#recreation panic is REAL | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

vivwritesfics · 5 months

Text

"I Don't Know Anything About Dinosaurs"

Spencer was meant to be at the museum on a blind date, not walking around with a mother and son, listening to him as he spouted off dinosaur facts. But then the kid goes missing and it's Spencer's mission to save him.

Spencer x Single mother! Reader

Spencer Reid hated the thought of a blind date. He didn't know if said blind date being set up by Garcia made things better or worse. At least Garcia was a fellow need. She liked some of the things Spencer was into and hopefully knew people who were also into those things.

Their meeting place being a museum had to be a good sign, he thought as he stared up at the recreation of the Parasaurolophus skeleton. But, so far, there had been no sign of her. He looked around with the knowledge that she'd be wearing a green scarf and carrying a museum tote bag, but she was nowhere to be seen.

Suddenly, somebody was tugging at his sleeve. Spencer looked down to see a boy with wild, dark curls staring up at him. "Excuse me, Mister," the boy said as he looked up at Spencer. "You're blocking the sign." Spencer looked to his left and saw that he really was blocking the sign.

Not that this little boy would be able to read it from his height. "I'm sorry," Spencer said gently as he stepped to one side.

He couldn't help but watch as this little boy walked over to the sign full of dinosaur facts. Just as Spencer had thought, he'd been too short to read it, but he stood on his tiptoes and really tried.

When the boy gave up, he turned to Spencer. "Hey Mister," he said and put his hands on his hips. "Wanna help a fella out?"

Spencer couldn't help but wonder where this kid had learnt this phrase. He looked around before he crouched down, matching the kids height. "Is your mom anywhere around here?" Spencer asked. The kid shrugged her shoulders and, suddenly, Spencer was trying not to panic. "Do you want help finding her?"

Again, the boy shrugged. "She knows where to find me," he said and turned his attention back to the dinosaur.

Spencer stayed by the kid. He looked around, searching for any sign of his mother. But nobody around him seemed like they were panicked or looking for him.

Suddenly, shouts filled the room. "Jimmy!" Somebody shouted. Spencer looked around until he saw a young woman running towards him and the kid. "Jimmy!" When she got close enough, she grabbed the boy and pulled him into her embrace.

But then she stood up straight and looked at him, her expression stern. "James L/N, you know better than to run off like that!"

Jimmy pouted as he looked at his mother. "I'm sorry, momma," he said. "I just wanted to see the dinosaurs."

Her face dropped and she ruffled his dark curls. "It's okay, baby. We can look at them together," she said softly.

Jimmy took his mothers hand, but he turned towards Spencer. Spencer, who knew everything, but didn't know why he was still standing there, watching them. "This fella was gonna help me read the sign," he said.

His mother suddenly turned to Spencer. She tightened her grip on her sons hand and placed her other on her hip as she stared at him.

Spencer jumped into action. "He, uh, he said his mother knew where to find him. I didn't want to leave him here until someone came to claim him," he explained.

She dropped the hand from her hip. "Well, thank you," she said and lifted her son up. She placed him on her hip so that he could read the sign and turned her attention to Spencer. "Do you like Hadrosaurs?" She asked as she nodded her head to the not entirely real skeleton. (Well, maybe a few bones were real, but not the whole thing.)

Spencer shook his head. "No. I'm more of a science museum guy," he answered. He didn't add that he rarely got time to visit a museum with his job.

"Well, if you wanna know anything about any of the dinosaurs, I'm sure Jimmy would be happy to answer you," she said in reply. Her smile was polite, sweet, one Spencer found he really liked looking at.

Spencer took one last look around the museum, one last look for the blind date that Garcia had set up for him. He'd mentally prepared himself for a date, mentally prepared himself to be confident and out going. He wasn't about to let that go to waste.

"I don't know anything about dinosaurs." A lie. "Do you mind if I joined you?"

That was how Spencer spent his day. If his date eventually showed up to the museum, he didn't much care. He was much happier listening to Jimmy talk about dinosaurs. For the first time in his life, Spencer bit his tongue. Jimmy rarely got any of his facts wrong, and Spencer didn't add to his knowledge base, not when he'd said he didn't know anything about dinosaurs.

Once they got back to the museum entrance, Jimmy dragged his mother to the gift shop, and Spencer was only happy to follow. When Jimmy found two soft toys that he wanted (an Ankylosaurus and a Pachycephalosaurus), Spencer helped him to decide which one he wanted.

Jimmy told Spencer everything he knew about the Ankylosaurus as they walked out of the museum. But, once they were on the steps, his mother squeezed his hand. "We've gotta go, Jim," she said softly to him.

Jimmy pouted, but then he turned to Spencer. "It was nice to meet you, Spencer," he said. "You're a nice fella."

Spencer couldn't help but grin. "Thanks for teaching me all about Dinosaurs, Jimmy," he said as he crouched down to his height. "Take good care of, Anky."

He stood up straight and looked at Jimmy's mother. "He's right," she said. "It really was nice to meet you. Thanks for being so nice to him. I don't know many other people who would walk around and let a six year old talk at them for hours."

Spencer shoved his hands into his pockets and rocked on the balls of his feet. "No, I learnt a lot," he replied. Neither of them had spoken about Jimmy having a father, or his mother having a partner. There had been no ring on her finger, and the profiler could pick up no indications that she had a partner.

So, Spencer took a leap of faith. "Maybe we could do this again sometime."

Her grin only grew. "I'm sure Jimmy will find some more facts for you," she said, her hand on his sons head. But then she went fishing through her bag and pulled out her phone. "Give me your number," she said and handed him her phone.

Spencer put his number into the phone and passed it back. She typed out a text and quickly sent it to him. "Until next time, Doctor Reid," she said and walked Jimmy down the museum steps, leading him to her car.

Spencer couldn't help but watch them go.

***

The case must have been local. JJ had told them not to back an overnight bag and they all rushed to the BAU as quickly as they could.

It had only been a few days since Spencer had met Jimmy and his mother. They'd texted here and there, but they were both pretty busy with their jobs. Still, he couldn't help but think of them as the elevator took him up. After this case was done, he'd make arrangements to see them again. To find out what new dinosaur facts Jimmy had for him.

He and the rest of the team sat around the round table. Within seconds JJ was walking into the room and turning on the monitor. "James L/N has been reported missing by his mother," she said as the rest of the team passed around folders.

Spencer felt his heart stop. James. Jimmy. Reported missing by his mother. Jimmy, the sweet boy who knew so much about dinosaurs, had been reported missing. He suddenly couldn't breathe.

"His mother said she put him to bed and went to clean up the kitchen. When she checked on him before taking herself to bed, he was gone," JJ continued.

"Jimmy." Spencer couldn't stop himself from saying it.

All eyes were suddenly on him. JJ took a step towards him. "What is it, Spence?" She asked softly. She always was soft with him, almost treating him like he was a child. It wasn't what he needed right now, but he was grateful.

"I-I know this boy," he said as he flipped through the folder that was passed to him. "He, uh, his mom calls him Jimmy, not James."

"You know his mother?" Hotch asked him.

Spencer nodded. "They were at the museum last weekend. I walked around the exhibits with them," he said.

Hotch sent them on their way. He, Rossi, Prentiss, and Garcia began looking through all the information they could find on James L/N and his mother, while JJ, Reid and Morgan went to James's house.

Before this, Spencer had been wondering if he could count their time at the museum as a date. It hadn't been, really. But he wanted to take her on one, or at least get to know her better.

He couldn't believe his first time inside of her house was going to be because of a case. Spencer couldn't help but feel a little sick as he, JJ and Morgan walked up the steps to the house. There was an array of flowers in the garden. Some in pots lining the steps, some on the windows, some hanging beside the door.

Spencer raised his fist. The stained glass window panes painted a scene. Water, a clock tower, a bird flying above the ocean. Spencer sucked in a breath and knocked between the window panes.

The door was open within seconds. Jimmy's mother stared at the three ages. Morgan said her name. "We're with the-"

But, before he could finish he sentence, she threw herself at Spencer, wrapping her arms around him. Spencer stood there for a moment, unable to move. But then he hesitantly wrapped his arms around her. "He's gone," she cried against Spencer's chest.

"I know," Spencer whispered, his large hand against her back. "But we're gonna find him."

JJ and Morgan hung back as they watched the interaction. It felt intimate, something they couldn't interrupt. But she let go of Spencer and stepped to the side, letting all three agents into her house.

She wrapped her arms around herself as she shut the door behind them. "I... I didn't touch anything in his room," she said as she led them upstairs. At the very first room she pushed open the door.

Morgan and JJ pulled on gloves as they stepped into the room. But it was perfectly clean. The bed was made, the room had been cleaned up, but there was no sign of a break in. "Reid, take her downstairs," Morgan said as he and JJ began combing through the room.

Spencer did just that. He took her downstairs and sat her on the sofa, sitting himself beside her. She drew in a shaky breath. "He has Anky," she said quietly and wiped at her eyes. "If I had known you were FBI I would have called you before I called the police."

He swallowed. "I'm here now," he said, meeting her teary gaze. "And I need you to tell me everything that happened, starting with when you put Jimmy to bed."

She ran Spencer through her entire evening. Starting with dinner, and then bath time, story time and bed. She told him how she cleaned the kitchen after dinner and took some time, only ten minutes to read. By the time she went up to check on him, by the time she was ready to go to sleep herself, Jimmy was gone.

When she started crying Spencer rubbed her back. There was little else he could do to offer contact as he asked as she had noticed anything or anybody strange recently. He'd already worked out that the unsub must have known her usual schedule to be able to take Jimmy and then clean his room.

Before Spencer could piece together any information from her answers, the phone began ringing. She drew in a sharp gasp as she turned her head towards it.

When she looked at Spencer again, he nodded and she picked up the phone. "H-hello?" She said, voice shaking as she put the phone on speaker.

"Hi mommy!"

Immediately, tears sprang to her eyes. "Jimmy?" She cried. "Is that you, baby?"

"Yeah, mommy," he said. He sounded fine and she had to take comfort in that.

Her hand fell onto Spencer's and she squeezed. Squeezed him to the point of pain. But Spencer didn't say anything. He squeezed her back, trying to be encouraging. "Jimmy, baby, can you tell me where you are? I-It's almost time for lunch and I need to come get you."

"I'm with a friend, mommy," Jimmy answered. "Her name is mommy, too. She said she's gonna make me lunch."

Suddenly, Spencer's brows furrowed. She. The unsub was a woman.

"Mommy, she wants to speak to you," Jimmy said. Spencer watched as her eyes went wide and she began rapidly shaking her head.

But Spencer squeezed her hand and nodded his head. She swallowed the lump in her throat. "Okay, Jimmy, But, can you tell me where you are first, baby?"

Jimmy didn't answer her.

There was an indistinguishable noise from the other end and then, "Leave my son and I alone!"

It was a woman's voice, an obviously upset woman's voice. As the rest of the team came down the stairs Spencer pressed his fingers to his lips.

"Please," she said desperately as she looked at Spencer. "Please, just bring Jimmy home. He's all I got."

"His name isn't Jimmy!" The other woman suddenly cried. "He's my son and his name is Robert!" She ended the call after that, cutting off the contact.

Her hands shook as she put the phone down.

"His name is Robert," Spencer repeated. He said it to himself a few times as the rest of the team crowded around her to ask her more questions. Desperately, she looked at Spencer, but he pulled his phone from his pocket and pressed it to his ear.

***

Spencer didn't sleep much on this case. He couldn't, not until he knew that Jimmy was safe at home with his mother.

He had Garcia look into mothers who had lost their children. More specifically, mothers that had lost children called Robert.

The whole team tried several different angles for the case. While Morgan and JJ interviewed mothers that had lost children, Spencer and Garcia desperately searched through records of institutions.

Their lucky break was when the unsub called once again. Spencer had been there, thank god. All she had to do was call and he was running.

Garcia had set things up to trace the call. When the phone began ringing, she held her hand against her chest. "It's okay," Spencer assured her.

He picked up the phone and placed it in her hands. "Hi Mommy!"

"Jimmy!" She sat up straighter. "Jimmy, baby, are you okay?" She asked desperately.

There was a beat of silence, one that had her heartbeat erratic. "I'm okay, Mommy. I've lost Anky, though."

She swallowed. "Well, when you're home, we can go to the museum again and get you another."

"Can Spencer come with us?"

Spencer nodded at her. Of course they could go back to the museum. The moment they got Jimmy home, Spencer would take the both of them.

"Yeah, Jimmy. We can take Spencer."

Suddenly the call was ended. "Jimmy?!" She cried, desperately. But he was gone.

"Garcia, have you got it?" Spencer called down his phone as he stood.

Garcia listed off the address. Immediately Spencer was using his long legs to stride to her front door. "Wait!" She cried, rushing after him. Spencer turned, his eyes soft as he looked at her. "Bring him home."

Hotch didn't want Spencer going with them. He was too close to the case, and they all knew it wouldn't end well. But Jimmy knew him, and he was more likely to actually go with Spencer.

The team entered the house, guns drawn. With noises from the living room and the upstairs, the team split up.

Spencer and JJ headed into the living room. Cartoons played on the television, and Spencer had to hope it was Jimmy.

And Jimmy it was. "Hi Spencer!" He called the moment the FBI agent came into view.

Immediately Spencer felt his heart stop. He put his gun away and crouched down in front of Jimmy. "Hey, Buddy," he said as Jimmy hugged him. "We're gonna get you home to your mom, okay?"

"Okay," Jimmy said as Spencer picked him up.

The rest of the team arrested the unsub, a woman who had lost her child years ago. She fought to get to Jimmy when she was walked towards the police car, cuffs around her wrists.

***

Spencer held Jimmy's hand in the police station. Jimmy told Spencer more dinosaur facts. "I wanna go back to the museum," he said. "And I want you to come."

"Your mom is gonna be happy to take you," Jimmy," he said and handed him a pen. Jimmy began drawing as he waited for his mom to show up.

When she did, she ran through the police station. She ran straight over to her son and pressed kisses all over his face. She pulled away to look at him, to check him over. "Oh baby," she said and hugged him tight. "I missed you."

"Missed you too, Momma," he said and showed her his dinosaur drawings. "Can we go to the museum with Spencer, momma?"

With Spencer standing behind Jimmy, he wore a matching pout. "Can I?" He asked.

"Please Momma!"

How could she say no?

(It wasn't meant to be a first date, but the treated it as such)

#spencer reid #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x you #matthew gray gubler imagine #matthew gray gubler #mgg #criminal minds #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds x reader #spencer reid smut

2K notes · View notes

eddiethebrave · 19 days

Text

you're alright

Steddie’s Back to School Bash (@thehairandthebanished) Summer Fling | you're alright | Rated M | CW: recreational drug use, injury, blood, implied drugging | Additional Tags: hurt/comfort 777 words

After waiting an hour and a half in the trailer, Eddie moves outside. When another half hour passes by with no sight of Steve, Eddie takes his pity party to the roof.

He's not disappointed. He’s not. Why would he be? Harrington blew him off, probably to take some girl to the Fun Fair. So what? It’s fine.

It’s fine. Great, actually. Now he has ample time to himself.

He should have known better than to trust Steve when he said they’d have their first real date tonight. They were gonna go to the fair and play all the cheesy games and sit in the ferris wheel and maybe even kiss at the top like a movie.

Stupid.

Eddie pays no mind to the tears blurring his vision as he lights up and inhales deeply. When he lets the smoke go, his breath comes out shakily, but he pays no mind to that, either.

It’s well over an hour later, after the fireworks and probably after the fair is closed, that Eddie is laying on his back and looking up at the stars.

He’d planned to bring Steve up here after the fair for a little night cap, but now he’s wrapped up by himself in the blanket he’d hauled up here back when he thought he had a date tonight.

Eddie listens to the sounds of the trailer park as he drifts. Someone has their TV up way too loud for this time of night, but Eddie isn’t exactly one to judge with how loud he blasts music when Wayne is on his night shift. There’s a dog barking coming from the direction of one of the trailers with a fence. The soft rumble of an engine and then footsteps on gravel. A knock.

A voice.

“Eddie, I’m here.” Another knock. “Baby, please.” A voice crack.

Eddie hauls himself up and maneuvers his way back to the ground. He lands with a thud and rounds the trailer to see Steve standing on his front steps with his forehead pressed to the door. He’s still in his work uniform, which pulls a small smile onto Eddie’s lips despite the circumstances.

He must have given up on trying to get Eddie’s attention because he’s no longer knocking or calling out for him. As Eddie gets closer he hears a low murmur, though. “Please, Eddie. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. Please.”

Eddie’s heart breaks hearing the quiet pleas.

He stands at the bottom of his stairs so he doesn’t spook him. “Steve?”

He whips around and Eddie’s heart drops. He doesn’t even have time to take in all of the injuries before Steve is throwing himself down the stairs. Eddie catches him, all the air punched out of him as their bodies collide.

Steve isn’t crying, but he’s clinging to Eddie like he’s on the verge.

“Sorry, sorry. I missed it. I’m sorry, Eddie.”

Eddie knows he won’t get answers from Steve while he’s in this state. He rubs his hands over Steve’s back soothingly. “Sweetheart, it’s okay. It’s okay. I promise. You’re alright.”

Steve still has his head buried in Eddie’s neck and as much as he doesn’t want to deny the comfort right now, they have to go inside.

He worms his hand into Steve’s hair and if everything else didn’t clue him into the fact that something is very very wrong, the fact that Steve lets him touch his hair at all is a sure sign. He tries not to let the worry and panic seep into his voice as he eases Steve’s head back just enough to see him properly. He tries his best not to react to the blood and the swelling and the black eye and and and.

“Let’s get you inside? Hmm? How does that sound?”

Steve blinks his eyes open and Eddie takes note of the blown pupils. Steve nods his assent and they head in.

After he gets Steve cleaned up and into new clothes, they cuddle up on the couch with a movie playing in the background. (Steve has a drawer with various clothing items he’s left behind over the weeks, but he’d quietly asked if he could wear something of Eddie’s. And what was he supposed to do? Say no? Yeah right.)

Eddie strokes Steve’s hair to help lull him to sleep and eventually the boy dozes off.

Eddie doesn’t know what the fuck happened but what he does know is that he’s not letting Steve out of his sight for the foreseeable future and he will do everything in his power to protect him and keep him happy.

Maybe they’ll even get to reschedule that date.

#thought i'd give it a shot #eddie munson #steve harrington #steddie #stranger things #SBTSB24

467 notes · View notes

daechwitatamic · 3 months

Text

Vice;Grip || chapter 5 || chs

(banner by @itaeewon)

Vice;Grip (masterpost) NSFW - minors DNI Genre: angst smut fluff, fuckbuddies!au Summary: Make it not hurt, you could have asked him. Or, at least, make it hurt in a way I choose. A/N: infinite thank you's to @sailoryooons and @eoieopda for beta-ing!!

Warnings: Frequent depictions of depression, depressive episodes, panic attacks, and substance abuse (alcohol, weed, and pills referenced). PLEASE know that these characters’ relationships with drugs and alcohol are not healthy and should not be emulated. If these topics are triggering to you, please consider sitting this one out.

Section Specific Warnings: language, depictions of depression and depressive episodes, mentions of doctors' offices and medication, angst, mentions of attending therapy, recreational drinking, kissing

wc: 6.9k

Playlist: you can call me in the middle of the night / you can leave before i wake up in the morning / and it could feel so wrong / but i'll still hold on

Now - Fall

Vernon’s watching his ceiling fan when his phone chimes - a noise he isn’t fond of: incoming email.

For the last few months, his emails have all been from recruiting directors and head-hunters - either thanking him for his interest but regretfully informing him they’ve gone in a different direction, or head-hunters pretending they found him a great opportunity when it was really an underpaid, short-term position where he’d spend more on his commute into the city than he’d ever earn.

It’s been real fun. He sucked it up and finished grad school, threw his diploma behind a cheap frame, added the degree to his resume. Quit going to classes (because there weren’t any), quit spending whole nights on assignments (none of those anymore either), and still - he finds himself no happier than he’d been before, even with all the free time in the world. So maybe, he considers, grad school wasn’t the problem, and he’d done the right thing to just push through and finish.

On top of this - on top of the fact that he was still bored with life, still unenthused to be here - the break-up has sucked, just to make things even bleaker for him.

Can he even call it a break-up? You were never together. But it’s been nine days since he made you cry in his car - not that he’s counting - and all nine of them have fucking sucked. He’s wrestled with indecision for all of them - did he make a mistake? Should he try to undo the damage? Wasn’t what he had with you still better than being alone?

But he knows this will be better for him in the end. He knows that what you two were doing together wasn’t real, wasn’t a relationship. It couldn’t grow with him - it was stagnant by nature. So, even though something in his bones screams at him to take it back, in the end he doesn’t regret the decision to try and do something better.

He does regret that he can’t do something better with you. He regrets that he lost his temper and yelled, regrets that he was cold in his last moments with you.

Regrets that he spent two years walking towards a dead end.

Still misses you, despite this.

He picks up his phone and scrolls to his email, already feeling the frown take over his face in anticipation of another rejection. As expected, the email is from a company he’d interviewed with last week - he’d even gotten to a second in-person round, which was rare. Still, he hadn’t wanted to get excited about it. He knows how unlikely it is that they’ll want him.

Dear Mr. Chwe,

Our team was delighted to meet with you last week. We found your background impressive, especially your internship experience with -

Vernon’s eyes skim the page, so fast the words are a blur.

…Would like to formally offer you the position of… annual salary of… additional opportunities within the company including traveling to… working with… reporting to… expected start date of… we are looking forward to having you on our team!

Vernon’s heart thuds and he turns the screen off and stares at his ceiling again. He’ll answer it later, accept it graciously, call his eomma, probably shop online for some button-downs and maybe some ties. Later, though. Later. For now, he reaches for his lighter.

He kind of wishes he could tell you - hey, I got a job offer. hey, guess who gets to wear a suit five days a week now? hey, all that bullshit paid off in the end.

Would he have texted you any of that if he hadn’t ended things? You’d never talked about this kind of thing - that had been part of the problem.

Still. As illogical as it is, you’re the one Vernon wants to tell first. It aches a little, like sore muscles but somewhere inside him, behind his brittle ribs.

He wonders if you’re doing okay. He wonders if you care at all, or if you’re fine. He turns his lighter over and over in his fingers, and then realizes he’s just read the words contingent on... drug test…

“Fuck,” he grumbles, then picks up his phone again. Maybe he’ll call his mother first, after all.

—

You were never a big fan of autumn. A lot of your friends are - the season shifts and everyone starts posting about sweater weather and PSLs, the aesthetics suddenly revolving around pumpkins and ghosts.

You have plenty of ghosts, but not the right kind.

Your phantoms haunt your phone, mostly. You feel it buzz in your pocket, hear it vibrate on the table from the other room. Sometimes you even wake up from a dead sleep, sure you’ve heard it going off, reaching for it frantically, only to turn on the screen and see nothing.

No missed calls, no new texts.

You dream about him, too. In some of them, you’re still fighting, yelling at the top of your lungs in a way you never had in real life. In some, he isn’t even present - you just know he’s missing. In some, you’re trying to get to him, but never can - stopped by nonsense laws of dream physics.

In one of them, you tell him you love him, and he staggers backwards, breaths starting to rasp the way they had when you’d talked him through a panic attack, like he was just as scared of the admission as you had been.

Maybe he had been just as scared about it, back when it had mattered. Maybe he was just better at handling it than you are.

You never see his whole face in your dreams - only glimpses, fragments. You don’t want to examine if that means anything.

You fucking hate your brain.

You’re starting to hate your phone, too.

—

You lose November to grey - the whole month, a wash. You miss three days of work, unable to do anything - unable to cook, unable to get dressed. You feed the cat because you have to, and it’s the only reason you leave your bed except to pee.

When the grey days break as December dawns, you follow an impulse and schedule an appointment with your primary physician through their app. As you click the button to confirm the appointment, you burst into tears, loud and embarrassing. You cry with abandon, pulling your hoodie up to cover your face, to muffle the noise that you can’t stop.

You should have gone to a doctor years ago, and you know it. It feels like a big deal. It feels like a potential mistake - like opening a can of worms and now you have to deal with them. It feels like admitting something is wrong when you’ve worked so hard to look like nothing is. It feels like a farce, like nothing that bad is wrong with you, and you’re wasting everyone’s time.

But you keep the appointment anyway. You make yourself small in the chair on the other side of your doctor’s little table, and you admit, eyes on your hands, “I want to talk about my mental health. I think I’ve been dealing with depressive episodes. For… a long time, now.”

It’s so damn scary. As scary as loving and losing someone - like, yes, Vernon - had seemed. And you’re somehow surviving both.

Something to think about.

You buy yourself good job you did the scary thing ice cream on the way home. You go inside, put it away, and then scoop Nana off the couch, burying your face in his belly and cooing, “How is my favorite boy today?” He tolerates your nonsense with aplomb, as always.

Chan has never forgiven you for naming a cat “Banana Bread”, and you think that’s why Nana has never warmed up to him.

Nana loved Vernon, but you don’t want to think about that.

You kind of want to text him. You think he’d be proud of you for what you did today. You think he’d tell you good job.

(Chan would tell you good job, too, and will, when you call him later. But it doesn’t feel the same.)

You wonder if he’d answer if you told him. You wonder if he wouldn’t answer, but be proud of you anyway.

You fill the prescription, you leave your contact info with a therapist as advised by your primary physician. You don’t text Vernon.

You take your pride and your sadness, your fear and your hope and you channel them into greens and yellows. As late autumn grips the leafless trees outside, you paint something that looks like spring.

Now - Winter

Winter howls through your life like you personally pissed it off. You and Nana huddle under thick blankets with your tablet night after night.

Sometimes you close your eyes and remember Vernon’s hands slipping underneath his own hoodie on your skin; it helps you feel warmer.

Sometimes you think about the way he’d said the word wasted about the time he’d spent with you; it makes you feel cold all over again.

You click through all the tabs you’ve had open for days - different universities with decent visual arts programs, all advertising admission for the spring semester.

None of them are big name schools, not like the one you’d turned down all those years ago. But they aren’t nothing.

You’d brought it up to your therapist last week and she’d encouraged the idea - accepting that you can’t unstitch the mistakes in your tapestry, but you can control what new patterns emerge.

This was the plan: start classes. Open social media accounts to showcase your work. Network through school, look for job opportunities at galleries or for collectors. Open commissions, maybe.

On your best days, this seems like a list of goals to shoot for. On your worst days, this seems like a list of things you’ve already failed at before you’ve even started.

You text options to Chan, ask him, which school colors can you see me in?

Your best friend sends back, all of them. any of them. look at you go!!

You sit in your living room and watch snow fall lazily outside the window. You daydream about what classes might be like, if you get in. You take pictures of the snow in the park, then try to paint something similar once you’re home again.

You wonder if Vernon’s doing okay. You worry that he’s going through his hard days alone. You worry that maybe he’s not - maybe he found someone who helps him better than you did, maybe he’s so happy with them that he doesn’t have hard days at all.

(You know life doesn’t work like that.)

You paint Nana, just for shits, and post it on instagram. It gets the most engagement you’ve had so far. Someone messages you asking if you do commissions for pet portraits. You frown, looking at the message.

Maybe I do, you think.

Your apartment is cold. You burrow under blankets, rub your legs together like a cricket to warm them up, and think maybe after I’m a cicada, I could be a cricket next.

There’s no one to share the joke with who’d get it. Just another of the thousand ways you feel Vernon’s absence in your life. You hadn’t realized how much space he took up until he was gone.

—

Everywhere Vernon looks, all he sees are circles. The hands on his kitchen clock circle each other, align, move on again. They tell him he has two minutes to get out the door before he’s late.

He checks his appearance in the bathroom mirror, straightens his tie, smooths back his hair, then grabs his crossbody bag and heads for the bus.

The hands of the clock in his office mark his passage through his schedule: one circle until his 10:00 meeting will end. Two more after that and he can take a lunch break. A circle and a half until his one-on-one with his boss, to discuss his first few months here.

On his lunch break, Vernon rides with two of the guys he works with to some nature trails nearby, as they usually do. They swap suits for joggers and zip-ups, pop in airpods, and head out. Vernon didn’t run before this job - didn’t exercise much at all, really. He’d gone along with the guys the first time there had been an unseasonably warm day, just to be out, and he’d found it felt good to get fresh air and some endorphins before returning to his desk.

It’s cold today, the air brittle as he inhales, but the rest of his body feels warm as he works to keep up with the other guys. It’s not as hard as it used to be, keeping up.

The trail is a circle, too, passing a small, man-made lake before looping around back to the changing facilities. On his wrist, a fitness app closes circles to quantify his steps, his speed, his progress.

At home again, he runs his thumb around the edge of the circular joystick as he waits for Seungkwan and Wonwoo to sign in and join him for a round or two before he figures out dinner.

“Some of us were going to the bar tonight, you in?”

“Shouldn’t,” Vernon says. “But maybe this weekend?” Unfortunately, his new nine-to-five forces him to make decisions like this - better decisions. He kind of likes his job. He kind of doesn’t want to feel like shit in the morning.

His mind, a circle - always coming around back to you when it gets too quiet.

He opens his messages.

how have you been? … are you doing okay? … hey, i’m - … I think I’m sorry … what if we did it differently …

Of course he doesn’t send any of them. Instead, he searches for your instagram. You’d never followed each other in the first place, and he considers it a win that you didn’t block him when it was over. But you haven't posted anything that he can see in the last eight months.

Except - one post. It looks like your cat.

He clicks it and realizes that it’s not a photograph, but a painting, and the caption links to another account. He clicks that, too, and finds himself on a page that seems dedicated to posting paintings only.

Yours, apparently. He scrolls through slowly, rolling to his stomach so he can look more closely. He never knew you painted, let alone that you were good - great, even, to his untrained and certainly unbiased eyes.

Part of the problem, his mind chimes in.

Somehow, despite understanding each other better than anyone else in your lives, at the end of the day you hadn’t known each other at all.

Now - Spring

happy hour after lecture???

plsss can we

bestie YES!!!

The sender of the original invite - a girl close to your age called Juri - eyes you from two rows up, expectantly. Normally, you’d go straight home after class. But you’d been talking to your therapist about almost this exact situation - the way you closed people out, squandered friendships to the point that only Chan managed to hang onto you for more than a year. (Vernon had made it about two years, a sick voice in your head says, and then answers itself with, but you weren’t friends, anyway.)

So, you send the group chat, sure!

(You’d also been talking to your therapist about that last fight with Vernon. I can’t get that conversation out of my head, you told her.

I’ve been caring about you way more than I should, he’d said.

You’d been talking to her about how your brain had skipped like a flat stone right over that detail and had sunk deep on I don’t want to do this anymore.

“What did you think he meant?” she’d asked you, watching you carefully. “When he said do this, what did you think this was?”

Me, you’d whispered. Anything with me - hook up, sleep, spend time together, talk, anything.

She’d helped you see the context of the fight - that maybe by “I don’t want to do this” he’d meant “be with you but not with you”.

“Sounds fake, but okay,” you’d joked. She hadn’t laughed. Negative ten points at Therapy.

You were still working on trying to believe it.

You still weren’t sure if it fucking mattered what he meant, because instead of asking him, “what do you want, then?” you’d gone defensive, had greedily grabbed at the excuse to push him away, hard and careless. He wouldn’t want you back now, even if that’s what he’d wanted at the time. You were sure of it.)

Happy that you’ve agreed to go out, Juri flashes you a grin and then turns around in her seat to watch the board again.

The bar Juri chooses is cute, not crowded or noisy yet this early in the evening. You sip at a beer and talk with the girls about upcoming projects, about the professor you all can’t stand, about the term paper you all feel you shouldn’t have to do.

It’s nice, and honestly when you glance at the time and decide you’d better get home to feed Nana, you regret that you have to. Still, you make your way to the bar to pay for your portion.

You don’t even notice the lean, handsome man who sidles up next to you while you wait for your check until he speaks.

“What’s your drink?”

You look over at him, surprised. “Oh,” you say, which isn’t really an answer. “I’m leaving, actually.”

He gives an exaggerated frown. “It’s so early!”

You shrug. “Sorry. Places to be.”

He’s cute, you consider, as you pay your bill and head for the door. Two years ago, you probably would have picked up what he was putting down.

At home, you feed Nana, then collapse on the couch, pulling a throw blanket all the way over your head. Your stomach churns with discomfort.

You open your phone, find Vernon in your contacts.

You sit on his contact page, thumbs hovering over his number, for so long that your screen goes black twice while you stay locked in indecision.

Don’t call him don’t call him don’t call him.

But you’re lonely, and you miss him, and going out made you think of him, and you wonder what would happen if you did it, if you called. Would he even answer?

Eventually, you let reason win this time, and get up from the couch, the blanket falling from you like you’d shed a skin.

In your spare room, you eye the last painting you’d finished - mostly black but with a fractured, fragmented view of a tabletop littered with empty glasses and half-finished drinks, all the liquids a toxic, piercing neon pink. You hadn’t posted that one; it felt too much like an admission.

You stare down the empty canvas, tapping your mouth with the wooden end of a brush, deciding how to begin. You close your eyes and see the beast that’s followed you these last few years - even before Vernon. The embodiment of your shame, your regrets, your failures. It’s never left your side for long.

When you finally begin to paint it, you start with the claws.

—

you up for a 1v1?

arent you on a date???

obviously not.

you didn’t go? bro.

i went. it was just. idk.

it was just what?

idk dude.

you didn’t like her?

she was fine?? she was funny, and hot, and it was fine

so why are you home alone at 8:30 asking me to come online

Vernon rubs at his face in irritation. He doesn’t know what to say, how to explain to Seungkwan why the date had felt flat.

What could he say? It was fine. It just wasn’t… enough.

He could still remember how he’d felt the first night he met you. He wanted to feel that.

idk, he told Seungkwan. lack of chemistry, ig.

Now - Summer

You think you’ve learned a lot over the past few months - between starting classes again and beginning therapy, you’re just bursting with new knowledge.

Something you’re working on is appreciating the shadows.

In class, you work on shading, on adding darks even when you think an area should all be light. Sometimes, somehow, shadows are exactly what you need to make it right on the canvas.

You think about this concept for your whole drive home from therapy - how the shadows under trees change the way you see them, how the darks affect the lights, how the shadows in your own life are natural and maybe, in the end, not so catastrophic.

At home, you duck your head into the shadows under your bed and drag Nana out by the middle.

“Come be social,” you scold him, plopping him on the couch.

After dinner, you go back to work on what you were painting. You’d been stuck for a few days, not happy with any change you made, but today you have an idea.

You create a palette of black, grey, navy, and deep purple. For two hours, you work meticulously, adding the midnights, the bruises, the shadows. They belong here, too.

—

Chan tells you he’s proud of you, the next time he’s over, and it makes you cry even though you’re only one your second sip of wine.

“Stop it,” you scold, avoiding his gaze, burning up under the attention.

“I mean it,” he says seriously. “I’m so happy that you’re painting again, I could throw up. And going back to school? And therapy? Damn. The glow-up.”

“Ew,” you frown at him, because this feels safer than acknowledging that you have been working hard on yourself, on your life. “What year is it, 2017?”

He gives you a look to make sure you know that he sees through your bullshit.

“It’s not all perfect,” you admit quietly. You feel like it should - like you’ve done the work, and now you should get the happy ending. But it hasn’t worked that way. You’re still working at a job that feels like a waste of time, painting on the side. You’re accumulating some debt for the classes you’re taking. The grey days still come and go, though admittedly their grip is less intense.

And you still think of Vernon, near daily.

Chan shrugs. “That’s normal. Perfect isn’t real. It’s unattainable. If your therapist hasn’t told you that, then you’re wasting your money.”

You laugh. She had told you that. Another thing that was easier to say than to put into practice.

You recork the bottle after a second glass, put it in your fridge for another day. Returning to your spot by Chan’s side, you tell him, “I keep thinking about him.”

Chan cocks his head, probably unsure if you’re talking about who he thinks you are.

“The guy I was hooking up with.”

“Ah.” He inclines his head knowingly.

You recount what he already knows - that you’d been whatever you were for about two years, that it had ended. That it was your fault.

“I think,” you say, taking a deep breath mid-sentence to steel yourself for the truth, “I think I could have loved him. I don’t know… maybe I did.”

“Either you did or you didn’t,” Chan points out, which is fair.

“It’s just…” you say, thinking about it. “We kept our boundaries so tight. We didn’t talk during the day, didn’t meet each others’ friends or families… barely got to know anything about each other. But it was like… even so, I think we just understood each other. It was like a lot of it just went without saying.”

Chan considers this, face serious. “Sounds like the potential was there, at least. If nothing else.”

“Yeah,” you said sadly, tracing the bottom of your wine glass with your finger. “Potential.”

Wasted potential. You’d heard that plenty before, just not usually about your love life.

Chan reaches out and shakes your knee playfully. “It’ll happen again,” he promises.

You don’t know what would be worse - if it never did, or it did, but it wasn’t Vernon. You’d never believed in there only being one right person for you - like soulmates or shit like that. But looking back at your time together, you’re not sure anyone will ever have a hold over you the way Vernon did. The grip he had on your life was unshakable.

Before he leaves for the night, Chan hesitates by the door.

“Hey,” he says, “this weekend? A bunch of the guys are driving down to the beach for the day. Wanna join?”

Something else you would have said no to, before. You’re trying to say yes more, plus you can’t deny that the sea air and sunshine sound like heaven.

“Sure,” you say, shifting to block Nana from slipping out the front door as Chan opens it. “Text me the details.”

Later, you ask what you should have asked first. who all is coming?

Chan sends back the list - six of his friends, ending with, seungcheol-hyung and his friend hansol. i think you’ve met him once or twice at the bars? he’s a good guy.

Something in you knew this was going to be the answer. You counted your breaths, tried to talk yourself down from immediately bailing on the plan.

Sleep on it, you told yourself. See how you feel in a few days.

You followed your own directions, but for days your mind spun around the question, buzzing and frantic.

Are you ready to see Vernon? To be around him, and act normal? Is it a good idea? Will you fight? Will you fall back into old habits? Will he bring out the worst in you?

Actually, you consider, that isn’t fair. Vernon never brought out your bad habits - he just coexisted peacefully with them, never tried to kick them out.

You’re scared that seeing him will undo the work of getting over him. But that isn’t true, either - because you don’t think you moved on from him at all.

In the end, you do slip into old habits - you let yourself make a potentially bad decision. You decide to go.

A twisted, quiet part of you is kind of excited.

The louder part is scared to death.

—

The day is perfect - blue sky, barely any clouds, hot and bright. Chan drives you and two of his friends; a second car with the others is somewhere en route, will meet your group once you’re there.

Chan’s car arrives first, and you help the guys unpack the trunk. Loaded down with beach bags, chairs, and coolers, you make your way unsteadily through the sand, pausing at one point to take off your flip-flops, tired of how they slow you down in the dry, loose sand.

You pick a spot and lay the towels out, unfold the chairs, get the umbrella anchored down in the sand so it doesn’t fly away.

The whole time, you can’t stop watching the parking lot, waiting for the other group to arrive - waiting for the moment of truth. What will happen when Vernon sees you?

Once everything is set up, you lay out, trying to enjoy what is admittedly beautiful weather. It’s so bright that when you lay on your back, you want to throw an arm over your eyes to block out the light, to really relax.

It feels like forever when you hear a distant shout and sit up, blinking against the glare of the sun, returning your sunglasses to your face as you get your bearings. A group of Chan’s friends approaches, one of them - Mingyu, you think - shouting hello and waving like a fool.

You stand to greet them, waving hi when they get close enough. You bite your lip nervously and glance at Vernon. He’s near the back of the group - their car had brought four people, just like yours - and his face is absolutely unreadable as he looks at you. It reminds you of the beginning, when you noticed how hard he works to keep his expression blank.

He’d stopped doing that with you, near the end. You’d almost forgotten.

Meeting and holding his gaze, you give him a solemn nod. I can be normal if you can, you try to promise, silently.

The moment is tense; you aren’t sure how he’ll react. Then, he gives you his own tiny nod back.

Relief melts through you like butter. Seeing him aches, but it isn’t unmanageable. You can do this - you’ll both be okay. You’ll both get through the day.

You help set up a second umbrella while a few of the guys move a few yards away to set up a volleyball net.

For a few hours they play volleyball. You sit on your towel with airpods in and watch, trying not to notice Vernon, trying to keep that part of your brain locked tight in its little box. But the sunlight streams down, not half as blinding as his smile as he jokes and laughs with Chan and Seungcheol, nowhere near as glittering as his laugh when he doubles over, elbows on his knees.

The sun is almost directly overhead when you get warm enough to brave the ocean.

“I’m gonna swim for a few,” you announce, standing and brushing some loose sand from your thighs.

Chan collapses on his towel, next to yours, pushing his hair back and heaving a deep breath, exhausted from volleyball.

“Maybe in a few,” he wheezes. “I need a minute.”

“I’ll go,” Soonyoung says, tossing his sunglasses onto his towel so he doesn’t lose them in the ocean.

You head down to where the waves are breaking onto the wet sand, foamy water dancing up to your ankles before retreating into the deep sea again. It’s cold, but under the midday sun the cold is welcome. You wade until you hit the awkward point where it’s hard to stand without being constantly battered by breaking waves, and then you duck underneath the surface and swim past the breaking point.

Treading water, you turn to see if Soonyoung made it out with you. He’s still back a bit, jumping each time a wave comes through. Beside him, Mingyu splutters, having taken a wave to his face. A few feet back, the water only at their knees, Vernon and Chan laugh maniacally.

You missed those goose honks.

The guys take their time catching up to you until all five of you are treading.

“Do you think there are jellyfish?” Soonyoung asks, peering into the water behind you.

“Probably,” Vernon deadpans, and you laugh, then immediately wonder if you shouldn’t. Luckily, he grins at you appreciatively as, behind him, Chan points out that there could be sharks, too.

“I’ll probably go back in soon,” Soonyoung says, trying to sound cavalier, but his unease shines through.

“We’re fine,” you promise. “You don’t have to out-swim the shark. You just have to out-swim Chan.”

Chan curses and splashes water at you as the others laugh.

You talk and float for a little longer until you consider the goosebumps on your limbs, the growl in your stomach.

“Anyone interested in lunch?” you ask.

Mingyu raises his arm and squints at his watch. “It is one,” he says. “I could eat. What did you guys bring?”

Chan starts rattling off what’s in your coolers as you start to make your way back to shore. You reach the point where your feet touch the sand, only to get slammed in the back by an incoming wave. You stumble a little, and someone holds your elbow steady, helping you stagger through it without completely tripping.

You give Vernon a grateful smile as he retracts his hand, but your stomach is swooping and your arm is burning where he’d held you.

Rejoining the others, you plop down on your towel, suddenly exhausted. The ocean water drying on your skin under the sun makes you shiver as you dig through the cooler. You pass out drinks to the guys closest to you, toss a bag of chips at Seungkwan when he asks for them, then settle back on your own towel to eat.

After, full and happy, you flop backwards and put airpods back in. Seungkwan and Soonyoung head back to the volleyball net. Mingyu and Chan seem content to bake in the sun, like you, and beyond them the others have circled up and are playing a card game, open cans of beer in the sand beside them.

You feel truly at peace, and you take a moment to ask the universe - can I hold onto this? Can I remember, when things go grey, that these moments exist?

Once you’re warm again, you pull your shorts back on and whack Chan on the arm. He startles awake, pushing his sunglasses up to glare at you.

“I’m going to walk up the beach for a little,” you tell him, pointing, just so somewhere will know where you are. He nods, his head sinking back down to his towel, eyes closing again.

You walk where the waves flood over your feet every few minutes, never getting higher than your ankles. You search for shells as you go, carrying one or two, but mostly stopping to take pictures of them and leaving them where they are, wanting to paint them later.

There are four shells in your hand when you hear someone call your name. You turn, surprised, and your stomach swoops again; Vernon approaches, hat twisted backwards and sunglasses perched over the top of it, one hand reaching out to show you a shell he’d found.

You hold still, you let him come to you. When he’s close enough, you hold open your hand and let him drop the shell there. It’s a mostly-white spiral top.

“Thanks,” you say, looking away from the shell to meet Vernon’s eyes.

He looks down at the other four in your hands. “You gonna paint them?”

You feel yourself physically take a step back in shock. “What?”

Embarrassment darkens his face just slightly. “I’ve been following your art page,” he admits, shoving his hands into his shorts pockets. “I didn’t know.” Then, “I feel bad that I didn’t know. You’re really good.”

You shake your head. “I wasn’t painting when we… I used to. I stopped for a long time. Just started again, after…” You trail off. After you left me. After I pushed you away.

He nods, licks his lips. “Does it help?” he asks, and you know exactly what he’s asking - does it make the rocks weigh less, does it make the grey lighter?

“Yeah,” you say, nodding. “In general. It’s been… kind of cathartic.”

You both stand there, the shells on your palms between you, a decision teetering between you.

You should be the one to mend it, you think, since you were the one who’d ruined it before.

“Do you want to walk with me?” you ask, a little tentatively. “You don’t have to - I’m fine on my own -”

“I’d like to,” he says, voice quiet, and something about it makes you want to well up - that he’s willing to give you his time, that he doesn’t hate you as much as you deserve.

You walk quietly together as the sun starts to sink a little, casting everything a bit orange.

“What’s new with you?” you ask, finally.

And he tells you - new job that he actually likes despite how stuffy the nine-to-five thing sounds in theory, new mile time on his daily run, new friends through work.

“And you?”

You fill him in, telling him about taking classes part-time around your job, the commissions that aren’t enough to sustain you but aren’t nothing - you even shyly admit that you’ve been seeing a therapist.

It was the most either of you had ever talked about your real lives, you thought. It struck you how normal it felt, like it wasn’t something new or novel.

“Sounds like things are coming together for you,” he says.

“You, too,” you return.

Everything between you sits heavy, weighing the moment down, pulling towards the ocean’s depths like an anchor.

Then, at the same time, you break.

“It’s good to see you again.”

“Vernon, I’m really sorry.”

He stops walking, turns to face you, aglow as the golden hour inches closer. The sun is warm on your skin, the sand is warm beneath your feet, and you are dying to make it right with him.

“It’s good to see you, too,” you whisper. You’re scared of this moment - scared it will burst, like a bubble, like waking up from a dream that you can’t get back.

“Don’t be sorry,” he counters. “We both screwed up.”

You shake your head, feeling your throat tighten with emotion. “No,” you say emphatically. “You had every right to be mad. You were right that you were wasting time.”

He glances down, mouth pulling into a frown. “I’m sorry I said that to you. It wasn’t a waste.”

“Maybe not entirely,” you allow. “But you were right. I was never going to give you what you wanted - not back then, not with… how I was. That last fight we had… it would have been so easy for me to just let you in, and everything would have been fine. And I just… couldn’t.”

He listens seriously, watching your face carefully. You look at your feet in the sand, feeling the beginning trickles of shame down your spine. But you remember that the beast can’t get you - you’d locked him on a canvas. You don’t succumb to him in these moments anymore - you take a breath and remember that you’ve grown since then.

“And -” you swallow, take a breath, “- and I’m sorry. You deserve so much better than that.”

He nods, slowly, his eyes suddenly on the ocean. You watch his throat work, and your stomach clenches in regret. Then, he says, “I should have been clearer with you - way sooner than I was.”

“I’m not sure it would have changed anything,” you admit sadly.

He nods again, agreeing. “Still,” he says.

Still.

“I really like your paintings,” he says, and then laughs at himself before you can respond. “Sorry, that sounded so lame. I don’t know the art terms or anything. I just… like them.”

You smile despite how serious the conversation had felt only seconds ago. “Thanks,” you say shyly.

“What’s the best thing you’ve learned in your classes?” he asks, stepping a little closer.

You don’t even have to think about it. “Shadows,” you say simply, looking up at him. “Even the brightest painting is nothing without the shadows.”

His smile grows slowly, and you know he gets it. Of course he does. He’s been in the trenches right alongside you.

“I thought about you a lot,” he admits, and you realize how close you’re standing. Had you been standing this close the whole time?

“I did, too,” you murmur, heart hammering.

His fingers brush up your sun-warmed arm, and you shiver despite the heat.

“Can I kiss you?” he asks, voice low, a little unsure.

He’d never asked before.

You nod, unable to speak, lifting up to meet him halfway. He kisses you like he never had before - featherlight, gentle, like you’re the most fragile thing.

Neither of you say anything after, but as you start walking back towards the guys, you slip your hand into his, and he gives it a squeeze.

You’re still hand in hand when you reach the towels, and you watch Chan clock it out of the corner of his eyes. He doesn’t call you out, and you promise yourself that you’ll give him the conversation you owe him - later. When you’re alone.

You stay a few more hours; the guys play a little more volleyball, you sit on the towels and fill pages in your sketchbook. You draw Vernon - all angles, so sharp, so beautiful.

When the sun sinks low enough, the guys start packing things up, and you help haul everything back towards the cars.

As you slam the trunk of Chan’s car shut, you turn to find Vernon waiting.

“What about now?” he asks.

“What?”

“You said not back then,” he explains. “You said back then you couldn’t give me what I wanted. What about now?”

The question lands like a mine. “I don’t know,” you say, as honest as you can be. “Vernon, I don’t know. I’m scared - I’m scared I’ll hurt you again, mess it up again. I don’t know what I can promise you.”

He considers this. “Okay,” he says finally, in that easy way of his. “What if I don’t want a promise? What if I just want to know… what’re you doing next Saturday?”

You and him, you’d existed only at night. You’d never done this before - considered dating, considered giving him more than just the hours between midnight and three am. You’d never considered letting him be him and not just one of your many vices, one of your distractions, one of the things you used to hide from how broken you felt. But here, now, with the summer sun beating down on your shoulders, you take in his whole, unfragmented face and see how open it is, how willing he is to meet you where you are.

You’ve been missing out on so much, you think. It’s about time to stand in the light - with him. With him, you could try.

“Nothing,” you say, smiling up at him. “You got a suggestion?”

“Yeah,” he says, sending you a wink as he starts to back away, the car keys jingling in his hand. “I know a place.”

<- Prev

thank you so much for reading my veyr first svt fic!! i hope to write many more in the future :)

148 notes · View notes

thekeeperof-thefandoms · 5 months

Text

Look, I genuinely believe Vox would date you and think it's 100% an obvious thing that doesn't need to be said but his time period doesn't have a major influence over his dynamic with his partners. And some employee, or even Velvette tells him about the tiktok or it gets recreated on the Hell Equivalent, that's a man barging in saying he had a bad day at work and yelling at his girlfriend.

"Bitch, what's for dinner?"

Like he assumes you get the joke or like just inherently know he doesn't expect you to cook and clean and do housewife shit all the time. But you don't catch the reference or you don't know it's a reference and panic/tear up, you genuinely think he's upset with you for not meeting his expectations for a partner. And you shakily answer "grilled cheese" or some other food you know you can cook quickly with stuff already in the house and he's just devestated.

"Doll, no, no, you don't gotta cook. It was supposed to be a joke. You better not ever let me talk to you like that for real. If I ever talk to you like that, you better knock the shit outta me. Like whole new screen replacement, understand? Now what do you want to eat, I'm ordering take out."

#fanfiction #hazbin hotel vox #hazbin hotel x reader #vox x reader

337 notes · View notes

timmydraker · 12 days

Text

Tim vapes.

To his friends, namely the ones at school and not so much in Young Justice, this ain’t anything surprising. It’s popular for his age group and given how he has various roles in life that cause anxiety and his poorly concealed PTSD from being Red Robin, it makes sense he’d turn to something for comfort.

That comfort just happens to be an addiction to the ‘cancer usb’s his brother Dick once went on a two hour rant about.

Jason once got grounded and forced to watch a PowerPoint video made by Dick and Bruce after he was caught with a cigarette while still Robin. Jason still kept up the bad habits, but he normally turned to a drink or smoke when things were really bad. It was both recreational and a treat that he only had a few times a year, or month in the case of alcohol.

Tim doesn’t take breaks unless he’s on patrol.

It started when he was thirteen and was so tired from starting work with Wayne Enterprise and Robin that he didn’t give his usual response to his friends offer of a hit.

The passion fruit guava flavour settled easily in his chest, most likely due to how he had a lot of self control with his body. He coughed a storm afterwards but quickly found himself coming back for a hit or two during school breaks.

It only took a month for him to buy his first one after some research. He bought the least damaging one for his body even if he knew that lessening such damage didn’t fully remove it.

He started with grape.

Then once that died, he bought sour apple.

Then fairyfloss.

Then strawberry mango.

Then birthday cake, which he genuinely didn’t think could be real but alas.

It took almost four years for anyone in his family to notice and by pure luck it was his actual father who would end up dying a few months later. Tim remembers how guilty he felt when he realised his father would no longer be yelling at him for his ‘fruity fucking stink’ and that such a thing gave him genuine relief. He shouldn’t want his dad to be dead, yet…

It was then Tim realised that maybe he should try slow down his usage, and challenged himself to go a whole hour before a hit, then two and then finally three before he decided that would be enough for a while.

It’s on a particularly bad patrol when he saw a kid get hurt and wasn’t in time to save her from some likely permanent damage that he forwent his rule of vaping in the suit and took several hits while against a wall in his Red Robin attire.

He was just stating to feel the calm fully settle in his bones as his last puff of sour rainbow exited his lunged when he heard a voice just a few feet away.

“How dare you disgrace the name of Robin with that filth!”

Tim jumps up immediately but no training would prepare him for how quickly Damian comes over and snatches the vape from his hand.

Damian is gone quicker than he can get himself together and he only just managed to shout and run after him with his growing panic.

Tim watches his youngest brother vanish from sight and knows he’s doomed.

When he gets back to the cave a few hours later after trying to hide away from his problems, he’s finished his second vape (star fruit grape) from pure stress.

He’s met with the entire family sans Jason giving him the most disappointed and concerned look he’s seen since he confessed he lost his spleen and didn’t tell anyone.

Damian won’t meet his eye but even then Tim can tell from years of studying his younger that even Damian feels a little guilty for outing him, but as Dick looks close to tears with how upset he is the others resolve clearly strengthens.

Tim doesn’t blame him, even if he’s mentally going over all the symptoms of nicotine withdrawal.

#tim drake #batfam #bat family #dc comics #batfamily #tim drake is red robin #dc universe #tim drake is a menace #dc #dick grayson #jason todd #damian wayne #bruce wayne #tim drake angst #addiction #Tim vapes #tim drake centric

147 notes · View notes

lefteagleblizzard · 4 months

Text

𝕱𝖗𝖔𝖒 𝖉𝖚𝖘𝖐 𝖙𝖔 𝖉𝖆𝖜𝖓

mike schmidt x gender neutral reader

Summary: A one shot that narrates many different things that happens during a long day between Mike and reader.

Warnings: gender neutral reader. No pronouns used towards reader. Angst. Fluff. allusion to smut. No actual smut. Flirting. Established relationship. Panic attack. Happy ending.

Can also be found on wattpad and ao3

Sorry for bad grammar. Sorry if it's cringe. Enjoy :)

The sun peeked through the curtains, casting a warm glow across the room. Mike stirred, his eyelids fluttering open. Beside him, you laid still, chest rising and falling rhythmically. You were tangled in each other's arms, cocooned in the soft warmth of your shared bed.

Mike blinked away the last remnants of sleep, his gaze landing on your peaceful face. Your hair was tousled, and a faint smile curved your lips. He couldn't help but smile back. The both of you had been through so much together—late-night conversations, laughter, tears, and stolen kisses—and yet, every morning felt like a new beginning.

He shifted closer, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. You stirred, your eyes fluttering open. The first thing you saw was Mike, and your smile widened. "Good morning, did you sleep?" you whispered, your voice still thick with sleep.

The nightmares had plagued him ever since the kidnapping of his little brother. The faceless abductor, Garret's terrified eyes, the guilt—it all came rushing back in the dead of night. He'd wake up drenched in sweat, unable to breathe, feeling like he was failing his brother all over again.

You stayed up with him during the nights when the nightmares were too much. You helped him when he woke up screaming, tears streaming down his face.

"Morning," Mike replied, brushing a strand of hair away from your face. "Did you sleep well?"

You stretched, your limbs intertwining with his. "Like a baby," you said. "Your presence is my best lullaby."

He chuckled, tracing lazy circles on your back. "I could say the same about you." The room was filled with the soft rustle of sheets as you shifted, getting comfortable. Outside, birds chirped, and the distant hum of traffic reminded you two that the world was waking up too.

You propped yourself up on one elbow, your eyes curious. "What time is it?"

Mike glanced at the clock on the bedside table. "Early," he said. "But who needs time when we have this moment?"

You laughed, leaning down to kiss him. Your lips were warm and inviting, and Mike lost himself in your taste. You kissed slowly, savoring each other, as if you had all the time in the world.

And you really wished you did.

When you finally pulled away, you rested your head on his chest. "I love mornings like this," you murmured. "Just us, no rush, no worries."

Last night he didn’t have to work at the pizzeria and you grasped the opportunity to make up for lost time.

Mike mumbled something incoherent that you almost certainly assumed was a sign of him agreeing with you.

It was your little bubble, where everything else fades away.

You lay there, wrapped in each other's arms, while you shared stories about the fragments of a dream you had tonight and was lucky enough to remember.

"What's on your agenda?" Mike asked.

You tilted your head, pretending to think. "Hmm, let's see. Waking up Abby, breakfast , followed by cuddles, and then maybe pretending to be sick so I don’t have to leave for work."

"Sounds perfect," Mike said. "But what if I add a twist?"

Your eyes sparkled. "What kind of twist?"

He gently rolled you onto your back, hovering slightly above you, his beloved. "Tonight, I had a wonderful dream that I so dearly wish to recreate."

Your smile turned into a subtle smirk, despite the fatigue that gripped you from waking up just minutes ago. You raised an eyebrow, curious. "A dream? Odd, it felt so vivid to me."

"Yes, it was so splendid it seemed impossible to be real."

You laughed, pulling him down for another kiss. Your lips met, hungry and passionate, as if you were making up for all the kisses you hadn't shared during the night while you held each other as if there was no other person in the world.

༞༞༞༞༞༞༞༞༞༞༞༞༞༞༞༞༞༞༞༞༞༞༞༞༞༞༞༞༞༞༞༞༞༞༞༞༞༞༞༞༞༞༞༞༞

You sit at the kitchen table, cradling a warm mug of coffee in your hands. The sun spills through the window, casting a gentle glow on the checkered tablecloth. Across from you, Mike sips his own coffee, his eyes still heavy with sleep. It’s one of those quiet, comfortable moments—the kind that make mornings bearable.

Abby, Mike’s adorable sister, perched on a stool, her pigtails bouncing as she swung her legs.

“You slept well?” You asked while taking a small sip from your cup, tilting your head to the side when you saw the expression on her face.

Abby squinted her eyes, her little forehead wrinkling in concentration. “You know what?” she said, her voice serious. “Your bed creaks a lot at night.”

Mike choked on his coffee, and your coffee goes down the wrong pipe, and you cough, sputtering. You and Mike exchanged wide-eyed glances, both of your faces turning various shades of crimson. The previous night’s activities had indeed been...energetic.

“Uh, Abby,” Mike stammered, “it’s just an old bed. You know, wood settling and all that.”

Abby shook her head, her eyes wide with innocence. “But I sometimes hear it and other times no! You think that a new bed for you two will work?”

You bit your lip, trying to suppress a laugh.

Mike leaned closer to you, whispering, “We’re in trouble, aren’t we?”

You grinned. “Big trouble. The mattress we have is too comfortable to loose”

“Abby,” Mike said, leaning toward her, “you’re right. We’ve been having epic pillow fights at night.”

“Pillow fights?” Abby’s eyes sparkled. “Really?” She asked towards you.

“Oh, ehm... yeah” you stammered before recovering. “Mike snores too loudly and I use a pillow to stop him”

Abby claps her hands, her laughter bubbling forth like a mountain spring. Your heart swells; this is parenthood at its finest— the shared conspiracies towards the same member of the family.

Mike glares at you, but his lips twitch. He’s caught between irritation and affection.

Abby gets out of her chair and starts jumping out of excitement. “Can I join your pillow fight club?”

“Of course!” You said. “But only if you promise not to tell anyone about our secret pillow fights.”

Abby put her tiny hand over her heart. “Cross my heart! But seriously, you should get a new mattress.”

You and Mike burst into laughter, your embarrassment now completely forgotten. Abby’s innocence was a balm for your souls.

As you all finished breakfast, Abby skipped off to draw, leaving the two of you alone.

You leaned across the table, your fingers brushing.

“You know,” you whispered, “maybe tomorrow we could check the bed’ slats. The noises might come from them”

Mike grinned. “Isn’t it romantic to you? Our bed serenading us through the night.

You cheeks tainted in red. “Mike, focus! We need a solution. How about we flip the mattress? Maybe it’s just grumpy from being on the same side for years.”

“Fine, let’s flip the mattress. And while we’re at it, we can tighten the screws. But then we’ll have to test to make sure it doesn’t make any more noises” Mike said while nuzzling your neck.

“Deal,” you giggled from the tickled caused by his stubble.

༞༞༞༞༞༞༞༞༞༞༞༞༞༞༞༞༞༞༞༞༞༞༞༞༞༞༞༞༞༞༞༞༞༞༞༞༞༞༞༞༞༞༞༞༞༞

The sun, in the late afternoon, casts its golden rays through the window of the house. The rooms are bathed in a warm, honey-colored glow. Dust particles float lazily in the air, illuminated by the sunbeams. The light dances across the floor, creating elongated rectangles that stretch from the window to the opposite wall.

A shame you were not capable of enjoying the beautiful display as you embarked on a quest to find your elusive phone. You tiptoed into the room you shared with Mike, who was busy lifting weights from his bench press. Sweat glistened on his forehead as he strained against the iron. He was a security guard after all, he should at least maintain himself in form, even if no one would probably enter that creepy and abandoned place he works at.

Your eyes scanned the room, but the phone remained elusive.

“Hey, Mike,” You called out, feigning innocence. “Have you seen my phone? It’s playing hide-and-seek.”

Mike paused mid-lift, wiping his brow. His eyes narrowed playfully. “Your phone? Nah, it’s probably hiding from you, considering how much you use it”

“You know, Mike,” You said, “you’re not exactly intimidating when you’re always this tired.”

Mike chuckled, sweat dripping down his forehead. “Yeah, well,” he panted, “I’m going for the ‘approachable’ vibe.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Approachable? More like ‘about-to-collapse’.”

Mike set the barbell back on the rack and wiped his face with a towel. “You think I’m weak?”

You rolled your eyes. “I didn’t say that.”

You groaned in annoyance as you kept searching for your phone in the room. You needed to answer to some important stuff for work.

Maybe it fell down from your wardrobe? You turned around and bent down on your knees, looking under the creaky bed and finally spotting your phone under it.

A sigh of relief left your lips. Your arm stretched out under the bed, fingers grazing the cool wooden floorboards. Your phone lay just out of reach, teasing you with its silent screen.

“Come on,” You muttered, wiggling your fingers. “Just a little more.”

But just as your fingertips brushed the edge of the phone a pair of arms was wrapped around your waist, and lifted you off the ground.

You yelped in surprise, legs kicking in the air as Mike scooped you up in his arms, bridal style “Mike! What the—”

Your heart races, and for a moment, you forget to breathe. The warmth from his body envelops you, his scent—part musk, part fresh air—fills the room and you cling to him instinctively as you wrap your arms around Mike’s neck.

Your fingers find their way to the back of his neck, where you feel the tension in his muscles. The room spins around you, and you laugh— a genuine, unguarded sound— as he carries you toward the window.

“See?” Mike grunted, pretending not to strain. “Not weak at all.”

His strength surprised you; he might look fatigued, but those biceps were no joke.

"Mike" you protest playfully, "what are you doing?"

He grins down at you, his eyes sparkling. "Taking you to see the sunset," he says, his voice low and intimate.

The warmth of his skin seeps through your shirt as he steps closer to the window, the fading sunlight bathes you both. Despite being so simple, the garden outside looks beautiful under the sunlight.

"Look," he murmurs, tilting your chin upward. The sun kisses the horizon, casting a golden glow on your faces. "Isn't it beautiful?"

You nod, unable to tear your eyes away from the view. But it's not just the sunset that steals your breath—it's the way Mike looks at you, as if you’re the most precious thing in the world. The warmth of his love surrounds you, and you know that this memory will stay with you forever.

And in that moment you forget about everything except the warmth of Mike’s arms and the love in his eyes. Bridal style or not, your exactly where you want to be—held close, suspended in love, and ready to face the sunset together.

Abby had heard the laughter from the hallway. She burst into the room, eyes wide with curiosity. “What’s going on here?”

Mike grinned, showing you like a trophy obtained with so much hard work and explaining to her how you told him he is weak.

With you still in his arms, Mike walked closer to the bed from where you previously were. His legs trembled slightly, but he held on. You giggled, and Abby skipped alongside you two, cheering like you all were in a parade.

“Mike,” Abby said, eyes wide, “can you lift me too?”

Mike chuckled. “Give me a second”

Mike gently sets you down. You both caught your breath, laughing and feeling the warmth of shared moments.

Abby joined in and you watched with a grin as Mike lifted her up from the floor, making her laugh joyfully.

༞༞༞༞༞༞༞༞༞༞༞༞༞༞༞༞༞༞༞༞༞༞༞༞༞༞༞༞༞༞༞༞༞༞༞༞༞༞༞༞༞༞༞༞༞

The moon hung low in the sky, casting elongated shadows across the plain and simple field. The abandoned playground stood like a relic from another time—a place where laughter once echoed, but now only silence prevailed.

Mike patrolled the rusted arcade games and cracked tables, his flashlight cutting through the darkness. His duty was to protect this forgotten place, even though he couldn't shake the feeling that something watched him from the shadows.

You had always been intrigued by the mysterious playground. You’ve heard stories—the kind whispered around campfires—about children who vanished here, leaving behind only their laughter and half-buried memories.

Tonight, unable to sleep, you decided to pay Mike a surprise visit. Abby was tucked safely in bed.

You park your car in the gravel lot, the crunch under your tires sounding unusually loud in the still night. The air is cool, tinged with the scent of rain that hasn't yet fallen. Ahead, the silhouette of the abandoned pizzeria looms, its windows dark.

Navigating through the shadows, you feel a mix of excitement and apprehension. Mike's job as a security guard here always seemed eerie to you, surrounded by empty halls and the echoes of machinery long silenced. But tonight, you're here to bring a little warmth to his solitary shift.

You enter the building, your footsteps echoing off the concrete. The stairwell is dimly lit, the walls tagged with graffiti.

Your footsteps crunched on the gravel path as you approached the main hall. The moonlight revealed twisted shapes—a carousel frozen mid-spin. Those animatronics behind the tents looked anything but friendly. The air smelled of damp earth and nostalgia, and you shivered despite the mild night.

Just as you stepped onto the cracked pavement, a beam of light swept across your path. Mike emerged from the shadows, his security uniform slightly disheveled and his eyes widened in surprise. His flashlight illuminated your face, and a smile tugged at the corners of his lips, despite the visible tiredness on his face

"What brings you here?" Mike said. His voice was a low murmur, gravelly and worn. Each syllable seemed to emerge from the depths of exhaustion, like a shipwreck survivor gasping for air.

You feigned innocence. "Oh, you know, just thought I'd drop by. Abby's asleep, Max is watching her and I couldn't resist exploring this creepy place."

Mike chuckled, a sound that rumbled from deep within his chest. "Exploring, huh? You're brave, but this is a private property, you should not be here”

You stepped closer, your breath mingling in the chilly air. "And what are you gonna do about it, Mr. Security Guard? Are you gonna call the police for an harmless intruder?"

“I'm willing to make an exception for you. Harmless you said? let’s see those hands. Empty pockets, please.”

You show him your empty hands “Clean as a whistle. Are you going to frisk me?”

Mike leans in, his voice low “I might have to. Strictly professional, of course. Turn around, hands against the wall."

Your heart started pounding while you played along, that deep voice that he made with a hint of tiredness was hot

You turned, placing your palms flat against the cool brick wall. Mike steps behind you, his breath warm against your neck.

"Spread your legs a little wider. We wouldn't want anything slipping past my expert frisking skills." He said, voice still low.

You stifled a nervous giggle, your pulse racing. Mike's hands move—firm, yet gentle—up your sides, skimming the edges of your coat.

"I assure you, I'm clean. No hidden weapons, no secret plans." Your voice was now trembling.

You can feel Mike leaning in closer, lips brushing your ear "Good. But I have to be thorough. Safety first, you know."

His hands continue their exploration, tracing the curve of your hips, then sliding down to your thighs. Your skin tingles, and you wonder if Mike can hear your heart pounding.

"Thorough is...appreciated." Your voice is barely audible now.

Mike’s fingers dip into your coat pockets, checking for imaginary things. His touch sends shivers down your spine.

"All clear. But there's one more area I need to inspect." He whispered

He steps closer, pressing against you, and your breath hitches. His lips brush your cheek, teasing.

"Your heart. It's racing. Is that normal during a routine frisk?" He whispered in a husky voice.

Before you can respond, Mike turns you around, his eyes searching yours. The playful game fades, replaced by something more intense.

"You're trouble. But I think I like it." His hand slid down to the flashlight's switch, turning it off. Darkness enveloped you two.

And then, his lips meet yours. The kiss was both sweet and urgent. A kiss that tastes of adventure, stolen moments, and the promise of something beyond a simple game.

༞༞༞༞༞༞༞༞༞༞༞༞༞༞༞༞༞༞༞༞༞༞༞༞༞༞༞༞༞༞༞༞༞༞༞༞༞༞༞༞༞༞༞༞༞༞

Pushing the door open, Mike shows you the office he mainly works in, the bank of security monitors bright inside the dark room.

His tired face lights up with a smile as he sees you taking a seat to the chair next to his.

You spend the next hour talking, catching up, sharing a late snack you brought from home. Mike tries to focus on your stories, but his eyes begin to close, his head tilted forward slowly until he struggles to stay shiny and awake.

You suggest he get some rest. "I've got this," you assure him, motioning towards the monitors. "You need more sleep than I do."

Reluctantly, he agrees. He settles into a small cot in the corner of the room, his body visibly tense. "Just wake me if anything happens," he murmurs, his voice already slurring with exhaustion.

You nod, watching as he drifts off, the lines of his face softening. Quietly, you move to his chair, keeping an eye on the screens. The silence, the cameras showing nothing but abandoned spaces and those animatronics behind the tents.

It was normal for Mike to be so sleepy if every night here always plays out the same.

You could have sworn that the giant animatronic bear had moved its eyes towards the camera, but as soon as you blinked, he was no longer watching it.

Tiredness was having an effect on you too

An hour passes slowly. You jump slightly when Mike suddenly gasps, his breath ragged, his eyes wide and filled with the terror of the nightmare that's haunted him for years. Rushing to his side, you find him panting,

"It's okay, Mike, you're safe," you say softly, taking his hand. His grip is tight, almost painful.

"Garret... I saw Garret..." he chokes out, his voice ragged with fear and grief. You remember all too well the stories he's told you about his little brother, Garret, who was kidnapped years ago. It's a wound that never fully healed, one that haunts him in these vivid nightmares.

"Ssh, I'm here, Mike. You're not alone," you reassure him, stroking his hair as his breathing slowly calms. You've been through this many times over the years, yet each time feels just as heart-wrenching.

"I always think I could've saved him... If only I hadn’t been distracted," Mike confesses with tears streaming down his face.

“You did everything you could”, you remind him gently. “It’s not your fault”

"It's okay, it's okay, you're safe," you murmur, pulling him into your arms. His heart races against your chest as you hold him tightly, feeling his muscles tense with every shudder. These moments are heart-wrenching, yet after all these years, you know exactly what to do.

Mike clings to you, his breathing erratic, his grip tightens around you as if holding on for dear life.

"Focus on my voice, Mike," you continue, your tone steady and soothing. "Breathe with me. In... and out... In... and out." You guide him through the breathing exercises you've learned together, a routine that has become second nature on nights like these.

Gradually, his breaths become less shallow, the trembling subsides, and the grip of his fingers loosens around your arm. His face, buried in the crook of your neck, feels wet against your skin-tears, not uncommon on these long nights.

"You're doing great," you reassure him, brushing a hand through his hair, offering the comfort that words alone cannot. This touch, a simple gesture, often helps to anchor him back to the present, away from the nightmares.

Thank you," he says, his voice hoarse but sincere. "I don't know what I'd do without you."

"You don't have to do anything without me," you reply, a small, tired smile crossing your lips. "I'm here, always."

He rests his head on your chest, listening to the steady beat of your heart-a sound that seems to comfort him as much as your presence. You stay awake a little longer, ensuring he drifts back into a more peaceful sleep, watching over him in the quiet of the night.

As you finally feel his body yield to exhaustion and the steady rhythm of his breathing indicates he's asleep, you allow yourself a moment of rest. Love, you remind yourself, is both a refuge and a strength, in the quiet of the night and beyond

༞༞༞༞༞༞༞༞༞༞༞༞༞༞༞༞༞༞༞༞༞༞༞༞༞༞༞༞༞༞༞༞༞༞༞༞༞༞༞༞༞༞༞༞༞

It was now morning. Soon it will be time to go back to Abby. Mike leaned against you, your fingers intertwined. "I don't know if I'll ever fully heal," he admitted. "But you make it bearable."

You pressed a kiss to his temple. "We'll take it one step at a time. Healing isn't linear, Mike. Some days will be harder than others, but we'll get through them together."

And so you did. Mike still woke up from nightmares, but you were there to help him, to remind him that he wasn't defined by his past.

As the days turned into weeks, Mike found himself laughing more, sleeping a little better. The shadows of the past didn't disappear, but they no longer consumed him. Your love was a lifeline, pulling him back from the abyss.

One night, as you lay tangled in each other's arms, Mike whispered, "Thank you."

"For what?" you asked.

"For being my light," he replied. "For helping me find my way out of the darkness."

And you smiled, your eyes filled with tenderness. "Always, Mike. Always."

94 notes · View notes

yuurei20 · 9 months

Note

Hi there! Quick question, How does Idia feel about Leona?? to me, they have such weird dynamic. They don't like each other but they don't outright hate each other either, but sometimes it feels like they're totally fine with each other?? Is this just a respect thing??

Hello hello!! This gets into character analysis which is definitely not my strength, so I reached out to one of the most knowledgeable Idia-analyzers I’ve ever seen ( @frost__tw ) who was so kind as to collaborate with me on this response, and I am forever grateful ♡

Also: agreed! Their dynamic is particularly fascinating because they are both complete opposites and extremely similar, simultaneously:

Both are housewardens, near the same height, canonically attractive, unusually intelligent, very sarcastic, enjoy chess, are from important families, keep others at a distance, often complain about having to go out of their way to do things they are uninterested in, have brother issues and won’t put effort into things they have predetermined to be impossible, which ties directly into how they are trapped in situations they can’t do anything about due to the circumstances of their birth.

And we also have their recently introduced titles (on JP server): “Ambitious King” and “King of the Underworld.”

It is difficult to pinpoint exactly how Idia feels about Leona, possibly because he doesn’t know very much about him (which is possibly because Leona doesn’t want him to).

During Book 6 he assumes that Leona isn’t suited to a leadership role, for example, despite how people who actually spend time with Leona say otherwise.

The two overlap in Idia’s second birthday vignette, where Leona gifts him with an artisanal chess set and the two pause the interview to play together.

They seem to mutually agree not to mention who won the game, and it may have been a draw.

We see Idia categorize people and generalize them into character tropes (from anime/manga/games) throughout the game, and based upon Leona’s appearance/outward behavior, Idia may labeling him as the scary top boss of the Savanaclaw hooligans (re: their Halloween vignette together) in his mind.

But he is able to overcome his initial flight response in this birthday vignette once Leona procures the chess set (one of Idia’s personal interests).

(This is part of the reason why Idia’s stutter is such an important part of the character: he stutters when he panics, but then speaks smoothly when he becomes passionate, which the characters even comment on in the game (Ortho calls it his "go off switch" on EN, and his "heat up switch" on JP).)

(Recreation of this trait varies by scene on EN.)

Leona is difficult to read because he will insult the people he likes and respects just as readily as he does those he does not (something that we see Jamil come to understand in real time during Book 6), so trying to work out his true opinion about anything can get into conjecture.

They also do not overlap particularly often, which gives us less to work with, but his teasing of Idia in the birthday vignette is not dissimilar to his teasing of characters like Jamil and Vil. Whereas they understand Leona’s humor, however, Idia may not.

What we know for a fact is that Leona has canonically complimented Idia for being both intelligent and powerful during Spectral Soiree, and this may have been a parallel to Terror is Trending when, extremely impressed by Savanaclaw’s Halloween set, Idia asks, “Did Leona use his magic for it?”

Idia also comments on Leona’s power during his evaluations at STYX, saying, “I already knew Leona was tough and could handle whatever danger comes at him…”

I think you are correct, and it is a respect thing!

They are both aware of the other’s familial situations and strengths and, in any other circumstances, they might get along well. But their personalities are just too different, they frustrate each other in every conversation they have, and whatever positives the other person has might just not be enough to outweigh how obnoxious they find the other to be.

We learn from Vil that the rule at NRC is “the weak obey the strong,” and the Housewardens at NRC seem to take this literally, with Idia, Leona and Vil all being constantly torn between sincere annoyance and grudging respect. The three referring to others as “spudlings,” “normies” and “herbivores” is another interesting overlap that they share.

(Despite being even more different than Leona and Idia, Leona and Vil repeatedly find common ground in allying against Idia.)

(In a parallel to this, Leona and Idia find common ground on the subject of Malleus, with Leona saying, “It’s a pain when the majority forces their opinion on you,” which is an opinion Idia seems to share.)

Thank you so much for this question, it was wonderful to dive into!

Overall, Leona and Idia seem to share a mutual undertone of “I know you’re the best at what you do, but I can’t stand you. I acknowledge that you’re intelligent, capable and talented, but please go be that somewhere else,” which ties directly into a comment from Yana’s 2023 interview:

“Since the characters in the story are villains they do not admit defeat, but they will admit, ‘Hey, you did pretty good.’ Even if they don’t like each other, they will recognize each other’s abilities.”

(And thank you again to @frost__tw for all the amazing insight! ♡)

#twstask #Leona Kingscholar #Idia Shroud

212 notes · View notes

mysticode54 · 3 months

Text

ICO's Japanese Manual Translated Into English

Earlier this year, I began the task of translating the Japanese Manual for ICO which, to my knowledge, no one has attempted before. I covered pages 4 through 22 of the original PS2 manual and blocked the text appropriately to match the original manual's structure. Ideally, you should be able to line it up against the real manual and know which paragraphs provide what information. When I last touched this project, I wasn't wholly satisfied with the presentation but I have to accept that I was being a bit too ambitious about it. I certainly didn't have the energy to fill all the gaps with recreations of the original manual sketches, like I initially wanted. Here is my transcript of the original Japanese text (alongside transcripts of the English manuals): https://icoshrine.neocities.org/manual_transcripts#Japan%20PS2 The goal of my translation was to remain as faithful to the original wording as possible, changing things only for the sake of clarity, and the flow of the sentences. I acknowledge my translation is subject to critique. I am a novice when it comes to Japanese translation, though I did my best, revised the draft several times, and consulted someone more experienced with the language for feedback. Beneath the cut are some personal thoughts and theories regarding the various versions of this game manual.

Those paying attention to ICO's lore might notice there are some stark differences to how the Japanese manual and English manuals (both NTSC-U and PAL) present the story. The English manuals give us many additional details about the people of Ico's village and the nature of his curse:

"Ico's nightmare started the day he drew his first breath. In his village, the birth of a normal child is a source of happiness and relief. Proud fathers show off their new offspring, reassuring themselves and others that this time, the curse has not left its mark. But some births bring suspicion and fear. Once in every generation, the curse arrives with the birth of a special child born with tiny horns jutting from his head. With word of a cursed birth, fear leaps from person to person like a plague. The whole village settles into a state of quiet, suspicious panic. Any misfortune that befalls the village is blamed on the child with horns. If a crop fails or an illness strikes, he is blamed. Everyone wishes for the day of the sacrifice and the return to good fortune." - Page 5, ICO NTSC-U Manual

The Japanese manual, meanwhile, speaks as little on the matter as possible:

"Ico had horns. Ico was the only one in the village with horns. When a child is born with horns, it is the tradition of the village to offer the child as a human sacrifice to a vacant Castle that towers over the sea. This year, Ico was to be brought to that Castle." - Page 4, ICO Japanese Manual

The narrative has been put into such succinct terms that no details about the village, or Ico's parents, can really be extrapolated. It doesn't even mention that horned children are born once every generation, which I thought to be a critical factor of ICO's worldbuilding. This manual also keeps quiet about Yorda's name, only indirectly mentions The Queen, and doesn't provide any insight into either of their powers. It treats these elements as reveals you should uncover yourself as you work through the game. As opposed to the English manuals which fill you in on everything, leaving little to no surprise aside from the final stretch of the game. Another minor alteration: Ico is labelled as 13, rather than 12. I doubt that was a mistake however, because we can see from the credits of this manual that Kei Kuwabara (桑原慶) was responsible for the text (文). Kuwabara was a Planner for the game (alongside Junichi Hosono and Tsutomu Kouno), and he's come to be known as the man primarily responsible for creating the hieroglyphs that make up Yorda's Runic Language. ----- This manual was written by a member of Team ICO itself, so why does it differ so much from the English manuals? Who actually wrote the English manuals? I have a theory regarding this: The English manuals may have been based upon an old game design pitch document, produced and sent to Sony around the time of game's transition from PS1 to PS2. I believe this because both English manuals make reference to a confrontation at the East and West Arenas (collectively referred to as "Symmetry" in the manuals) that never plays out in the final game.

"Symmetry is really two sides of the same riddle, one left and one right. You will confront the other side later in your quest. [...] Take great care in this place, for another cage awaits, and a hidden enemy is about to reveal herself." - Page 19, ICO PAL Manual

"Symmetry is really two sides of the same riddle, one left and one right. Ico will confront the other side later. [...] Another cage awaits and the Queen prepares to take a personal role in stopping the escape." - Page 26, ICO NTSC-U Manual

In the early PS2 storyboards for ICO, there were two scenes of The Queen intervening at East and West Arena. These cutscenes were part of ICO's original script, which was reduced significantly at some point during development, likely before January 2001. So why would these concepts be found in the manuals if they were cut at least a year before publishing? How did this happen? We know for a fact that Team ICO released the game to North America first, albeit in a state they weren't satisfied with. It was clear they had been pressured by the American market to release the game far sooner than they wanted. During the months of July, August, and September 2001, they were likely putting their all into finalizing the version of the game that would ship overseas. This left them no time to handle the packaging themselves, so they left it to Sony, who in turn hired Beeline to design the game's US box art and manual. Reflecting on this, I don't think its a stretch to suggest that Sony was also left with the responsibility of what text to provide Beeline for the US manual. But, seeing as they did not know ICO as well as the team creating it, Sony picked up an old pitch document made by that team, translated it to English, and handed it off to Beeline for printing. This would explain a few things.

The wordiness of the US manual's backstory would be a reflection of the original script's wordiness and willingness to hint at lore that the final game would leave to the imagination.

Ico's age would change from 12 to 13 over the course of development, as a minor tweak the developers decided on after their initial pitch.

The detailed descriptions of enemies in the English manuals give misleading information, including the claim that Shadow Sentries can create 'protective shields' around themselves. In the final game, they functionally accomplish this by ducking under attacks, but there's no indication of visible force fields. Thus, this could be another scrapped concept.

When localizing for the PAL region, I imagine Sony either handed the same Japanese pitch document over to be re-translated, or the PAL packaging team decided to copy the text of the US manual while changing the wording. TL;DR: The English manuals may actually be based on an older iteration of the game's storyline. All extra information gained from English manuals were likely not meant to be revealed to players. Whether you consider this information "canonical" is up to you. The Japanese manual seems to be the only one written around the time of the game's (December 6th) publishing, and is what Team ICO likely wanted to present to players of the game.

#ico #japanese translation #game manuals #team ico #translation into english #long post #theory under the cut

54 notes · View notes

kookslastbutton · 1 year

Note

Drabble request

TLTD JK fulfilling his wish to recreate that kiss scene from Love 911 with OC

I love your writing dear author, keep it up! 💖

Happy Birthday, My Love ༓ jjk

↩︎ Too Late To Dream Couple

✑ Summary: For years, your husband's been wanting to recreate his favorite kiss scene from Love 911 with you, and lucky for him, it's his birthday today so he gets to have whatever he wants.

pairing: economics professor!jungkook x artist!reader

genre: fluff

word count: 644

a/n: I watched a clip of this on Youtube and omg SO cute! AND the fact that Kookie said he wanted to recreate this in real? 😳 TYSM for the request 🥰 just fyi oc gets a little giggly but she is in no way making fun of him for this.

"Here, here, here!" You watch your husband jog ahead of you on the sidewalk. He's been trying to find the perfect spot for you to fulfill his birthday wish all day. "We have to do it here honey! We're in the middle of one of the busiest streets in Seoul, it'll be just like the movie."

"There's a lot of cars here," you say. Your clammy hands grip the metal sidewalk railing as your eyes scan your surroundings. "There's a lot of people walking around us too. You sure this is the right spot?"

"Of course! Now will you please come here so we can do the thing?" Your husband, only a few feet away, eagerly waits for you to come closer to him.

You chuckle, not even minding that he's a tad bit impatient. Seeing him this happy on his birthday makes you incredibly giddy.

"Hurry, faster!" he gestures with his hands for you to speed up. "I wanna kiss the love of my life in front of all of Seoul."

"Yes baby, I hear you and I'm coming as fast as I can," you reply. Once you're within arm's reach, Jungkook quickly bends his knees to pick you up, arms moving to wrap around your upper legs, just like Kang Il did to Mi Soo.

"Oh wait!" You flinch at the gentlest touch, letting out a giggle that has him taking his hand off you before getting to lift you in the air.

"What happened?" His panic-stricken face makes you feel all kinds of guilty for your random outburst.

"I'm sorry, it just tickles."

"What does?"

"Your hands under my ass."

"Oh my god..." He breaks into an amused grin and shakes his head. "I'll try grabbing tighter okay?" He goes in again and this time you bite your lip to keep yourself under control. Why are you being so squeamish? Get it together!

Jungkook's able to get your feet off the pavement this time but it's like you can't help it—you start fits of laughter again.

"Maybe we shouldn't do this today..." He sets you back on your feet and you lean your head into his chest, hands gripping his shirt. You're embarrassed at the random strangers who pass by, whether by foot or car, chuckling at the two of you, you specifically.

"No, I really want to do it," you muffle, head still buried between his pecs. "Give me a second."

Jungkook strokes your back and then brings his hands to your shoulders. "Look at me," he commands softly. "It's no big deal okay? It's just a silly thing."

"It's not silly!" You flash your eyes up at him. "I think I'm more ticklish than I thought I was. Here, let's try a third time okay?" You nod, back away from him, and give a thumbs up. You then stick your arms straight out, signaling to him that you're ready to be serious this time.

Your husband smiles at your cuteness and reaches to pick you up again. When you squeal for the third time in a row he grunts in playful irritation.

"My god, this wife of mine!" He grabs your face and starts pecking your lips repeatedly. "Just...let...me...kiss...you," he says between pecks.

All previous giggling goes out the window after this—both of you euphoric from the kissing. Your husband takes it as his queue to try lifting you up one last time and this time he's successful.

"See, you look so beautiful like this," he tells you, nothing but pure happiness on his face. "I could stare at you forever and not once get tired."

"Happy birthday my love." You cup his face from your higher position, lean down, and kiss him not a minute later as more random strangers clap in the background.

Apparently, you have more of an audience than you realized.

#jungkook fluff #jungkook x reader #jungkook imagine #bts imagines #fic:toolatetodream #kookslastbutton #requests

266 notes · View notes

selfcestmovies · 6 months

Text

New recruits at Avengers Compound don't get much face-time with the higher-ranking heroes. As much as you might have loved to get to know the gamed Natasha Romanoff face to face, she was far too busy for the green members of the squad.

Still, you'd hope for any chance at a meeting. You'd ogle at the Black Widow from afar. She was so intense. And hot.

Your first meeting was fully unexpected. Each new hero had a specialized training regiment run out of the Compound's newly refurbished Simulation Rooms — capable of recreating fully life-like and battle-ready simulations. When you arrived for your first session, it was none other than Agent Romanoff herself who handled your onboarding.

"Have you used the Sim before?" What followed was 30 minutes of jargon, but you followed most of it — Stark had cooked up a state-of-the-art holographic simulator to help Avengers of all levels practice combat without the need for a corporeal opponent. Natasha joked that it was in order to prevent her from kicking the ass of any new recruits. She had programmed your regiment herself. "You're to report here at 0900 each morning for an hour of combat. I'll be monitoring your progress and adapting the program daily. Follow?"

You nodded, trying to keep your cool. "When do I start?"

Natasha had already turned to walk away from the Sim entryway. "Now – your first training is already queued up."

You gulped and entered the large, blue simulation room. There was no opponent in sight, until slowly the walls around you began to flash with lights and whir with energy. Then you saw her.

"Glad you're here. Let's start." It was Natasha, through and through.

"Didn't," you stammered. "Didn't you just leave?"

The Nat just laughed and began stretching. "That was the real Nat. I'm just a simulation, although I — I mean, the real Natasha — programmed me herself, so I share her — or my — physical and mental map." She rolled her eyes. "We're the same, basically, except I'm not the real Nat. You got it?"

You nodded.

"Then let's begin."

The coming months, day by day, you'd report for brutally intense hours of training with the "Natasha" simulation. She showed you various moves, grapples, holds and parries before forcing you to try them at full-speed with hardly any preparation. For a simulation, she sure packed a wallop.

Did you entirely hate it? Not in the least. You had been crushing on the redhead since you were in high-school and first saw the Avengers on TV. While you'd never have the chance to get an hour of private time with the real Nat, getting this up-close-and-personal with her exact double wasn't too bad of a consolation prize. At one point she pinned you to the mat with her thighs. It was fucking wild.

"Good work," she huffed when the hour was up.

It was weird to see a simulation out of breath and sweaty. "You act so real," you noted.

Nat laughed. "Guess so. See you back here tomorrow." And with a flash of blue light, she vanished, and the front door to the Sim slid open.

What you never expected was how comfortable you started to become around the Nat simulation, or more surprising, how relaxed and fun she began to act around you. If you didn't know any better, you'd think the Sim was flirting with you. After another month, you built up the courage to wink at her once she pinned you to the mat. Another month later, you made your interests vocal. "Good workout, hot stuff."

Your heart was in your throat. The simulation didn't seem to mind at all, and if you didn't know any better, it seemed like she had reciprocated the interest.

The first time you kissed her, she kissed you back.

The next day your training session was cancelled, and a few hours later, the real Natasha was knocking on your dormitory door. "I've been keeping up with your progress," she started. Your panic was fully visible. "And it's looking good. My Sim seems to think you're ready to up your regiment. Does that sound good to you?"

You nodded, speechless. By the next morning, training was back on your calendar.

"I'm glad you're back," the Sim strutted towards you once you entered her domain. "I made a new proposal for your training."

"Oh?" You were curious.

"If you're interested in learning seduction, it was easy enough for you to simply put in a request. But we're going to need some assistance."

The Sim Room buzzed with blue particulates as the hologram shifted shape. You watched as another simulated figure stepped out from the shadows.

"Just watch what we do, okay? This'll be fun."

#natasha x reader #natasha romanoff #fake movie poster #selfcest #wlw #ai generated #ai art #ai artwork #ai image #mcu #black widow x reader #black widow #scarlett johansson #natasha mcu #marvel mcu #avengers #marvel #marvel cinematic universe

57 notes · View notes

syd-slays · 1 month

Text

kotlc head-cannons (I need to stop)

Warning: a lot about the war with Neverseen. Talk about death and dealing with trauma

Dex starts helping Elwin deal with all the war injuries. He absolutely hates it but desperately looks for anything that makes him “useful”/“valuable” to the group. Sometimes he thinks about his technology mistakes and thinks being a technopath isn’t enough. He’s got the alchemy experience which makes it an easy transition but hates the blood and pain that’s needed to heal.

The experiments Keefe was put through affect him more. For a while, he doesn’t talk at all. Slowly, he starts speaking freely but never again brings his voice above a whisper. As if the volume makes any difference.

So, Sophie gets louder. She tells dumb jokes in hopes that he’ll join in or at least start laughing. It makes her louder about facing the Neverseen, about calling out the discrimination in the elven world.

Biana picks up a sword (or daggers). She’s always been strongest when it comes to tackle bramble, knowing exactly how to knock down her opponents. Woltzer laughs when she asks him to start training her for more than just defense. She turns to Ro, the first person to treat as more than a delicate princess. She becomes an expert, desperately wanting to protect her friends/family.

She learns to take pride in her scars. Even the new ones.

She should have killed Vespera. The scene mirrors the first time they fought, the one that left her with the scars. Vespera and Biana are away from the others, in a rush to protect herself she slashes out with her knife. After all her training, the single slash hits its mark killing Vespera. She didn’t mean to, she swears. She was only protecting herself. Her first kill nearly breaks her, the rest come a bit easier.

Sophie expertly meets with the leaders of all intelligent species. They all enjoy having the Moonlark herself on their side. She becomes the face of the war, the leader. It breaks her heart to make the tragic decisions that come along with it.

Biana becoming her war general.

Somewhere in the books it hints at Sophie, Keefe, Fitz, Biana, and Dex taking over the Black Swan Collective. When it happens, nobody trusts Keefe enough (not even himself) so the position goes to Wylie.

Biana signs up for matchmaking and cries when Dex’s name isn’t on it. Even though she knew he never signed up.

Dex really makes Biana laugh. They tell stupid jokes and can talk about nothing for hours.

They recreate the entire matchmaking system (with the help of Marella, Linh, and Tam).

Biana “Bad Match” Vacker becomes the largest scandal. Even though she’s still too young to even think about marriage and there is an entire war going on. Dex offers to sign up for matchmaking but Biana won’t let him, knowing how much the matchmaking system affected his life.

Biana fell first (choosing Dex who has felt like he was the second choice his entire life) but Dex fell harder (loving Biana who was always chosen by others but for her fame and never for her personality).

It breaks Fitz’s heart to watch his sister choose love over her legacy. Right after he destroyed any chance with Sophie for the same reasons. He really did love her.

Years after the war, after matchmaking was fixed and prejudices were destroyed, Fitz still can’t bring himself to stop being the “golden child.” He becomes a councilor.

Principle Keefe Foster

All of them having to deal with the tragedies of war.

Dex has panic attacks.

Biana hates to sleep alone. She calls for sleepovers all the time. Everyone hated them until they started to realize why. At home she makes Fitz sleep on her floor. At Black Swam hide outs Iggy is her pet more than Sophie’s. On the worst nights she sneaks into other people’s (usually Dex or Sophie) rooms. It’s against the rules so Forkle pretends not to know.

Linh cries all the time and Tam can’t force himself to.

Sometimes Sophie forgets she’s dealing with real people. She makes ruthless decisions until someone takes time to sit down and remind her that everyone’s human.

Including herself, who she forgets to take care of.

Too many emotions make Keefe dizzy. When tragedy strikes, he locks himself in his room until he can calm down. Sometimes spends days in there.

Sometimes it happens for happy feelings too. He celebrates winning the war away from the rest. Eventually Sophie sits outside his door and they celebrate with the wood between them.

Give! Dex! A! Gun! He hates the power it holds and vows to never touch one again. But he did what he had to in order to protect those he loves.

When Marella falls for Linh, she refuses to be quiet about it. Even with the discrimination. She tells Linh all the time that’s she’s amazing and absolutely mesmerizing. She keeps saying these things until Linh learns to love herself. Eventually forgetting her fears and admitting that she’s in love with Marella.

Elwin adopts Keefe after the war, even though he’s old enough that he doesn’t need a guardian. They have family game nights and weekly dinners.

Linh is taller than Tam.

#kotlc #kotlc fandom #dexiana #sokeefe #marellinh #kotlc thoughts #kotlc headcanons #keefe sencen #sophie foster #dex dizznee #biana vacker #fitz vacker #tam song #linh song #keeper of the lost cities

37 notes · View notes

fanfoolishness · 1 year

Text

I started replaying Jedi: Fallen Order last night, and it's been like an hour and my heart is breaking all over again. Look at this kid. Cal Kestis is barely 18 here, and he's just a baby covered in grease and oil leaping around incredibly dangerous wreckage in a job that's more like indentured servitude than a career. Passing through the scrapyard you overhear workers coughing (and not wanting to get it checked out) or complaining about company scrip. Prauf calls it out in a heartbreaking speech that engineers became scrappers, that their pay got cut, that things got more dangerous when the Empire took over. Cal's working in a death trap with nowhere to go. No wonder Prauf tried to tell him he should get out of here. How could you look at that face and not want to protect him?

Here's Cal in his Luke Skywalker era. Except where Luke wanted off a planet where he lived in the sticks (in the dunes) and nothing ever happened, Cal looks out over a planet where everything is scrap and trash and wreckage, and the Empire's boot smothers everything, and he has no dreams except old nightmares.

(Also, look at this gorgeous photo. This game is just stunning. It's incredible how they recreated the look of all of the beautiful matte paintings from the time of the original trilogy.)

Aaaaand here we go, the game gives you about 5 minutes before you dive headfirst in Cal Kestis' trauma, even if you don't know what exactly it is. The look in his eyes here is heartbreaking. Prauf was so strong to look into that thousand yard stare on this kid's face on the daily and not just lose it, honestly. Prauf, you the real MVP.

The panic when Cal uses the Force to save his friend -- and in his surprise, Prauf calls it like it is, says Force and Jedi -- is devastating. Cal's frantic, taking his friend's face in his hands, begging him to please forget it, please forget it, please stop talking about it, please don't think about it, the way Cal tries not to think about it every single day --

He's so, so scared.

I wonder if Cal's fractured relationship with the Force was a desperate act of self-preservation. While Cere cut herself off from the Force knowingly, what if Cal subconsciously did so as a way to protect himself? He must have crash-landed absolutely overloaded with terror, grief, anguish, even hatred for the clones who had turned on them. But if his connection to the Force splintered, if it shattered -- then those emotions couldn't lead him down a dark path. What if Cal accidentally insulated himself from the dark side? Because this is a face that is so frightened, and the dark could offer a solution for that, power that could save and protect him from such emotions.

Ugh I'm rambling. More nonsense to follow.

#jedi: fallen order #jedi fallen order #jedi: fallen order screencaps #jedi: fallen order meta #jfo meta #jfo #cal kestis #my jedi posts #long post

180 notes · View notes

i-am-a-fan · 1 year

Note

Hey, bean, would you mind sharing your thoughts on MK’s (semi-)sentient reflections? Very curious to know your thoughts on it 👀

YOU WANNA HEAR ABOUT MY THEORIES??? Okay... Buckle UP!!!

So the first instance I can find of this is in revenge of the spider queen. Okay.. Let me first say that in hindsight.. this was obvious foreshadowing. The image we see here isn't that of Wukong, but most likey MK in his Monkey form. Take into account that the lighting makes it seem like MK's using his gold vision, which reveals a demon's true form... meaning the reflection is most likely Monkey MK.

Even more so, the trigram furnace was originally used to make the golden pills of immortality and separate the essence of a person into their true consciousness. Which sounds a lot like the furnace is splitting Mk into his true self and their "illusion" self. wink wink

SO THESE TWO ARE NOT THE SAME PERSON: Mirror Mk is more confident, he seems to have a better grasp on how to handle tough stituations, which the real MK is panicing and seems a bit naive.

Throughout his whole pep-talk with himself.. he seems disappointed in himself- barley making eye contact with the real mk. At least for the first part. Afterwords, Mirror mk becomes encouraging and helps Mk to seperate himself from Wukong.

The second I rememeber seeing Mk's reflection act seperatly from him is in Minor scale. The leading up to this episode is Wukong telling Mk to trust his guts, which are manifesting in these reflections. The reflections that are flat out warning him to stay away from the furnace and are once again on the furnace. Somehow, Mk's reflection seems to know more than him.

Personally, I think that these interactive reflections is Mk's Monkey form talking to him. Whether you believe it to be that Mk was seperated from his monkey form when he was recreated again (ancient demon theory) or that the Monkey form was seal away somehow in the first season, both work to show that the Monkey form might be more like a protective entity.

If you want to go even further, the relfection has the opposite coloring from the ink variation of Mk. Yellow and white vs the black and teal.

Ink Mk was a manifestion of Mk's insecuries, what he's bottled up inside and the uncertainty that he's never wanted to face. Ink Mk doesn't give real Mk any answers. Instead he gives him more questions that dance around the answers. The responces are muddy and conviluted. However, Mirror Mk means that he has to face those uncertainties which give him a clearer answer. Mirror Mk's answers are concise and tell him exactly what he needs to hear, but doesn't explain any more than that. Both have the goal of trying to help Mk understand, but due to their nature, they both have to go about it in very different ways.

#lego monkie kid #lmk #lmk mk #lmk s4 spoilers #I didn't even notice the foreshadowing until I started making this #lmk theory #lmk analysis #If you ever have more of these moments to add #I am... SO open to hearing them #or even if you have other thoughts #I am also not a Taoist and so my reference might be wrong

117 notes · View notes

greyskyflowers · 1 year

Text

This is kind of rambling because I just really wish I saw more of this but whatever.

I wish I saw more stuff about Zoro's eye and the crew. I'm really interested in how that wound would have been handled by the crew.

The world already thinks the strawhats are fucking nuts, so I have the firm belief that they only let themselves be true, squishy humans with each other. Reindeer and skeleton included.

The rest of the world has seen them cry, bleed, near death, etc but the real stuff is for crew eyes only. The nightmares, the chronic pains, the panic attacks, the depression, the parts of healing that aren't pretty, etc.

Those belong to the crew. No one else gets to see that because being human in front of the world is different than be vulnerable in front of the world. And they love each other too much to let any of them be stripped bare for the world if they have anything to say about it.

I think of Zoro and Luffy as having the first real injuries of the crew. The point of no return injuries. The sealed their fate as pirates in blood and flesh injuries.

No one on the crew has lost anything quite like Zoro's eye. No one has lost any arms or legs, no lost fingers or toes, no lost of the senses like sight or hearing, and no truly horrific scars. Other than Zoro. And after the timeskip, Zoro and Luffy.

So Zoro missing an eye should have been a thing because this isn't something that heals. An eye doesn't grow back. The world changed for Zoro when he lost it (or whatever happened since we don't 100% know).

That's the injury of a human and Luffy and Zoro, and often Sanji, are seen as beyond human by so much of the world. Even the crew.

And that injury must have been fucking wild. Like so much there to unpack. The pain, the recovery, any infection, relearning how to live daily life with half your vision gone. That's a lot of time to be vulnerable.

It bothers the crew that they weren't there to cover his vulnerabilities like they should have been. They weren't there to do that for Luffy or Zoro. But this post is about Zoro, so that's what we're focusing on.

I have been brainstorming how I'd like to see the crew have to deal with this and I think a great way to make this into a hell of an idea for a fic would be way more simple than I was making it. I was originally thinking about shorting the timeskip, ignoring orders to stay separate, the wound happening closer to when they meet, etc.

But then I thought devil fruit. Duh.

What if the crew runs into a devil fruit user with the ability to recreate wounds? It'd have to be some type of time based power that would allow the user to touch the spot of a scar or other old injury and revert it back to the worst stage of it. Maybe it was when it was first received, a infection, etc.

It would work for other things too. The user notices someone doesn't have any glaringly obvious scars to focus on? Try the head, they probably had a concussion at some point. Try the arm, they've probably broken it at some point.

It also requires the user to revert the wound back to it's present state or it has to heal naturally all over again.

And someone who's fighting the strawhats with this power would go right for Luffy's chest scar. Take the captain down in one hit. He probably won't survive the wound again.

There's a couple ways I could see this playing out specifically with Zoro.

Either the user can't get Luffy and goes for the next best, Zoro's eye. (Or chest would be interesting. Maybe both)

Or they almost get Luffy but Zoro gets in the way. Thriller bark all over again.

I think that wound was nasty because I can't imagine Zoro losing an eye with a clean cut. Most importantly though is what stage it goes back to.

It's clearly not when he first got it. The wound is ragged and inflamed. Dried blood is holding the edges and the skin is stained a rusty color. Not that you can tell over all the bruising, big blooms of black and purple and yellow, that creep across his face and even down his neck.

It's a little terrifying.

But that's not even all of it. The wound fucks with a lot of stuff that they hadn't even thought of.

He's got constant, debilitating headaches and ringing in his ears. It makes basic things like focusing, walking, turning his head, etc all very hard and painful.

Loss of appetite due to pain and medication and chewing and even drinking all pull at the wound. So rapidly losing weight becomes a problem.

Sleep is almost impossible. His exhaustion slows the healing process.

Nausea and vomiting from the trauma, headaches and exhaustion. Even further loss of weight, energy, and necessary nutrients.

And once those settle enough, all the other issues become prominent.

Having to relearn balance and depth perception. Both in daily life and fighting.

Having to readjust for having his field of vision cut in half.

The general trauma. Honestly, I just need him flinching away sometimes when he just wakes up and someone comes in on his blind side. Only with them though, that's the only time he lets himself relax enough to be caught off gaurd or allow someone to surprise him.

The body remembers wounds like that. The mind remembers wounds like that. Zoro is a master at mind over matter stuff but even then, sometimes things are so deep and instinctive that it would be very hard to override those responses.

I want to see the crew reacting to it all.

The nights were Zoro stumbles up, pressing a hand to his eye, dripping sweat, and gasping for air because he managed to actually fall asleep, but in doing so forget to take pain medication before it was too late.

The days where getting him to eat something is the hardest battle the crew has had in days.

Chopper near tears with worry and fury. The rest of the crew in similar mindsets.

They find he sleeps best sitting against the wall with one of them, back supported and unable to roll into a painful position accidentally. His head resting on their shoulder and a careful, so so careful, hand to nudge him back if he starts to do something that will hurt.

He lets Chopper have full access to the wound, not even rejecting the pain medication and that alone speaks to the agony he's in.

They want to squirrel him away deep in the ship until he's better, he's too vulnerable anywhere else. It sets their teeth on edge and the idea of anyone seeing Zoro hurt and bleeding like this is unacceptable.

A healed wound to show the world is one thing, like the scar he had before the devil fruit user, and even a wound still healing, like Luffy's when he rang the bell after marineford, is different. Both of those are warnings. I'll come back stronger, you can't keep me down.

This is something else.

Someone hurt their swordsman. And they knew that of course, even when it was just a scar, but seeing it makes it real.

It makes something burn in their bellies with fury, wanting to snap their teeth at anything or anyone not crew.

It's a wild possessive and protective feeling. Vicious, a little blood thirsty, and demanding names. They want to know who did it.

Part of what makes Zoro Zoro is how he handles injuries and protects the crew. When he first got the wound he was by himself and probably hid away for a bit to lick his wounds before pushing himself back into everything too quick and with too little care.

So this time they want to care for it right, they want to care for him right.

The wound will heal with or without pain medication, but there's no reason to not make sure he's comfortable and supported.

He can sleep with or without someone, but if having someone there helps keep him in one spot all night and keeps the nightmares at bay, why would they let him sleep alone?

The bandages will be changed regardless, but if his hands shake less when someone else is helping him with the cleaning of the wound and the new bandages, why would they leave him to do it by himself?

It's not weakness, it's trust. It's love and vulnerability that belong to each other, not the world.

Being loved enough to be vulnerable is a privilege they'd never deny each other.

#lots of half ass ideas stuck in my head lately #one piece #zoro #luffy #sanji #nami #usopp #nico robin #franky one piece #brook one piece #tony tony chopper #jinbei #mugiwara pirates #straw hat crew #mugiwara crew #straw hats #more everyone loves zoro posts because im trash #setting sail with greyskyflowers

164 notes · View notes