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thewulf · 2 years

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Thick and Thin || Jake "Hangman" Seresin

Request: Reader is a former police officer, but now is working at the hard deck. Her last undercover work went terribly wrong and she was hurt really bad (got captured and held in a damp and cold cellar.... See rest here

A/N: We’re pretending the aviators are at Top Gun for a few months not a few weeks! This is Part 1. This will be a 2-part mini-series. More of a background and some interaction at the bar. The juicy drama will be in the next part :)

Pairing: Jake "Hangman" Seresin x Y/N

Word Count: 4,500+

“Hi Penny!” You chirped hugging your friendly lightly. The relationship between you and her moving from boss and employee to friendship quickly over the last few months. You adored the self-assured woman who put arrogant pilots in their place daily. She quickly took you in under her wing showing you the ins and outs of being a bartender at the Hard Deck. The rest was history and you two became thick as thieves even with the age difference between you. It never bothered you. It didn’t bother her. She was your best friend and confidant.

You’d only been working there for about a month before you got sick again. Sick enough that you had to call in for a few days. You hated that you had to do this to Penny, but she understood once you explained your situation. She understood telling you to take the next few days off and rest up. It didn’t surprise you that you got nothing but support from her. You never told anyone the nitty gritty details though. Just a run of the mill glossy explanation.

You absolutely despised your new body after the incident. A body that had unfortunately been brutally attacked. A body that was constantly feeling the repercussions of a literal knife to the back. A body that could only take so much stress before it went down. Once you felt the fever set in you knew you needed to get to a doctor. Every fever after the abduction was a result of the injuries you sustained that horrific night.

In your past life you were a detective at the Milwaukee Police Department. Swiftly rising through the ranks being known as an overly thorough and excruciatingly precise officer. You rarely made mistakes, often wrapping up cases quicker than your counterparts. You were good. Great even. Until you made that one, almost fatal, miscalculation. Playing right into the trap of the serial killer your department had been hunting for the last year.

You should’ve known better. You were smarter than that. But the bliss of maybe finally being able to catch him, even if it was a sliver of a chance, made you slip up. Entering the abandoned house, you were quietly ambushed and put to sleep with a cloth being placed over your nose and mouth. You knew you were fucked when your arms instantly went limp making you drop the gun that was firmly in your grasp. Not long after you took another ragged breath in your knees gave out before your eyes shut completely.

Waking up in a daze you felt your hands tied above you letting your feet barely rest on the ground. Fuck. It dawned on you that he got you. Blinking rapidly, you tried to take in your surroundings, surveying a way out of this mess you managed to put yourself in.

The only light came in through a window on the far side of the basement you presumed you were in. It was cold, dark, and musty. You had to be in the abandoned houses basement. You prayed your team was on their way like they said they were. How far behind you could they really be? You’d had the chance to be knocked out and wake up and they still weren’t here? Spiraling in your own thoughts you heard a snicker from the corner of the room snapping you right back into the reality of the situation.

You shuddered seeing a man in the corner watching you slowly wake up while registering the trouble you were really in. Taking a few steps forward towards you, you saw a sick smirk coming from the man. Breathing deeply you knew you needed to find your courage. You couldn’t let this man get the better of you again.

“Miss Y/L/N. I must admit, I wasn’t expecting you. You’ve always seemed so much more… calculated.” He grinned slowly walking around you.

A frown adorned your face. Don’t let him get the better of you, “My team’s just slow.” You answered him knowing you needed to keep the conversation going. The longer he talked the longer you had a chance to get out of this mess.

A low chuckle emitted from the dirty man that was eyeing you like candy. You were able to get a closer look at him now too. You don’t know what you were expecting but it wasn’t that. He didn’t look the part. He was skinny, scrawny even. He was too dirty to be this precise. Too small to seem so big. It didn’t add up to you.

“That I know Miss Y/L/N. That I know. I’ve gotten away with what, eleven times now? Eleven. Fucking. Times. That’s pathetic.” He sighed taking a long pause making sure to eye you up and down, “Guess you’ll just be number twelve.”

Adrenaline raced through your veins as your heart rate spiked. Maybe it really was your time. Your team should’ve been here by now. He must have moved you. He had to of moved you. God, you prayed they would figure it out quick enough. Why didn’t Spencer Reid really exist? He’d be great right about now.

You shook your head trying to appear more confident than you really were. You just had to keep buying yourself some time. You just had to make him angry. A narcissist always had to be right. You had to make him feel wrong.

“Doubt it.” You chirped sounding surprisingly confident despite the feelings buzzing through your head.

He hummed stopping his walk around you, “You’ve got a mouth on you huh? A pretty one at that.”

Rolling your eyes, you knew it was working, “I thought you did your research? Don’t you know everything about me?”

Your eyes only grew wide when you saw his hand come for your face. Not having enough time to react you felt his hand contact the side of your face. Did he really just slap you? Fuck. You had to admit that one hurt. Head still twisted you spit the blood right out of your mouth.

“Ouch.” That stupid motherfucker made you bite your tongue.

This time he rolled his eyes giving you the same treatment you were just giving him. It made you smile knowing you had him worked up, “That’ll be the least of your concerns Y/N.”

“Why? Why’d you do it?” You had to ask. You needed to know before he killed you. You’d spent too much time chasing this guy not to know.

He shrugged reaching for something in his back pocket, “Why not Y/N?”

“Really?” That pissed you off. For no other reason? There had to be a reason, “Eleven people for nothing? Ruining their families lives for nothing?”

He nodded taking another step closer pulling a shiny silver knife out of that back pocket, “Really Miss Y/L/N. And your family is next my dear. Such a shame really.”

You swore you heard car tires rolling up on the house. Maybe just maybe it was your team. Just keep him talking for a little bit longer, “I don’t think so.”

He drew the knife to you neck, clearly more than a little pissed off. Pressing the blade down you felt a little trickle of blood down your chest. Damn. Maybe this really would be it. You had to think of something. Anything to buy you just a few more seconds.

“Now what makes you say that Y/N?”

You wish you could shrug but your hands were a little tied up, “The agents walking around upstairs.” You let out a rather loud scream hoping to draw the attention of your fellow officers down to the basement.

A sharp pain ripped from your back right side before he attempted to hightail it out the basement window. It didn’t quite register with you that you’d been stabbed until you heard the panic from the other officers in the room. You heard faint mumblings of, “Officer down. Stab wound to the side.” Before the darkness took over.

When you woke the doctors told you everything. You lost a kidney which put you at elevated risk for infections. The infections would lead to fevers. Fevers would lead to endless doctor’s visits for steroid shots and antibiotics. You didn’t believe them at first until the first fever took you down. You’d gotten taken out like a light ending up having to stay in the hospital for a few days. Learning quickly that you needed to take this seriously. After a few months you realized it wasn’t changing. This was your life now. You were newly riddled with health problems thanks to the asshole that stabbed you. He never did get to twelve. It made you happy knowing that you living was his last mistake. He was spending the rest of his life behind bars without a chance of getting out.

You were given permanent medical leave after month five. You were so fucking sad that you had to leave but it was best. You weren’t you. You were no longer great. You were broken. A sad pathetic broken version of yourself. Or so you thought.

After a while of bouncing around you ended up in San Diego staying with a friend for a while. She was lonely and you needed a place to go so she invited you to stay a while. A while turned into forever as you slowly fell in love with the place. The beach seemed to help heal you mentally which led to less bouts of sickness. The happier you grew the stronger you were.

That’s when you found Penny and decided this was your new home. You slowly began to fall back into the swing of a somewhat normal life. Only to be reminded of your inability to stay healthy after everything. Thankful you had Penny. You surely couldn’t have done it without her.

Things only got better when a new batch of aviators made their way to San Diego. It started with Jake’s incessant flirting. Bradley then caught on and began doing the same. After constant rejection to both of them they both finally caved and actually became really good friends with you. They had your back like no other. One of their eyes always seemed to be on you when you were working. Just making sure none of the clowns in the bar tried anything you didn’t like. Jake and Bradley had to tell a few drunk guys off a couple of times but nothing major ever happened.

Falling for Jake seemed to happen very slowly then all at once. At first it was the little things. He always seemed to make you laugh at work. He opened doors for you. You always seemed to have a small glimmer of hope that he would be going to the bar the same time you’d be working. You rejected him so heartily at first because you’d heard the stories from Penny. The horror stories of her and Mav. She was a hypocrite though, falling back in love with him the second he came back around. You had to hand it to him though, Mav seemed deeply in love. Like he wouldn’t let her go this time.

You realized you had fallen for him when you got a little too jealous seeing him flirt with all the pretty girls that came around. Nearly losing it when you saw him take one of them home one night. You hated to admit it, but she was far prettier than you are too. You were sure she wasn’t dealing with your shit ass body either.

Bradley caught on quick. He noticed your small glances towards Jake. How your body always seemed to turn towards him. How you laughed at his corny ass jokes. Bradley wasn’t jealous he was just a bit confused. How in the hell could Jake manage to get your attention? In Bradley’s head you were so far out of his league it blew his mind. But in yours you’d never even take a step up to the plate.

“Y/N,” Penny snapped getting your attention. Mindlessly cleaning dirty glasses, you realized you must’ve zoned out.

“Yeah?” Setting the clean glass down you turned towards your friend.

“Joe called off. It’s just me and you tonight.”

You groaned throwing your head back in annoyance, “Does he ever show up for Friday night shifts? We’re going to get killed tonight.”

She smiled softly at your annoyance, “More tips for us?” She tried to reason with you.

“Yeah, yeah. More tips. Blah blah.” You turned back to your work trying to get it done a little quicker hoping to help your very busy self later.

“That’s the spirit Y/N.” She laughed returning to stocking the bar up for the night.

“Love ya Penny.”

“I know you do!” She laughed turning her attention back to her tasks at hand. She too didn’t want to be too distracted before the night swept her away.

It was slower than usual for a Friday night. Suspiciously slow. You didn’t feel like you were drowning the entire night. Not that you were complaining. Not at all. You loved when it happened. You were able to chat with your regulars enjoying the casual banter with everyone. If there was one thing you loved about this new life was the interactions, you had with people at work. People liked talking with you at work now. Before it was interrogations and arguments. Now it was learning about the family or fending off heavy flirting from a pilot. You loved the change not realizing how much you actually enjoyed casual chatter with people.

Penny was secretly thankful it was dead as well. Even though it meant a few less hundred dollars for the night at least she could enjoy the night. She too hated when it got overwhelming. She got the chance to chat with Pete in between customers. She and Pete were as happy as ever. Especially once he got back from the mission. The two seemed to be attached at the hip.

You got excited when you saw the Naval squad you’ve gotten close with over the last few months come through the door. They’d completed the mission that they were all initially here for. Half of them had deployed off to other bases. The other half opted to stay as teachers, given the opportunity after they came back. You were more than overjoyed when both Jake and Bradley decided to stay for a while.

The two of them didn’t like each other but they didn’t hate each other either. They acted more as causal acquaintances. Accepting that they were going to be around the other and it was best to lay off each other.

Your grumpy attitude nearly vanished when you spotted your favorite blonde boy walking over towards you. A big toothy grin crossing his face made you join him in a big smile. Penny caught your grin out of the corner of her eye taking note of the two of you. She had her suspicions of the two of you. Jake straight up admitting he had a crush on you to her and you refusing to admit anything, she was in for a treat.

Jake walked up sitting down on the stool in front of you. He winked at you before he opened his mouth, “So, I was thinking…”

You gasped stopping him dead in his tracks. He looked at you in confusion from your outburst, “Didn’t know you could do that Jake.” Throwing that wink right back at him you watched his confused face turn down into a frown. You loved this. Looked forward to it even. The back and forth that always turned into flirting with him. Over the last month your nerves morphed to some weird confidence when you talked with him You couldn’t get enough of it. Of him.

“Ha. Ha. Very funny sweetheart.” Jake rolled his eyes dropping that sweet nickname so casually. Looking away quickly you went to serve somebody else so he couldn’t see your blush. God, you hated that you wore your heart on your sleeve. Emotions literally written across your face.

Jake popped back up once you were done with the customer, “Can’t run away from me Y/N.” His smile grew into a smirk knowing he had you there. It wasn’t like you were going to leave Penny to fend for herself on a Friday night. Even if it was dead.

“You’re right,” You grinned, “But I can make you walk back and forth all night. And all I have to do is turn around.”

Shaking his head he leaned on the bar, “You sure do make me work.”

“Would you have it any other way Mr. Seresin?”

“Never sweetheart.” He gave you a soft smile. One that was really only reserved for you, not that you knew that. It wasn’t often that Jake felt comfortable around someone to let his guard down. But with you? He felt so different around you. Like you’d never judge him. He could tell you the most insane thing and you’d still find the silver lining in it. Jake adored that about you. Loved it even, “Can I continue?” He asked you faking irritation even though he was smiling.

“Sure. Still don’t know if it’s a good thing that you can think or not though.”

“You wound me.” He feigned hurt dramatically placing a hand on his chest, “Anyway, we’re heading to the beach tomorrow. You should join us.” He pointed to the aviators by the pool table.

Pouring him a beer you looked up to him, “The beach?” You thought for a moment. You wouldn’t have hesitated before. But you hadn’t put a bikini on since the accident. You weren’t even sure if you had a swimsuit anymore. You never looked at the scar. You sure as hell weren’t letting anyone see the damn thing.

“Yeah, that big sandy thing out there.”

“Smart ass.”

“The only and only darling.” Sitting down in a new barstool you opted to just talk to him instead of turning around.

“I’ll think about it.” You tapped on the wooden countertop afraid to look him in the eyes.

“What’s there to think about?” He raised an eyebrow taking a drink from his glass. After setting it down he nodded towards you, “Thank you, by the way.”

“Sure thing, Jake.” Taking a second you thought of a weak excuse, “I might be working. Not sure yet.”

“Penny!” Jake yelled motioning for her to come over.

“Jake, I have paying customers I’m trying to serve.” She eyeballed you knowing you probably weren’t going to charge the man. Not that she cared that much, but she had to make a point as a best friend. Penny had hounded you about Jake. Just like Bradley had. Just like half the dagger squad had. But you still wouldn’t cave. You couldn’t cave. You loved this thing you had with Jake far too much to fuck it up. Especially if he didn’t feel the same way about you. So, you opted for friend. Flirty friend but friend, nonetheless. If he made a move, you’d dive in headfirst but until then you’d sit back. A solid plan in your own head.

“Carry on. Just one question, can I have Y/N tomorrow afternoon for some beach time?”

“Sure. She’s not even on the schedule.” Penny nodding giving you an overly sweet smile. Great.

You shot daggers at your friend. She was acting as anything but at the moment, “Okay, I’ll go.” You said as you turned back towards Jake.

“Great! I’ll pick you up around eleven?”

This time you raised your eyebrows. A habit you had picked up on from Jake, “You will?” His question took you by surprise. You were more than capable of driving yourself to the beach.

“I will. It’s only right since I invited you sweetheart.”

Penny nodded walking back to her tasks. Her suspicions about the two of you confirmed after watching the one innocent interaction between the two of you. It was so painfully obvious the both of you were into the other but were simply clueless. Penny was planning on teasing you later on that.

She knew underneath all the shit Jake was a good man. He had all the good characteristics of one. He was fiercely loyal. Defending his and his pilots honor time after time. Not only did he talk the talk he walked the walk. Jake wasn’t afraid to get a little down and dirty. Penny knew he would protect the hell out of you. He would love the shit out of you. He would comfort you when you were sick and be by your side when you needed him to. She was rooting for the two of you. She just needed to figure out a plan. She’d talk to Bradley about it. She knew he was trying as well.

“Alright.” You nodded, “You remember where I live?”

“’Course I do darling.” He bobbed his head up and down.

“Okay then. Eleven tomorrow.”

Throwing you one last wink he nodded towards you, “See you then sweetheart.”

Giving him a hesitant laugh, you gave him a short nod back, “See you then Jake.”

You thought you would’ve jinxed it by now, but it was still slow. Twelve o’clock on a Friday and you weren’t busting your ass? You felt like you were thriving. You noticed Bradley enter not too long after Jake giving you a quick wave. He decided to wait on bugging you until you were free. He’d wait until the end of your shift if he needed to. This was Bradley’s new favorite thing. Closing the bar with his best friend. You loved it too, but you’d never admit it to him. Giving him a hard time was much more fun.

Penny gave you a short break seeing as there weren’t many people there. You waved Bradley down pointing to the deck outside letting him know you’d be heading out that way. He gave you a quick thumbs up letting you know he’d meet you out there.

“Hey stranger.” You nudged his side. He was leaning on the rail overlooking the Pacific Ocean.

“I know you like him.” Sucking in a breath you shook your head. This was so Bradley. He never beat around the bush.

Tilting your head you gave him the most confused expression, “What are you talking about Bradley?”

He chuckled taking a long pull from his beer, “Jake. You like Jake. For whatever fucking reason you decided to go and like him.”

Eyebrows raised you studied your friend. Growing best friend. The man who really gave it to you straight. Like no other friend would. He wasn’t even asking for a confession from you. He was telling you, you liked Jake. Like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

To Bradley it was, “Jesus Christ Y/N. You like him, right? Come on now. Spit it out.” Bradley continued on. Just egging you on.

You shook your head, “So what if I do. It’ll ruin everything.” You admitted to him with only slight hesitation.

Bradley rolled his eyes, “Don’t be stupid now.”

Mouth dropping slightly, you rolled your eyes in return, a tad bit dramatically to boot, “That’s rude Bradley.”

Taking another long drink to make you think long and hard he finally continued, “Are you blind? He likes you just as much as you like him. Fuck. Both of you are the dumbest fucking people I swear.”

“Jesus Bradley. Rough day?” You giggled feeling someone comforted by his words somehow. He was comfortable around you.

He shook his head, “Good day actually. You two are just dumb. I’m annoyed s’all. You’re not really dumb. You’re just a romantic dumbass.”

“He doesn’t…”

Bradley leaned over to bar placing a finger over your mouth stopping you immediately, “I’m advising you to shut the hell up right now. Listen to me. He likes you. He might even more than like you. He never shuts up about you Y/N. Any of the guys can tell you. In the locker room he always somehow brings you up. It’s remarkable actually. I’ve got a bet with Fanboy about it.”

Shaking your head, you refused to hear him, “Bradley I’m not…” You paused thinking of the right words, “I’m not desirable. I’m half the person I once was. I’m weak and always sick. That’s not a life I’d want to put on someone. Especially not somebody like him. You guys are so fast paced, and I can’t be. One minute I’m fine and the next I’m in the hospital. I…”

Bradley sighed giving you a once over, “You just don’t get it. And that’s okay. Really it is. I can’t imagine what you’re going through. From what limited amount of information, you tell me.” He raised his eyebrows at you making sure to let you know he wasn’t pleased you were holding back on him, “You lived a life like ours. Go, go, go. I get it. I would be losing my mind if I had to drop this tomorrow and change my life completely. I’d be a mess. But stop and think Y/N. What did you look for in a partner back then?”

You paused before you spoke catching your sentence before it came out. Closing your mouth, you thought for a second. What did you look for in a guy back then? Back when you were unstoppable. Someone kind and understanding. Someone incredibly patient. Someone who was different than you.

You could admit that. Or you could keep deflecting like you always did, “I didn’t date much before really.”

Bradley smirked like he got you, “My point exactly.”

“What are talking about?”

“You didn’t have time to date. We, all of us,” he pointed to the pilots huddled around the dart boards inside, “didn’t really date much either before the mission. Now, we finally have the time. He doesn’t want to date someone that’s nonstop. He wants somebody that’ll be home. That’ll always be there. You’re not undesirable Y/N. Don’t ever say that again.”

You sighed knowing he was right. But there was that one thing that stopped you, “Bradley I’m sick.”

He shrugged, “Every now and then.”

“It’ll never stop.” You countered.

He continued shrugging, “Look I don’t know Jake that well, but he doesn’t seem to care Y/N. If it were me, I wouldn’t care. Nobody’s perfect. Life is about compromises and sacrifices. High highs and low lows.” Taking a final sip from his beer he set the glass down on the railing, holding it in between his hands.

You didn’t know what to say. He was right. Of course, he was right. Bradley always seemed to be right. And blunt. So, fucking blunt. Something you adored, and hated, about the man.

Bradley decided to break the silence, “Look, go after him. Don’t go after him. It’s up to you. But he likes you. A lot. He’s just like you though. Too damn scared to make a move.”

You sighed nodding your head, “I hear you, Bradley.”

“Good. Now get back in there. Penny look’s a little stressed.”

“Alright, I’ll see you later.” You stood pulling him out of the chair with you.

“You sure will.”

Part 2

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hayatheauthor · 1 year

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Writing Believable Teenage Characters: Dos and Don'ts

Creating compelling teenage characters is crucial for engaging young adult readers and immersing them in your story. However, it can be challenging to capture the authentic essence of teenage experiences. In this blog post, I’ll explore essential dos and don'ts for crafting believable teenage characters that resonate with your audience.

By understanding the unique mindset of teenagers, conducting thorough research, developing distinct personalities, mastering dialogue and communication, and navigating relationships and social dynamics, you'll be equipped to bring your teenage characters to life. I would also like to mention that a lot of these tips stem from the fact that I myself am a teenager, so I speak from experience.

Understanding the Teenage Mindset

To create convincing teenage characters, it's crucial to grasp the complexities of the teenage mindset. Teenagers are undergoing a significant period of growth and self-discovery, facing numerous emotional and psychological changes. Here are some key aspects to consider:

Emotional rollercoaster: Adolescence is often characterized by intense emotions and mood swings. Your teenage characters should exhibit a range of emotions, such as excitement, fear, anger, and insecurity. Explore their emotional landscapes and provide relatable experiences for readers.

Identity formation: Teenagers are exploring their identities and seeking independence. They might question societal norms, challenge authority, and embark on journeys of self-discovery. Show your characters' struggles, personal growth, and the conflicts they face while finding their place in the world.

Peer pressure and self-image: Teenagers often experience the influence of peer pressure and societal expectations, which can impact their self-esteem and decision-making. Highlight the conflicts arising from these pressures and their impact on your characters' choices.

Evolving identities: It's important to acknowledge that the teenage years are a transformative phase, and who teenagers are during this period might differ significantly from who they become as adults. If you're writing a long-term story that spans several years, consider the potential growth and changes your teenage characters will undergo.

Research and Observation

In order to create authentic teenage characters, conducting thorough research and observation is vital. This enables you to understand the nuances of teenage behavior, language, and experiences. Here are some key steps to consider:

Immerse yourself in teenage culture

Dive into the world of teenagers by exploring contemporary media, such as books, movies, TV shows, and music targeted at young adults. Pay attention to how teenagers are portrayed and the themes that resonate with them.

Example: By reading popular young adult novels like "The Fault in Our Stars" by John Green or watching coming-of-age films like "Eighth Grade," you can gain valuable insights into the lives and struggles of teenagers.

Engage with real teenagers

Interact with teenagers in various settings to observe their behavior, conversations, and interests. Volunteer at youth organizations, attend school events, or join online communities where teenagers discuss their experiences. Take note of their mannerisms, slang, and current trends.

Conduct interviews or surveys

Reach out to teenagers for interviews or surveys to gather firsthand information about their lives, experiences, and opinions. This allows you to capture diverse viewpoints and ensure your characters reflect the realities of teenage existence.

Stay updated on evolving trends

Teenage culture is dynamic and constantly evolving. Stay informed about the latest trends, technological advancements, and social media platforms that shape teenagers' lives. Incorporate these elements into your storytelling to add authenticity and relevance.

Developing Unique Personalities

To create believable teenage characters, it is crucial to develop distinct and authentic personalities. Avoid falling into the trap of using stereotypes or clichés. Here are some dos and don'ts for developing unique teenage characters:

Avoid stereotypes and clichés

Do: Challenge common stereotypes associated with teenagers, such as the rebellious troublemaker or the socially awkward nerd. Instead, aim for multifaceted and diverse characters.

Don't: Rely on one-dimensional clichés that flatten the depth of your characters and make them predictable.

Example: Instead of portraying the teenage girl as a shallow cheerleader, consider a character who balances her cheerleading passion with academic ambitions and a talent for playing the guitar.

Individual motivations and aspirations

Do: Give each teenage character their own motivations, desires, and goals that drive their actions and decisions. This adds complexity and realism to their personalities.

Don't: Make your characters solely defined by their relationships or generic goals like popularity or romantic interests.

Example: Rather than having a character whose sole purpose is to pursue a romantic relationship, create a character who aspires to become an environmental activist and fights for climate justice.

Embrace a range of emotions and conflicts

Do: Explore a broad spectrum of emotions and internal conflicts that reflect the emotional rollercoaster of teenage years. Show their vulnerability, fears, and inner growth.

Don't: Present your characters as emotionless or overly dramatic caricatures.

Example: Allow your character to experience moments of doubt, heartbreak, and self-discovery. Let them wrestle with ethical dilemmas, confront their fears, and learn from their mistakes.

Show growth and change

Do: Portray character development and growth over time. Teenagers evolve, learn from their experiences, and develop a deeper understanding of themselves and the world.

Don't: Keep your characters static throughout the story, ignoring their potential for growth and transformation.

Example: Begin with a shy and reserved character who gradually gains confidence and finds their voice, evolving into a leader who inspires change in their community.

Dialogue and Communication

Creating authentic dialogue and communication for your teenage characters is essential to make them believable. It helps readers connect with the characters and enhances the overall realism of your story. Here are some dos and don'ts for portraying teenage dialogue and communication:

Portraying authentic teenage dialogue and slang

Do: Pay attention to the vocabulary and speech patterns commonly used by teenagers. Incorporate slang and colloquialisms that are prevalent among the target age group and location. This helps establish a sense of realism and relatability.

Don't: Overdo the use of slang or rely on stereotypes. Avoid using excessive amounts of trendy slang that may quickly become outdated or confusing for readers. Remember to strike a balance between authenticity and readability.

Example: Avoid using every popular slang term in every sentence. Instead, sprinkle them sparingly and purposefully throughout the dialogue.

Balancing realism with readability

Do: Aim for dialogue that feels natural and mirrors real-life conversations. Use contractions, pauses, interruptions, and hesitations to mimic the ebb and flow of spoken language. Consider the rhythm, pacing, and tone of teenage conversations.

Example: "I can't believe she did that! It's, like, totally unfair," Lisa exclaimed, her voice filled with frustration and disbelief.

Don't: Overcomplicate dialogue or make it overly formal or stilted. Avoid unnatural speech patterns or overly polished language that doesn't reflect how teenagers typically communicate with each other.

Example: "I cannot fathom the injustice of her actions. It is thoroughly unfair," Lisa protested, her tone composed and articulate.

Addressing the role of technology and social media

Do: Incorporate technology and social media platforms into your characters' communication. Depict texting, instant messaging, social media interactions, and the use of emojis or GIFs. These elements reflect the reality of how teenagers communicate and form relationships in the digital age.

Example: Emma sent a quick Snapchat to her best friend, sharing a funny meme they had discovered, and eagerly awaited her response.

Don't: Ignore the influence of technology or limit your characters' communication to face-to-face interactions alone. Technology plays a significant role in how teenagers connect and express themselves, so it should be integrated into your storytelling.

Adapting slang to match the era

Do: Recognize that slang and language usage evolve over time. If your story is set in a different time period, research and incorporate the appropriate slang and language of that era. This attention to historical context enhances the authenticity of your characters and setting.

Example: In a story set in the 1990s, a character might say, "That's phat!" to express excitement, reflecting the slang of that era.

Don't: Use modern-day slang and language for characters in historical or past settings, as it will undermine the authenticity of the narrative and make it less believable.

Remember, the key is to strike a balance between authenticity and readability when crafting teenage dialogue and communication. By incorporating realistic language, capturing the nuances of technology and social media, and considering the appropriate slang for the era, you can create engaging and relatable teenage characters.

Navigating Relationships and Social Dynamics

One of the essential aspects of creating believable teenage characters is accurately portraying their relationships and navigating the complex dynamics of adolescence. Here are some dos and don'ts for capturing authentic relationships and social interactions:

Depicting the complexities of friendships and peer groups

Do: Showcase the diverse nature of friendships and the dynamics within peer groups. Explore the highs and lows, loyalty, conflicts, and the evolving nature of these relationships.

Example: Showcasing a group of friends who support each other through challenges, celebrate successes together, but also experience occasional disagreements and conflicts.

Don't: Present stereotypical or one-dimensional friendships. Avoid relying solely on cliques or popular group dynamics without exploring the complexities and individuality within them.

Exploring romantic relationships and the challenges they present

Do: Develop romantic relationships that are realistic and nuanced. Highlight the ups and downs, the emotional intensity, the exploration of boundaries, and the growth that comes with these experiences.

Example: Depicting a budding romance where the characters navigate uncertainties, communication challenges, and personal growth while discovering their feelings for each other.

Don't: Romanticize or trivialize relationships. Avoid portraying idealized or overly simplistic love stories without addressing the complexities and challenges that arise in teenage romances.

Incorporating familial relationships and dynamics

Do: Include meaningful interactions between teenage characters and their family members. Explore the influences, conflicts, and support systems within these relationships, capturing the range of emotions experienced in familial dynamics.

Example: Showcasing a strained relationship between a teenager and their parent due to contrasting values, but also moments of understanding and eventual reconciliation.

Don't: Neglect the importance of familial relationships or portray them as insignificant or nonexistent. Avoid relying solely on negative or stereotypical family dynamics without showcasing positive aspects as well.

By authentically depicting the complexities of friendships and peer groups, exploring realistic romantic relationships and their challenges, and incorporating meaningful familial relationships and dynamics, you'll bring depth and relatability to your teenage characters.

Conclusion

Creating believable teenage characters requires a thoughtful approach that captures their unique mindset, conducts thorough research, develops distinct personalities, masters dialogue and communication, and navigates relationships and social dynamics. By following the dos and avoiding the don'ts, you can craft teenage characters that resonate with readers, providing them with relatable experiences and enriching your storytelling.

Remember, authenticity and attention to detail are key. Embrace the diversity and complexity of teenage experiences, staying true to their emotions, motivations, and growth throughout your narrative. By doing so, you'll create memorable characters that captivate your audience and bring your stories to life.

I hope this blog on Writing Believable Teenage Characters will help you in your writing journey. Be sure to comment any tips of your own to help your fellow authors prosper, and follow my blog for new blog updates every Monday and Thursday.

Looking For More Writing Tips And Tricks?

Are you an author looking for writing tips and tricks to better your manuscript? Or do you want to learn about how to get a literary agent, get published and properly market your book? Consider checking out the rest of Haya’s book blog where I post writing and publishing tips for authors every Monday and Thursday! And don’t forget to head over to my TikTok and Instagram profiles @hayatheauthor to learn more about my WIP and writing journey!

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dreamtuna · 1 year

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Crybaby

A soft little short something, because I felt like I needed a little warmth tonight. Attack on Titan - Levi x Reader fluff, crying, light teasing, vague mentions of insecurities, comfort, gender neutral reader Word Count: 600 Levi surprises you with some unexpected tenderness.

The rough pad of his thumb brushed across your cheekbone. It caught the tear that had escaped from your eyes. You had always been so careful not to cry in front of Levi but here you were. His eyes were soft now. Only moments earlier he’d been shouting at you, berating you for not following his orders, for thinking you knew better. It was rare he felt the need to lose his cool with you. And it was unheard of that you didn’t just accept it, knowing that he was right. But for some reason this time was just too much.

You had always been a crybaby as a kid. You were used to being teased for it. You weren’t used to someone tenderly wiping your tears away. But here you were.

Levi quietly wiped your cheek again. You gripped the hem of your cloak, scrunching your eyes shut. You willed the tears to stop. A small part of you willed him to stop. Those cheeks he touched were already tinged pink from embarrassment. The thought of Captain Levi of all people seeing you like this. You had tried so hard to never let anyone see you cry since you made the decision to join the Survey Corps.

It was just the stress of being in a life or death situation. That’s what you’d tell him. He’d understand that, right? It didn’t matter what the truth was, just that he didn’t think you were a—

“Crybaby.”

Your breath caught at the word. But there was something different about it compared to what you were used to from others. The malice, the laughter - it was completely missing. You couldn’t quite believe it, but it sounded almost gentle.

You dared to open your eyes, his image blurry through the remainder of your tears that still silently fell.

“I’m not,” you protested, another sob rolling through you just to prove you wrong.

No, you really couldn’t believe it. There, his mouth. Was he smiling at you?

You felt the stress melt away, quietly succumbing to his touch as he continued to hold your face, gently capturing any tears that dared surface. It was a strange sensation, but you weren’t going to turn it down. It felt so unlike him. You began to question if this was even the same man you knew. This side of him was rather charming though. The gentleness of his touch soothed you, letting a warmth radiate through you until it consumed your fears and insecurities.

Eventually he pulled away, snapping you back to reality. Your tears were finally dry but your eyes felt heavy. You were already longing for his touch again, the cool air on your cheeks feeling very unwelcome all of a sudden.

“Just listen to me in future,” he said, walking away from you. “You’re lucky you didn’t get hurt today.”

You mumbled an apology. He looked back at you. Those beautiful eyes caught you again, ensnaring you until you felt like you couldn’t breathe. You wanted to call out, ask him to stay with you. Just anything that would keep him close. His spell was strong.

“Crybaby,” he repeated over his shoulder.

This time he was definitely teasing you, but it didn’t seem to bother you for some reason. Maybe it was the fact that for just a split second, for just the briefest of moments, you saw that smile tug at his lips once more as he turned and walked away from you. A smile that only you saw, in exchange for the tears that only he’d see.

#i hope this gives you the fuzzies if you need them #levi ackerman #levi x reader #levi ackerman x reader #levi ackerman fluff #aot fluff #aot x reader #snk x reader #dream writes #dream writes: oneshot

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sanjoongie · 10 months

Text

Ϻ𝜚ƍ𝖺ｖℯ𝗿𝑠ｅ

💙A/N: last but certainly not least (after scorpio season is finished i know lmao) this is for @anyamaris who i need to bonk most of the time for being a menace. somehow i made a combined alternate universe combining stray kids and ateez? 💙Pairing: Lee Felix (Stray Kids) x Reader (f) 💙Au: Vigilante au, Undercover au 💙Genre: smut 💙Trope: enemies to lovers 💙Warnings: mutual foreplay, fingering(f), jerking off (m), praise kink, penetrative sex with no barrier, creampie, slight edging 💙Rated: 18+, MDNI 💙Word Count: 1,590 💙Summary: Your mission, should you choose to accept it, is to 'distract' this vigilante until the special forces can finally arrest him. Or will he distract you?!

💙credit to @cafekitsune for the page break!

You throw back your head and gulp down the last of your coffee at 2am on a late night shift. You know what your mission is today but you’re nervous about it. It’s not the mission itself that makes you nervous, but it’s the success that has you anxious. You want to make sure you pull through and help your division capture the vigilantes Stray Kids.

You had spent months infiltrating the dirty cops group, going behind enemy lines and snuggling up to the one cop in charge of surveillance. You've seen all the blurry screenshots and buzzed video cam of the vigilantes, so you knew your work was cut out for you, but you were firm in your stance: you would do whatever it took to catch these vigilantes.

Stray Kids had taken the law into their own hands, going after suspicious individuals or groups that seemed to get away with a crime. You weren't sure if you agreed to their methods or not, but there was a proper way to do it and it was not working outside of the law.

Your mission was to tempt, distract and down right seduce any one of Stray Kids so that they would be delayed and caught. This group had somehow been able to infiltrate some of the most high security locations and manage to leave without getting a scratch or even nearly being caught. It was time for their vigilante spree to end.

You leaned with both palms against the table where several screens surveyed the building where this particular band of dirty cops operated out of. Everything seemed normal until one of your screens glitched and there they were: 8 men in an elevator, on their way to your location.

You prepared yourself, strapped steel to your spine and turned around in your computer office chair. You swore you saw a man with brown hair walking down the hallway in the camera before you had turned around. You blinked when the door opened and a man with long black hair wound tightly to his scalp entered but when you blinked again, it was a man with blonde hair and a puffy jacket.

“Well, this is a surprise,” He said, voice low, so low, it punched you in the stomach.

You lifted an eyebrow to him. “Surprised there's a woman here? Women can be dirty cops too, pretty boy.”

The blonde grinned, a vague hint of sweetness to it. “Surprise that such a treat has been left for me. The others are going to be jealous.”

You stood up and cocked your hip, putting a hand on it. In reality, it was to allow your hand easier access to your gun strapped there. “A treat, huh?”

“The name's Felix, by the way.” He scuffed his feet and looked at you through his eyelashes, bangs framing his face.

“And why would I need to know your name?” You humored him.

“Why,” he caught his tongue between his teeth naughtily, “for you to scream it, of course.”

A shudder ran through you before you could stop it. Your fingers inched for your gun. “I thought you guys were vigilantes, not bad guys. You plan on torturing me?”

“Oh, come now,” He purred in that deep voice of his, making his way closer to you. “You and me both know why you're here.”

You attempted to keep your cool. How did he know? How had your cover been blown? “Suppose I did, and I believed you also knew…why would you go through with it?”

Felix leaned forward until his mouth was close to your ear, his body heat radiating into your skin without touching you. “Because I'll be able to have my cake and eat it too.”

Goosebumps littered your skin and your nipples tightened to peaks. You wanted him so badly already, you had no idea how he had this kind of power over you. Was it the situation? Was it… You licked your lips. “I guess I'll never know unless I try, right?”

You should leave. You should turn around and inform your higher ups that even this set up wasn't possible. Other means were going to have to be applied to bring this group down. But God, you wanted him badly, it overode your cop instincts.

Your fingers dove into Felix's hair and the nape of his neck and you smashed your lips against his. Felix chuckled deeply against your lips and kissed you back. Your tongues clashed, Felix’s running along the roof of your mouth before he began to maneuver your body back towards the desk with the monitoring screens. You sit back on the desk and spread your legs as Felix fit his body between yours.

Felix’s dark gaze met yours and when you nodded permission, he unceremoniously shoved his hand down your pants. “So wet for me, treat, that’s good of you.” His statement was so good girl adjacent that you almost felt a little faint.

As Felix’s fingers rubbed you good, his lips flirted with yours, pressing close but not close enough to kiss, only enough that his hot breath could be felt against your lips. You whined, whether from the inability to kiss him or from the pleasure building in your lower half, you weren’t entirely sure.

You couldn't come undone for him just like that, so you fought your lust down, and began to palm him through his pants. The groan that verberated through his chest and sent his eyes rolling in the back of his head was worth it. Felix’s chin hit his chest as he tilted his head down to watch you working his length. He hissed when you pinched his head between your thumb and forefinger. “I’m going to fuck you so good, Treat, bend over and pull your pants down for me.”

You were gone again, at the nickname alone this time. You did as you were told and were rewarded with Felix’s hand smoothing over your ass and hip, murmuring to himself how good you looked for him, bent over and wet.

Felix struggled entering you. “So tight,” he rasped, “so soft and wet.” You clenched around him at the dirty talk and he moaned. “Treat, I'm gonna come prematurely if you do that again.”

You're both panting and struggling once he's finally full hilt inside of you. “F-felix,” you stuttered, “Pleeeeasseee.”

“Promised I'd fuck you good, didn't I?” Felix said in a husky tone.

You whined and began to push back on his dick. You could feel how wet you were, how you were dripping down your thighs. “Please.”

Felix pulled out slowly and pushed back in, allowing you to appreciate every inch of his dick. He pulled all the way out, making your inner pussy lips feel the head of his dick part them again and again as he played with you.

You made a noise of anguish at how frustrated you were not getting fucked properly but you couldn't deny the feeling of pure pleasure being fucked this way--like Felix was also appreciating every moment fucking you.

Every single monitor buzzed in front of you, changing to a woman bent over--but how, there were no cameras in this room?! And the man fucking you was not Felix, but a man with light brown hair who you recognized as Lee Know, one of the original members of Stray Kids.

“Felix!” Lee Know scolded Felix, who was suddenly not present. Lee Know grunted as his cock continued to fuck your wet hole, however. “Hurry up, we're done here!”

You watched on the screens, with a dropped jaw, as Lee Know transformed into Felix. What was going on here? It was like there was an alternate reality blending into yours currently.

“Fine,” Felix sighed and rolled his eyes. “Ruin my fun, why don't you.”

Felix’s grasped both your hips firmly and began to fuck you at a proper pace, not mind-numbing, but the way you were begging for earlier. He leaned forward and began to speak to you in a language you weren’t familiar with but by his tone, you could tell it was dirty and it made you shudder with the secret intimacy of it all. It wasn’t long before you were both crying out from climax, you almost blacking out from the intensity of your delayed orgasm.

When you woke up, you could feel his cum leaking out of you but safely onto your panties as you were fully clothed again but still bent over the surveillance desk. You turned your head tiredly towards the door and spotted an orange haired man wink at you before he blinked out of existence. Wasn’t that the leader? You attempted to stand up but your legs folded beneath you.

Wooyoung, the man that was in charge of surveillance, the dirty cop you had been working with all these months, stumbled into the room. “Someone snitched on us! The SWAT team is on its way! We gotta wipe all these--” Wooyoung halted as he stared up at the many monitors.

Stray Kids everywhere all around the world was spelled out in letters on each screen. Shit. They had been here and gone, with the information they needed and you without a capture.

You scrambled with Wooyoung, to maintain your cover, but you couldn't help but think about the blonde who had fucked you good and wondering if you might convince your higher ups to give you a second chance to ‘distract’ him again.

#cultofdionysusnet #stray kids smut #lee felix smut #skz smut #stray kids x reader #lee felix x reader #topaz's work #➸skz #revember=revenge+november

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coochiequeens · 1 year

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The tide is turning and the TQ+ only have themselves to blame

Brits are turning against gender ideology

Ordinary people are swiftly waking up to the threat posed by 'trans rights'.

JO BARTOSCH. 30th September 2023

In news that has left members of the dinner-party set spluttering over their decolonised soya lattes, it turns out the great British public isn’t as bigoted as they fantasised. Published last week, the latest British Attitudes Survey (BAS) has shown that Brits are increasingly tolerant of same-sex relationships and ever-more accepting of sex before marriage or abortion.

But perhaps most tellingly, as attitudes toward sexual morality have become more liberal, attitudes toward transgenderism have become far less sympathetic. The survey shows that the proportion of people who think someone should be able to change the sex on their birth certificate if they want has fallen from 53 per cent in 2019 to 30 per cent today. The proportion of people who ‘describe themselves as not prejudiced at all against people who are transgender’ has also declined from 82 per cent in 2019 to 64 per cent today.

That particular statistic has been taken to mean that there is a rising tide of ‘transphobic’ bigotry. But I see no trace of that in the gender debate or in broader society. More likely, these stats capture the public’s growing concern about policies and ideas associated with transgender ideology, from the erosion of women’s rights to children’s safety.

Predictably, this change in attitudes has been condemned by those who have built their careers on the grievance politics of trans activism. Former Stonewall CEO Nancy Kelley opined on X (formerly Twitter) that ‘years of relentless toxic coverage and political manipulation is making us less tolerant and less supportive of a marginalised community’.

Kelley is just wrong. This attitudinal shift is not prompted by ‘toxic’ reporting or ‘political manipulation’. It’s actually prompted by a greater understanding of ‘transgender issues’. And here Kelley is correct – news coverage has made a difference. It has made us aware of what the cause of trans rights actually entails.

So, as stories like that of double rapist Adam Graham (aka Isla Bryson), a man who was put in a women’s prison, have received column inches in the British press, public opinion has begun to shift. Furthermore, in the face of obvious injustices, such as men triumphing in women’s sporting competitions and winning female-only awards, accusations of ‘transphobia’ have lost their power to silence would-be dissenters. The public is gradually waking up to the reality of transgender ideology and they don’t like it.

Gillian Prior, deputy chief executive at the National Centre for Social Research, which produces the BAS, disagrees. She seems to think the public’s turn against trans rights is evidence of our growing illiberalism. ‘In the case of transgender people’, she said, ‘the recent public debate about the law on gender recognition has appeared to have resulted in attitudes becoming less liberal than they were just a few years ago’. But this completely misunderstands the issues. There is nothing illiberal about not wanting women to give up hard-earned rights and spaces to accommodate the feelings of men who identify as trans.

In fact, the survey shows just how liberal Britain is now. The change in attitudes toward homosexuality has been remarkable and encouraging for those who believe in equality. Over the past 40 years, the proportion of those who think that same-sex relations were ‘always wrong’ has fallen from 50 per cent to just nine per cent.

The cause of LGB rights is very different to that of ‘trans rights’. Gay liberation was a fight to achieve legal parity with heterosexuals. The fight for trans rights is not about fairness or legal parity. It’s about allowing children to be put on experimental, puberty-blocking drugs, advocating for taxpayer-funded cosmetic surgery and, above all, demanding that the rights of other groups, especially women, are infringed upon.

These illiberal and dangerous demands have been pushed by trans activists, not those advocating for LGB rights. As Kate Barker, chief executive officer of LGB Alliance, the only charity advocating exclusively for same-sex attracted people, explains, the battle for equality for gay and lesbian people has largely been won. If there is a growing threat to gay and lesbian rights today, it comes precisely from trans activists.

‘Today, gay men and lesbians are being branded as discriminatory bigots for being attracted exclusively to one sex, their own’, says Barker. ‘This is the result of gender-identity ideology, which promotes the belief that it is valid for some men to “identify” as women and vice versa. Believers in this ideology say it’s “transphobic” for lesbians to rule out all males who “identify as lesbians” as potential sexual partners. It is a bizarre reversal of the prejudice we faced in the Seventies and Eighties.’

So, despite the howls of protestation from trans activists, Britons are not becoming more intolerant. Rather, they are waking up and saying no to an ideology that threatens us all.

Jo Bartosch is a journalist campaigning for the rights of women and girls.

#UK #The British #British Attitudes Survey (BAS)#Years of toxic coverage? No Nancy Kelley it's simply coverage of predators in the TQ+ and how the community downplayed their crimes

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neonovember · 1 year

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Careful

Mafia!au x Steve Rogers

CHAPTERS: 1 2 3 4 5 6

summary: your escape to Brooklyn was harboured by secrets and a harrowed past, left abused and betrayed, you accepted your destiny of being swallowed by the crowd. Until the King of New York showed up in front of you and wanted a piece of you for himself.

divider by @firefly-graphics !

Taglist 🏷️ (send an ask to be part of my taglist for this series!)

@tinkerbelle67 @patzammit @jaqui-has-a-conspiracy-theory @nomadstucky @nessie2183 @shamelessfangirl-3 @namelesssav @marvel-phoenix @euphoric-goddess @roseeatta @abschaffer2 @louderfortheback @stupendouslovegardener @wandamaximoff-simp @thedonswife13 @hpsimpspot @samsgirl93

The sound of chirping birds sifts through the linen curtains draped over the balcony doors, and the gentle breeze of the early morning cause goose bumps to arise across your body strewn about the disturbingly large bed.

Through the haze of half-sleep, you peek one eye open, catching the enormous ceiling-high windows overlooking a meticulously manicured lawn, with tinted cars parked on the cobblestone driveway and everything's all wrong and this isn't your house.

Your heart drops to the depths of your stomach, and everything slows like a picture, you squeeze your eyes shut to will yourself back into the slumber you had just felt before but all you are met with is a nauseous burn crawling up your throat.

You can't think twice before you shoot up from the bed, miraculously finding the bathroom just in time before pouring the entirety of your stomach into the porcelain toilet. You weren't one to get sick, no matter how much you had used that excuse at work, and the putrid stench of day-old liquor rang familiar in your mind as you continued to dry heave.

You don’t waste time before reaching for the flush, watching the disgusting weakness of your strength wash away into the underground sewers, you can't bare to look at yourself and you wish you could wash away the embarrassment just as easily.

Your preoccupation with yourself has momentarily distracted you from the alarming reality of the foreign room you had awakened in, and you suddenly feel that fear blooming within you for the first time in weeks. You hadn't really noticed, but you were less scared of well, everything when Steve had inserted himself into your life, and now you wished you could go back.

Your ears perked up for any sign of movement outside your door but it was desolate, you reached for a candle stick perched on the basin before opening the bathroom door. Eyes surveying the expansive room, you can't help but expect your husband to barge in, laughing down at you as you were captured within his palm yet again.

The prospect wasn't entirely outlandish, you know your husband owned several properties he kept in secrecy, and you hadn't had the stomach to find out what he had them for. Yet something was gnawing at the edges of your mind to step forward, like an unconscious shadow within you, guiding your body towards the door and stepping into the room you had run from. The fear was there, as it always was, but you weren't holding your breath, your body didn't chill from the air of evil that always seemed to emit near your husband.

Your eyes survey the expansive bed situated in the middle of some sort of guest room, even despite your hasty escape, the room looked impeccable, wainscotting outlining the ceiling-high walls, with the shine of sunlight pouring in from the balcony windows like honey.

The marble floors reminded you of your own bedroom you had occupied for years months ago, and suddenly the elated feeling of luxury leaves just as easily as it came.

It unnerved you, being in the presence of such opulence after months of your bare quaint apartment. Even though you had lived in it for years before, it was never truly yours, this life was never truly yours. You were only ever borrowing it until your husband would find the balls to get rid of you.

Your eyes catch a note on the bedside table however, and written in that elegant ink that belongs to only one man that had strung you along in the palm of your hand is placed on a silver tray, along with a pill and a bottle of water, still cold from the tap.

Your fear begins to dissipate from your stomach, as you realise that your anonymity had remained unchanged, and you weren't back into the cage of your husband's imprisonment.

You reach for the note, eyes skimming the perfect lettering you secretly envy;

“You got into a little trouble last night, brought you here to keep you save”

You scrub your face with a hand, mentally thanking him for not delving into the details of what you knew was a haunting moment of weakness.

God, you can’t believe you had done that, let yourself get so weak you sunk back into an addiction you thought you had overcome. It was harrowing how quick it had happened, one moment you were walking home and the next you were crowd-surfing across the bar.

“P.S, take the pill, it’s Advil and if I really wanted to poison you I would’ve done it in your sleep”

You scrutinise the white chalky pill anyway, observing the A outlined in the middle, you roll your eyes before looking down at your attire. Pink striped Pajamas.

You bristle as you realise he would have had to undress you whilst you were in a haze of drunkenness.

And suddenly that’s enough to reignite the temper that had been stamped out by the waves of liquor you had foolishly consumed.

He had lied to you, even if you felt protection here, he had lied, and he did it straight to your face. Did he think you were foolish? Just a stupid girl from a town no one knows that he could take advantage of? You couldn't bear to keep the fueled rage burning within you.

Reaching for the Advil, you swallow it with gulps of water that ease your parched throat, before searching around the enormous room for the clothes you had gotten drunk in. You find them folded neatly on an ottoman to the side, and make quick work of slipping them on before storming out of the room.

You don’t know where you're going, the endless hallways are as foreign to you as the paintings occupying the walls, but you follow the dyed carpet’s twists and turns hoping to stumble into Steve’s office.

Your mind is too preoccupied with the rage brewing within you, your eyes fail to catch the figure watching you closely from one of the hallway doors, causing you to stumble into a brick wall of pure muscle and heat.

You catch yourself at the last minute, looking up to meet familiar slate-grey eyes peering down at you in interest

“You’re up already?” Bucky says, his hand coming to steady you but retracting at the last minute and falling back into the pocket of his suit jacket.

“I want to speak to Steve” You reply, ignoring his attempt at small talk, or more so his declaration of your consciousness.

“Steve? Well-” Bucky beings before you cut him off momentarily

“Don’t give me that bullshit alright? I need to speak to Steve, now” You reply in indignation, Bucky watches you carefully, eyes scanning across your face as he nods slowly. You don't notice his eyes fixated on your fists wrapped in a tight fists. Your voice falters toward the end and you hope you sound as confident as you feel.

“Follow me” Bucky replies with a sigh, and as you walk side by side with Bucky, the click of his dress shoes clashes with the gruff sound of your work boots. You would never harmonise with this life, it's as clear as the shoes you wear.

You try and memorise the left and rights that Bucky takes you, as a kind of backup in case things go wrong and you need a way out, fast. It’s irrational you know, but you can only blame your husband for destroying your idea of rationality.

Bucky turns down a corridor, and you are immediately met with a rush of men in suits carrying boxes and briefcases, leaving and entering the enormous double french doors situated at the end of the hallway like an army of ants. Men stand stationed outside the doors and along the hallway unmoving, like formations of statues pillaring themselves in front of Steve.

The glint of their guns shines iridescent against the morning raze, and you understand that Bucky has some sort of clearance as they merely nod without a word as you pass them.

You and Bucky are about to pass through the double doors before a familiar face pokes at you, eyes widening at your presence in a clearly confidential space, the man that had talked with you with Bucky those weeks ago murmurs into Bucky's ear, the gruff sound of his voice hidden beneath hushed whispers.

You crain your ear to catch anything, but all you can make out is Bucky’s whisper of your name, along with “last night”. Sam shifts his gaze towards you, and a look you can't quite decipher falls over his face. Bucky is continuing to whisper to Sam but he doesn't take his eyes off of you, and finally, after a moment he simply nods and opens the door for the both of you.

The oak doors open into an enormous office space, the panelled french walls are washed with a chestnut gloss, oil paintings of war and glory hang on the walls and every corner has a designated purpose. A bar towards the left is graced with brown liquor in glass bottles and you have to turn away from it to calm the churning in your stomach.

Situated in the middle is a large walnut desk, carved with intricate patterns and relics along its sides, matching leather seats surrounding the desk, the floors a deep mahogany wood you crave to feel the cold touch of beneath your toes.

Men surround the office, some stationed behind the balcony windows, others near the bookcases lining the ceiling-high walls, and you don't notice it at first, but the second you walk in, everything stops. The sound of urgent whispers and conversations comes to a halt as they all stare towards you in fixed interest.

You didn't know this, but there had been no other individuals besides Steve’s men and himself, who had the ability to step foot into this floor of the house, let alone Steve's own office, and they can't help but ogle you like a piece of meat.

You catch their eyes all over you, pulling your stained cardigan closer against your body, you feel Bucky bristle beside you, his grunt of disapproval towards the men, shooting a silent warning that causes them to look away without a blink.

Steve's dirty blonde hair is tousled across his face, and he mutters something under his breath as he looks up from his seat at the office desk. His eyes immediately find you, unblinking as he never leaves your face, the papers in his grasp fall to the table, and let out an exhale as you match his gaze.

Bucky coughs and it’s as if Steve finally realises you're not the only person in the room,

“She wanted to speak to you,” Bucky says, his shoes tapping against the wooden floors, Bucky gives Steve a silent look, nodding towards the men fixated on your presence.

“Did I tell you all to stop?” Steve says in a booming voice you've never heard him use.

They all immediately get back to the phone calls in their hand and the tasks they had ignored at your expense. Steve stands from his seated position near the desk, his suit jacket laying over the office chair, leaving him in a crisp white shirt with a leather shoulder holster tucked into dark black suit pants.

Steve nods towards the balcony, and you step towards the glass doors slowly, you can feel the heat of Steve's hand near the small of your back, gently manoeuvring you through the room and men and through the doors of the balcony.

The gentle breeze of the morning lets you finally let in a breath you hadn't realised you had kept in, your eyes find themselves looking towards the manicured lawn below, gardeners and housekeepers are knelt pulling and plucking at the overgrown weeds, snipping away at leaves and bushes until they were smooth and pristine. Flowers are planted across the lawn, in a discreet way that makes you notice how the colours harmonise, and a ceramic fountain near the middle sprouts out water that shines against the sun.

You notice stepping stones snaking their way to the edge, leading to a vines archway where a vegetable garden hidden under a mesh covering meets your gaze, you try and look further past the vines walls, seeing the top of what looks like a stone pavilion under a low hanging tree that looks like its melting, but Steve steps towards you and you stop immediately.

“You wanted to tell me something?” Steve says, and you look towards him, eyeing his expression. He looks like he truly wants to listen to you and hear what you have to say despite the business of his life.

“Yes, I uh-” You start before the balcony doors open, and a slicked-back mop of black hair enters the balcony, the sound of a voice that you wish you would never hear again causing your stomach to twist into a sharp knot.

Rumlow whispers towards the man stationed beside the balcony doors, relieving him from his position and instead taking his place. His eyes find your own frozen ones, a glint of a smirk pulling at his features and he raises his eyebrows mockingly.

Steve notices the sick look that falls over your face, his eyebrows scrunched up in confusion at the sudden change in your demeanour.

“Hey, hey, you alright?” Steve asks in worry, but you can't take your eyes off of Rumlows condescending smile, as if he had known you would be here, his eyes almost threatening you to tell Steve what he had done before the tap of his pistol causes you to swallow down the bile rising from your throat.

“I um, I uh” You stutter out, and Steve looks at you in worry, his hands coming up to steady you causing you to flinch automatically.

“Fuck” Mutters Steve under his breath and he quickly retracts his hand, he begins to say something but you can’t hear anything besides the ringing in your ear and the rhythmic tap of Rumlows gun.

You shake your head, hands in tight fists that cause indentations to form in your palm, Rumlow clocks his head to the side, behind Steve, giving you a silent warning

Careful.

And he walks through the balcony doors and back into Steves's office like he was never there.

You let out a constricted breath, squeezing your eyes shut before opening them to make sure he was truly gone, Steve gently murmurs your name, and you turn your attention back to him, meeting concerned eyes.

Steve's words finally break through the surface, and your grapes his arm, causing goosebumps to arise across your skin. Steve looks up at you in surprise, his large hand coming to wrap yours around his, feeling the rapid beat of your heart slamming against your chest.

‘Just focus on me, alright? Don’t worry about anything else, I just want your eyes on me, okay? Can you do that for me?” Steve whispers, and you nod slowly. Watching the swirls of blue and grey clash like waves within his eyes.

You stay like this for a while, until the rapid beat of your pulse slows to a rhythmic beat, but Steves keeps your arms wrapped around his own, and you hope to god he does feel the goosebumps arising on your skin.

“What happened just now?” Steve says after a beat, his brow locks falling over his face

“I uh, I don't know, I just starting feeling sick,” You say, teeth biting down onto your bottom lip in nervousness.

Any other time that excuse had worked, whether it be at work or family or any other instance when you felt the ground beneath threaten to give way. But the way Steve looks at you now, in that air of scepticism, it’s like he doesn't believe a single thing that left your mouth.

And it's like you've been called out, the embarrassment of lying causing you to look away.

Steve sighs before nodding,

“I’ll get one of my men to arrange your drive home,” Steve says

“Could you, could Bucky take me home instead?” You say, and Steve looks towards you, a glint of something in his eye as he looks through the windows of the balcony doors, eyes fixated on Bucky before replying with a strained sure.

You step towards the balcony doors, hand coming up to grasp the handle before Steve stops you

“We are going to have to talk about it eventually,” Steve says

“Talk about what?” You turn your head to meet Steves's gaze

“Talk about why you're scared shitless of Rumlow” Steve replies, and you towards him in open-mouthed shock.

How did he know?

Steves share a pointed look, “I see everything, even things that happen behind my back. When I see you later tonight, do me a favour?”

You nod quickly, shutting your open mouth.

“Don’t lie to me” Steve mutters, before opening the balcony doors for you, his hand pressed tight against the small of your back as his warmth tickles the side of your neck.

185 notes · View notes

scribbling-dragon · 1 year

Text

Crown of Antlers

Chapter 8: The Damned Kingdom

summary:

What’s the point in stars when you don’t even know their names?

(ao3 link)

(masterpost)

(6,463 words)

[reblogs are appreciated!]

Scott was…satisfied with the outcome of their meeting. It had lasted longer than he first anticipated when he visited the marshy lands of the Cod Empire, but that extra time spent was not for naught. The Codfather is certainly the character that every other empire swears he is – quoting him as impulsive and reckless, yet passionate and only ever acting on what he thinks is for the best – though Scott had very few opportunities to ever observe him properly.

The rumours are somewhat accurate. Some are so incredibly outside of reality that he cannot help but laugh at them; Cormac had agreed with him on those, xir disbelief at some of the more unsavoury rumours surrounding Jimmy had certainly overstepped some boundaries. And Scott places all of his money on those rumours being started by Jimmy’s Council.

Such thoughts are only at the back of his mind as he stands, rather patiently, and allows Axen to flutter around him anxiously. His advisor pulls at some of the layers of clothing, muttering about the heat as they run their hands over the fabric of his cloak, smoothing it out so it sits more comfortably on his shoulders.

Only when they reach to adjust his gloves does he halt them, circling one hand gently around their wrist and pulling it away.

“I do believe I am capable of adjusting my gloves myself, if I see fit.”

“If you were trusted on matters like ensuring you are presentable, then we would have you arriving in Mezalea looking like you had been hauled through several bramble bushes.”

“You overexaggerate.” He almost rolls his eyes at Axen’s fussing, only pausing because he’s rather certain they’d smack him for the disrespect. Aeor stands further back in the room, not having said anything; and yet He still manages to positively radiate amusement.

As a child, Scott had been a firm believer that animals were less adapted to communicate feelings based on expressions. Deer, he found, were rather inexpressive unless you studied their eyes or body language closely. Aeor destroyed all of those beliefs, presenting him with the knowledge that a deer can look incredibly smug when it wants to.

“I most certainly do not,” Axen protests, attempting to adjust something else with their still free hand before Scott manages to capture that one too. He can hear several elves snickering behind him, like the children they often are. “Do you not remember the most recent Mythland coronation? How you and your brother had to be wrangled into looking halfway presentable? There were so many resignations over the course of your fittings I worried there would be no tailors left to finish your clothes.”

“Again,” he releases Axen’s hands and steps back, carefully outside of fussing range. “You overexaggerate.”

Axen looks like they're going to continue. Scott ignores them easily, turning to where the rest of his Court stands, all of them abruptly straightening up as though that would disguise how they’ve been stood there snickering for the past few minutes as Scott was subjected to the torment of Axen’s last-minute fretting.

“I assume we are all ready to depart?” He clasps his hands neatly in front of him, feeling rather than seeing Aeor come to stand at his shoulder. The warm breath of the deer brushes over his cheek as he surveys the elves in front of him. Their luggage consists of only the bare minimum, Scott warning them that they were not to impose upon their hosts for the duration of their stay. “Fantastic,” he doesn’t wait for a response. “Now, I know a few of you dislike this method of transportation, but it beats having to travel by horse, hm?”

There’s a small round of assenting hums and quiet yeses, though no-one looks particularly pleased about the concept.

“Then we shan’t delay any further-“

“Sire,” Leukos interrupts him, looking rather out of place in the stark light of day rather than the muted tones of their library. “Please, let’s not make a grand entrance out of this? I don’t think any of us can cope with it after the last time.”

“Last time was not as bad as you all made it out to be,” he scoffs. He’d been a lot younger, and far more inexperienced with this specific talent. It had not been his finest moment, but at least he hadn’t been left to suffer it alone. “And I can promise, this time will be far less embarrassing.”

He ignores the murmured comment from Cormac about seaweed and fish, closing his eyes instead and feeling for the humming in the air around him. It reaches out to him easily, aided by Aeor’s close proximity.

It responds quickly, the sound of crackling ice travelling over stone reaching his ears. He tugs a little harder, a little harsher, and the sound of wind roars up around them, buffeting his clothes and drowning out any other noise.

It disappears just as quickly, leaving a wave of warmth behind it as he peeks first one eye and then the second eye open, looking around at the red sands of Mezalea gleefully.

“See?” He turns to his slightly dazed Court, a few of them looking rather pale. “What did I say, nice, non-dramatic entrances.”

“I think you’ll find that’s still rather dramatic.” Someone kicks at the ground behind him, and he turns with a smile to greet the Mezalean King. He’s nudging at the edge of the frozen ring of sand disdainfully, before looking up at Scott. “How am I meant to clear this up? Your ice doesn’t melt.”

“It will eventually.”

“Eventually isn’t good enough,” the King crosses his arms, looking more annoyed than angry. “I quite liked this bit of ground. Nice, not too much sun, not too much shade. A rather pretty spot with a good view. And now it’s covered in ice. What am I meant to do with all this ice?”

“You could use it as ice cubes in drinks.” Scott suggests.

“Ah, yes,” the man nods along, looking thoughtful. “A new trend – take the ice from the sand and put it in your drinks. It won’t ruin it at all, with the bits of sand stuck in it, why would you ever suggest such a thing?”

“Do you make it a habit to harass all of your guests?” He asks, voice dry. The warm air is beginning to make him feel overdressed in all of his layers, something that is normally not a problem suddenly rearing it’s head and making him feel uncomfortable in the heat.

“Just you,” the King smiles up at him. “Special treatment for my favourite person.”

Mezalea and Rivendell have never had great relations. What had started out as Mezalea distrusting anything magical, had quickly turned into them vehemently denying the existence of any magic. It was enough to break off the alliance between his great-grandfather and the King of Mezalea that had been ruling at the time. Such an event has been misconstrued and even stricken from records, leaving the actual cause of such a falling out to become blurred over time. The resentment has faithfully been upheld, however.

“Why, I thank you for your generous hospitality,” he presses a hand to his chest, bowing himself forward a little. He notices, with slight glee, that it does nothing to put them at eye level. “Though, some of us have a little baggage. Is there anywhere we would be able to leave this?”

“Your rooms are with everyone else’s,” the King jabs a thumb over his shoulder, gesturing towards the steady flow of people heading in one direction. It’s an interesting mix of people, with all the different colours and clothes of other empires mixing in together. He sees a few flashes of House Blossom lavender and whirling Grimland greys and blacks. “Someone’s waiting for you to arrive, and they’ll guide you to your rooms.”

He sounds bored, like he’s rattled the speech off a thousand times already. He likely has, judging by the sheer number of people that have arrived. Scott thought he might be pushing it by bringing the entirety of his Court, but his group seems like the smallest here.

…Ah, well. It simply means other people have a higher chance of embarrassing their empire.

He has to shove his way through the crowd none too gently, most of the people standing and speaking to their friends rather than actually moving towards their destination. Really, he cannot understand how someone can bear to move so slowly, inching along at a snail’s pace – do they not realise walking faster means they reach their destination earlier?

The “rooms” with everyone else that the Mezalean King had mentioned is actually several buildings specifically built with the idea of hosting people in mind. Rivendell hosts it’s guests in the Palace, with a specific quarter dedicated to visiting dignitaries and diplomats.

But Mezalea’s Palace is rather unfinished still. He can see workers scurrying over one of the domed roofs like ants, passing materials and clambering over the scaffolding. He hasn’t kept track of how many years this project has taken, but it’s something that had been ongoing for several generations of rulers at this point. It was being handed down like some kind of inheritance, but one that acted as a burden on their resources rather than anything actually useful.

Still, he much prefers sleeping in something with a completed roof, so he’ll take the accommodation they’ve been provided with happily.

“Elvenking,” one of the workers greets him. “And other esteemed guests. I hope the journey wasn’t too difficult.” The poor woman looks bored out of her mind, eyes drifting around the room as though looking for something more entertaining to occupy herself with. He wonders if they had to draw straws for which group they would receive. And which empire had the shortest straw assigned to them.

“Oh, it wasn’t too terrible.” He smiles, “A little cold, certainly, but nothing we aren’t already accustomed to.”

“That’s wonderful to hear.” Her tone of voice suggests she couldn’t care less. “Right this way, please.”

They're guided up a grand and winding staircase in the centre of the room. He may dislike everything Mezalea stands for, but they really can make a rather grand staircase. She stops them on the second floor, handing out keys she fishes out of her pockets seemingly at random.

She disappears a moment later, a shout from downstairs summoning her. She gives him what he assumes is meant to be an apologetic smile, but comes across as more of a grimace before she descends again, leaving him alone with his Court.

With the outsider gone, they begin squabbling again over who is sharing rooms with who. And then it devolves into squabbling over which rooms they wish to be in. He sighs and reaches for Cormac when xe look as though xe are about to wrestle a key from Ophelia. He admires xir bravery, but he prefers his Head Mage in one piece.

“Alright,” he yanks the keys towards himself, pulling them together with the minimal cold lingering in the shaded corridors. His grasp over it is weaker than usual, driven by Mezalea’s refusal to acknowledge anything other. Disregarding the fact that their land is nourished by a magical tree. “I will be assigning rooms to each of you, seeing as you are unable to keep your manners intact for more than five seconds.”

He pauses at the sound of footsteps on the staircase behind them, turning his head slightly to watch the Crystal Cliffs diplomat meander their way on up, eyes set in a far-off look, not even seeing them. He waits until they're gone, far out of earshot, before he returns to berating the elves in front of him.

“You are representing Rivendell right now, I do not care that this is a celebration of an engagement. You will not be getting drunk and making a fool out of yourself where the other empires can watch you. Whilst we are here, we are the ones that make Rivendell look good and I will not hesitate to send you home if I think you are not taking this seriously enough, alright?”

“You sound like our mother.” Calla comments, snickering as he turns to look at them. “Sorry, sorry, I was just saying what everyone else was thinking.”

“Alright,” he takes a deep breath in, reminding himself that he would definitely be heard by everyone else in the building if he raised his voice any more. “Ground rules, yes? Those are always a good way to make sure there is no confusion on what I expect from you, is that clear?”

“Aeor above,” Cormac mutters, “he really is acting like our mother.”

Scott gracefully ignores xem. “I expect you to exercise the entirety of your court training, meaning I expect there to be impeccable manners and for you to be polite. Please, I beg of you, be polite. I do not need to be defusing any situations because you riled up the wrong person and their ruler took it personally. And,” he overrides Sorin before he can even think to protest, “I do not care if someone else started it. You are all much, much older than them and therefore know better. You might act like children, but you are certainly not, so please, be the mature adult if someone else is determined to be the child.”

“You take all the fun outta these things,” Cormac huffs. “What’s a little scuffle between friends?”

“It’s the difference between keeping peace and stoking conflict.” There’s enough conflict looming in their future, he hardly needs anything more on his plate. He has been bored as of late, but overworking himself in an effort to maintain semi-peaceful relations is not the solution for that boredom that he envisioned. “Now, room assignments.”

He hands the keys out to people, ignoring Cormac’s protests when he pairs xem with Axen rather than Leukos. He silently apologises to his advisor, but Cormac needs someone to keep an eye on xem, and he certainly doesn’t need to hear whatever it is that xe do with xir boyfriend.

Leukos accepts it quietly and with far more grace than their partner. That is the way that he expects his Court to behave while in the public eye.

He manages to have a room entirely to himself, slotting the key neatly into the lock and ignoring the beginnings of another squabble behind him. It might be his circus and his monkeys, but he is far past his threshold of tolerance for the day, and it’s barely past noon.

It is with a barely restrained sigh of relief that he shuts the door behind him, blocking out the worst of the noise.

His room is nice, spacious enough for his three-day stay here, at least. He sets his bag down at the foot of the bed and pulls his cloak off a moment later, feeling far too warm still.

“You should bring fewer of them next time,” Aeor says.

“Yes, yes,” Scott sighs, shaking his head. “I expected them to be better than this really, I would have thought our last incident would be enough to dissuade them from acting in such a manner.”

When he looks up, Aeor is wavery and opaque, almost entirely see through with how little of Him seems to retain a solid form. He wisps away into smoke and mist at the edges, looking for all the world as though He would disappear with a small breeze.

“You should not hold a physical form if it will be a drain on you.”

“It does not drain me,” Aeor sniffs. “It simply weakens me. As though I am stood on the other side of a door rather than in the room with you.”

“Not exactly a comforting metaphor.” He comments. “Nor one that fills me with any kind of hope.”

“It was not meant to make you feel more hopeful, only to make it so that you understand the situation. To send you forward with false information would be foolish, if you were to find yourself wedged into a corner, you may reach for power you do not have access to.”

“Yes, whatever,” he sits down on the bed with a thump, toying with the edges of his gloves. He almost takes them off, just to see what Mezalea is doing to his hands. “I thought it had been getting better? When we visited for the coronation-”

“The current King’s claim over the land was not fully settled,” Aeor interrupts. He flickers out of view for a moment before He consolidates Himself into a deer once more. “The Mother Tree was still recovering from the loss of her previous child, and he was still growing accustomed to the matters of the throne. It is not surprising that whatever protection She has placed was not yet functioning at its fullest potential.”

He sighs, staring down at his upturned hands. “Shame.”

“Oh?” Aeor’s hooves do not make a sound against the tiled floor as He steps closer, but Scott can see the sparks of frost that sparkle for a moment before fading away. “Did you have something planned?”

“I don’t always have something planned,” he rebuts. “I had simply thought that Her protection for the land was failing – She could have been dying for all we know. Can you imagine the state of things if she simply began withering and nothing could be done for it?”

Aeor hums. “I see your point. However, if it got to that point, someone would be able to bring in a mage to heal Her. If the She begins to die, so too does her protection. If that protection dies, then magic can once again be performed on these soils.”

“Hm.”

“You can simply tell me to stop talking if you grow bored,” Aeor’s nose nudges at him. Where he would normally feel a slightly wet sensation and the pressure that comes with being touched, he only feels the whisper of cold over his skin before it disappears again. “I do not wish to lull you to sleep.”

“I am simply thinking.”

“About what?” Aeor asks, ever persistent. Scott has seen His realm before, on the few occasions he’s been invited into that landscape; it’s possibly the most boring place he’s ever seen, with everything a sterile white and glowing slightly, stretching on for miles and miles of nothing but the same white expanse. He would prefer to bother whatever Champion he had chosen too. “No, don’t tell me, actually, allow me to guess.”

“I don’t need to tell you if you're right.”

“You can’t bear to let someone go uncorrected. Now, let’s see if I can get it with my first guess: you're attempting to decide whether to go looking for your dearest ally.”

He continues to stare at his gloved hands, but his non-answer is apparently enough to amuse Aeor. The faint sound of bells fills the air as Aeor laughs, shaking His massive head in disbelief. “Are you sure he is right for it?”

“I am rather sure,” Scott replies. “He’s been around for several years, settled comfortably into his power and influence for just as long.”

“And yet you never interacted with him before now.”

“Interacting with him wasn’t something that mattered. I was simply watching him. He is a rather interesting being, don’t you think?”

“Oh, there are many interesting things about the Codfather. Which one is it that you wish to discuss with me?”

“None of them.”

“Not even his purpose? Not even the reason why you had chosen to accept his proposal when it promises nothing but calamity for you? Did you think about the possible repercussions of your actions before you agreed to assist him in his ill-planned revenge plot, or were you simply considering what he could do for you?”

“You make me sound so shallow.” He complains.

“I did not call you shallow, I am saying that you rarely do anything without some ulterior motive. Forgive me for being doubtful of your motives in this situation.”

“You already know the motives.”

“Do I now?” Aeor laughs, again. “I may know a lot of what goes on inside of your head, but I don’t know everything, dear Champion. Are you sure your mind will remain clear during this alliance, and that it won’t be…polluted by whatever infatuation he has with you.”

“Infatuation is so offensive.”

“And what else would you call it? He has watched you at every single meeting for the last few years – the entire time he has held the title of Codfather, he has seemed to hold some level of attraction to you.”

“I am aware.”

“And do you intend to act on that?” Aeor continues to prod. His voice hasn’t changed at all, but the tension in the air grows, becoming heavy like the moments before it begins to snow. “Guiding someone because they find themselves attracted to you is a new low, even for you.”

“Ouch.” He presses a hand to his chest, curling over it slightly. “Right through the heart, that one. You wound me, really.”

“I would find that easier to believe if you injected even a little emotion into that.” Aeor pauses, as though waiting for his response, before sighing, “Mortals are fragile little things, their hearts especially so. Did you know they can die from a broken heart?”

“I am just as capable of doing so.”

“Which is why I am warning you of this.” Aeor forces his way into Scott’s field of view, forcing him to look his God in the eye. “You are valuable to me, no matter the outcome of this plan, but seafolk are a fickle species, as prone to change as the tides are. Do not let yourself be led astray by your heart when you have more important matters to focus on.”

“I am not being led astray, sometimes I am able to act upon my feelings without compromising anything. It’s called balancing something. Have you ever heard of it?”

“I have yet to see you successfully put it into practice.”

“Gods, sometimes I am almost glad my mother died. I don’t know how I would cope with two of you attempting to mother me at once.”

Aeor makes an offended noise at that and promptly disappears, leaving Scott to stew in silence until the celebration in the evening – he doesn’t understand the point of holding a celebration for their engagement when they're getting married tomorrow.

Apparently it’s a Mezalean tradition. Everything wrong with the world seems to be a Mezalean tradition.

=== === ===

He has discovered that it does not cool down once the sun sets. He had been hoping for some relief from the stifling heat once the sun disappeared below the horizon, but no such relief has been granted thus far.

The stone all around them seems to radiate heat, having absorbed it during the long day and only now releasing it into the environment. He can be a little thankful, at least, about the celebration being hosted outside. He cannot imagine it would be pleasant inside one of those furnace homes at this time.

It seems they often host celebrations outside, at least, as there is an entire courtyard outfitted to host a part of thrice their size. He’s heard tales of the parties the King is apparently willing to throw, with noise complaints coming in from their neighbours due to how late these celebrations seem to run.

Scott can’t think of one thing that Mezalea has done recently worth celebrating.

He and his Court arrive a few minutes late, just enough to not be the first people there and thus awkwardly standing around as they wait for more people to arrive, but not late enough to offend their hosts. One of which already holds some resentment towards him.

Jimmy does not hold the same qualms as his allies, brightening up as he sees Scott entering the courtyard, passing beneath an intricately weaved flower archway. It’s rather impressive, unfortunately.

Jimmy waves at him, turns back to his allies, and then breaks away from the group to come towards Scott. Huh. He had expected Jimmy to stick with his allies, perhaps to keep the peace for the evening when one of his closest allies holds so much obvious disdain for him. Apparently, though, he has no such qualms about displaying their not-yet announced allyship.

It seems this evening will be the time where this alliance is announced informally. The entire courtyard of people seem to hold their breath as Jimmy comes to a stop in front of him, tilting his head back slightly to look up at him.

“You clean up nicely,” Scott compliments, if only to watch the way Jimmy immediately averts his eyes and goes a little pink in the cheeks. Cormac makes a gagging sound behind him.

“Ah, you look nice too.” Jimmy responds, still averting his eyes. Scott makes eye contact with the Mezalean King for long enough to see him roll his eyes hard enough that he almost falls over. He’s only saved by his fiancée grabbing onto his arm and keeping him upright. She sends a tight smile in Scott’s direction. “I like the, uh, gloves.”

Scott looks down at his gloves. They're different to the more practical leather ones he usually wears, these ones more delicate and made from silk. He turns his hands over slightly, looking at the gloves from all angles, as though he’s never seen them before.

“Thank you.”

“Ah-hah, yeah,” Jimmy pauses. “Did you want a drink?”

“A drink would be lovely, thank you.” Jimmy nods at his response and promptly flees, getting to the nearest refreshments table as quickly as possible without running and looking like an idiot.

“Must you stand and stare at him the entire time?” He turns on his Court, switching to elvish so he can berate them in relative privacy. “He is nervous and you watching on like a flock of hungry vultures hoping for a good meal does not help.”

“He’s pathetic,” Calla says, with some amazement in their voice. “Like a little, cold cat. One you’d find on the side of the road in a cardboard box because no-one else wanted him, and then you can’t help but be drawn in by his sad eyes and general pathetic aura-”

“Thank you, Calla.” He interrupts. “I think we got the idea.”

“Only doing my job.” They chirp, before disappearing as well. Ophelia follows behind them with a quick promise to look after the youngest of their party.

“The walls are thin,” is Cormac’s parting statement before xe leave with Leukos, the librarian giving him an amused look as they link their arm with Cormac’s. He grimaces a little at the thought that forces into his mind, doing his best to banish it before Jimmy returns.

He just about manages, focusing instead on the different details of his outfit – all the ways it differs from what he normally wears. It doesn’t help much, drawing his attention to the cut-out windows of fabric that frames his hips, leaving very little to the imagination.

He averts his eyes, taking his drink from Jimmy with a murmured thanks and immediately downing half of it.

“I didn’t know you liked Mezalean wine so much,” Jimmy laughs, cradling his own drink close to his chest.

“I don’t.” He responds, reminded immediately of why he dislikes it so much when the sourness of it floods his mouth. It’s something to do with the type of berries used and the way it’s fermented out in the heat rather than in a cellar. He had searched for answers after the first drink that had left him feeling discontented rather than elated, a sour taste invading his senses rather than a sweet one.

He drinks a little more of it, if only to ignore the way that Jimmy’s hair has been braided intricately, enough so that he wouldn’t have been able to do it himself and thus would have required outside help…

“Do you know when the dancing starts?” He interrupts his own thoughts with the first question that comes to mind, hand tightening momentarily around his glass, before he looks at Jimmy again.

“Uh, pretty soon.” Jimmy’s eyes meet his, darker than usual in the rapidly approaching nighttime. “I think. I didn’t really ask, actually. Do you want me to?”

“No, no,” he sips at his wine again, unable to help the nervous response. “I was simply wondering if you would like to dance with me when it does start.”

“That’s a rather formal way of asking me, don’t you think?” Jimmy tilts his head to the side, still smiling in that utterly disarming way of his. Everything about Jimmy sets him at odds with himself, leaving him off-kilter and utterly unsure of how to respond to him. “What happened to spur-of-the-moment actions?”

Jimmy must certainly know what he’s doing, watching him from beneath thick eyelashes, idly rubbing his thumb back and forth over the rim of his glass. It’s horrible etiquette to hold your glass in such a manner, but Scott ignores it easily as the wine he’s just drunk turns thick and syrupy in his throat, threatening to choke him if he doesn’t swallow and glance away for a moment.

“I am of the kind to plan my movements out with immense detail. To impose a plan onto someone else without their consent when the purpose is for enjoyment would not be…productive.”

“Wow,” Jimmy blinks, once, then twice. “Did you eat a dictionary before you got here or something?”

“I- no?” He has to resist taking another sip of the wine to fill the silence, regretting the several mouthfuls he’s already had as sourness continues to coat his tongue. Jimmy’s sincereness makes him feel almost dizzy, the sour taste in his mouth intensifying the longer the silence drags on. It’s been no more than a second before he speaks again. “Why would I choose to eat a dictionary? The paper would certainly be rather unpleasant-”

“It’s a saying,” Jimmy laughs. “A joke, I thought it was funny.”

“I am aware. I was responding to your joke with sarcasm, re-emphasising how ridiculous and outlandish your initial statement was.”

“Alright,” Jimmy holds a hand up, his wine sloshing dangerously close to the edges of his glass, threatening to spill over. Scott jerks back, imagining that wine staining his pristine incredibly white clothes. “There’s something up with you, you don’t speak like this outside of meetings.”

“This is technically a meeting.”

“This is a party.” Jimmy sighs, looking immediately like a kicked puppy- and Aeor dammit, he can see the pathetic cat comparison Calla made earlier. He’s never getting that out of his head now, Aeor above. “You're meant to have fun, relax and all that.”

“I am aware.” He swallows, the sour taste in his mouth persisting. Aeor wavers into being behind Jimmy, just over his shoulder, before disappearing again. Scott’s not even certain that he actually saw Aeor and that it wasn’t just some figment of his imagination. Some kind of reminder. “Parties…aren’t my thing.”

“Not…your thing?” Jimmy tries the words out while Scott tries not to shrivel up from embarrassment. The party hasn’t even truly started yet, and he already can’t stand to be enclosed within this courtyard for much longer. These things are far easier when he’s the one hosting them and able to disappear to a secret corridor for a few moments.

“Please don’t speak so loud,” he presses a hand to his head, rubbing at his temples. “It’s not something good for my image.”

“One of my Elders is already drunk.”

“That is besides the point.” His Court knows he’ll strangle them if they get drunk here. “Though I do extend my condolences.”

“Thanks.”

The music bursts to life between sentences, catching both him and Jimmy off-guard by the sudden surge in sound around them. Lights flicker on, too, bright and colourful. It sets a cheery atmosphere that is only bolstered by the happy couple already on the dance floor, hands entwined and practically leaning against each other.

“That’s definitely loud,” Jimmy laughs, releasing Scott’s sleeve. He hadn’t even realised Jimmy was holding onto him. “Jo- uh, he was worried about it not being loud enough.” Jimmy nods his head towards the Mezalean King.

“I think he can be assured that it is plenty loud enough.” He grimaces as a particularly high note is hit, burrowing into his skull in just the worst way possible. He’s been nursing a headache ever since they arrived in this damned place, reeling from the almost complete severance from Aeor’s presence and suffering with the heat that permeates this entire place.

“Why don’t we get out of here?”

Scott looks down at Jimmy, narrowing his eyes. “How will they feel about their most treasured ally leaving them?”

“They won’t notice,” Jimmy says. “Really!” He insists, when Scott continues to look doubtful. “C’mon, they're all wrapped up in each other, all cutesy. I think we’ll be lucky if they notice when the music stops. They're not gonna miss me.”

“That’s rather hard to imagine.”

“I know the best places around here, too.” Jimmy assures, jerking oddly, before slowly reaching his hand out. He offers it palm up, hiding the scales that dot the back of his hand from view. Scott’s own hand hovers over the top of Jimmy’s for a moment, not quite touching, not quite closing the gap between their palms.

His hands are cold. Always have been and likely always will be. There is no way around that fact, and he’s learned to be rather grateful with the gifts that have been bestowed upon him. The leather of his normal gloves does much to disguise the chill that radiates from him, but the silken gloves he currently wears will do nothing to block that.

Jimmy’s hand is bare, warm and inviting below his frigid palm.

He joins their hands together with a held breath, preparing for Jimmy to shout and jerk away at the burning cold of their hands meeting. For him to draw the attention of the crowd towards them, exposing them for their…whatever their small moment in the corner of a party is. He feels almost embarrassed at the thought that people have laid eyes upon them in these moments that they’ve shared.

Jimmy doesn’t react. His fingers curl around Scott’s hand, humming happily as he uses their joined hands as a way to pull Scott along behind him.

They duck back beneath the weaved archway, the fragrant petals brushing over them as they sneak through like children sneaking out. He hunches over awkwardly to fit his antlers beneath the bushes, twisting his head and neck so he doesn’t get caught on the bush.

The Mezalean King certainly didn’t take him into consideration when designing this ridiculous thing. Possibly on purpose, now that he thinks about it, hoping to catch him acting a fool and stuck in the vines like some stupid animal.

“Welcome,” Jimmy glances back at him, eyes reflecting the lights from the engagement party. Scott couldn’t care less about the engagement party right now, or the fact that his advisors could be doing whatever they please with themselves without a care for how it reflects on him. All he can think about is the way that the lights reflect in Jimmy’s eyes and make it seem as though he’s cradling the entire night sky in them. “To my favourite spot in the entirety of Mezalea.”

It doesn’t take much for Scott to realise why this is his favourite spot, looking around himself first, before glancing upwards, and…

The sky is breath-taking. The polar lights are missing here, their colours not filling the sky in the same way, but the shimmering canvas of velvet blue and pale cream is enough to leave him in awe, head craned back so he can take the entirety of it in.

“Fan of the stars?”

“I appreciate them on occasion.” He replies, returning Jimmy’s smile more easily now that they are alone. The wisp of Aeor’s presence at the back of his mind disapproves, but it’s easy enough to brush Him away, as weak as He currently is.

“And by appreciate I assume you mean study them intensively?” Jimmy questions, poking further into him with a smile. The ease with which Jimmy now talks to him, almost an entirely different person to the one that had first approached him with the proposition of an alliance, is exhilarating. He can’t seem to get enough of it.

Maybe there is something wrong with him.

“No, no,” he shakes his head, glancing down for a moment, if only to make his head stop spinning. The sight of his hand in Jimmy’s doesn’t help with that. “My brother was far fonder of the stars than I was; they could name every single one within sight, tell you all the stories they held. It was fantastic, the idea that someone looked at the very same stars I did, and found some kindred spirit in those lights that can only watch over us.”

“Ah,” Jimmy clears his throat, hand beginning to retreat from where Scott grasps it. “I'm sorry.”

He tightens his hand around Jimmy’s, unwilling to release this new warmth that he’s found himself. “Whatever for?”

“Your brother,” Jimmy refuses to look at him, strands of hair drifting over his face as he glances downwards. Scott only barely resists the urge to brush it away, reminding himself that Jimmy is a skittish thing, even if he boasts confidence with everything he says, and too much may scare him away for good. “I didn’t mean to re-open old wounds.”

“Ah, yes, well.” The sour taste of the wine returns, though he had been certain that the lingering flavour of it had long disappeared. “It has been a rather long time since then. I choose not to dwell.”

Jimmy’s silence speaks volumes.

Scott sighs, “I do not believe they would wish for me to mope every time I sit and look at the stars. Perhaps they would not be proud of the person I have become, but they would not wish such grief upon me for so long. Such a burden would send anyone to the grave.”

“I’m still sorry.”

“And I am telling you there is no need.” He squeezes Jimmy’s hand, and waits until he feels the tension in his shoulders loosen again. He looks up at the stars again, studying. No matter how many times he looks, he can never find the same stories that his brother had told him in hushed whispers. “I think they would have liked the stars tonight.”

#juno.writes #crown of antlers au #scott smajor #jimmy solidarity #empires smp #empires smp fic #flower husbands #empires smp s1 #empires scott #empires jimmy #solidaritygaming #solidarity gaming

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land-surveying · 8 months

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Mastering Precision | The Essence of Reality Capture Surveying

Immerse yourself in the future of surveying accuracy through Reality Capture Surveying. Experience a groundbreaking approach to data collection, crafting detailed three-dimensional representations with unmatched precision. Elevate your projects with the innovative expertise of industry leaders. Discover a new realm of accuracy in surveying with our cutting-edge solutions.

#land surveying #reality capture surveying

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strayheartless · 6 months

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The edge of no return: a Sephgen ficlet

Inspired by this piece of art by @00000133330311

⚠️ warning for: slight blood; canon typical descriptions of war, nothing graphic but you have been warned; illusions to human experimentation but now explored; mentions of a panic attack; hyperventilation.

I think that’s it but let me know if I’ve missed something.

***

Genesis doesn’t admit to being afraid of Sephiroth very often. The knowledge that he almost always is is sickening at the best of times. It feels weak, pathetic. He is Genesis fucking Rhapsodos he is not weak. Even still… outside of his prideful stubbornness there are times when Sephiroth truly does frighten him.

This… is one of those times.

The battlefield in-front of them is cluttered with bodies. Some dead, some alive. All covered in a thick layer of mud, blood and sweat. Soldiers both Wutai and Shinra picking through the dead to make note of the families they will have to inform of their own loss.

Genesis knows better than most that he has no right to mourn the dead. He is their commander. He, in many ways, is their executor. Yet mourn their loss he does. Even after years of distancing himself from his fellow men to ease the blow. It never gets easier.

Above the scorched field, stood on the rising mound of destroyed tanks and ATV’s Sephiroth surveyed the scene, Masimune in hand; blood splattering his face. In the heat of the battle Genesis had lost track of him. It hadn’t mattered at the time; Sephiroth was an immovable force, he would not be struck down. Now however Genesis felt that loosing sight of him had perhaps cost too many their lives.

“He’s been stood up there for at least an hour, “ said a deep voice behind him. He didn’t have to turn to know it was Angeal.

Genesis hummed, slightly too afraid to move.

“You know he won’t come down from the high unless you bring him down Gena.” Angeal moves to brush some dirt from his friends face. A reassurance that falls on deaf ears.

“You assume I wield any kind of power over him at all…” he resorts, but there’s no real bite to his words. Angeal knows as well as Genesis does that Sephiroth has only and will only come back to reality if Genesis is the one to guide him there. It had always been that way. Genesis doesn’t ever want to think about what would happen if he were to use that ability for evil. That power of his could level planets.

Years from now the irony of that thought will haunt him to his dying day. Years from now he will be slapped by the goddesses chosen for how he chose to use his power over the Demon of Wutai in the end.

Right now though, he didn’t feel powerful… he felt afraid.

“You give yourself too little credit.” Angeal places a hand on his shoulder. “He has only ever listened to you,”

“How is the puppy?” He hedges.

Angeal snorts softly. “Kind of you to care,” he’s not letting Genesis get away with it but he is indulging him for at least a second or two.

“I’ve always cared,” Genesis snaps. “I know I don’t engage! I know they all think me rude and self centred, but I care!” Angeal hushed him, placatingly.

“I know Gena, I’m sorry.” He grips the back of Genesis’ neck and some of the tension leaks out of him. “He’s a little traumatised I think. You remember how it was, the shock of capture that comes after your first battle. He’s dealing with the shattered hero illusion, but he’ll be okay,”

“Keep an eye on him,”

“I always do. Now stop stalling,” with a shove Angeal pushes Genesis in the direction of the vehicle mound. He knew he wouldn’t get away with it long.

There was nothing else to concentrate on but Sephiroth. His eerie, deadly, stillness; his piercing gaze as it presided like a hawk over the landscape, looking for a single twitch or spasm in the mound of bodies to descend upon. To snuff out.

It hadn’t always been this bad. Genesis remembered a time when they were fifteen (perhaps Sephiroth had been a shade younger,) when the deadened staring had held great grief in it. When Genesis had more so had to stop the shaking than claw him back from the murderous haze.

Something had changed around nineteen though. He and Angeal had not long made FIRST class when Sephiroth had been ordered into the lab for a week and comeback different somehow.

He still slept by Genesis’ side, still flirted in that awkwardly adorable and very Sephiroth kind of way. He was still Sephiroth, he was still the man Genesis fell in love with. But every now and then there was something, a dimming of sorts in the back of his eyes that turned into a void when he had a weapon in his hands. There had been training room incidents that had left many injured at best.

The only person he had never hurt had been Genesis himself. There was no explanation to it, and if Hojo were asked it was a defect in Sephiroth’s training, but he never got that voided look when he was focused on Genesis. One day, that wouldn’t save him from Sephiroth’s blade. But that day will be his own fault.

“My love,” Genesis called softly, picking his way up sharp blasted out metal. “My love can you look at me?”

There was no reaction from Sephiroth, not to Genesis’ words at least. A movement to the left of him made him twitch and swivel his head to the noise. In any other situation it would have amused Genesis. He could always imagine Sephiroth chittering like a cat watching the birds when he was intent on watching something. Now he looked larger more dangerous. One wrong move and he’d pin Genesis under his paw.

“Sephiroth,” he says closer now. His voice wavered and he cleared his throat. “Look at me,” Genesis took Sephiroth’s face in his hands.

“Listen to what I’m telling you. The battle is finished, you can come back.”

Nothing.

“SOLDIER first class, Sephiroth!” Sephiroth jerks. Genesis hates ding that to him, but it gets the job done. Sephiroth looked at his face but didn’t quite see it.

“The battle is over dear heart. Come back to me.” Genesis ran his thumb through the blood on his face. None of it was his own. It did not take the once over Genesis gave him anyway to know that he wasn’t hurt.

His lovely hair was drenched in red, it would stain for a day or two, but that just meant more time helping him wash it. It was something Genesis always liked doing.

“Gen?” Sephiroth murmured to him. his eyes were still clouded, but it was now with the confused depersonalised terror. “What did I do?” He asked and as he did he started shaking.

“Nothing you were not supposed to,” Genesis said evasively. It wouldn’t do to further distress Sephiroth here. Sephiroth however, was insistent as ever.

“But I did do something?!” He started to breath heavier. “Please Genesis, please, what did I do.”

Genesis moves a hand to Sephiroth’s neck and pulls him down to touch foreheads.

“Shhhh, shh my Angel,”

Sephiroth did not cry. He never did. He did not cry, or make distressed noises, he just shook. Shook and stayed silent as Genesis tried to guide him back to himself.

***

From the ground, Angeal looked up at them, Zack under his arm as the boy came down from his second panic attack since the battle ended.

“They look like Angels of death,” he whispered to Angeal solemnly.

The man could only sigh and squeeze the boys Shoulder. He couldn’t blame Zack for viewing them that way. Had they not been his friends he would have seen them exactly the same way. They were both the strongest SOLDIER’s Shinra had to offer. If Angeal was being truthful, they both had the potential to burn the world down.

But to him they were as they had always been. Two broken boy soldiers, too traumatised and broken down by the president and RnD to do more than cling to each other through the storm.

He feared the day one of them let go…

#ffvii #genesis rhapsodos #sephiroth #crisis core #ff7 #sephgen #genseph #sephesis #final fantasy 7 crisis core #ficlet #my writing

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reasonsforhope · 1 year

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"While mainstream media increasingly cover violence and legislative attacks against trans people, many scholars and activists worry that focusing just on violence and discrimination fails to capture the full experience of being trans.

Drawing on the success of movements like the Black Joy Project, which uses art to promote Black healing and community-building, trans activists are challenging one-dimensional depictions of their community by highlighting the unique joys of being transgender.

My research on trans parents affirms the reality of trans joy. From 2019 to 2021, I interviewed 54 transgender women — both current and prospective parents — from diverse racial and class backgrounds across the country.

I found that while many have navigated discrimination in their parenting journeys, they also have fulfilling parent-child relationships, often with the support of partners, families of origin and their communities.

Gender euphoria

Scholars and community members use the term gender euphoria to describe a “joyful feeling of rightness in one’s gender/sex.”

It diverges from the diagnosis of gender dysphoria, or a sense of conflict between assigned sex and gender identity typically associated with feelings of distress and discomfort.

Gender euphoria celebrates feeling comfortable with who you are and how you are perceived by the world.

Some people transition with a specific set of goals, while others discover new sources of joy and new facets of their identity over time.

Many of the trans women I interviewed expressed their gender euphoria in relation to their role as mothers. A Black trans woman in her 20s, whom I will call Gloria, experiences joy in being recognized as a mother.

“I love being called Mom. That’s the greatest thing,” she told me. “I love waking up every morning to see [my child’s] beautiful face. It keeps me motivated.” ...

For many trans people, transitioning opens up a new set of possibilities. When I asked Adriana, a trans Latina in her 30s, what it was like to come out as trans, she told me,

“I’ve never been happier. The happiest day of my life was when my daughter was born, and the second happiest day of my life was when I [started transitioning].”

Family and community connections

While some trans people do experience rejection from their families of origin, that is not true for the majority of the community.

In a 2015 national survey of over 27,700 trans adults, the U.S. Trans Survey, 60% of respondents reported having families who are supportive of their trans identity.

Trans women also form chosen families with friends, co-workers and other community members. Relationships with other trans people can have particularly positive effects on identity development and overall well-being, including emotional resilience, self-acceptance and a sense of connection.

Trans community care

In addition to caring for their biological and adopted children, the trans women I interviewed felt a responsibility to take care of their community.

Sometimes this care manifested as parent-child relationships, in which respondents provide financial or emotional support to LGBTQ+ youth.

Maggie, a white woman in her 50s, didn’t know she was a parental figure for her “queer kids” until they tagged her on Instagram to celebrate Mother’s Day.

“Someone might go, ‘Hey, can I stay on your sofa tonight? I’m having a hard time.’ Well, yeah, of course,” she said.

“Or they might hang around the shop [I work at], and only later it dawns on me, ‘Oh, this was the only place they could come and get affirmed and not feel weird.’” ...

Miriam, a white trans woman in her 60s, agreed that she has a lot to learn from younger trans people.

“A lot of my community today, people who I count as family and my beloveds, are not of my generation,” she said. ‘Beloveds’ is the term she uses to describe her platonic loved ones.

“I learn a lot from my beloveds in their 20s and 30s, who don’t have the same baggage I [dealt with] about how I could be and who I could be.”"

-via GoodGoodGood via The Conversation, July 14, 2023

#trans #transgender #transphobia #transmisogyny #lgbtq youth #queer elders #trans women #transfeminine #trans is beautiful #trans pride #gender dysphoria #gender euphoria #chosen family #good news #hope #hope posting #trans joy

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readingsquotes · 1 month

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What was available in terms of painkillers and anesthetic?

Dr. Yousaf:We had one medicine, ketamine, that prevented a lot of misery. It’s a sedative medicine we would never use in any other environment in the way that we used it there.

People came in with legs torn off and their skin burned off and visible bone-crushing wounds. Dr. Rana and I saw a 10-year-old who came in with no pelvic bone. The only relief we could give was to push ketamine—hoping it would sedate them until we had time to really assess what was going on. In the long term, we had very little to nothing. Outside of the trauma room, we were using ibuprofen and Tylenol often for full body skin burns.

Dr. Rana: People in there were just suffering 24 hours a day. All the time. There was just no way just to give them even brief relief.

....

During the press conference, you mentioned a pregnant woman you treated up until her death. What happened?

Dr. Yousaf: The first day I was in Al-Aqsa hospital, there was a mass casualty event. I want to say 15 or 20 people came in simultaneously. She was plopped down right next to me—belly down, initially—with full burns. Her hair had been burned away. Her face was completely burned. Seventy percent of the surface area of her body was burned. And the first thing we noticed during our primary survey, which is the kind of first quick glance, is that she had shattered her leg from an explosive injury. I could see the tendons.

Then we heard screaming in Arabic outside the door saying, She’s pregnant. She’s pregnant. It took me a minute to really process what they were saying because you couldn’t tell this patient’s age due to the burns. When we realized what was happening, we flipped her over and somebody put an ultrasound on her belly and noticed that she had a viable, kicking, 18-to-20 week old pregnancy.

When you hear of a pregnant lady, everybody’s sensitivity gets even sharper and we did what we could. She was rushed to the OR, got the orthopedic surgery, got taken care of. She ended up undergoing an amputation of the leg because there was no way that it was savable.

But every single doctor and nurse and health care provider realized an inevitable reality; she was going to die.

She ended up in the ICU for many days, where I cared for her as part of a team. Every day on rounds, we would pass by her bed. She moaned and groaned in pain the entire time. We could only provide her relief intermittently with very, very inadequate medications until the day came where we rounded on her and she was no longer in the bed. We all knew what that meant. The nurse said to me in Arabic that it was a mercy—for her and for her husband, who was with her the entire time. The guy never left her bedside. He watched her suffer. She suffered. And there was no happy ending there.

There are so many stories of the Gazan people that don’t have a happy ending. In the privilege we live in, we imagine: Yousaf is going to say that the baby was born and the baby lives on. No, no. The baby died. Her mother died. Her husband is now a widower with a lifelong trauma that he’ll never be able to overcome.

I don’t know if there are other family members. I don’t know who else died in the explosion.

In many cases, the bombs causing these injuries and deaths were likely made in America. And in some cases, the weapons may have been paid for by American taxpayers. How does that connect to your decision to come to Chicago?

Dr. Rana:There’s a lot of talk about ceasefire, and what everyone needs to understand is that we’re so far past the point of where a ceasefire should have happened. There’s so much destruction, death, devastation, annihilation, genocide, all of these things have continued to happen under our watch.

What we’re telling you as Americans who were there on the ground is that innocent people and an entire society is being decimated. We’re not only standing by and watching it, we are contributing to it. We are actively doing it. And it’s unbelievable to me. I just can’t understand how we continue to supply bombs then talk about a ceasefire. The hypocrisy of it is just astounding.

Was there a consensus among the doctors you were working with that you were witnessing a genocide?

Dr. Yousaf: There was no doubt.

Dr. Rana: Without a doubt.

Dr. Yousaf: I’d love to meet a doctor who was there for more than seven days who would say that what they saw wasn’t a genocide.

Dr. Rana:In terms of war crimes and things like that, we saw targeting of children. We saw young men targeted with rifle shots to their thighs to try to require amputation of their legs.

There were quadcopters targeting men in their groins and genitals. They would come in with no other injuries and would lose their testicles. They’re healthy young men, but they’ll never have kids. One of the surgeons I was speaking to said, This is the seventh one like this I’ve seen. This is something they do. A quadcopter comes in and just targets a young man.

I asked the urologist who was doing the operation, How many of these have you seen?

Too many to count, he said.

The reason I believe him is that when he finished reconstructing this young man, I was so amazed at his proficiency. This was obviously somebody who’d done a ton of this type of case. Either you’re trying to decimate the future of a society, or it’s just sick entertainment for sociopaths. And I don’t know which one it is.

#palestine #free palestine #gaza #isreal #genocide #colonization #apartheid #american imperialism #us politics #settler violence #settler colonialism

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skyloftian-nutcase · 1 year

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Hunting for Clues (Dad Squad)

(@nancyheart11 @telemna-hyelle @smilesrobotlover @skyward-floored + @ whoever else wants to be tagged)

The air was uncomfortably thick as a heavy blanket of moisture clung to Rusl's skin. It felt like summer in Ordon Village, except he was in no place to be stripping off his shirt and going swimming to cool off.

Well, swimming might be involved. It depended on if there was a clear path to their destination.

They were following a lead he'd gotten from a nearby village. After the cucco incident, all it took was some conversations to figure out that a local cave had suddenly become more dangerous, that people were being harassed and attacked when they approached it. It didn't take much to ascertain, then, that if the Yiga had a holdout nearby, and a cave was being guarded, it was likely that the group would find Yiga there.

Abel led the group, tense with anticipation. Fierce was last, surveying the area and watching their flank. Rusl kept his eyes alert, wiping the sweat on his brow with his headband. His heart beat hard and fast, not so much from the exertion of climbing along the hill as they followed the river, but in the hope that they would find Link. It had been far too long since his capture, and though Rusl tried to stay focused on the objective rather than worry, the anxiety had steadily been growing.

It had been too familiar, having one of his boys kidnapped. He hated it. He'd been eager to push forward and find him. But when he'd realized he was in a completely different Hyrule, he'd recognized that he'd have to take a step back and figure this out. But now they had a lead, and now there was tangible hope that he could get to his boy, and now nothing was going to stop him from getting there.

They eventually reached the waterfall that supposedly hid the cave's entrance, and Rusl walked up to stand beside Abel.

"No guards," Abel noted quietly, his voice barely audible over the crashing water.

Worry wormed its way around Rusl's heart and mind. Abel was right, after all - the reason they had learned of this place at all was because people had been warded away with violence. The fact that no one had even tried to stop them was telling - either they were walking into a trap, or their lead was an old one.

"I have not noticed any scouts, either," Fierce added as he caught up with them easily. "This does not bode well."

Rusl drew his sword. "Then we should be ready for anything. Let's go."

The water was refreshingly cool on his skin as he passed through, bowing his head as the weight and pressure briefly beat down on him. He opened his eyes again quickly, blinking water away and surveying the area.

The cave was enormous, with moss and glowing mushrooms lining the stone path leading far beyond where he could see. He grabbed a lantern and quickly lit it, leading his companions into the darkness.

Bearing a torch and a sword while looking for lost children. This is too familiar. Rusl bit his tongue, shaking the thought away. He had to focus.

A particularly large water droplet fell from the ceiling, splashing on the top of his head and startling him back to reality. He gave a quiet huff, thanking the goddesses for the help focusing, and gripped his sword more tightly.

The farther they walked, the worse it felt. The waterfall drowned out any sound that could have tipped them off if there was someone nearby, and the very distinct lack of people made Rusl's skin crawl. The Yiga had already tried to ambush them once, and they were defeated fairly easily, but still... a place like this could make matters difficult if they were attacked.

There was a faint glow ahead, bluish in color. Rusl lowered his lantern slightly, squinting and looking for movement. He pulled the wick back a little, dimming the light so they wouldn't be as obvious as they approached. Though Fierce's steps were much louder than theirs, he still tried to creep along as quietly as Rusl and Abel did until the trio had reached a bend in the long cavernous pathway.

When Rusl peeked around, he saw litter and debris, and he immediately knew they were too late. The tension drained out of him with a heavy exhale, disappointment filling the void. His eyes were attracted upward, however, to trace the blue light to its source. It was a strange, frog-like creature clinging to the stony walls and hopping around easily. Rusl stared at it in wonder, reminded of the light spirits, and wondered if it was kin to them.

Abel swore softly, walking into the room, seemingly ignoring the creature altogether.

"Hello, little sprite," Fierce called to the animal. It turned, glancing at him, and continued to bounce around cheerfully.

"What is it?" Rusl asked, curiosity holding his anguish at bay.

"I am not entirely sure," Fierce answered, catching Rusl off guard. "I can sense its magic, though. It is not of the Yiga."

With that little knowledge, Rusl returned his attention to the large room the creature was illuminating. The room had a few barrels, a desk with some notes, but most of what was there had been removed. Abel was busy perusing a book of some sort that was on the desk.

Approaching, Rusl asked, "What did you find?"

"Notes," Abel answered simply, engrossed in his reading. Rusl didn't bother pushing the matter, waiting for him to finish.

The loud meow that emitted from one of the barrels distracted him well enough. All three men turned their gaze, though Abel resumed his reading quickly, and Fierce and Rusl walked to the nearest barrel.

Inside was a kitten, creamy white fur blending with patches of buttery brown. It meowed again as it looked up at the pair.

"What are you doing here, little guy?" Rusl asked as he cautiously reached in. The kitten didn't swat at him, allowing itself to be hauled gently out of the barrel where it had been trapped.

When Rusl turned to ask Abel if he had finished reading, he saw the knight staring at him with wide eyes and a furrowed brow, as if he'd just been given some sort of life altering news. Ice filled his veins, worry for Link immediately shutting out any other thought. "What's wrong?"

"The Hero of Time," Abel said. "That's... your son is the Hero of Time?"

Several thoughts clamored for attention all at once in Rusl's mind. The Hero of Time was a figure of legend, and he had been the one to train Link. Did.. did that mean Link inherited the title? He supposed that wasn't unreasonable. But that meant the Yiga had written about him in their log, and that meant he had to be alive still, because his title would not have been the first piece of information Abel had clung to if it were otherwise.

Hopefully.

Rusl walked to his companion in three large steps, the kitten bouncing in his arms, and he demanded, "What did they say about him?"

"T-they..." Abel glanced between Rusl and the kitten, temporary confusion flitting across his face at the sight of the animal before he continued, "They said he's---he's, ah, been fighting them off."

Rusl's dread vanished in an instant and was replaced with hope. "What? But..."

They hadn't captured him after all? Was he out here somewhere, lost and injured and alone, searching for Rusl as desperately as Rusl was looking for him?

"They escaped," Abel explained, holding the book close to his chest. "They escaped the main Yiga stronghold. They've been spreading their forces to find them."

The kitten was suddenly plucked out of Rusl's arms, held by the scruff of its neck by the fierce deity as he stared at it. "And this tiny furry creature was supposed to track him?"

Rusl's eyes stung unexpectedly with tears, and he let out a wet laugh, blinking them away. "I think maybe this little guy got lost."

"The kitten was supposed to be bait..." Abel added with a tone that was just as confused as Fierce's. "Apparently to lure the dog in."

Rusl whipped his head towards the knight. "Dog? What dog?"

Rusl immediately snatched the book before Abel could answer, courtesy abandoned, and the knight snarled, grabbing it back.

"This isn't time for your paranoia," Rusl snapped. "Whatever you're hiding, unless it has to do with my boy, I don't care. Let me read it."

Before either party could continue the argument, the book was taken out of Abel's tight grip with ease, making the knight yelp. The Fierce Deity flipped it in his hands, reading it aloud. "We have arrived at the designated site per our leader's orders. We're currently looking for a good way to lure the wretched heroes. The Hero of Time has been a constant thorn in our side in every encounter. He even took our bananas during the last fight."

Spirits above. Link's alive. He's alive and he escaped.

Of course he did. It was Link. His boy had fought Zant and Ganondorf, had been trained by the Hero of Time (the previous Hero of Time...? Did they all have that title, then?), had been forged into a strong warrior through the dark flames of twilight magic. Link could handle anything. Rusl shouldn't have worried.

Except he still did. Because he didn't know if Link was hurt. He didn't know where Link was, and the Yiga were hunting him.

What did these people want with him?! All Rusl knew of the Yiga was that Abel said they were traitors to the crown who wanted to see Hyrule fall. He said they were a cult of sorts, and they worshipped a demon, the same one that had destroyed Abel's Hyrule.

The deity turned the page with a thumb, carelessly tossing the kitten towards Rusl, who jumped, startled, and quickly caught the frightened little animal. He leaned it against his chest to soothe it as Abel grew steadily more wound up watching their companion.

"We've got a lead on their whereabouts," Fierce continued reading. "It appears the Hero's condition has improved somewhat, or at least enough that he is still alive. We have to ensure we catch him before he dies."

Rusl's breath was stolen from him. "What?!"

Fierce also stared worriedly at the pages, reading silently to gather more information quickly. It left Rusl in too much suspense, and he said, "Fierce, tell us what the hell is going on. Is my boy okay?"

"They're referring to three figures," Fierce answered as he read. "The Hero of Time, the Hero, and the dog. Sometimes they mention a mutt... I assume that must be the dog."

The uncertainty and anxiety were going to drive Rusl insane. "Just read it aloud. Please."

"Our camp was raided by the Hero of Time last night," Fierce obliged. "He took all our food and smashed all our bananas. One of our scouts spotted his dog but then we lost contact with him."

"We've made a discovery. The dog likes hanging around other animals. One of our scouts saw it playing with some kittens. We've since acquired one of the kittens and will be utilizing it to lure in the dog. If the mutt comes, then the Hero of Time will follow. Then all we have to do is find his base of operations to get the Hero."

"We've been in this cave for two weeks, and it's been almost a week since there's been any sign of our targets. The kitten ploy has not come to anything. Another group reported in that there are warriors looking the heroes. We will attempt to set up a trap for them. In the meantime, I've decided we need to move camp."

The longer Rusl listened, the more he realized that the Hero of Time was not, in fact, his Link. He could easily see his boy attacking the Yiga encampment, but he wouldn't simply raid it for supplies and leave. Link was too self reliant for that - he would gather his own supplies. He would only enter an enemy camp to eliminate it. His sweet boy was gentle in all ways but battle, after all.

Also, he knew, out of any group of boys, who would go running to the nearest pile of cuddly animals.

He knew exactly which one was his Link.

Which meant...

Rusl glanced over at Abel, really looked at him, and he saw the subtle signs in the man's stony demeanor. He saw the worry, the fear, the way the man's hands trembled.

"The injured one... that's your son, isn't it?" Rusl asked quietly.

Abel's expression darkened, a fierce, nearly feral glare crossing his face. His look dared Rusl to say anything else.

So this was the unspoken fear Abel had been carrying with him. This was the reason he didn't dare speak much about his boy. Had he thought they'd take advantage of his boy's vulnerable state? What else was Abel hiding?

"The Hero of Time is my child," Fierce said firmly, closing the book with a quick snap. "That is his title. And his tactics match. One of your children is missing."

Rusl bit his tongue as he smiled and choked back a snort. "Well... we'll find my boy. Let's start by finding yours."

"The Hero you've been protecting is the Hero of Time?" Abel confirmed.

"Yes," Fierce answered with a nod.

Abel let out a sigh of what seemed to be relief.

"What's wrong with your son?" Rusl asked gently.

The knight closed his eyes, his body stiffening. He didn't trust them. Rusl almost felt hurt, but then again... he had just withheld vital information about his Link as well.

But why wouldn't he? Telling them his boy could turn into a beast was a recipe for disaster.

Then again, them not knowing was equally bad. He knew that from experience. They'd already had to battle one pack of wolves and he'd nearly had a meltdown. He had had a meltdown.

What secret was Abel keeping to protect his boy?

Rusl's train of thought was interrupted when the strange blue bouncing creature hopped over, hovering directly over Abel. Seeing as the man wasn't reacting, Rusl hesitantly pointed to it. "You... can see that thing, right?"

Distracted, Abel glanced upward. Then he huffed. "It's a bubbulfrog."

"A what?"

"Bubbulfrog," Abel repeated, glancing at the pair. "Legend says if you strike one down you can obtain a mystical stone from it."

"You don't seem very fazed by this," Rusl noted.

"Link and I have found plenty in different caves when he was little," Abel sighed. He raised an eyebrow as he looked up. "I'm surprised this one isn't blowing bubbles at us, though."

"They do that?"

"Often. Link loved popping them. But we... never got this close," Abel went on uncertainly. "I wasn't sure how dangerous they were. They usually stay away from people."

"It won't harm you," Fierce said.

"Either way," Abel continued with a dismissive wave. "They don't hang around people. If there's one here it means the Yiga left long ago."

The kitten meowed again, pawing at Rusl's tunic. The Ordonian smiled down at it before looking back at Abel, whose gaze had grown distant. Meanwhile, Fierce turned, motioning towards them. "We should move on. It is clear the boys are not here and have not been in the area for some time."

Nodding, the two men followed him out of the cave. Rusl ran a hand gently over the kitten, which purred in response, relaxing him a little. They really needed to get to the bottom of all of this. Abel needed to open up and tell them more about the Yiga. And maybe... maybe Rusl should tell them about Link's transformative abilities before something terrible truly did happen.

Rusl sighed, looking around as the humidity came back in full force upon exiting the cave. This was... a mess. But at leas the knew Link was alive, and that was all that mattered.

#Dad Squad #writing #wow this got way longer than I expected lol #hello plot #fun fact Abel and Link used to clear caves when Link was little #mainly because Link would find them and be like :D while Abel's freaking out and taking out keese #so then it became a bonding thing and a game for them #until they reached the bubbulfrogs because Abel was like 'that thing is magic we are not getting near it'#anyway #Rusl at least finally gets a reprieve and knows his baby is alive #they all do #Fierce is so proud of his boy right now #Abel's just thanking Hylia his is still alive and is freaking out that the others know he's hurt #abel #rusl #fierce dadity #I wanted to write something about a kitten and kittie got thrown to the wayside (literally by Fierce LOL)#idk blame the blorbos the plot just came CRASHING in

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