” Tech said, adjusting his goggles. “Our chips were never activated. They malfunctioned due to our deviant nature from the other, regular clones.”

Boil cast Wrecker a sidelong look.

“But I thought—“

“His activated later as an effect of repeated head trauma to the chip’s implantation site.”

“Well, I’m glad you guys didn’t have to experience that. Though, I imagine it must have been a very difficult situation for you surrounded by everyone else.”

“Heh, you could say that again,” Wrecker grumbled under his breath.

“We’ve essentially been on the run from the Empire for the last three years,” Echo said. “The vod’e pretty much attack us on sight.”

“You said the Commander helped you escape recently?” Omega piped up from under Wrecker’s arm.

Boil nodded slowly, gaze trained on the ground.

“I’ve only been on Yavin for about a day and a half,” Boil said. “The Commander got me out just a few days ago”

“And then he was discovered,” Tech said succinctly. Echo smacked his arm.

“Yeah,” Boil said quietly, running his hand over his hair. “Extracting me was a risk, from what Howzer said.”

“It was a different op than the usual extractions,” Gregor said from the corner. “Typically he just gave us foot soldiers that he could say were killed in action on missions. Two or three at a time, buried under flimsiwork and red tape. He’d splice the system and mark them as KIA. Apparently the Empire doesn’t care much if they lose one or two rank and file clones.”

“I was higher up in the command structure, though,” Boil added. “I was a lieutenant on Grand Admiral Tarkin’s security team. He was attending some diplomatic event in Corellia and I was assigned a protection squad. The Commander caught me as I was coming off my shift and took me to some tiny infirmary in the hotel. Stunned me and took my chip out. I barely knew what was going on when he told me that he was getting me out of the Empire and we needed to hurry.”

“A natborn Imperial officer helping clones?”

“No,” Boil shook his head, “he is a clone.”

Everyone was silent and Hunter frowned. A clone commander working from within the Empire?

Gregor paused his cleaning and looked up at the group, eyes flickering from them to Hunter, who still lingered in the doorway.

“A clone spy within the Empire?” Tech asked skeptically. “Without his chip?”

Boil nodded. “I wasn’t sure at first, either. He never took his helmet off and he didn’t sound like any clone I’d ever met. But he understood what it was like when I woke up freaking out, asking questions, getting angry. He talked me down, told me that he knew it was disorienting to wake up suddenly in control of your own body after so long but we didn’t have time for an existential crisis so I needed to get myself together.

“So what has he been doing?” Echo questioned. “Just… pretending his chip is active?”

“I guess so. Howzer confirmed it later. They’re pretty close, I guess - I thought Howzer was going to lose it when the distress signal went off.”

“How did the Commander get his out?”

Boil shrugged. “I didn’t ask.”

The room fell silent at that.

Something about the situation prickled at the back of Hunter’s mind. Maybe it was just the similarities to their own brother. Crosshair had chosen to stay with the Empire as well, even when out from under the chip’s influence - though there was no denying that Crosshair’s motivations and this Commander’s motivations were extremely different.

Crosshair chose to stay, to leave the team, their family, behind for selfish reasons - ego and power and a place in the new galactic order. This Commander chose to stay not for himself, but to help those who couldn’t help themselves.

The knowledge burned something inside him, but Hunter buried it down.

This is who I am. .

“We all thought he was crazy when he reached out to Rex,” Gregor piped up, his blaster discarded on the bench next to him. “The whole thing was his idea. We warned him it was suicide, but he didn’t care. Rex thought he’d be dead within a month, but he’s been helping clones get out for nearly two years now. Howzer kept telling him it was time to get out before he got caught, but he wouldn’t listen. Now here we are.”

“I tried to get him to come with me. Told him if they found out what he’d done, they’d kill him.” Boil snorted. “You know what he said to me? He said ‘ stop being a noble di’kut and get in the ship before I stun you and put the chip back in. ’”

They all frowned at the threat, Gregor giggling from his place in the corner.

“I’m glad to be going back for the Commander,” Boil said. “Obviously I wish it were in better circumstances. I know it was his decision to stay behind, but it still felt wrong leaving him there, you know? Colt always said we never leave a man behind.”

“Yeah,” Echo said quietly, eyes meeting Hunter’s across the room. “I know the feeling.”

Hunter held Echo’s gaze, same as he always did when the topic came up over the last two years. And same as every other time, in the face of Echo’s admonishment, Hunter said nothing in return. There was nothing to say that hadn’t already been discussed at length.

Repeatedly.

Loudly.

Wrecker and Tech glanced at each other over Echo’s head while Omega averted her eyes to the ground.

The ship shook as it dropped out of hyperspace and Hunter took that as his que to get moving.

“Rex said we’ll be touching down soon,” he said, stepping fully into the room. “We should start getting ready.”

As the others moved over to Gregor to begin gearing up, Echo stood and held Hunter’s gaze a moment longer. Hunter shook his head and Echo sighed before moving to join the others.

He had a feeling they’d be having that discussion once again once this mission was over.

Hunter felt a hand in his and he looked down to meet Omega’s eyes. She smiled sadly at him, squeezing his hand. He squeezed back, but couldn’t quite drudge up the willpower to smile in return.

“C’mon,” he said instead, “let’s gear up.”

She nodded and walked over to the group, helping Echo loop his pack over his scomp arm. Hunter watched them all and tried not to think about the weird feeling lingering in the back of his mind.

“Alright,” Rex said as the ramp to the ship lowered. They’d landed in the forest, hidden at the bottom of the mountain the same as they had last time. Gregor helped Tech and Rex navigate the ship to an area below the mountain where there was a hidden entry point similar to the vents they had escaped through last time.

“Echo, Hunter, Tech, Boil, and Gregor - you’re with me. Wrecker, stay with the ship.”

“Wha- oh, come on!” Wrecker said, slipping his helmet up to stare at Rex with wide eyes. “I can help!”

“You will help,” Rex held his hands up placatingly, “we need someone to stay with the ship that can meet us at the exit. I get a feeling we’re going to need to make a quick get away.”

“Aww, why can’t Tech do it?”

“We need Tech to help Gregor and Echo hack the systems,” Rex explained calmly. “This is a stealth mission, Wrecker, and those aren’t your, uh… strong suit.”

Wrecker groaned, pulling his helmet off and slunking off to sit on a crate. Omega patted his hand.

“Sorry, Wrecker. But I just can’t take any risks with this.”

“Nah, I understand,” and to Wrecker’s credit, he did sound like he meant it.

Rex nodded and gestured for the others to follow him off the ship.

Before Omega could get far, Hunter grabbed her elbow.

“Omega.... I want you to stay on the ship with Wrecker.”

Omega frowned.

“Why? I can help!”

Hunter sighed. She stood with arms crossed as she leveled a glare at Hunter and her eyes filled with that stubborn indignation she’d been showing more and more since she’d reached her teenage years.

As she got older, every time she glared at him like that she looked more and more like--

“We’re walking straight into an Imperial base,” Hunter said, trying to keep his tone as even as possible. “You remember what happened last time.”

“It was my idea to help on this mission.”

“It was,” Hunter conceded. “Though, you didn’t exactly talk it through with us before offering.”

She had the grace to look a little chastised at that.

“This is dangerous, Omega. High level stuff, not what we usually do. I don’t want you to get hurt.”

He trailed off and the fire seemed to go out from under Omega with her disappointed sigh.

“Fine,” she said. “But I don’t like it. If you get caught again, we will be having words.”

Hunter chuckled. “Noted.”

Her eyes searched his face a moment longer before she flung her arms around his waist, burying her face in his chest.

“Be careful.”

“I will,” he rested his chin on top of her curls. “I promise.”

Hunter’s commlink beeped and Rex’s voice filled the room.

“Hunter, let’s move out.”

Omega pulled back and crossed her arms as Hunter pulled on his helmet. She waved to him as he walked down the ramp, her and Wrecker both watching as the group started making their way toward the base of the mountain.

Hunter stared up at the mountain as they worked their way through the forest, his mind jumping back to the last time they had been on this planet, attempting a rescue from this exact base. Hopefully this time went better than the last. Hopefully no one was captured again. Hopefully they could get in and out without alerting anyone, though his squad was never that lucky.

Hopefully Crosshair isn’t here, Hunter thought as they climbed into the vent shaft. They hadn’t seen nor heard from Crosshair since the day they left Tipoca City. The Empire was large and the Galaxy even larger, so the chances were slim. He hoped. He really wasn’t in the mood to deal with a family reunion today.

#cady writes #the bad batch #tbb #star wars the bad batch #star wars tbb #tbb crosshair #crosshair #tbb hunter #tbb wrecker #tbb tech #tbb omega #tbb echo #the bad batch fanfiction

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thorne93 · 4 years

Text

History Repeats (Part 1)

Prompt: Life’s hard, right? Well throw in a not so great job, a broken heart, and chasing a pipe dream in LA. But could someone come along to make all the bad shit disappear? Or is he just another heartbreak waiting around the bend?

Warnings: language, drug addiction, alcohol addiction, angst/heartbreak

Word Count: 1562

Note: Aesthetic made by @mrs-dragneel-stark-solo because she’s absolutely amazing Beta’d by @like-a-bag-of-potatoes and @mrs-dragneel-stark-solo . Brainstorming from @carryonmyswansong

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“I wanted a room with two queens and an east facing window!” the woman with short, curled hair informed for the tenth time, her face already beet red as she yelled at you.

“Ma’am, I am sorry. I see we booked you with two queens and you’ll be on our seventh floor, with a south facing window,” you started to explain calmly.

“Does south sound like east to you? Jesus Christ, where do they hire you lazy brats?” she asked.

Your poker face didn’t waiver though. You didn’t close your eyes, or take a deep breath, or shake your head slightly. You continued to smile and apologize.

“You’re absolutely right, ma’am. But with the awards in the city and the influx of visitors for the winter--”

“I don’t care if all of Europe is here, I booked this trip over three months ago! My room should be available to me now!” she shouted, causing other patrons in the nearly full lobby to stare at the two of you.

That was the good and bad thing about being a hotel right outside the city center, just on the outskirts. You didn’t get entirely booked a lot, but on rare occasions you did, it meant something.

You had been asked to step in for your coworker Danielle, when the woman found out she wasn’t on an east facing window. You’d been going back and forth with her for over twenty minutes now, her screaming in your face. This wasn’t super atypical as a hotel manager. Angry patrons of the hotel, confused guests, exhausted tourists, frustrated honeymooners...It was your job to ensure every stay here was a pleasant one, and you did want that. Why wouldn't you? But on some days, people like Mrs. Taucht here really wore on your nerves. Why did people have to be so cruel and mean when all you were doing was trying to provide them with excellent service?

Smiling your best customer smile, you offered sweetly, “I am terribly sorry. I can refund you some of your money and perhaps you could take the south facing room, and as soon as an east facing room is available I’ll inform you.”

“Some?! Some of my money?” she shrieked, shaking her head. “I want all of my money back and free room service! This is absolutely ridiculous.” She turned to look to another guest waiting to check in. “Do you believe this?” she asked him, and you’d been so preoccupied focusing on her, you hadn’t noticed that the lobby was so getting backed up. You quickly turned to Danielle.

“Open up check in five, and start taking everyone from this line immediately. Check everyone in as fast as you can,” you quietly spoke to her as Mrs. Taucht ranted to the man in the line behind her.

Danielle nodded and waved everyone over from your line, telling them that she could help them at the end of the counter, while Todd, Eric, and Trish helped as quickly as they could on their lanes.

“Actually, I can,” the man with golden hair responded politely. “I’ve been to this city many times and you wouldn’t believe how crowded it can get and how fast,” he informed.

“But I made these reservation months ago,” she reiterated.

“Well, with all respect, ma’am, you do have a room,” the guest retorted. “It’s just not the one you wanted. If I were you, I would ask for a full refund of your room, take that, and go the room they have booked for you. I would prefer any room, to standing here in the lobby, shouting at the manager…But that’s just me.”

Mrs. Taucht stared at the man, then turned back to you slowly. “What he said,” she sighed. “Can you give me the full refund and forget the room?”

“Absolutely, ma’am. It was our mistake, and I do apologize. I will throw in free breakfast every day for your stay, for your patience and understanding. Is that alright?”

She nodded her head side to side. “I would say that’s fair. Thank you.”

“Thank you, ma’am. I will get to work on this refund for you, and it’ll be settled when you leave, okay?” you sweetly said.

“Alright.”

At that, she took her things and left, heading for the elevators to the rooms. You wanted to take a deep breath, but refrained, trying to keep composure for the nice guest that was next.

“Just a moment, sir, let me enter some notes for her account,” you said politely before clacking in all the notes for you to finish later tonight. “I deeply apologize for that. I know you’ve been waiting and now you’re about to wait more.” You let a small laugh out, hoping to lighten the mood.

“I’m in no rush, besides, you’ve got your hands full,” he said with a sideways grin. He was rather handsome, now that he was closer. Warm, brown eyes, dark blonde hair, a reserved smile...But something about him seemed familiar. He had said he stayed in the city a lot. Maybe he’d checked in once before. But...his face didn’t look like one you’d forget.

“You noticed that, hmm?” you asked with a bigger laugh.

“Hard to miss,” he remarked.

“Too true. Thank you, for putting in a good word for me, there, by the way,” you said. This random man had no reason to stick up for you or make your job or day easier.

“Oh it was nothing. I was just trying to get her to move so I could get checked in,” he said evenly.

The humor whisked away from you as you nodded, realizing he wasn’t really helping you.

“Right,” you concurred, as you finished up the notes, your eyes shooting down to the computer screen.

He leaned forward and smiled at you. “I’m joking. I was happy to help.”

Your eyes flitted back up to him as a giant grin spread across your face. This was new for you, unusual. People didn’t really go out of their way to help you. You were a bit of a wallflower all your life. Not an outcast, but not the brightest star. You were the girl that no one picked out of a crowd. You were the girl that was overlooked, rather than looked over. It wasn’t so much your looks, you’d always felt you looked average. But that was the problem: you were average. Average looks, average grades, average car, average education. Nothing about you was stellar.

Maybe that’s why Jason had left. Your boyfriend of two years had decided to dump you five days ago, just after the new year. What a way to kick it off…

“Well thank you, again. What name is your reservation under?” you asked as you queued to the page to look up check ins.

“Hayden...Christensen,” he warmly informed, seeming to hesitate though.

You smiled and nodded. “Ah. Found you. Two queens, sixth floor, room 602. Is that alright?”

“As long as it has a bed and a TV, I could care less,” he said with a shrug and a smile.

“Simple man?” you lightly inquired as you got out his room keys and began to scan the code to them.

“Relatively,” he replied with another shrug. “You? Simple woman?” he asked.

“In some ways, yeah, I’d like to think so,” you said, contemplating.

“And in others?” he inquires.

“Well...none of us are simple, are we?” you questioned, a bit of ominimity in your voice.

He nodded slightly. “I suppose that’s true.”

You stared at him a moment longer, not exactly realizing you were staring until it became awkward and you realized you needed to hand him the room keys and information.

“Ah! Here are your keys, here is a brochure to the spa, restaurants, and room service. Here is the number to the concierge, the manager--me, and the hotel operator,” you said, pointing at everything with a pen.

“Thank you very much,” he said, taking his cards and the pamphlet.

“Any time, sir. I’m Y/N if you need anything, or if you need a manager, feel free to give me a call at any time,” you said warmly. Typically, you didn’t lay on that extra charm unless a customer was overtly rude or incredibly nice, and in this case he was incredibly nice, very handsome, and you still had this gnawing feeling that you’d seen him somewhere before. Therefore, if he was a returning patron to the hotel, you wanted to make him feel extra special.

“Will do. Thanks,” he said as he grabbed his bags, waved to you, and took off toward the elevators.

Once he was out of sight, you dealt with the new family coming up to check in and your day continued as usual. The rest of the shift, you were racking your brain trying to remember where you’d seen him from. You couldn’t place it at all, and that bothered you because typically you didn’t forget a face. After awhile though, you shrugged it off, figuring it would come to you later.

In your down time, after verifying the room service orders were fulfilled, requests were taken care of, and the kitchen staff was on schedule, you sat down and began playing around with some music, scribbling down some lyrics in your ratty notebook that you carried with you everywhere.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Forever Tag:

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@missinstantgratification

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@pandacookieowo

History Repeats/Hayden

@haydens-moles

#history repeats #hayden christensen x reader #hayden christensen fic #hayden christensen

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kimnjss · 4 years

Text

grand gesture | ksj

⤑ series: sugar free

⤑ genre: angst, rich!jin x artist!reader, college au.

⤑ rating: PG13

⤑ word count: 1.5K

⤑ warnings: there aren’t any, lmao.

⤑ A/N: this is a bit short, but it’s straight to the point and meant to be that way!! just felt like this part worked better written then told through text, so yeah you’ll see what i mean! let me know what you think x

A full week passed. A full week of ignored gifts being dumped on your front porch. You were seriously considering selling them, no desire to collect his half ass-ed apology. This was the exact reason why you were hesitant to get involved with him in the first place. He was exactly like how you thought he'd be.

Of course, he'd approach you on a bet. Of course, this would all be about money. It was all that kid cared about. The way he was flaunting it, trying to buy your forgiveness was proof enough. Did he not get it? Was he that dim?

The only thing that bothered you about this whole situation was the time you wasted hanging around him. All that time you could've used working on projects or perfecting your craft... spent and wasted with the hope of trying to get to know the guy. What a waste.

Despite the constant interruption of a knock at your front door, you had decided that you were going to use all this new free time to concentrate on your art. Summoning all the inspiration you could to create... something. It actually was harder than you thought, feeling unbelievably uninspired and a little bit sad.

From your friends, you had requested they didn't pop in whenever they wanted. Felt like you'd work better if you had a chance to be alone. What you didn't realize was that with all this alone time you really had a chance to evaluate your feelings... what you had been suppressing since that night out with Jin.

It had been obvious to the people around you, but you refused to listen. It was hard to ignore now. You were a bit sad, to be honest. It had been a while since you were able to let go and actually enjoy being around someone... romantically, and you hadn't expected it at first but you really were starting to like him.

Things were comfortable around him, he was funny in a nice way, cared a lot about keeping things light, and actually listened when you ranted about whatever was bugging you at the time. It had only been a few weeks spent with him, two dates in that time but you really enjoyed yourself.

A little bummed that it had to end this way. Couldn't help but wonder if you had overreacted, if you should have listened when he tried to text you about it. Stopped being so stubborn and forgave him like everyone had said that you should. Maybe then you wouldn't be this miserable, suffering from this horrible artist's block, you didn't even know if you were holding your paintbrush correctly.

The welcomed knock on your door had you standing a little too quickly, ready to ditch this blank canvas and see whatever had been sent your way. Nothing came in yesterday and you had assumed he got the hint... hoped he hadn't.

There's an arch in your brow at the lack of delivery man at your front door. With confusion written in your features, you're putting the front door open; eyes landing on a sad-looking Seokjin. He's dressed casually, opposite of the expensive tops and form-fitting jeans he usually put on. Pair of joggers and a plain t-shirt. The change was nice, made him look younger.

He shifted on his feet, hands behind his back eyes trained on his sneakers. You had to fight the smile that pushed it's way onto your lips, happy to see him standing in front of you – but quickly reminding yourself why he had to show up like this in the first place. Main priority was to be strong in this situation, figure out what he was doing here and deal with it. Not swoon and go all heart-eyed just because he showed up.

He should've shown up before all of this.

“What are you doing here? No ridiculously expensive coat to add to the donation pile?” Jin shifts at the sound of your voice, lifting his head to look up at you. He looks sad that you can't help but wonder if you're being a bit mean to him.

Although, him betting on your sex life was pretty mean in itself, right? Getting you to like him just to turn around and make you apart of some sick joke, that's mean.

“N-no, no gifts... they weren't working anyway,” He sighs, arm reaching up to rub at the back of his neck in the awkward way you notice he was always doing. Couldn't believe you had started to find the action cute.

“Yeah, sucks. You can't buy someone's forgiveness,” There's bite in your tone but he doesn't flinch, just looks down nodding his head. “Yeah, I deserve that. I shouldn't have treated this like some business transaction. I hurt you... I should've manned up and came to you.”

You're reading to rip into him again until his words are registering in your mind. Did he come here to... apologize? Eyes blinking as you stare at him, Jin takes your silence as a sign he should continue.

“Yn, I'm sorry. I hate that I fucked with you like that and even more that you're upset. I know you won't forgive me, I'm not expecting you to... I just figured I should at least say it, like for real, you know? We were having a good time together and I really like you, so I owe you at least a proper apology.”

There's a warmth that spreads throughout your body at hearing his words. Not sure if it was from the apology or the fact that he had just told you... to your face, that he liked you. What you had been wanting to hear this entire week was an explanation from him, not through text and not in the form of some designer shoes... like a real explanation. Could see yourself forgiving him if he gave you that.

“Why'd you do it?” Your voice is quieter than you remember as if you're afraid of the reason. Either way, you don't back down. Staring straight at him as if you're strong, waiting to hear what he has to say. “Because I liked you. And I know how stupid that sounds, but I was too chicken shit to do something about it... so I just used the bet as an excuse,”

Jin had said that you didn't have to forgive him, but that didn't stop the hopeful look in his eyes. Watching as you tossed his words around in your head, waiting for that smile of yours to appear as you told him that it was all okay. That you forgave him and if he promised he never did something stupid like this again, you two could go back to falling for each other as you had been before.

It didn't come. Instead, you were just nodding, taking a step back into your house. “Alright, well... thanks for coming here and apologizing.”

“So that's it?” The words are falling from his lips before he has a chance to stop them. Not realizing how expectant they sound, how he had promised himself he wouldn't act that way at this moment because he knew you hated it. “I mean... were you thinking we could, maybe, try again?” You can hear the hope in his voice and you don't miss it.

Did you want to try again? Let him in all over again as he attempted to break down your walls, he had done a pretty good job at it before. Were you ready for all that? All that came with being with him... like actually being with him. Before it had been different, you weren't sure of your feelings then, but now, you knew that you'd want more from him. An actual relationship. Would he even be able to do that?

“Was that what you were hoping for? Why you came by to apologize?” He's shaking his head before the words can fully leave your mouth.

“No, I came here because you deserved a proper apology because I was sick of being a coward about all of this. I want to be with you because... well because you're amazing and I don't want to miss out on that,” He's offering a small smile up to you, one you're returning almost instantly.

Still, there's something holding you back, but you're unable to place it. Needed to figure out what it was before you were leaping into a relationship with the guy. “Could I...? Could I think about it?”

“Yes, yeah!” The smile on his lips grows as he steps off of your porch, mission accomplished. “Take all the time you need to think about it... you can call me when you decide? My numbers the same!” You can't help but laugh at his quick shift of demeanor, the way he basically runs down your driveway before you can change your mind.

You stand and watch the entire time he jogs down the street until he's ducking into his car, and speeding off with a wave out the window. A hand lifts to wave back, heart thudding in your chest as you stepped back into your house. About to give this situation some serious thought... were you really going to be able to handle being with Kim Seokjin?

– rich, spoiled and a bit of a womanizer. but underneath all of that, there’s a heart of gold. and no matter how determined she is to reject him, he won’t stop trying until she sees he’s kinda sweet.

↲ masterlist ↳

taglist: @randomkoalablog @smoljams @dee-ehn @jaiuneamesolitaiire @lilacdreams-00 @sw33tnight @bangtansonyeondayyyum @okblve @jinhitwhore @tae165 @hellotherehoneybee @bangtansbun @betysotelo18 @cherriigguk @koostime @kooinluv @butterflylion @kookiesjoonies @uxwi @honeyoongles @imajiningseokjin @amoreguk @beeeb05 @tommasauras @bluefaeriefury @butterflylion @withlovestudyblr @samros95 @korkanswers @houseofarmanto @soulstaes @thesunisup-theskyisblue @jinsearth @aizuwusho @moonb0yy @tan-dulset @8sjaf @mini-coop25 @marifujioka @sunskook @elliemeetsevil @ratking101 @leovaldezisfire @greyaceupyoursleeve @emmy17jane

A/N: timestamps are important throughout the fic!! if you want to be added to the taglist, send me an ask! also if you asked to be on the taglist and aren’t on there, it’s because tumblr sometimes doesn’t let me tag ppl for some reason.

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the-odd-job · 3 years

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Close Your Eyes to This Disaster Chapter 6: And You Say…

Rating: Explicit Warnings: Chose Not to Use, Rape/Non-Con Category: Other Fandom: Transformers G1 Relationships: Megatron/Sunstreaker, Megatron/Sideswipe, Sideswipe & Sunstreaker Characters: Sunstreaker, Sideswipe, Megatron Additional Tags: Dubcon, Sticky, Abusive Relationships, Mind Games, Manipulation, Gaslighting, Canon-Typical Violence Words: 3163

( Previous )

The Prime—or Prowl, rather, he was the one to set up the schedules—kept his word: they were never put to any patrol longer than frustratingly short. On top of that, they no longer had patrols together, always paired with someone else rather than each other. That one had given them a fit that slagging Ironhide had needed to talk them out of. Since when was Ironhide the voice of reason?

That was discrediting the weapons specialist a little, admittedly. Age had granted him at least some sense, to the effect that he was perfectly reasonable with his arguments. Unfortunately he was also fairly hot-headed, as were the twins. There had been quite a bit of yelling from everyone involved. They had even gained an audience before the time that the twins accepted the fact that in this instance they were safer apart than together.

It still didn’t sit well with them, but they put up with it, in large part because the patrols were short enough that they were never away from each other’s vicinity for long. Despite the other mitigating factors on top of that, such as never being paired with anyone they didn’t get along with—mostly applying to Sunstreaker, that one—it was still enough to have the both of them turn irritable. Even Sideswipe, so known for his high spirits, was just as highly affected by what became the state of their spark. Was he not supposed to be, somehow? No, that was an impossibility.

And of course, there was the fact it wasn’t wise for them to leave the proximity of the Autobot base. It ceased to be an actual order, likely because Prowl realized they would’ve been that much more eager to go against it if it was one, but it was a piece of healthy advice that they actually did follow, for once. They weren’t free of their own concerns in regards to the situation, after all. With all of the memories… They knew more about Megatron now than they had ever thought possible, and a very large part of what they knew wasn’t flattering.

The physical disparity between them was bad enough, but pile on top of that Megatron’s personality and his pattern of always getting what he wanted… Could anyone blame them for harboring some worry, no matter how rare that was for them? They didn’t want to give in to Megatron, but slag, in practice that might be hellishly difficult.

Avoidance wasn’t going to work forever, they knew that much, but it was all they had for now.

End result was that they were a stressed mess on the inside, and it bled to the outside more than just a little. Everyone got in the habit of keeping as much distance from Sunstreaker as possible after the fourth time he got his aft locked in the brig for attacking someone without any real provocation—first Cliffjumper, then Tracks, the usual suspects they were, but after that it was Ironhide, then Hound of all mecha.

He didn’t get off any lighter than usual despite the command making it clear they understood why he was acting out so badly. They were assigned more combat practice as a response, though, just to give them more chances to burn off some of their unnerved energy. Ironhide took to being the one to mostly spar with Sunstreaker, after he, again, failed to go easy enough for it to really count as sparring anymore. The old mech could handle it even when Sunstreaker lost his cool and hit too hard—and Sideswipe wasn’t that much more careful.

Eventually it was the repeated rants they got from Ratchet when he was performing post-“spar” repairs that convinced them to hold back just a bit more.

And then there were the battles. First one, then two, and those were further help when they could just fragging let loose and beat someone to scrap. Prowl had to tell them to tone it down several times, and even so they got looks from their comrades after the Decepticons retreated. Look at the twins, turning even more unhinged than what they usually were! But at least the real fighting calmed them down for a week or two afterwards.

Neither time did it last, though, and then they were back to being holy terrors. Sideswipe held back on the violence, but his temper ran short and his words harsh. He still only managed to make Bluestreak cry one time. Of course he apologized after, was forgiven, and in further practice watched his vocalizer more at least around the gunner.

Sideswipe still became considerably less pleasant company than what he usually was, and aside of the command, no one knew for certain what was causing the change. There was confusion, theories, guesses, and most of them did revolve around Megatron after his more public interest in the beginning.

But they didn’t have the answers for the twins’ changed duties or their worsened behavior when the command respected their privacy and didn’t go tattling—and the twins themselves certainly weren’t about to share that much of their past life.

It was still annoying as all pit to be so affected by the warlord. They didn’t know if he was still trying to reach them. Did they imagine the lingering looks during the battles? Could be, after how hyperaware they became of him. Maybe it was nothing. And when they were away from the Ark… Was Megatron looking for opportunities to approach them, but simply didn’t get them, hence his absence?

Or had he stopped?

They couldn’t believe that. Megatron had made his desire clear, and he wasn’t the type to just stop when facing some resistance on the way to his goal.

And they were right in not believing.

It was a joyride. They were sticking relatively close to the Ark, and definitely close to a city, while still searching for some privacy to drive as fast as their spark was calling for. Just… Take what they could in their severely altered and limited life. Enjoy as much as they were able to and maybe have even a few moments of internal peace afterwards before all the tension came back and set them on edge.

Yet, it was clearly too far from other living beings, because after two curves they took–

He was standing in the shadow cast by the rise of rock on the side of the road—no signature this time either, or they would have noticed him before it was too late.

By the time Megatron stepped onto the road to block their way… It was already far too late. Too late to even slow the fuck down, in fact. They had just the time to curse, then initiate their transformations–

Only to barrel right into Megatron, the both of them. In a show of his size and strength, though, the tyrant had merely taken a steady stance and took the weight, velocity, and impact of both of them with no notable effort.

Sunstreaker stayed upright, staggering away as soon as he had enough wits about him to do so, but Sideswipe wound up sprawled on his back on the ground, groaning weakly from the ache of suddenly decelerated parts. Something had hit this, another had hit that… It was a good thing they were built sturdy; Megatron wasn’t much better than a solid steel wall. Even without any severe damage it still ended with some dented plating.

Their steel wall crouched in front of his scuffed brother—who quickly propped himself up on his arms—and Sunstreaker immediately checked his comms. They were–

…They weren’t blocked.

There was also no sight of Soundwave or anyone else.

Was it just Megatron? Alone? Could they have called the Ark right now and let them know they’d run into the unmaker again?

Instead of doing anything useful, though… Sunstreaker stood out of the way, dumbfounded as he watched Megatron reach for Sideswipe—Sideswipe was staring at the warlord with wide, wide optics, frozen in place–

And Megatron cupped the side of his helm.

They could have– They should–

They needed to call the Ark.

They didn’t.

“You have made it rather difficult to get a hold of you,” Megatron commented, glancing up at Sunstreaker briefly before his attention fell back to Sideswipe. A thumb brushed across his brother’s lips, and when surprise parted them, the thumb dipped in.

What the fuck rang between them, shock too deep for Sideswipe to even remember to do a damn thing as Megatron’s digit gently explored the inside of his mouth: stroking along his glossa, scraping against his denta–

“Didn’t want to see you,” Sunstreaker said after too much of a delay, hating the utter lack of aggression in his voice. Instead he was just breathless; almost a whisper.

But this wasn’t really going as they would have expected. He wasn’t sure what they were actually expecting, but this? This wasn’t it.

“Oh?” Megatron questioned. He didn’t sound offended.

The thumb retreated from Sideswipe’s mouth, but only for the tyrant’s claws to trace the curves of his helmet thoughtfully—with a frown. It was as if he was comparing the present to the past, noting all of the differences in their frame designs… And disliking what he saw.

Sideswipe shivered as the touch just continued. “What do you want?” the red twin asked in a murmur, staring up into the red optics bearing down on him with weight that pinned him in place.

“You,” came the answer, spoken softly.

They’d heard that before.

Sideswipe caught his lower lip between his denta and tried to forget, not think. Not think about that.

Not think of the past. Where was their resolve?

“Can’t have it,” the red twin managed with just the smallest hint of a growl in his voice.

“And why not?”

“You’re the enemy.”

“But I wasn’t always.”

“You were.” The bad they could remember.

Resolve.

Megatron changed the topic smoothly. “Why did you disappear?”

Silence. Sideswipe glared; Sunstreaker frowned, as much as Megatron wasn’t looking at him.

When they gave nothing in the way of an answer, the tyrant made a guess. “Was it because of your owner?”

Ugh… “Yes.”

“Not by choice?”

Was this the right spot to admit to anything? They hazarded an answer anyway. “…No?”

“There you have it,” Megatron rumbled, and they got the feeling they had already shared too much—given Megatron ammunition to use against them, if he wouldn’t have been able to guess correctly anyway. “You didn’t leave by choice. If you had gotten to choose, I wonder… Would you have left at all?”

Sideswipe bared his denta, only for the corner of Megatron’s mouth to pull into a smile. It was a genuinely amused little thing, as if he found their resistance charming. Not worth taking seriously, because what could they truly have done against him, even together?

The red twin went back to mere glowering, and they didn’t answer.

Megatron gave them a moment before he phrased the question differently. “Did you have any reason to leave?”

“Oh, you slagger,” Sunstreaker growled. Megatron didn’t avert his gaze from Sideswipe, but he didn’t need to. The golden twin continued, “Are you willingly forgetting all the shit you put me through, again? I had every reason to leave and my only fragging regret is that I didn’t so earlier.”

“You lie,” their old lover stated simply.

And that was all. He said nothing else. When it was confirmed that he would just let the silence reign and pet Sideswipe’s face with his thumb, Sideswipe was the one to speak their confused, “What?”

“Had you reason to leave, you would have simply left. Am I wrong?” He didn’t give them a chance to answer before he continued, “But you had no reason, and you didn’t leave before someone forced you.”

“It’s not that simple!” Sunstreaker tried to argue, gesturing angrily at nothing in particular–

But Megatron didn’t let him finish his argument. “Is it not? Didn’t you make it clear you would find a way to go, were you given a reason?”

Sideswipe opened his mouth to speak; Megatron cut him off before he could make a peep, “But I never gave you a reason. You stayed until someone else said you couldn’t anymore. Can you blame me for thinking you would have remained by my side otherwise?”

Sunstreaker ground his denta together but held onto his argument. “You kept me from leaving even if I had wanted to,” he accused as quickly as he could, before Megatron said anything more.

“If you had wanted to? Which is it? Did you want to, or did you not?” the tyrant asked, still holding Sideswipe captive as effectively as if his brother was paralyzed. His thumb brushed across his cheek, his nasal ridge, to his lips… It was hard to not focus on that too much. “Answer honestly. What do you have to lose by speaking the truth?”

Everything. Sunstreaker balled his servos into fists, turning his gaze to the side before the urge to beat the fragging bastard’s helm in got the better of him. Where would that have gotten him? Fragged into the ground again, if he knew anything about their lover.

But he wanted honesty? Slagging… What was the honest answer, anyway?

They could remember. Even that very last evening, they could remember. “No,” Sideswipe said, wanting so badly to turn his helm away from Megatron’s all-seeing scrutiny and too gentle touch, yet having not the freedom of motion to do so– “I didn’t want to leave.”

Their fields blushed with the old emotion—the thrill only Megatron could cause, heady and suffocating–

He’d never gotten enough of it. Everything had only added to the… Danger. The threat of what Megatron could have done to him, and yet… What he never did. No matter how he pushed, there were things Megatron never did, things he never said.

But what he did to so many others. Sunstreaker had been special. The exception. He had owned a piece of Megatron no one else did, that others scarcely even saw.

What was the tradeoff?

All the things they’d had… The things Megatron had done for them, never asking anything in return but their loyalty.

Megatron’s mouth pulled into a smile as true as any of his were, but this time Sideswipe was the one to speak before giving him a chance, “But that doesn’t mean I want to come back.”

“It does not?” Megatron questioned. “Do you hold loyalty to a faction you were forced into?”

“That’s past,” Sunstreaker growled. “Things have–“

“And not only that,” the warlord continued with no heed for his turn to speak, “but they knowingly took your memories. Why? Did they think it best you didn’t remember your past in fear of where your loyalty would be if you did? That it was better to have a soldier that was never given a choice, that knew of nothing else? Incapable of making an educated decision for himself?”

“Fuck you,” Sideswipe snarled, trying to yank his helm away, “You wouldn’t have given me a choice either.”

Megatron wouldn’t let him go anywhere, tightening his hold until Sideswipe was still again. “Oh, but I did,” he said, near growling now. “Hadn’t I already begun to gather my followers, formed the Decepticons? Didn’t I have more mecha join under my banner each and every day? Yet I never once told you you needed to do the same.”

That… Wasn’t untrue. They’d barely ever even discussed the rebellion despite how hard Megatronus—and later Megatron—had worked on it, had they? Megatron hadn’t brought work into their relationship.

He had to have read their uncertainty, because the growl turned into a purring rumble rising directly from the warlord’s engine—soothing, almost. “You see. But you can still choose. It’s not too late.”

“No,” Sunstreaker said immediately. “Let the past be past. Optimus, Prowl, Ratchet, ‘Hide—they never did anything to me and have nothing to do with the mistakes of others.”

“Haven’t they?” Megatron asked, lifting one of his optical ridges as if he didn’t believe him. “How do they treat you, really? With true understanding?”

They held to their silence, not that it would have necessarily mattered anyway. If Megatron wanted to speak, he spoke.

But their silence was an answer of sorts anyway, and the tyrant had more to say. ”What of the rank and file? Do they treat you as one of their own?”

“Yes,” Sideswipe spoke up at that, snarling. “I have friends, mecha that care about me–“

“If they truly cared about you, wouldn’t they learn to understand you, as I did?” He couldn’t have known if any of them did or didn’t, he was just making guesses–

Sideswipe bared his denta again. “It’s not that simple.”

“It isn’t? Do tell, what is so complex about it?”

“I work different than they do. They don’t understand something so disparate. They see two frames and think I’m two, they don’t see—and that’s normal–“

“You’re making excuses for them,” Megatron interrupted him. “I see you; what is preventing them from doing the same?”

Sideswipe’s jaw snapped shut and Sunstreaker frowned. What was preventing them? Their own biases and limited view of the world? Didn’t that apply to everyone?

Then why was Megatron different?

The warlord offered the one explanation he seemed to believe, “They don’t care about you enough to bother to understand something so special—so beautiful and unique,” he rumbled at them. Sideswipe blinked up at the gaze that had never once left him. ”Primus forbid they go through the trouble of doing so. How many have even tried? How many of them yet failed when it turned out to be too much effort?”

They’d spoken of these things, back in the Pits. They’d shared their frustrations with Megatronus, yet their acceptance of it all—they were alien on their own world and that was all most would see, it was something they just had to live with–

But also their pleasure over him being unlike most.

He wasn’t the only one. There had been others, even during the war–

But they were a rare breed and dead by now.

Megatron wasn’t, though. Megatron was living proof it could be done… Maybe not to perfection, but to an impressive point nonetheless, if one…

…Cared enough to do so.

“No,” Sideswipe said all the same, finding his growl for the next words, “you won’t have me.”

“Leave,” Sunstreaker continued with a snarl of his own, taking one step closer to Megatron and Sideswipe. Sideswipe tried to yank himself free again, but he only succeeded because Megatron let him.

Megatron let him pull away, get up, and step out of reach, rising from his own crouch at a leisurely pace. “Think on what I said,” he said, stepped two paces back and–

Transformed and took to the skies.

( Next )

#transformers #maccadam #maccadams #megatron #sunstreaker #sideswipe #fic #2021 #disaster

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crimsonthehobo · 4 years

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Battle Scars - (1/?)

[A/N:] Haven’t been on this account in months, am quite sleep-deprived and I haven’t eaten breakfast yet. Well, lunch now apparently. So before I lose the minimal courage I got, I’ll just drop this off here and hope it works! Don’t know when I might write the next part, might even not. Who knows. Mind’s wonky. This has been in my files for a long while, wrote it back when Guy Sebastian’s song Battle Scars got stuck in my head. Figured I might as well let it stop collecting dust. Also, considering I’ve never done this before, I don’t know how to properly tag.

If there’s tags I should put, ESPECIALLY if they’re tw tags, please do tell me. [Summary:] The child of a general, the only survivor of a (frankly) unethical experiment, and the old college roommate of one Alexandra Danvers. Somehow all three of those things correlate with one another, not that you can remember at this point. You just want to live in the forest, forgetting the reasons for the scars that litter your body. [Warning(s):] Reader’s thoughts get... dark. Somewhat. More depressing, I think. Some people horrifically mutate too, so there’s that. Again, if there should be warnings in the tags or here that I should put but didn’t, do tell me. What else... uh, this is approximately 11k words long? Maybe that deserves a warning all to itself. Is there a tag that explains “possibly turns you into a modern-day cave person living in forests to steal from humans and wrestle bears”? Possibly a spoiler, but hey, at least it means you read warnings, so congrats!

The first time you felt like you’d failed, was when you had to leave the first love of your life. It was the only scar that had no physical counterpart, but you’d felt the mind-numbing pain, nonetheless.

“You watch yourself, alright? I won’t be around to keep your head screwed on for you!”

“Yeah, yeah…”

You rolled your eyes, pointedly keeping your focus on shoving the remaining belongings you had into your duffle. You didn’t look at her. You couldn’t. You knew if you did, you’d break.

Silence fell over the room at your half-hearted response, the lack of noise almost making you regret not saying anything more in reply. And then…

“Do… Do you really have to go?”

‘Damn it.’

Alex’s words were shaky, barely louder than a whisper. The strained tinge in her voice urged you to look up from zipping up your bag, glancing over at the source.

Seated on your bed with her legs over the side, she sat hunched over as one of her legs anxiously shook up and down against the edge. Her hands were curled into fists between her knees, knuckles white as her forearms tensed from their placement on her thighs.

She looked so… small. Nervous. It wasn’t like her.

She was supposed to be Alex Danvers. A stubborn redhead that was tough-as-nails and was always up for drinking you under the table any day!

But you couldn’t blame her for not being herself. She was heartbroken, and so were you.

Though, it made you feel guilty that it was because of you that she looked so weak.

No, “weak” wasn’t the word.

Vulnerable…

Vulnerable seemed more fitting.

“I’m sorry.”

You looked away, but it didn’t last for long. You felt her tap your jaw; once, twice, then a third time. For you two, it was a universal sign that you needed to listen. That what would be said was important.

It was an action that would only take effect if done by the other, and no one else.

It could calm either of you from rage, or even help you fight the haze of drunkenness to be in some semblance of sober.

It was special. Meaningful.

Hence why your automatic reaction was to turn, to obey the silent request to face her.

“You’ll stay in touch, yeah?”

“…Yeah.”

Now you? You were weak. While the owner of your heart was devastated right in front of you, all you could offer for comfort was an unconvincing smile and a useless apology.

Her throat bobbed as she attempted to swallow back a sob, but the teary shine in her eyes gave her away.

Another surge of guilt struck your heart and made you avert your eyes elsewhere, anywhere, as long as they were not on her.

‘Look at what you’ve done.’

It was your fault. She didn’t even know why you were leaving so suddenly.

Your father had found out of your attraction to her, and needless to say, he didn’t take it lightly. A few strings pulled later, and you were being sent away to be “straightened out.” The thought almost made scoff during that particular conversation in his study, but you accepted the consequences anyway.

You should’ve been better.

You should’ve done better.

You didn’t protect her well enough.

The fault was none but yours… and the knife you felt in your heart would remind you for a long while to come.

~~~

The second time you felt like you’d failed, happened two years after that moment in your college dorm room.

It took months for that scar to start to heal, but you knew it would take years before it would even begin to fade.

You’d tried to keep in contact, but you had your life to live and so did she. Not to mention the day your father heard of the two of you still communicating, he pulled more strings to cut you off. It was too late, anyway. You’d already stopped talking by then.

But whether the silence was for the better or worse was up for debate.

Just the thought of her made your heart lurch, and actually interacting with her never failed to re-open that scar anew. The space, however agonizing, let the wound heal.

Yet that very same space was what let you drown yourself into your current occupation. In order to compensate for the agony, you let yourself fall deeper and deeper into your work. Though at this point, you were questioning if you should even call it that.

Unknown to her, a month into your time in the military, a general offered you a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.

You found it hard to believe. You weren’t stupid, you could read between the lines. You knew “opportunity” also meant “ulterior motive.”

He didn’t prove you wrong.

When you walked into the conference room you’d been instructed to enter, your eyes immediately fell to the only individual inside.

General Lane.

You knew three things about him. One, he had been your father’s best friend. Two, he had a palpable dislike for any and all alien life. Specifically, Superman. Three, whenever he began to rant, just smile, and nod.

It was only the two of you there, yet you couldn’t seem to find it in you to focus. Not after he uttered the words “military program.”

You already knew this wouldn’t end well.

Though you remained silent, your eyes having glazed over as the static in your ears prevented his words from reaching your brain, he continued to speak. You only managed to catch bits and pieces, but you got the gist.

They wanted to conduct an experiment and were looking for lab rats. They wanted you to be one.

You weren’t surprised they asked. To everyone else’s knowledge, you had no one left in your life but you. Your father made sure any links between you and Alex were cleanly severed, meaning any history between you two had been cleared. You had no family other than your parents, your mother having passed while you were still in your single digits, while your father had done the same just a week before this very meeting.

‘Tch… no love lost there.’

But, considering he was a respected figure and a close friend of the very same general right in front of you, you had to at least act as if his death affected you. Your father had always been one for appearances, so no one outside of the two of you (and Alex) knew just how estranged you’d been from the other. Because of this, luckily (or unluckily, depending on what way you view it), people took your indifferent poker face to be one of grief.

General Lane wanted to capitalize on that. On you.

You had military blood in you (because apparently that meant you were exactly like your father), you had a “reason” to go missing (grief, hah), and—as far as he was concerned—you had no close relations that would worry should you ever disappear (you… couldn’t really think of a quip to internalize there). You seemed like the perfect guinea pig.

“…We need heroes around here. Human heroes. Not those monsters who could fall to their instincts at the drop of a hat, or at the touch of some space rock—”

Again, it came with no surprise to you that extra-terrestrials were the main focus of said experiment.

You wanted to say no. Fuck, did you want to say no. You wanted no part in this blind hatred. But then…

“—They’re never here when we actually need them. A group of freaks like him are planning to go after National City to lure him out, and where is Superman? Frolicking off in space! The President had an entire clandestine organization made exactly for roach-connected situations like this, yet they don’t even know—”

Your blood ran cold, your hearing suddenly becoming clear as your eyes bore into his.

National City.

Of all the places, they had to go there. You didn’t give it a second thought. You didn’t have to.

“I’ll do it.”

You had no idea what CADMUS was, just that they were collaborating with the U.S. Military to make you and forty-nine others into the ones that would “exterminate the roaches infesting the planet.”

Sounded more like “short-sighted discrimination with an unhealthy dash of xenophobia” than “rational thought for the human race” to you; but as long as you could protect Alex, you didn’t care how much of the mindless drivel you had to sit through.

You didn’t count how many times you found yourself strapped to a metal bed, or how many times you found a needle being stuck into you. Rather, you couldn’t. More than half the time, whatever they put into your bloodstream always made you feel woozy. Enough to make you practically perpetually confused.

Any recollection of your experiences during the experimentation were impossible to stir, and after seeing that one woman’s all-too-amused smirk a few too many times, you were convinced that it had been on purpose.

Before you knew it, another month had passed. Not that you would’ve realized it yourself. Your best guess would’ve been a week, if it weren’t for the woman General Lane had assigned to you telling you otherwise.

She was about your age, maybe a month or so younger. Lucia was her name if you remembered correctly. She’d been left by him to keep an eye on you, or to “keep you sane” as she worded so eloquently.

She was the first person you saw the moment you could properly think again. Her calming presence was a breath of fresh air, and for a moment, everything felt… nice.

Until a soldier barged through the door of your allocated resting area, screaming about an attack.

Time seemed to blur once again, and the next thing you knew, you were in the middle of a war zone. A mile or two from some desert base in the middle of nowhere.

Only you and the rest of the fifty who had been volunteered for the Eradication Program had been deployed. You wished you hadn’t been. The others were bloodthirsty, tearing through the opposition the moment they were ordered to. You, however, chose to take a step back and analyse the enemy.

Most of the “opposing force” looked to be human, not alien. None of them seemed hostile, either. Well… until they were provoked, that is. The human-like members of their group—who you’re sure actually were human—were being protected by their definitely-alien comrades, clearly not trained for combat or any attack whatsoever. In fact, if their attire was anything to go by, they all worked in what could be considered “support” occupations. Engineers, researchers, varying members of medical staff… not one of them appeared to be soldiers.

What was General Lane not telling you?

Were you really protecting National City?

…Were you even in National City?

You felt your comms crackle in your ears, said general’s voice screeching, “What the HELL are you doing?! Move your ass, Six!”

Right. Soldier Six, your call sign. Simply because you were the sixth one to wake up.

How original.

You huffed, and in retaliation to the general’s orders, you tore the device out of your ear and threw it as far as you could over your shoulder.

Because frankly, you didn’t want to. Not when you’d been pit against wrongly identified “hostiles.”

Despite your stubbornness to keep your feet rooted to your spot, soon enough, you didn’t have the privilege of choosing to abstain.

The other “volunteers”—all forty-nine of them—began to stop and convulse. Their flesh rippled beneath their skin, muscles expanding and contracting in an obscene manner.

Something had gone wrong. Horribly wrong.

Each and every one of them mutated appallingly right before your very eyes, all of them attaining a different level of horrendous to another. Some grew limbs, some lost them. Others had extra eyes while a handful had one left or none at all. A few had their nails elongate into claws, others had a tailbone that whipped its way through the air. More than half had lost the colours of their irises—no, not just the colour. The pupils and irises themselves disappeared completely. It was a horrific spectacle to behold.

To call these things a shell of their former selves, would be insulting to the humans they used to be.

Was this going to happen to you?

You didn’t have much time for your thoughts. The one thing that didn’t change was the sheer amount of bloodthirst coursing through their veins. With the supposedly villainous aliens already exhausted, they wouldn’t last a second round against the other volunteer—

‘…No,’ You shook your head, fists clenched tight, ‘Those aren’t the volunteers anymore.’

From what you could see, those men and women died the moment the experiments started. All you could do for them, was help them rest in peace.

And you doubt they’d be getting any rest with their bodies wreaking havoc as these beasts.

Using the enhanced abilities you shared with the monstrosities, you slowly but surely took them out one by one.

They fought like animals.

Yet no matter how many times they slashed at your body, no matter how many times they lunged for your head, nor how many times they made you bleed, you continued to end every single one of them. You didn’t want any of them to suffer longer than they already have.

As with most things nowadays, in your eyes, the details were nothing but a blur. Everything felt… vague. Flashes of claws, bones, and agonizing pain run through your mind, yet no instance remained distinct for more than a second.

…Was this a symptom? Of the experiment, or the transformation?

Fear of the truth made you falter, and a skeletal tail surging straight through your right thigh forced your focus to return. But then so too would the questions, along with the subsequent terror, until another wound started the cycle another time. Again and again, until after what felt like an eternity, the last of them finally fell with an inhuman screech. It was done. But at what cost?

You surveyed your battleground, heart heavy and clenched in an icy grip. You couldn’t protect them, save them. Any of them.

A mighty hack then reverberated through the painfully silent air and caused you to flinch. Your head snapped up to turn to its direction, your feet already making their way over. You’d thoughtlessly skidded onto your knees, the coin-flip reaction bringing you to the survivor’s side. It was an alien.

Your eyes were wide in alarm, hands flittering around as your mind buzzed at what to do. There were so many injuries. Far too many for him to survive, alien or no. Your eyes met his, and your breath hitched in surprise. His irises didn’t scream anger or disgust like you expected. Instead, they were shining in wonder so innocent, it was almost childlike.

“You… Your body… did not… revolt?” the dying male grinned, placing a hand in yours to grip it in glee, “M-Miracle! It… I-It is m-miracle!”

For a moment, you were confused. Until you followed his gaze and watched as your body slowly stitched itself back together. One shallow cut in particular caught your attention, the damage slowly disappearing before your very eyes, leaving not a single blemish on your skin. You’d been so focused on fighting, that you didn’t even stop and wonder how you were still alive. After this day, there may not even be a single scar found.

At another bloody cough, newfound healing abilities were far from the forefront of your mind. Your vision blurred with tears, a sob escaping without your control. It was your fault. It was all your fault.

“Sorry…” You hadn’t spoken in so long, your voice harsh and throat sore, “I- I’m so sorry.”

He weakly shook his head, “B-Blame… not… on y-you. Deceived. We… We all… were…”

“W-What?”

With a wince, he forced his other arm to point to one of his fallen allies, a human researcher about a meter or so north of you.

“Necklace… take…” the light in his eyes was beginning to die, you could see it and he could feel it. Forcing a shaky smile, he murmured in his broken English, “Promise… y-you… not feel… guilty?”

“I…”

You knew you’d feel guilty.

You should, shouldn’t you? This was all your fault! You were careless and made a mistake once again. You didn’t see through the veil, you weren’t smart enough. You couldn’t stop the others, you weren’t quick enough.

You weren’t enough.

And just like before, people suffered because of it.

But… although he was on his last seconds of life, he looked at you so brightly. He was still so hopeful. How could you break such a wonderous being in his last moments?

You shook your head ‘no,’ lying, knowing this would be a wound that would last a long time to come. From the huff he gave, you felt like he knew that too.

Nonetheless, he coughed out, “P-Promise?”

You swallowed, feeling a fresh wave of hot tears cascading down your cheeks. With another lurch from your heavy heart, you gave him a nod and a shaky smile of your own, “I promise.”

His smile grew a fraction wider, “P… Pro… mise…”

His last breath left him, leaving the hand still in yours to fall, limp.

You were wrong earlier, there was a scar left behind.

The laceration you’d received from foolishly grabbing onto a tail, the one injury that had been obscured from your sight by his hold, had left a mark. You knew what it would be. A memento, of another time you’d failed. Of the first time your naivety took the life of another. You let a sob escape your control.

And another…

For hours you stayed on the blood-soaked sand, the coarse particles dyed red with the proof of the violent loss of life. By the time you heard a chopper land meters away to analyse the aftermath, your tears had long since dried and the last remnants of your rampant emotions were now trapped deep within, leaving only your now-signature emotionless mask. Thankfully, they understood enough that your mind was stuck elsewhere and didn’t bother to get a mission report out of you.

They did, however, cheer at the averted “crisis.”

All except Lucia. It was a small comfort, but a comfort, nonetheless. Rather than cheering, she sat next to you, a consoling hand on your shoulder as she murmured apologies for wrongs not her own.

For a brief moment, you wondered why she was here. What her role was in all of this mess, how she got caught up in it…

But when the others’ voices drowned out Lucia’s and all you could hear was their excitement and joy, your thoughts were immediately overrun by pure rage. Your stare morphed into a glare as your eyes kept themselves glued to the carnage below, hand clutching the unseen necklace concealed by your dog tags.

You were the only one who survived.

You were the only success.

You were now a monster.

~~~

It was two years later after that, that the third occurrence happened.

Although you held a great amount of distrust for the U.S. Military, you never left their command. Foolishly, you stayed and did whatever they said. You went to where they told you you’d been needed. You fought who they told you to fight. You killed who they told you to kill.

All because of your own fear.

What if you were already transforming? What if your body was just one second away from fighting whatever gave you your powers? What if, the moment you left… you went berserk?

One “what if” after another festered in your mind, leading to you to forcibly suppress your own self and play their perfect little soldier, if only to keep your own body at bay should it ever run amok.

After all, they created you. The only ones who would know how to stop you would be them, right?

Besides, what would you even do once you left? They’d written the end of your life for you the moment you agreed to be a lab experiment.

Who would you have turned to?

Alex?

You scoffed at the thought. You said “yes” to help protect her, not drag her into the damn problem.

For a year and a half, you’d justified your stay with those thoughts, and for more than half of that time you let yourself be used as a mere weapon. It took you a year until you accepted the truth of your situation, and it wasn’t until roughly three months prior to your third failure that you finally let yourself see reason.

You sat up on your bunk, eyes on your hands, staring at blood that none but you could see. Sweat dripped from your brow, faint screams echoing in your eardrums, audible just beneath the vigorous beating of your heart.

‘I can’t keep this up…’ You released a shuddering breath, ‘How long will I have to keep this up?!’

Ever since that day in the desert, your nights were never peaceful, your sleep never serene. You’d long since gotten used to the endless screams of terror, the unending stream of unfamiliar faces contorting in woe. But what you hadn’t prepared for—what you never thought you’d ever need to prepare for—was for those faces to suddenly become familiar.

Alex had been petrified, the alien terrified, and Lucia… Lucia lay on the bloodied, black dirt, prone. Her face perpetually mortified. Even after you lurched forward in your bed and had left the realm of dreams, their suffering still danced in the shadows of your surroundings, the remnants of their frightened faces flashing in your eyes like some ghastly slideshow.

Their misery was because of you. You’d stumbled too deep into the haze, and by the time you came out, you had become what you feared the most. The cause of their torment.

‘What am I doing with my life?’

It was on that night that you truly accepted the reality of your situation. You had let your mind wander and, without realizing, let yourself function on autopilot for too long. It wasn’t until now, on this night—when you were terrorized by their screams—that you accepted that fact. But you felt it was already too late.

By mindlessly putting your life on the line, you had saved hundreds of lives—or so you were told. Yet for every life you saved, you knew there had been at least one you’d taken in return.

Your comrades rejoiced at your feats, and even a few of the higher-ups praised your work.

And yet…

Why did you feel nothing? Why did you feel out of place?

Why did you feel like you were doing something you weren’t meant to?

You’d been confused, very much so. For over a year, in fact. Your body felt ironically alien. Different. As if you’d been sleepwalking the past two years. Your memories, too, felt foreign. They were more like dreams than anything else.

No… “dream” was far too nice of a word.

Nightmare—like vulnerable—seemed more fitting.

Your recollection of the past two years was a mess. There were only a handful of distinct memories you could recall, and all were of them. Alex… the alien… and Lucia. The rest were all a hazy blur, a fever dream that kept you jumping from one horrific scene to another.

You didn’t even know who you’d been fighting the entire time. No one ever gave you a clear picture, only stating where you were needed and what had to be done. You vaguely remember a mix of terrified faces, both alien and human. What did they even do wrong?

Did they even do wrong?

It was then that reality truly sunk in. You already knew that you were a weapon, one for them to use however and whenever they saw fit. What was hardest to swallow was the fact that the blood you’d let yourself spill—blood you could’ve chosen not to spill—could very well have been those of innocents.

You buried your face into your knees, fingers threading through your hair and gripping your pounding skull. You felt your nails dig into your scalp.

Luckily for your tattered mental state, Lucia had been there to help anchor you back to reality.

She murmured lowly as she gently pried your fingers from your head, and though her words went through one ear and out the other, her voice alone soothed you. You found that she knew exactly what to do, and even let you bury your face into her shoulder as she cooed at you softly, her hands tenderly drawing calming patterns on your back.

You’d been so happy that she was there. It wasn’t until hours later, after both of you had passed out in emotional exhaustion, that you woke up and realized that she had always been there. You’d just been too stuck in your own mind to see her.

When she woke up, her eyes meeting yours, neither of you spoke a word. Yet you both knew your dynamic had shifted, the air between you different. It simply went unsaid.

It didn’t go unseen, however. Everyone knew how dangerous you were, and after a rookie’s idiotic mistake, knew how equally dangerous it was to make Lucia unhappy in any way.

(His shoulder wouldn’t shove into others the same way again, nor would his ego inflate with the chasm you’d left.)

Stupidly, despite the revelations of that night—perhaps even because of said revelations—you continued living under the government’s employ.

In your mind, it was no longer just for your fear, it was also for her sake. If you left, you knew she would do whatever it took to stay by your side, regardless of the danger. Even if you were to be hunted, experimented, or executed, she would stay. And none of those fates were any you would allow to befall her.

No matter the gruesome sights that looped in your mind like a film at some grisly theatre, you jumped into the fray again, and again, and again. Still as reckless. Still as unrelenting. Still as guilty.

Not a single complaint ever left your lips. You felt you deserved it. But more importantly, you felt you were protecting her.

She didn’t agree.

The topic had been the spark of many arguments between the two of you, one such case being…

“You can’t keep doing this—you can’t keep living like this!”

‘Tell me something I don’t know.’

You stayed silent, sat on your bed in your designated quarters. Your eyes were trained on her pacing form as you fiddled with the fresh bandages on your arms, replies only said in mind.

At this point, this scene was common. You’d gotten injured, she’d gotten frustrated, and you had the decency to listen. You knew Lucia wasn’t mad at you. Annoyed? Maybe. But not mad. Her anger was always directed at the same people, and never to you. She just hated to see you hurt.

‘Unfortunately, it’s an occupational haza—'

“—And don’t you say it’s an occupational hazard!”

Or… not?

Lucia stopped in her tracks, eyes boring into your own, “There are always ways to complete your missions without you ending up a bloody mess, but they don’t care about that, do they? As long as the mission is completed as soon as possible, they don’t give a damn. What if you never healed? What if you actually found something that would actually get you killed?”

You had no response for that.

“They don’t even know of the full extent of your powers—none of us do! They started sending you out the day after that desert! Yet here we are again… I don’t understand why we don’t just leave.”

You opened your mouth to speak for the first time, to remind her of the dangers of such a plan just as you always had in the past, when you felt your hairs stand on end. Someone was eavesdropping. Your glare flashed to the door, spotting an eye widen at your stare before rushing off. You’d rush after them, but you knew nothing could be done without arousing suspicion. This base was full soldiers, and thus witnesses. Unfortunately, it was also full of snitches.

You stood abruptly, causing Lucia to jerk in surprise. Her brow furrowed when she spotted the grim frown you now wore.

“We’re leaving. Now.”

She could only blink in shock, “Now?”

“Now.”

The conversation would’ve been seen as treason. Or, at best, the start of it. You needed to run.

She followed your unwavering stare to the door, the sight of its slight opening making the cogs in her mind connect the dots. Someone had heard, and were no doubt reporting you. Her shock melted into determination, “I’ve already got a bag of necessities packed in case of an emergency escape. Let’s go.”

Next thing you knew, you were both dashing through corridors, unfamiliar alarms blaring the moment you had retrieved her bag. It seemed she wasn’t the only one who had prepared for this eventuality.

Squad after squad were sent after you both, all made up of people you’d seen as comrades and allies not even an hour before. Any fondness you held for each of them, however, immediately dissipated the moment they aimed a gun even a meter in Lucia’s direction. With a growl, you tore through every single one of them, unabashed by their betrayed yells so long as her safety was assured.

But you’d made a mistake. You were focused too much on those aiming for her, that you forgot there were others targeting yourself. Lucia didn’t. Which is why she spotted the soldier pulling out a weapon from a case before you did.

It looked like a gun, but she knew it was different. She could feel that it was. When they overlooked her completely and aimed for you, she knew she was right. Without a second thought, she shoved you out of the way, just as the soldier pulled the trigger.

A bang echoed in your ears, then a pained scream and a thud.

Your heart dropped. She’d pushed you away. Because of her, the bullet only grazed your torso… before tearing straight through her own.

You fell to your knees, not sparing a glance away from Lucia even as you put a bullet straight through the head of the soldier responsible.

“You IDIOT! Why would you do that?! You know I would’ve survived it!”

Your eyes were panicked, breathing growing more erratic by the second as you attempted to staunch the blood flowing from her wound. There was so much blood… why was there so much blood?!

“No…” she shook her head, “You… You wouldn’t’ve. N-Not… Not this one.”

You could hear footsteps and voices growing closer. You ignored them.

“I always survive, it’s my THING!” You gritted your teeth, ignoring the tears leaving tracks down your cheeks, “Stop talking, would you?! You need all your damn energy!”

Lucia simply smiled, even as more of the coppery liquid slid down the side of her mouth, “Promise me… promise me you w-won’t blame yourself f-for this?”

Déjà vu. Taunting, agonizing, déjà vu.

“I… I…” more tears, and a sob. What ever happened to control? “…I can’t.”

Her smile didn’t waver, as if she expected your response. Instead, she lifted a hand to your cheek, thumb gently wiping a tear away, “I know what you’re thinking, and I know it’s hard f-for you t-to think otherwise, love… but this isn’t your fault. I chose to do this. Y-You couldn’t’ve done anything to stop me.”

“…” You shook your head in disbelief, feeling more blood seep through your fingers.

Why wouldn’t the bleeding stop?!

“C’mon, love. P-Please, look at me?”

“…”

You didn’t want to. You didn’t want to see her so accepting of her fate.

Yet you couldn’t help the confused furrow of your brows at her tapping your jaw, your focus immediately swivelling to her. Not on instinct, but in question, confusion, and slight betrayal. You’d never regretted telling her of your first love, of admitting that there were some things you could never forget. Until now.

“Th-There you are. I know it hurts, but you have t-to p-promise me, then you need to leave me.”

The familiar action had increased your pain tenfold, but her words had the panic in your eyes grow more intense, blood freezing in your veins.

‘No. NO. NononoNO—’ You looked away as you felt your body quake, the chill caused by her words making your limbs feel like lead, ‘Not you… anybody but you!’

You felt her tap your jaw again, but you didn’t look to her, preferring to stubbornly keep your eyes on your hands. You wouldn’t- You couldn’t.

“Please…” Lucia’s voice sounded so small, distant. Just like with the alien, you knew she was on her last breaths, and so did she, “L-Listen to me… they… now want you… gone. I-I know… it’s a lot to ask, but you have to leave me. Please. T-That bullet was meant f-for you—”

You couldn’t help but snap, “What bullet isn’t when I’m out on the field?!”

“N-No, love. T-They made it for you. T-To kill you…” she weakly shook her head, “I… I… s-saw it… wasn’t… normal.”

“Shit—SHIT! Why can’t I stop the god damn bleeding?!”

You hated that there were so many things that you couldn’t do. Why can’t you just do something—anything—right for once?!

As always, she knew where your mind was headed, “N-No matter… how little… y-you… think of yourself… I know y-you were meant… to be amazing. F-From the moment I… I saw you… I knew you’d be… a… a-a hero.”

“What kind of fucking hero can’t even save the person she loves?!” head hung low, you pulled your hands away from her wound, reluctantly accepting that it was futile, “What kind of useless hero am I?”

You wrapped an arm around her shoulders, the other draping itself across her stomach. You shifted yourself closer, cautiously embracing the dying woman. Apology after apology left your mouth, your tears dripped down from your cheeks only to mix with her own.

“It’s not… your… fau…” her hand, now much weaker than it had been earlier, fell limply onto the arm you’d placed on her stomach. When her fingers lightly squeezed your forearm, you knew what she expected. You released your grip on her hip, linking your hand with hers, making her chuckle faintly, “I-It… theirs… y-y’hear me? N-Never fo… forget… ‘s wasn’t… fault…”

“I… I won’t…”

You knew you’d never forget this day… just as how you’d never forget where the fault would forever lay in your mind.

“L… Love you…” her eyes were fluttering shut, and at the tug of her hand, you knew what she wanted.

You leaned closer, your lips pressing on hers for the final time. Only a second later did her last breath leave her lungs, and with it, one more piece of your fragile heart.

You could only stare, hoping that she would open her eyes and fill the deafening silence. But she didn’t, and you had to accept that she never would. When your mind finally opened itself to the rest of the world, you could hear the soldiers. Their orders for you to back down… or, more specifically, his.

General Lane.

When you saw a glimpse of his face, everything turned red and screams replaced the buzzing in your ears. You could never remember much past their anguish.

All you knew was the gash on your torso healed, but the mark never faded.

~~~

Six months passed, and sleep was still a stranger. So were your mind and memories, but what else was new?

You had no idea where you were, you never did more than half the time. More often than not, you’d find yourself lost in thought, staring off at nothing as your finger lightly traced the scar hidden beneath your shirt. Sometimes you’d snap out of it, standing in the middle of an unfamiliar area. Occasionally, you’d stop yourself mid-step as you were walking or crossing the street.

Either way, people would be staring at you like you were insane. You couldn’t blame them, you felt like you were. That was fine, you never stayed in one area for long anyway.

For the past couple of months you’d been hopping from place to place, lingering only for three days at most. You didn’t have to do much to conceal your identity, considering the government already got rid of it for you. You did get yourself a new name, though.

Corazon.

Wasn’t exactly subtle to you, but it was better than Soldier Six and at least you could remember it.

How could you not, when your mistakes were always made by your soft heart?

You only wished that you had the ability to rid yourself of your emotions, then at least living would be somewhat bearable. You hated that even the smallest things could trigger your beating heart. It could’ve been a hair colour, a laugh, or just an oblivious pair holding hands, your heart wouldn’t fail to work with your fractured memories and remind you of what you’d lost.

You wished you could split the two, or at least rid yourself of one… maybe even both. You couldn’t think without feeling, nor feel without thinking. If you had no way to feel, no way to have a conscious thought, or both, then living a seemingly deathless life would be bearable. Sure, that sort of life isn’t one others would say is worth living, but neither is the one you are now.

The only thing keeping you away from finding a way to have that ‘plan’ to come into fruition, was the fact that—as far as you know—only the government could ‘help.’

You never wanted to make contact with those bastards again.

“Wha- HEY!”

At the indignant yell, you blinked yourself out of your stupor. Confused, you looked around.

You’d wandered into an alley. Huh.

Hearing a groan, you glanced down, spotting a boy who couldn’t’ve been any older than mid-teens. He was sat on the concrete, rubbing his forehead, having presumably fallen after colliding with you.

Then, you heard yelling.

You looked up and saw a group of men pointing and yelling unintelligibly at the boy at your feet. He sprang up and made a move to exit, only for your hand on his shoulder to stop him in his tracks. You felt his eyes on you, but yours never left the group stomping closer as they brandished their makeshift weapons in a supposedly threatening manner.

Hammers, nails in bats, metal pipes… generic, stereotypical, bad guy weapons. You saw a gun or two poking out from the waistbands of their pants, yet you couldn’t help but roll your eyes.

When they stopped in front of you, they even puffed out their chests to make themselves look bigger. One of them stepped forward and grumbled with a voice made forcibly gruff, “You with this brat?”

“Pff,” You only shook your head in mirth. You’d heard of people like this in movies, but you never knew they actually existed.

His lips curled up into a snarl, “What’s so funny.”

“…” You smiled, tilted your head in faux innocence, and admitted clearly, “You.”

Predictably, your response infuriated him, and he launched himself towards you to attack.

Within a minute, him and his group were all unconscious, weapons—including their guns—left splintered and bent on the damp ground.

You grumbled, “Idiots.”

With another roll of your eyes, you spun on your heels and moved to leave the scene… only to face an overexcited fourteen-year-old.

“That was AWESOME!”

“!”

You blinked. You’d forgotten he was there. You watched, an eyebrow raised as he asked question after question, each going through one ear and out the other. Your mind didn’t register a single one, but from the rapid rate the words seemed to leave his lips, the number seemed endless.

Didn’t he need to breathe?

It was here that the boy lurched to a stop, his lungs lacking the air required to allow speech. You only blinked when he took in just a little too much oxygen. His overdramatic wheezing caused you to smirk and huff in mild amusement. His eyes darted to you at the noise, focusing on your mirth as he smacked a fist against his chest in an effort to abate his hacking.

“You…” he coughed again, “You don’t talk much, do you?”

You only offered a shrug in response. Considering past experience, human interaction wasn’t something you necessarily searched for. Generally, they all ended up morphing into some form of confrontation for you—or loss, but that was a thought hurriedly buried in the deepest recesses of your mind.

The boy wasn’t deterred by your silence. Instead, he seemed even more determined to fill the space with his own words. Again, most of them generally went through one ear and out the other.

“—I’m Lucas!”

Wait. Why was the kid telling you their name?

You still didn’t reply, but ‘Lucas’ didn’t seem fazed and continued, saying, “My friends call me Luke, though!”

He then scratched his head sheepishly, “Well… they would, if I had any.”

Head tilted in a questioning manner, your brow furrowed at his admission, movements that he managed to notice.

“Ah… well, nobody ever wants to be friends with the weird kid.”

You raised your eyebrow, and he pointed to the unconscious group at your feet as an explanation.

“Wouldn’t be the first time these guys went after me, and they don’t care whether I’m at school or not,” Lucas kicked away a stray can, giving the men an annoyed sneer, “Just that Dad ‘pays them back’ or something, I dunno. No one really wants to be caught up in a mess like this.”

You’d followed his gaze, staring at the people sprawled out on the dirty floor.

What were these guys, self-proclaimed tax collectors? Loan sharks? Wannabe gang members?

That last one seems to fit them to a T.

Your thoughts were interrupted by the loud growling of a stomach. And it wasn’t yours.

Shaking your head, you glanced back at Lucas, his face red in embarrassment. Without hesitation, you rooted through the pockets of a few of the men, forgoing their cards and instead pulled out handfuls of cash from their wallets.

You may already be considered a criminal by the U.S. Army, but you didn’t want more on your record than you already had. And you had standards.

You’d rather have “assault” and “pickpocketing” on that record over “not paying for fast food” any day. That last one just seems like a real shitty thing to be arrested over. Besides, you’d never steal from ordinary civilians… but you’d make exceptions for assholes.

You moved to leave the alley again, tousling Lucas’ hair as you went past. When you didn’t hear his footsteps following, you stopped at the entrance, sending another glance back towards his way you huffed at his stupefied expression before jerking your head in a gesture to follow. You couldn’t help but smile at his joyful expression, biting back a chuckle at his excited hopping at your side.

“Nice to meet you, Luke.”

Six more months passed, and after meeting Lucas, you haven’t left the town. You’d found out that he’d essentially raised himself. The kid’s mother was gone, and he didn’t know why. You met his father, and after that one meeting you knew he was useless. His debts weren’t even for necessities, just for his alcohol and gambling. Guy didn’t even seem to care that his son was the one suffering most from the consequences of his actions.

You were annoyed, but after witnessing him passed out in a bathtub, reaching over the edge to clutch at a toilet while a bottle of whiskey hung from his fingers, you knew he was a lost cause. Lucas knew it, too. Admitted that he’d known so for years.

You felt bad for the kid and did what you could to help. You kept those lackeys off his back. Got him clothes, food, school supplies if he needed them. You didn’t tell him where you got the money and he never asked, but considering how you’d initially met you assume he had a slight idea. You still didn’t talk much, and your attention span failed you at times, but he understood. He knew that you were at least trying.

At times he’d ask you for help with his homework, and you were convinced it caused you just as much grief as it did him. You could barely remember what happened months or a year before, let alone what you’d learnt over a decade ago.

You were a weapon, not a teacher. You could teach him how to kick ass with the best of them, but you didn’t know shit about literature or geography. Or whatever it was high schoolers learnt these days.

Even when you were working with the government, you didn’t have to know how to get around yourself. They just shipped you to the mission location and back, and that was that. You didn’t even know you got around now, considering how most of your time on the road was spent in your head.

You swear he only asked you to laugh at you. You’d try to intimidate him with a deadpan stare, but that only made the cheeky brat laugh louder. Your exasperation would fizzle out soon enough, his joy infectious. You found yourself feeling… happy. Normal. Like an average human. Something you never thought would be a near-unreachable standard.

But of course, as always, happiness in your life never lasted long.

You’d stopped moving. You stayed in one place for too long.

You’d focused too much on the present, that you forgot about the past you’d been running to escape. And so, it caught up.

You were running again. They were at your heels, this time. And you couldn’t just beat them into the ground.

Their weapons looked different. Their bullets hurt.

You didn’t want to believe that this was happening. Just this morning you’d been laughing with Lucas, pancake batter and syrup drizzled over your heads.

Now all you could hear were shouts and gunfire, blood dripping down a healing cut at your temple.

You wanted them to lose your tracks, but you knew how they worked. If you disappeared completely, they’d have to look for clues. Which would lead them to Lucas. Which was why you were leading them, herding them away like sheep to be as far away from the kid as possible. But it was not meant to be.

“Sis!”

The voice made electricity shoot up your spine, catching more than just your attention. You noticed a few soldiers turn to look his way as he ran towards you, even as you shook your head and urged him to turn back. He wouldn’t. You were family, how could he leave you behind?

“LUKE, RUN!”

…Was that your voice? Sometimes you’d forget what your voice sounded like, and not using it for weeks at a time definitely didn’t help your case.

He skidded meters away, eyeing the soldiers, his face conflicted, “But—”

You heard the crackling of their comms and spotted a few guns being pointed his way, one of them even pulled out a pin.

What the fuck was General Lane thinking?!

The kid was a civilian, not a criminal!

You sprinted over to Lucas, body shielding his within a second. You felt bullets pierce your back, easily tearing through the fabric of your clothing. You heard Lucas yelling for them to stop, but you knew they wouldn’t listen. You heard the tell-tale clinking of a grenade rolling on the concrete and you tightened your grip around him, eyes screwed shut. You heard the bellowed orders “TAKE COVER” and then…

Pain.

Searing, white-hot, pain was spreading on your back. You felt shrapnel enter your torso, the heat eating away at your skin. You forced yourself to endure the agony.

You were protecting him.

You repeated those four words in your mind like a mantra, mind clinging to them for a way to ground itself.

When you felt the dust settling, the ringing in your ears calming, you dared to open your eyes. And you wish you didn’t.

Despite your best efforts, Lucas had been hit. Twice. The projectiles had presumably ricocheted. Whether it was shrapnel or bullets, you didn’t know. All you knew was that he was wounded, and that you’ve failed once again.

“No…” You rasped out, tears obscuring your vision. Your throat hurt from disuse, but you continued to force the words out, “No… kid, not you too!”

“Hah,” Lucas laughed, not noticing the blood that came with the motion, “I’m… I… I didn’t e-expect to go like this. P-Pretty badass, huh?”

His eyes were beginning to flutter closed, the light in his eyes quickly dulling. Your breath hitched in your throat, and gritting your teeth, you muttered, “No, no… c’mon, eyes on me bud. Eyes on me!”

His head weakly flopped to the side as he grinned, teeth stained with blood, “S’okay… was meant t-to be gone in… in… that alley. Y’saved me… y’let me be happy… thank you.”

Lucas went limp. Just like that, he was gone. And so were you.

You didn’t flinch when the wounds on your back slowly stitched themselves back together, no doubt leaving a mark as every failure always did.

You didn’t resist when they forcefully yanked you away, uncaring that they had just taken the life of an innocent. The life of a child.

You felt someone forcefully lift your head, to which you muttered, “Kill me. Please.”

You didn’t speak any more after that, no matter how much they tried to get a reaction.

No… you wouldn’t do anything until you were either dead, or put face-to-face with the bastard you knew gave the order.

And as expected, they put him right where you wanted him.

You were back at the base, arid desert and all.

They’d seated you in a metal chair, one bolted down to the thick concrete beneath your feet. Your arms were forced to lie flush against its armrests, wrists cuffed into place.

You were in one of the interrogation rooms, metal walls to the front, back and the left. You weren’t fooled. You knew the wall to the right was a one-sided window. To know that there were people just watching you…

You felt like an animal.

It was only after General Lane stood across from you, after the only door leading in and out of the room clicked shut, that you even twitched. Your attention finally drifted up from the flimsy metal cuffs that they’d clamped around your wrists—not that they knew your strength had grown—and to the poor excuse of a man attempting to stand tall.

You glared at him, unabashedly showing the hatred burning within you. It made him swallow, despite the poker face he attempted to keep up. Your silent staring contest stretched on and on, his mouth repeatedly opening and closing in indecision. He wanted to speak, but had no idea what to say.

The people behind the window had plenty of words, though. You couldn’t catch all of them, but you managed to decipher a muffled few.

“Dad” was one. Which meant one of the people might’ve been his kid. Wouldn’t be implausible. Last time you paid attention to him, he had two. Girls, if your memory actually served you correct. And two of the voices you could hear were distinctly feminine.

“Our” was another, spoken with a lilt for emphasis before “Dad”, which meant both of his kids were there. If your first assumption was correct.

“Superman” was the last one you heard. It was the word that caused you the most grief. Why mention the “Man of Steel”? You remembered hearing someone rant about the Kryptonian, mentioning a possible relation between the hero and a journalist. One of General Lane’s kids was a journalist. That could pose a problem. If his kids really were on the other side of the glass, and Lucas’ info—

‘Luke.’

Any hesitation you had dissipated instantly. No matter what would become of you, you’d make this bastard pay. It was the least you could do.

Breaking away from the General’s stare, your eyes flashed to the window, cogs turning in your mind. Perhaps you could do worse than cause simple, physical, pain. You could expose him, have his children lose their faith in him. Even if they weren’t his children, they would be his soldiers. It could lead to questioning of his authority.

It was worth a shot. Besides, what did you have to lose?

“You killed him,” you snarled, “He was just a boy, but you killed him.”

You shot up from your seat. Rather, you shot up with your seat. The cuffs were still in place, but the bolts that held the seat down had lost their hold with a resounding crack.

General Lane jumped back in shock, the doorknob now jiggling as his soldiers desperately tried to come to his aid.

Without missing a beat, you tore your hands out of their restraints and pulled the long metal table that separated you two upwards, shoving it legs-first into where the door would be. The legs went right through the wall, the body of the table now blocking the entrance as well as the door itself.

‘That’s the front wall and entrance covered…’

With an audible growl, you turned back to the general, the man now scrambling back to push himself flat against a wall in fear. He was pointing a pistol at you, but you were undeterred.

You took a step, and he took a shot.

You took another, and he did the same.

You took a third, and the man emptied his gun into your torso.

You weren’t fazed, your fury burning too great for you to feel anything other than rage.

He looked like he was about to reply to your yell, but you cut him off before he could, snapping, “Your problem was with me. It always has been. There was no need for you to involve a civilian, let alone ordering your men to open fire!”

“I… I—”

“I wanted to live, so you tried to have me die. When I do want to die, you keep me alive. How much more do I have to suffer for you to be satisfied?! How much longer do I have to exist, for my wants to actually matter?!”

As you stomped closer towards him, you gripped the chair that had been meant for him and threw it across the room. The object formed a deep dent upon impact and rendered the back wall weak.

Releasing another growl, you lifted him up by the collar of his uniform, “How much lower are you going to fall, after murdering that poor boy? Is there even a bar lower for you to reach?!”

The general continued to ignore the futility of repeatedly pulling the trigger of his empty pistol, desperate for a way out. But without a miracle, he would never be able to escape.

Unfortunately, he got one. It came in the form of a Kryptonian, at that.

Superman broke through the dented wall, quick in separating you from the general. You felt your back smack against the one-sided window, the cool glass cracking beneath your flesh.

Oh, right. You hadn’t had the chance to change. Your shirt was still burnt at the back, the rest of your clothing tattered at the edges and your feet shoeless. Your state of dress seemed to come as a surprise to Superman, too. If the brief moment he took to observe his ‘opponent’ was any indication.

You glanced at the wall he’d used as an entrance. It wasn’t that much of a fall. It wouldn’t take much to heal if you got hurt. Ten seconds, at most.

Within a breath, you fearlessly leaped through the broken wall. You heard a choke of astonishment behind you as you did, but as much as you wanted to be amused by the alien, you recognized the threat he was to your freedom.

He was a goody-two-shoes. If he caught you, you’d just be locked up. And you’d be used as a lab rat or a weapon all over again. Never able to die.

You couldn’t let that happen.

You’d landed with a wince and a roll, a sickening crack shooting shocks up your left arm. You’d shaken off the pain, sprinting towards where you knew the weapons vault was. The rushing of wind reached your ears, indicating that the alien wasn’t far behind. Spotting the vault entrance straight ahead, you trusted your instincts and slid across the tile floor as if you were running a base. It worked.

Superman flew straight past you, and not expecting you to have sensed him coming, was going too fast to stop himself from crashing into the vault. Your eyes widened at the sight. You hadn’t predicted it either.

Hurriedly pushing yourself up to your feet, you’d rushed into the vault, mind flashing through the arsenal they had you use throughout the years. You’d known what they had in there, and one of them was definitely not good for a Super.

When you stepped foot into the vault, you were proven right. Superman was struggling to stand, green creeping its way through his veins.

“Shit…” without hesitation, you pulled him up. You wrapped his arm around your neck and dragged him out, uncaring of the guns pointed at you. You felt his questioning stare, and grumbled, “What.”

“Why?”

Such a simple question, made of only one word… yet the true nature of its complexity was beyond you. You shook your head. Not the time.

“Never wanted to kill anyone. Never wanted anyone dead, either…” You sighed, voice barely louder than a whisper, “Just wanted to be happy.”

Once you determined that he was at a safe enough distance, you promptly let him flop into the ground. You huffed at his comical “oof” before revealing the smoke grenade you had swiped from the vault. You pulled its pin, and as everyone’s vision began to be obscured, you muttered words only Superman could hear.

“Please, just leave me alone…”

~~~

You didn’t know if it was because of Superman’s influence, but you were. Left alone, that is. Then again, it might’ve been because you’d kept away from civilization as best as you could, staying in forests for as long as you were able.

For how long at this point? You weren’t sure. By the time you’d left him in the smoke, it had been five years since the dorm with Alex. Three since the experiment. One since Lucia. And... none since Luke.

With a shake of your head, their blurred faces and vague memories faded in an instant, the frown at the resurfacing thoughts of them quickly replaced with an easy-going smile.

The woods weren’t too bad.

The animals were surprisingly amicable, and you found an unfamiliar joy in jumping into lakes and rivers without any remorse. If you needed anything that couldn’t be provided naturally, the camp sites you’d managed to memorize the locations of were useful in that regard. Clothes, food, money…

You didn’t realize exactly how easy it was to steal from civilians until you weren’t one yourself.

Still... it should be troubling that you didn’t know how long you’d been living in the forests. Every day blurs together. You didn’t even know what forest you were living in. Or if you’d lived in more than one. Your memories continued to fracture, and due to lack of practice, you could feel your ability to speak and understand wavering.

Your memories…

Very few of them remained intact. You had a feeling that you had a part to play in it, intentional or not, considering that the ones you could remember seemed happy, and anything otherwise—anything that caused pain… either you got rid of them the second they came, or it made you retreat into the deepest recesses of your mind, never knowing how long you’d been in there the moment you returned to reality.

Could’ve been a few seconds, minutes, maybe even hours. It was partially why you’d lost track of how long you’d been living among the trees.

Every time you thought of your past, you were reminded of the burden that was carrying emotions. Of being human. It was roughly one month into living away from humans, that you accepted it was simpler to just ignore the fact that you had a life before this mess. That there had ever been happier times. If you couldn’t identify what was considered a ‘good’ memory, then you wouldn’t be sucked into the ‘bad’, right?

So you buried them. Even imagined little coffins for them and everything.

Part of you knows that it’s unhealthy. But that mindset is what led to those instances now being few and far in between—or, at least you hoped they were. Again, you didn’t really have a good sense of time.

But living was good. It was fun, not thinking of anything but what to do next. You could spend an entire day chasing after deer, or just climbing a tree. And do the same thing all over again tomorrow!

…It all sounds a bit boring now that you think about it. But oddly enough, the days were surprisingly fun. If you really wanted a thrill, all you had to do was start wrestling a bear! That was fun.

You were actually rushing away from one right now, teasingly dangling yourself from one branch of a tree to another, when you heard a scream. A female scream, and then… a crash. While the noise terrified the bear, it only intrigued you, drawing you closer. Almost like a siren’s call.

You dropped down to the forest floor, tackling the bear in the process. After absentmindedly hauling it over your shoulder, you dashed through the treeline within seconds. Once out of the forest, you coughed as you blinked at the wreckage before you.

Two vehicles had collided roughly thirty meters away, the smoke billowing from the smouldering wreck making your lungs burn. What startled you more was the armed man holding a gun up to an injured, blonde woman twenty meters away from the crash.

You blinked at the man, who seemed to be talking the woman’s ears off. Rather, what was the word… monologuing? Yeah. Monologuing.

His cocky grin made you roll your eyes, the action leading to you noticing the bear’s presence on your shoulder. An idea struck. Your eyes narrowed at the man, before glancing over to the bear. The man. The bear. The man…

“BEAR!”

You gleefully yelled, startling them both. But what brought complete horror upon both humans, was the fact that there was now a bear hurtling towards them. Correction, towards the man.

He dropped like a rock, him and the bear both did. Whereas the poor, unharmed-yet-traumatised fuzzy animal quickly scrambled to its feet before sprinting back into the woods, the effectively disarmed male stayed flat on the concrete, out cold.

Tilting your head to the side, you walked up to the unconscious human, your brows furrowing as you wondered why he wasn’t moving.

You sniffed and rubbed at your itching nose, wincing at the horrible stench of roasting rubber. You couldn’t tell if the blood you smelt came from the wounds after the crash, or after the bear.

You gave him a light tap of a foot, checking if he’d wake up anytime soon. When the man didn’t budge, you shrugged and turned to go back to the forest, only to freeze when you were startled by the female he’d been threatening. You’d forgotten she was there, and the woman was far closer than you remembered her to be.

She looked stunned.

Her hands were hovering by her cheeks, palms over her mouth, tears brimming in her eyes as she muttered… a name? It sounded familiar. You didn’t know why. You tilted your head, confused.

“You…” she sobbed, tears now flowing freely. She stammered out, “You don’t remember, do you?”

Who was this woman?

Cautiously, you shook your head. Your was body tense, knees bent and ready to escape if you needed to.

“Nothing? It’s me, Eliza,” another shake of your head. She sniffled, “Eliza Danvers? One of my daughters brought you over for Thanksgiving a few times, you were like a part of our family, before… before… you disappeared.”

Danvers.

You didn’t hear anything past that, the word—name?—had a tremor course through your skull. That was… worrying? It should be worrying, right?

Your hands flashed to your aching temples, gritting your teeth, you croaked out, “D-Dan… Danvers?”

You hadn’t said anything in months. Your throat was probably as painful to use as your voice was to hear.

Eliza’s eyes shined brighter in realization. You were remembering.

“Yes, Danvers! Do you… Do you remember my daughter? She’d been your closest friend. Alex, Alexandra Danvers—”

Static was all you could hear. You dropped to your knees, the pain growing more unbearable the more she spoke. You barely felt the gravel of the road digging into your knees.

Alex?

Alex.

Who was—

“No… Don’t!”

That was… you? Why was this hurting so much? What was going on?

Why didn’t you want to remember?

You felt hands on your shoulders, desperately trying to… to what? Snap you out? Of what? Pain? You didn’t even know why it came up, let alone how to stop it!

Then… then a chill. One you haven’t felt since you encountered… someone. You couldn’t remember them, either.

All you could hear were your instincts.

Instincts…

Your instincts were screaming, frantic in wanting you to leave. To escape.

So you followed them.

Shrugging Eliza’s hands off of your shoulders, you jumped to your feet and swiftly fled into the woods, not turning back once. Not even when you heard her scream a name—yours?—and especially not when you heard the tell-tale swoosh of… a cape? You didn’t know.

Your thoughts made no sense right now. All you wanted was to go back and forget. To go back into the woods and be happy.

Just… be happy.

#Alex Danvers #Reader #x Reader #F!Reader #x F!Reader #Alex Danvers x Reader #Supergirl #Supergirl Fanfic #Supergirl Fic #Eliza Danvers #tw depressing thoughts #tw depressing stuff #tw depressive #tw depression #tw body horror #tw body modification #tw body parts #tw human experimentation

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houseisekai · 3 years

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House Isekai: A Realm Reborn - Part 2, Through the Maelstrom (2 of 3)

House Isekai ARR Masterlist Here

—

Client: Hilda Valentin Goneril

Refusing to work with the newly reformed House Isekai due to Class VII, Duvalie takes her orders and storms off to Goneril territory, trying to get home faster. Not wanting to leave Duvalie completely alone, Raelyn and Fireteam Alpha-Nine accompany her.

Reports indicate of a giant serpent-like beast terrorizing the ocean trade routes near Goneril territory, and an unknown entity accompanying it…

—

(Raelyn) “I will accompany her to ensure their survival. Until then, House Isekai.”

Raelyn turned to the portal and walked through it.

After getting the minimum knowledge required about the Abyss Mages, Buck and his squad followed her through the portal.

(Kazuma) “…Wait a second, none of them knows anything about Fodlan. Why did we let them go anywhere alone?”

(Sitri) “…That’s a good question.”

When Duvalie stepped through the portal, she was still muttering to herself angrily.

(Duvalie) "Ugh, the nerve of those people! As if we can work hand in hand like nothing's ever happened!"

Her ranting continued, even when Raelyn stepped in behind her, looking around his environment.

(Raelyn) "...Duvalie, was it?"

(Duvalie) "And that jackass, Rean! What on EARTH ever made him think we were friends?! I ought to-"

Raelyn sighed and holstered his bolter. Even his footsteps didn't alert her.

(Raelyn) "Cease your complaints."

Duvalie spun around and opened her mouth about to continue until she realized she was only up to his lower chest. Her head tilted all the way up for her to even see Raelyn's helmet.

(Duvalie) "Listen you giant yellow tin can, you don't know what they're like!"

(Raelyn) "They seem calmer than you."

(Duvalie) "Tch, whatever. Why are you even here anyway? I can handle this on my own!"

(Raelyn) "Ah, then I assume you know the layout of the land? The person we're supposed to meet? What the state of the world even is?"

(Duvalie) "...I-I...I can just figure it out myself!"

(Raelyn) "Indeed."

Raelyn turned to the portal and saw the ODST squad walk in.

(Buck) "Right, we got the information we need. As for lay of the land, think one of the locals is about to tag along."

Aigis and Kazuma were on the other side nodding about to say something before the portal suddenly closed.

(Mickey) "...Or not."

...

Everyone was confused on why the portal closed.

Sitri made sure no one was looking at her as she whispered.

(Sitri) "Sothis?"

(Sothis) "Uh, don't look at me. I wasn't even the one who opened it."

(Sitri) "Wait, then where did...?"

...

(Romeo) "Great. Now we gotta wander around and pray to god it's the right way."

(Dutch) "Not even sure the good lord would poke his head out in wherever this is."

(Duvalie) "Wha-DID THEY CLOSE THE PORTAL ON US?!"

(Raelyn) "You were the one who wanted to do this alone."

(Duvalie) "IF I WANT YOUR INPUT, I'LL ASK!"

(Buck) "Enough of the shouting already! Complaining isn't going to do us any good. Besides, we got the data we need, we'll be fine...probably."

(Duvalie) "Fine, whatever."

Duvalie had her hand on the sword sheathe as she stormed off.

(Duvalie) "Let's get going then."

(Mickey) "Wrong way. It's behind us."

Duvalie quickly marched towards the direction Mickey pointed to, muttering something.

Raelyn slowly walked up to the squad.

(Raelyn) "I cannot speak for her, but it is a pleasure to fight alongside you."

(Buck) "Feeling's mutual. Come on, we should hurry before she pops a vein."

The five walked casually behind Duvalie who stayed in the front.

Fodlan, Goneril Territory, Evening...

[Stilness of Night - Trails of Cold Steel 3 OST]

The group eventually found a path leading towards a town inside Goneril territory, and continued on it until the sun began setting.

(Buck) "Huh. Place doesn't look half bad with a sunset."

(Dutch) "Yeah, somethin' you'd see from a storybook."

(Raelyn) "I have not had the pleasure of experiencing a world as quiet as this before."

(Duvalie) "Hm. My world was something kind of like this, but not as primitive to not have lamp posts at least."

(Romeo) "Think you're the most primitive out of all of us here, lady."

(Duvalie) "Excuse me?!"

(Mickey) "Changing the subject, just how far is this place?"

(Buck) "Shouldn't be more than a few minutes. The town according to that Sitri lady is about to come into view right about...Ah, there we go."

They eventually reached the top of a hill and saw a small fishing town with the sunset directly shining on top of it.

(Raelyn) "Excellent. We should reach the town by nightfall."

They all continued walking silently until Dutch spoke up.

(Dutch) "So uh, any idea what that creature is like?"

Everyone had read the report given to them by Sitri, but no one actually knew what they were in for.

(Romeo) "It said a serpent, so maybe an underwater snake or something."

(Mickey) "We aren't strangers to alien life, but I doubt it'd be simple to kill. This place seems to have magic after all."

(Raelyn) "It matters not. If our guns can work, then we can kill it."

(Duvalie) "I'm more concerned about those weird floating chubby things the Knights of Favonius mentioned."

(Buck) "What did they call them...Abyss mages?"

(Dutch) "Think that's it. They don't seem that tough to beat."

(Romeo) "Especially when we can put a round between their eyes from a hundred yards away."

(Duvalie) "If that's the case, then why are they so dangerous?"

(Mickey) "Guess we'll find out soon. Until we actually fight one, don't think we can properly assess the situation."

Finally, they reached the town's entrance. The concrete path shook beneath their equipment, gathering strange looks from the townsfolk.

Some mothers hid their children behind them while some of the men passing by whispered to each other.

(Romeo) "Think we might be standing out a little."

(Duvalie) "You all maybe, I look perfectly fine. Might be mustard bottle over here that's getting all the looks."

(Raelyn) "...You are referring to me?"

(Duvalie) "Duh! Who did you think I meant?"

(Raelyn) "What is 'mustard'?"

(Buck) "Good lord man, just how far in the future are you?"

(Raelyn) "It is the 42nd millennium."

(Dutch) "...Damn. That explains why you don't really seem to lighten up."

They made their way to the center of town, where multiple people kept staring at them.

(Romeo) "Any particular reason why we're standing out in the open like this? Not exactly doing us any favors with the people here."

(Duvalie) "Shut it, trying to find a tavern or something. There's gotta be one here."

Mickey and Buck helped Duvalie look around their surroundings to try and find a tavern. Romeo and Dutch shrugged and made sure the townspeople weren't going to try anything.

Raelyn was about to help when he heard small footsteps approaching.

It was two children who were chasing each other, most likely playing. They had failed to notice the offworlders they were running towards until a girl hit her head on Raelyn's leg.

(Girl) "Ow...! What in-"

Her eyes went wide when she stared up at the 8 foot tall Space Marine looking down on her.

Both the kids look terrified until Raelyn knelt down, trying to get on their eye level the best he could while taking off his helmet. He made sure his Bolter was strapped to his back.

(Raelyn) "My apologies. Are you hurt?"

(Girl) "N-...No sir."

Raelyn offered a hand to the girl. His hand was massive compared to the child, he could effortlessly crush her head with one hand.

Yet, he was extremely gentle in making sure not to harm or intimidate the children, the girl grabbing his hand and standing up.

(Raelyn) "If I can bother you for a moment more, do you know where the Tavern is?"

(Boy) "Um...It's to your right, mister. The building next to the docks."

Raelyn nodded and motioned away from them.

(Raelyn) "Thank you. Get home safe, now."

(Girl) "Thank you, mister."

The two kids appeared to be put at ease despite the size difference, and continued playing as if nothing happened. Something that shocked the adults watching.

The ODST's and Duvalie watched the exchange and were surprised that this walking ton of armor managed not to utterly terrify the two kids.

(Raelyn) "You have your tavern. Let us get to it."

(Duvalie) "...Right."

They continued off to the Tavern, still noticing all the adults watching them, albeit slightly more at ease.

(Romeo) "Now that sweet moment's over, time to see how well you work with a bar full of drunkards, big guy."

(Dutch) "Come on, I'm great with people."

(Mickey) "Sure, you are. How about Raelyn? Actually can he even get through the door?"

Duvalie was the first to enter, followed by the ODST's with Raelyn the last one.

He stared awkwardly at the doorframe, and back to his armor.

Even if he tried to crouch, he would break the doorframe.

(Raelyn) "I...will keep watch out here."

(Romeo) "Put those people skills to work."

(Buck) "Think you should be worried about doing that yourself."

[Another Round - Final Fantasy XIV OST]

Everyone inside the bar stopped talking when they saw Duvalie march in with the ODST's.

Duvalie saw the bartender and sat down on a stool.

The bartender was a bald middle aged man who had clearly seen better days. He had a scar over his left eye and a beard that was barely kept clean.

(Bartender) "...Can I help you with something missie?"

(Duvalie) "We're here on request of...what was her name?"

Buck stood next to Duvalie, making his visor visible so the bartender could see his mouth.

(Buck) "Hilda. Ring a bell?"

(Bartender) "Ah, Lord Holst's sister. And who exactly do I owe the pleasure of speaking to?"

(Duvalie) "I'm Duvalie."

(Buck) "Call me Buck, and this is my Squad. Fella outside is with us too."

(Bartender) "I see. And another question, who exactly ya workin' for? Don't see people dressed like yer group at all."

The people in the nearby tables began whispering. Mickey was the furthest from the group but he was only able to hear snippets of conversations.

(Man) "Hey, you think those are those House Isekai freaks? The ones from the calamity?"

(Man 2) "They sure as hell don't belong here, that's for sure!"

(Man 3) "Worse, they could be spies for the seppies'!"

(Mickey) "Think we might got a problem..."

Duvalie was clearly getting impatient, and before she could open her mouth and start a bar brawl, Buck butted in.

(Buck) "Mercenaries. We work for money."

The bartender raised an eyebrow as he eyed them up and down. Finally shrugging, he dropped the question.

(Bartender) "Fair enough. We'll send a letter to let 'em know people have arrived to take care of the problem. Shouldn't be more than a day or so. Now, ya buying something or am I going to have ta' throw your asses out?"

(Duvalie) "Hmph. Thought bartenders were supposed to be friendly."

(Bartender) "And I thought customers were supposed to be paying."

Now Dutch decided to intervene.

(Dutch) "Apologies for the lady. She's got a temper on her. Surprise us."

(Bartender) "Can do. You got gold?"

Everyone looked at each other awkwardly.

(Romeo) "Oh you have got to be kidding..."

(Buck) "Think we can get this one on the house?"

(Bartender) "This isn't a charity. And you're mercenaries, right? Surely you got some gold on you to get all the equipment on yourselves."

This got more people talking, and it was clear some of them were getting riled up.

Raelyn could hear the conversation from outside, and saw some of the adults from earlier getting a closer look at him.

(Raelyn) "..."

Raelyn's visor picked up more signatures. Some of them were armed. He used one hand to knock on the doorframe, alerting Romeo and Mickey.

(Romeo) "Hey, Gunny. Think things are about to get real ugly."

One of the customers stood up from his table and shouted with an ale cup in hand.

(Man) "Come on, pay the damn drink and quit causing a scene! Mercs always got coin on them! You one of those damn offworlders?!"

(Man 2) "Nah, worse than one, he's a seppie!"

(Man 3) "WE DON'T WANT ANYMORE TO DO WITH YOU, KEEP YOUR SEPARATIST MOVEMENT OUT OF HERE!"

More and more people riled up, making the ODST's keep a finger on their triggers.

Duvalie kept her cool on the outside, ready to lash out if someone dared make a move.

Raelyn grabbed his Bolter and calmly held it in his hands, watching everyone suddenly stiffen up.

(Bartender) "...Well?"

(Woman's voice) "Sorry, sorry. We'll pay, they're with us."

Everyone suddenly turned to a girl who seemingly appeared out of nowhere, putting gold onto the table.

Duvalie made a noise that no one could decipher if it was a swear or a gasp.

Buck turned to the girl who had just saved them from a potential firefight.

[End Song]

(White-haired girl) "They just forgot to bring their gold with them...Again."

(Bartender) "Hmph. Aren't you a little young to be the boss of a mercenary team, kid?"

(White-haired girl) "Could say the same for the second Blade Breaker."

(Bartender) "Hah, got me there."

(Duvalie) "I...You...!?"

(White-haired girl) "If you wanna complain, do it later and not in front of customers. Gives us a bad rep."

(Buck) "...Thanks boss."

Everyone quickly played along.

As Raelyn was about to point the Bolter at everyone, two more people got in front of him, motioning to the left.

(Blue haired girl) "Hey, got our room. Quit standing around all scary-like."

(Orange haired boy) "Come on, it's this way!"

The orange haired boy winked at Raelyn, and having no better idea, he played along.

The blue haired girl looked at Fie and nodded.

The white haired girl slid the gold to the Bartender and sighed.

(White-haired girl) "We'll take it to go. Keep the change."

The white haired girl turned to the group and pointed at the blue haired girl.

(White-haired girl) "Follow her and don't cause a scene again."

Duvalie looked like she was about to scream when she saw the blue haired girl. Not wanting to deal with this mob, Buck shoved her along.

(Duvalie) "H-Hey, what the?!"

(Buck) "Shut the hell up and move it, the last thing we want to do is start a fight!"

The ODST's, Raelyn, and Duvalie followed the orange haired boy to what appeared to be a rented out building. Amazingly, Raelyn could actually fit through the door.

When everyone was situated, the blue haired girl put a device on the door and window, and with a little static noise, she nodded in satisfaction.

(Elliot) "Whew, man! Things looked SUPER bad there..."

(Laura) "Oh...It's you. That would explain how the townspeople became aggravated so quickly."

(Duvalie) "Believe me, you lot are doing the same to me...!"

(Elliot) "Wait...Duvalie?!"

(Romeo) "Jesus lady, just who DON'T you know?"

(Raelyn) "More friends like Rean, I presume?"

(Duvalie) "WE ARE NOT FRIENDS!"

(Buck) "Clearly. Anyways, thanks for pulling our asses out the fire. Where's that white haired one?"

The door opened, and she was carrying some mugs of ale in her hand.

(Fie) "...Hey."

She casually gave most of the group their mugs, leaving Duvalie without one.

(Duvalie) "...Really?"

(Fie) "Figured you didn't want one...Actually, we didn't figure you'd be here at all."

(Romeo) "That's great and all, but mind explaining just who you people are?"

(Elliot) "I'm Elliot! That's Fie and Laura, and we were part of the original House Isekai. Class VII, to be specific."

(Dutch) "And clearly you know Duvalie."

(Laura) "For better or worse..."

(Raelyn) "Seeing the situation we are in, I would rather not alienate the only help at talking to the locals here."

Despite the fact he had a helmet, she could feel a piercing gaze shoot straight through her.

(Buck) "Agreed. So, what brings people such as yourselves here?"

(Fie) "Hm. Long story short-..."

===

Doomguy's Base, 1 Day Earlier...

[Briefing Time - Trails of Cold Steel 3 OST]

(VEGA) "All attempts of establishing a secure line has failed. It appears something is blocking our ability to respond."

Doomguy frowned as he checked the screens. Nothing was damaged on anyone's end, yet he was only able to receive Sitri's distress call.

He said nothing as he turned to the teleporter. It appears someone was finally arriving.

(VEGA) "Signatures detected. Class VII members: Elliot, Laura, and Fie. Authorize access?"

Doomguy nodded as he put his helmet on, letting the three former House Isekai members materialize onto the pad.

The first one was Laura, quickly followed by Elliot and Fie. Elliot appeared to be staggered while the other two were barely fazed.

(Elliot) "Oh man, still not used to that!"

(Fie) "Doubt we ever will."

(Laura) "Instructor. It's been quite some time."

They turned their attention to Doomguy who gave them a nod.

(VEGA) "It is a pleasure to see you all well."

(Laura) "Likewise. I only wish the circumstances were better."

(Fie) "Tried contacting everyone else we could, but they were either busy or didn't respond at all, so for now we're all you're getting.

(Elliot) "We received a distress call from Sitri. Is everything alright in Fodlan?"

Doomguy shrugged and motioned for them to follow him out the room.

(VEGA) "A distress signal was sent out, and normally we would have been able to respond, but an unknown variable has been preventing us from doing so. However, we are still able to keep track of any movement via teleportation of former House Isekai members."

(Fie) "If it has the ability to block dimensional calling, that's pretty strong, whatever it is."

(Laura) "Has anyone else been able to respond this entire time?

(VEGA) "Yes. Rean Schwarzer, Towa Herschel, Satou Kazuma, and Aigis have been the only four to do so."

(Elliot) "That explains why we couldn't call Rean and Towa."

(Laura) "Aigis I can understand, but for Kazuma to show up? That surprises me."

(Fie) "Guessing you haven't been able to ask them what's going on either?"

(VEGA) "Your assumption is correct."

(Fie) "Guess that means we gotta get our hands dirty."

Fie checked her gunblades and stretched her arms.

(Laura) "Hopefully combat won't be necessary."

(Elliot) "Buuut that doesn't really seem possible, if I'm being honest. Trouble tends to follow us no matter where we go."

Doomguy checked his shotgun's ammo as he opened up the door to another teleportation chamber.

(VEGA) "We thank you for responding regardless, but we will ask if you may investigate this phenomenon on our behalf."

(Fie) "Sure. Things are pretty stable back home."

(Elliot) "So, if we're going into Fodlan, how are we going to keep in contact?"

(VEGA) "We are assuming there will be a total communications blackout. If you do not respond within a week in Fodlan's time, we will directly intervene."

(Laura) "All right then. Looks like our goals are to find former House Isekai members and find out what's going on."

(VEGA) "Affirmative."

(Fie) "Mission parameters established then. Let's begin."

(VEGA) "...Strange. There appears to be a teleportation to the Goneril territory."

(Elliot) "What's so weird about it?"

(VEGA) "It was not activated by Sothis, but rather the tower itself."

(Everyone) ?

(Laura) "But there is no one there. Right? Instructor Byleth made sure of that."

(Fie) "Guess that's another thing we gotta investigate. First let's head to where that teleportation took place.."

(Elliot) "That's Hilda's last name, isn't it?"

(VEGA) "Hilda Valentine Goneril. Unofficial retainer to Claude Von Riegan."

Doomguy stood behind a console and pressed several buttons and looked at the members of Class VII.

(Elliot) "So three things to do, got it! We'll see you soon!"

(VEGA) "Good luck, Class VII."

Doomguy gave them a thumbs up before he pulled the lever.

They were absorbed into a beam of light and were taken to the location VEGA reported...

...

===

(Buck) "So...that portal wasn't theirs?"

(Fie) "No. Something else pulled you here, and we came to find out why, among other things."

(Elliot) "On top of that, we have to find out specifically why you all were brought here. Our group didn't have much reason other than it being chance but yours it seems almost deliberate."

(Raelyn) "I fail to think of anything unique happening to where I'd be brought into a world like this."

(Dutch) "Same with us."

(Duvalie) "Agreed..."

(Laura) "Well, despite the unusual circumstances that has brought us here, the former members of House Isekai ask to join forces with your group."

(Raelyn) "No objections here."

(Romeo) "It's either work together or be stuck in this place forever, so we might as well."

(Mickey) "You got our support."

The ODST's and Raelyn turned to Duvalie.

She crossed her arms, barely able to keep her anger down.

(Buck) "How old are you, exactly?"

(Duvalie) "SHUT UP! FINE! FINE! WHATEVER, YAAY WE'RE BEST FRIENDS! NOW ENOUGH!"

(Elliot) "Hah...g-glad to see she hasn't...changed?"

(Raelyn) "There is nothing about her personality that I have seen thus far that you should be glad about, Elliot."

(Duvalie) "EXCUSE ME?!-"

[TO BE CONTINUED]

#House Isekai #House Isekai ARR #duvalie #raelyn amuto #buck #romeo #dutch #mickey

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