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thyme-in-a-bubble · 2 years

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chamomile, chapter five

A/N: the gif in the moodboard is by @radioactive-creative-bug

summary: watching star wars with your crush + alcohol = ???

warnings: watching star wars, alcohol consumption, drinking games, being a horny drunk (meeeee✌️), kissing, penetrative sex, dirty talk, they're just drunk and horny

word count: 2025

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Three weeks. It had been three weeks of you just nodding along to Reid’s cute babbling about all things Star Wars for you to finally reveal to him that you only knew a fraction of what he was talking about. Maybe your enthusiasm to listen to his heavenly voice came off as if you understood every single one of those facts. Especially when it moved in a physics direction, which it often did. To be honest, you’d only ever seen the original trilogy, and that was when you were a child.

He was embarrassed at first, but as you kept assuring him that it was completely fine and how would he have even known, he noticeably calmed a bit.

You’d told him that it wasn’t that you wanted him to stop rambling on about it, he had just motivated you to fix the problem. The way his eyes lit up when you said that was indescribable. He got all giddy like a kid and couldn’t stop himself from spouting out recommendations on how to make it the perfect viewing experience.

After about five minutes of him explaining in great detail why watching them in the order of the release date and not chronologically was the best choice, you asked him straight out why he didn’t just watch them all with you, be your guide, make sure you did it the right way.

It took him a moment to process what you’d asked him since hanging out outside of work wasn’t exactly something you’d done before. Not yet at least. But once that moment had passed, he flashed you the biggest smile and nodded in agreement.

So here you were, in your living room, halfway through a new hope.

“Oh wait,” you jumped out of your comfortable position on the couch, “pause it!”

Running across the room to the open kitchen, you almost slid across the smooth floors.

“What is it?” he scrabbled for the remote and clicked on it.

“I forgot I bought chips!”

Opening up a low cupboard, you bend down to grab the crinkly bags. Once they were in your grasp, you caught sight of the item stashed behind them and couldn’t stop the lightbulb over your head even if you wanted to.

“Hey, Reid?” you looked over your shoulder. Fully prepared to rip his attention away from the freeze-frame on the tv, you were slightly surprised to see his eyes already locked on your body.

Blinking for a second, he looked up into your eyes with a soft expression of guilt, “yeah?”

Pulling out the glass bottle, you held it up, “why don’t we make this a little more fun?” standing up again, you bit your lip, “I mean, it is gonna be a lot of hours.”

“What, do you wanna play a drinking game?” he chuckled.

“If you want to, yeah. We don’t have work tomorrow, so…”

“Alright, I’m in.”

Squealing lightly, you balanced two glasses as well on your journey back to the couch.

Setting the items down on the coffee table, he suggested, “how about we drink every time they mention the force? Or when we hear someone speak shyriiwook?”

“We hear what?”

“Shyriiwook. The language of Wookiees.”

“Oh, okay, sure. Let’s say that’s what I do,” when his brows narrowed in confusion, you sat down next to him, “you have to drink every time you wanna explain something.”

“Seriously?”

“Yeah. I never said I wanted to play on easy mode,” you screwed off the top of the heavy whisky bottle and began to pour some out into the short glasses.

“Okay fine, then I get, let’s say 5 times where I can tell you to down the rest of your drink because of what’s happening on screen.”

“Why?” you tipped the bottle back, stopping the flow of amber liquid.

“Because I talk a lot!” he laughed, “I’m gonna get drunk in no time! This way we can get somewhat equally wasted.”

Handing him a glass, you giggled, “well, cheers doctor Reid,” you clinked his glass, “may the force be with you.”

“And you,” he grabbed the remote to start again.

“Oh my god, why do I not remember this part? How did I not remember?” you shrieked, slapping Reid’s shoulder lightly.

“I don’t know Y/n,” he chuckled.

“Wait is he gonna die? He’s not gonna die, right?”

Placing a hand on your knee, “no, the carbonite won’t kill him.”

You were going to continue babbling, but the feeling of his palm lightly resting on your knee mixed with the sight of Han and Leia kissing in the smoke-filled room made your words fall short.

“I love you.”

“I know.”

Leaning back, you took a deep breath in. You had not exactly thought this through. Consuming this much alcohol always made you feel like a stripper… or a pornstar, to be honest.

Glancing over at him, you saw him entranced by the story he already knew like the back of his own hand. Why did he have to be so goddamn pretty?

Biting your lip, you caught sight of his hand against your knee. It wasn’t moving, but fuck did it send your whole body on a wild ride. Feeling your breath threatening to pick up, you shifted in your seat, turning your body more toward him. Picking your feet up onto the couch, he instinctively grabbed them and swung them over his lap, bringing you that much closer.

Did he mean to do that? Was it just a reflex? Not that you minded, your body felt like it was on fire, but he wasn’t even looking at you.

It wasn’t until you felt his soft palm run over your right calf that your confusion subsided.

You hadn’t had sex in forever, probably not since you were a teenager now that you thought about it. You had been coping just fine, but then he just had to come into your life and mess that up. He had flipped everything upside down. You had thought working closely with him was bad, but it was child’s play compared to this.

With every light touch, his fingers made across your leg, you almost felt yourself begin to drool, and it wasn’t just from your mouth.

Quickly glancing over to check on you, he did a doubletake, probably not expecting you to be staring back.

Slowly, you noticed his fingers move up just above your knee, applying just the slightest bit of pressure over your thigh. Feeling yourself disappear into his coffee eyes, you leaned into his touch.

Seeing his eyes flicker down towards your lips, you inhaled sharply, “Spencer.”

Inching closer to you, you sensed his palm move up a bit higher. Your breath was nowhere to be seen and before you knew it, you felt his lips brush against your own.

His fingers dug into your thigh and your hands found the sides of his face.

Pulling back just enough to search your eyes, you already knew that the answer he was searching for was clear as day on your hazy features. Once he’d found what he was looking for, it was like the gun had been heard and the race was off.

Like a wave crashing to the shore, he came in for another deep kiss, snaking his other arm around your waist in order to pull you that much closer. Gliding a palm down from his cheek, you anchored it in his tie, wrapping it around your hand once.

Moving his palm up over your hip, leaving its vice-like grip on your thigh up to lightly grasp your boobs. The sensation made you whine against his playful tongue.

Out of breath, he cursed, “fuck…do you wanna…?”

You were so intoxicated by the feeling that all you could respond with was an enthusiastic hum, “uh-huh.”

“Bed?”

Stealing another kiss from him, you quickly raised up from the couch, dragging him with you. Shuffling your way over towards the bedroom, both of your fingers fumbled in their desperate attempts at ridding each other of their clothing.

Backing him up, it didn’t take long for Spencer to let out a soft grunt as the back of his knees hit the edge of your bed. Kicking off the last bits of your garments, you ushered for him to lay down, immediately following suit, settling yourself on top of him.

Your boobs were smooched all the way against Spencer’s chest. You were naked, on top of your co-worker. You were naked and making out with Spencer fucking Reid, the man you’d had an embarrassingly obvious crush on since day one. Feeling his hands find your hips, he pressed them down against his, causing you to let out a small whimper.

Rolling your hips against his hardness, it felt so fucking good. It was both so incredibly perfect, feeling all of him this close, but it also wasn’t enough to scratch the itch that your body was screaming for. You needed him closer, deeper, you needed more.

Reaching a hand down to feel him, it shocked you a bit to feel just how much of your arousal had spread across his skin. Wrapping your hand around his cock, you gave it a short pump before raising your hips a bit and running the head up and down your slit. It didn’t take much effort before he slipped in, making your eyes roll shut.

“Holy fuck,” he gasped, tightening his grip on your sides.

Slowly lowering yourself all the way down, stuffing you till you were full, you buried your face in the crook of his neck.

Once you were settled, you felt his arms wrap around you, hugging you closer, and in one fell motion, he sat up, taking you with him. The motion made the room spin slightly and caused your head to fall back. Perceptive as ever, Spencer managed to raise one hand up to catch your relaxed body.

“Wow, you good?”

Still sitting securely in his lap, you slurred, “I’m, oh fuck.”

Gliding his hand down to caress your cheek, you fluttered your eyes open to see his already searching in yours, “Y/n, are you okay?”

“I’m good, I’m really really good,” you giggled, “that just made me a bit dizzy.”

“The whisky made you dizzy.”

“You make me dizzy.”

“Oh yeah?” he smirked, finally rocking his hips.

“Yeah,” you moaned.

“How about this,” he snapped a sharp thrust forward, “does that make you dizzy?”

Scrambling to secure your hold on his shoulders, you didn’t answer him in words so much as just a string of filthy noises.

Catching your lips, he effectively hushed your moans. This time not being as swift about it, he slowly lowered you down till your back hit the mattress. Hovering above you, he glided a hand down to squeeze your thigh, fucking you even deeper like this.

Pulling back slightly, he probed, “is it just my dick that makes you dizzy or is it more than just that one body part?”

Taking one look at those big beautiful brown eyes of his, you felt it impossible to lie and confessed with a look of pure adoration, “It’s you. It’s all of you.”

Your words set a damper on his rhythm, as he just took a moment to stare at you, before hungrily going in for another deep kiss.

Feeling his palm move over your thigh and around to where your bodies met, he started playing with your clit.

Losing yourself more and more with each thrust of his hips, the added pleasure he just incorporated sent you over the edge. You couldn’t hold it back even if you wanted to.

Not even noticing the timing, that he was also right there, ready to jump, it was only when he rolled off of you, panting and sweaty that you realised it.

You couldn’t move a single muscle. You were so relaxed. You could easily fall asleep right here in this strange position, you didn’t care, as far as you knew it, this was the most comfortable you’d ever been. And as you drifted off to sleep, you felt a soft hand envelop yours and not let go.

next chapter

#chamomile #lea’s writing #spencer reid smut #spencer reid series #spencer reid x fem!reader smut #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid

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shotorozu · 4 years

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hiiii! i was wondering if you could write some headcannons for kirishima, bakugou, and kaminari with a s/o with braces? i got mine on a couple days ago and i’m in quite a bit of pain🧍‍♀️

their s/o gets braces

character(s) : kirishima eijirou, bakugou katsuki, kaminari denki (bnha)

legend : [Y/N = your name] they/them pronouns used (gender neutral), quirk not specific

headcanon type : fluff, crack if you squint, mainly comfort (x reader)

note(s) : ahh i feel bad for you. it literally felt like my jaw got ripped off by a wendigo when i got braces for the first time. anyways, it’ll feel so satisfying once you can eat again!

»»————-　♡　————-««

kirishima eijirou

he was told to get his teeth fixed when he was younger, but he heard how painful it was— so he never actually went through with it.

moving aside that, he immediately goes to find you when he finds out that you’re out from the dentist

and oh— you have braces now.

“does it hurt?” he asks, when he glides through the soup isle. he doesn’t know why it hurts, but he heard that it helps.

“nope.”

but it did hurt. precisely, it felt like your jaw got bashed in by power similar to midoriya’s quirk.

he’s alarmed, because one, he hates seeing you squirm in pain, and two he made the foolish mistake by giving you one french fry when you asked him to

and your reaction wasn’t very pleasant

so, what can he do? he has no knowledge on this!

but wait, youtube exists. eijirou ends up binge watching on a bunch of braces videos, and he practically comes back a natural expert at taking care of new braces

eijirou lets you at all the ice cream he wants, at the same time- he manages to make yummy, but healthy and chewable meals for you for the rest of the week

when he sleeps in your bed, he makes sure not to turn in sleep— surprisingly cautious of his movements

trust me, when my brother didn’t have his own room yet, he almost elbowed my jaw in his sleep— and i only had braces for 6 hours then. so he’s surprisingly?? cautious.

fawns over the fact that your lips looked really swollen because of the new braces, “are you comfortable, cutie?” is what he says when he checks up on you

reminds you to brush your teeth, AND floss. sometimes he’ll do it for you just because he just so happened to walk in when you were flossing LMAO ITS SO WEIRD BUT 💀 its eijirou

has his way of keeping you away from foods like popcorn and bubble gum “Y/N! if you put that down, we can eat this OTHER chewable thing together!”

anyways— he’s the perfect caretaker in my opinion. but eijirou ends up overdoing the research

“have you ever considered buying a water floss?”

... “eijirou, regular floss is fine, y’know?”

bakugou katsuki

this man- omg. [que shiny teeth and me]

his teeth are perfect. he has no history of cavities, and every single tooth grew in correctly. he brushes, and flosses regularly too.

if you don’t tell him you’re getting braces AT LEAST the day before, he’ll be really mad

he’s probably the one that accompanies you to the dentist. he’s willing to inhale that oddly satisfying and weird dentist office smell, and sit in a chair for a hour, staring at a weird soap drama

just so he could accompany you back.

listens to the dentist’s instructions, because he must. know. everything. and besides— you’re probably too bugged out to pay attention.

he knows that it doesn’t hurt around the first 20 minutes or so, but he’s still going to take some extra precautions.

first of all, no more begging for the usual food cravings, because if you do— oh boy.

he’ll stare at you like you’re crazy “what? and you think you can eat that shit? no.” he says, as he gets a spoonful of soup, blowing on it, so it’s not too hot

second of all, he’ll watch you brush your teeth. he might even scold you if you brush too fast.

watches you floss, and smirks when you finish

“don’t be so down about it,” he’ll say in his usual manner “you can have all the disgusting meals you want after the first week”

that makes you smile

“,,just no more gum, popcorn—”

oh, and he’s really strict about that. he’ll yank it out of your hand if you dare to eat anything that’s in the list of ‘the forbidden’

he’s a mean caretaker :,) but he does an excellent job at being one. on the good side, he’ll kiss those lips for yours after the first week has been completed

“don’t be so down about it. your teeth will be perfect just like mine in [insert year of braces removal]”

kaminari denki

denki probably had a few cavities here and there, but his teeth are okay.

he was sort of left in the dark about it :,) because you thought it would be a great idea to surprise him.

you told him you were going to the dentist again which was weird to him because who goes to the dentist 3 times in one month??

denki’s appalled when he sees your eyes tearing up, as he happily waltz into to your room.

“oh no! what happened?” his expression falls, “are you hurt? what can i do?”

“surprise?” you show him your teeth, now fixed with braces

and he’s just :0 what’s that on your teeth?

“you didn’t tell me!” he whines, since he was left in the dark, and while you sheepishly smile at him— he observes your teeth

you open your mouth to answer him, but he shakes his head “don’t answer! i’ll go fix something up for you, even though i’m mediocre at best with cooking— oh well, want anything?— oh wait, just nothing chewable, right?”

similar to kirishima, he doesn’t know why it’s so painful— but he can imagine the pain with the way you’re describing it.

he distracts you by making you laugh, since laughter is the best medicine— but he makes sure not to go too overboard (because he thinks stretching your jaw out would be too much)

ends up replacing your toothbrush with one that had softer bristles, as he tends to get side tracked with the monitoring thing rip

oh, but he does watch you floss your teeth. y’know— what if you accidentally bump your hand against your jaw? he’s thoughtful of that.

for once, it looks like he actually knows about taking care of your braces, even more than you (it looks temporary but hmm.. we dont know)

but after that excruciating week, he DEADASS asked you if he could touch them 💀

“pleasee? what— it doesn’t hurt anymore, does it?”

“denki, don’t even try—”

when you get your braces adjusted, he’s always the one that picks your colors (if you could pick the colors., if that makes sense.)

gets sad when you don’t choose the color he wanted because they ran out of that color. its not even your fault whkdwks

denki was really sad to hear that yellow made your teeth look yellow, and black made it look like you had cavities :,)

overall, he might’ve had some moments where he absolutely missed on the care taking part. but he did his very best! please know that.

the bakusquad is surprised to see his search history— which namely had the keywords ‘braces’ in all of them. they teased him for it

»»————-　♡　————-««

likes and reblogs are appreciated, thanks for reading!

i do not own bnha/mha and it’s characters. boku no hero academia/my hero academia belongs to horikoshi kohei, i only own the writing and i do not profit off of my hobby

do not plagiarize, reupload, translate, or use my works for audio readings without permission

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barnesandco · 4 years

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Eat the Rich: Chapter 1

Eat the Rich Masterlist

The Avengers are tasked with tracking down an elusive thief, and retrieving the grand amounts of money she has stolen. Even after capture, she turns out to be impossible to break, save for a mystifying interest in Bucky.

Written for @mermaidxatxheart ‘s #jamiesmadwritingbash, under the Robin Hood AU prompt, with the dialogue prompt “What’s a pretty little thing like you doing, running around with the end of the world on her his arm?” in bold in this chapter.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: mentions of nightmares, memory loss and recovery, brief mentions of Bucky’s Winter Soldier days, and canon-level violence. Lots of frustrated Avengers. A bit of flirting.

A/N: I can’t decide if I want this series to make people laugh or cry, so good luck. Please comment and reblog!

Divider by the fantastically talented @whimsicalrogers!

The Avengers are confused. Perplexed and far out of their depths, they’re strewed about the meeting room with variants of displeasure on their faces. Bucky wears the biggest scowl of all, sitting ramrod straight in an armchair intended for postures far more comfortable. The source of their malcontent hovers in a hologram above the conference table, somehow managing to look bored while handcuffed and bound to a steel chair in the most secure interrogation room in the Compound.

You’re a thief. A crook who has been stealing big money from bigger people, in a slew of prominent heists that eventually led to the Avengers’ recruitment to your case. High stakes burglary isn’t their field, but when certain people threw their weight around, demanding a serious investigation, Earth’s Mightiest Heroes had no choice but to play detectives to one elusive criminal.

A flirtatious one, too, Bucky thinks, remembering your first confrontation, as he traces the seams of his metal arm with the softer pads of his flesh fingers.

Sam, Nat, and Bucky had tracked you all the way to Paris, where, one night, Sam gave chase while Bucky waited to intercept you on the predicted escape route, in an alley behind one of the classiest bars in town. Their prediction had proved accurate, and you had pretty much run straight into Bucky’s waiting arms.

The ensuing fight should have been an easy one, and Bucky made the awful mistake -- the mistake he hadn’t made since meeting the Widows in the Red Room -- of underestimating a woman, and he ended up paying for it.

His fists clench in his lap at the memory of how you had pulled a very Widow move on him, and he had wound up on his back with your thighs around his neck in a chokehold almost gentle. You had leaned over him to tie his hands together, and left him panting, out of breath, and with the taste of rust in his mouth. Clambering off, and wiping away the blood at the corner of his lip, you had then said, “I look forward to our rematch, handsome,” before disappearing into the dark, French night.

“Barnes?” He hears Stark call, and he blinks. “You still with us, or are you daydreaming about your girlfriend?” The room grows silent, and Bucky can sense suppressed smiles and silent glares, the latter aimed at Stark from Steve.

“She’s not my girlfriend,” he grouses, letting his metal fingers dig into his kneecaps.

Sam, coffee abandoned on the table in front of him, eyes twinkling says, “We heard her through the coms, Barnes. In Paris, and in Buenos Aires.”

“And Oslo,” Peter pipes up, and Bucky falls back into the memory of autumn frost crunching under his feet, the reverberations of the orchestra in the opera house as he followed your coat-tails -- you played violin, because why the hell not -- down the busy street. Power-walking turned to running, and you had ended up in a crowded, posh bar with Bucky backing you into the wall in the hallway leading to the restrooms, holding your hands in one metal fist behind you.

Still, you had been unperturbed, trying to distract him with gemstone eyes while he called backup -- Stark, soaring in stealth mode above the fjord. “What’s a pretty little thing like you doing, running around with the end of the world on his arm?” You had asked, gesturing toward his metal shoulder, no struggle, no flight or fight.

Red-lipped smiles, you had given him, and he had been so close to pulling out the handcuffs until a trio of burly security guards had appeared, your backup, apparently, and engaged him in enough combat to allow you to escape.

“She seems to like you,” Sam finishes piercing the haze of another battle lost, less violently at least, and Bucky rolls his eyes.

“Yeah, well, I don’t like her,” is the best he can come up with, and he stands, moves towards a window overlooking the grounds, addressing the bulletproof glass, next. “What I would like is for us to get the money back so we can all go on our merry way and pretend this ever happened.”

The room falls quiet at that. Every person here is acutely aware of the fact that they’re no closer to getting the money back -- nobody could ever spend the amounts you’ve stolen recently, so quickly; FRIDAY’s run simulations on it -- and you haven’t budged under the interrogations you’ve faced thus far.

Barton enters the room as soon as he gets off the quinjet, still in his typical Bed Stuy uniform -- ripped jeans and purple t-shirt -- and Bucky, alongside Natasha and Sam in the observation room behind the one way glass, can see the angle he’s going with.

It’s almost cliché, or maybe it’s just Clint, so relaxed and loose-limbed with too much pizza in his system and likely smelling of one-eyed dog -- Bucky adores Lucky, but he’ll never admit it -- the way he turns his chair around and sits, resting his chin on folded arms atop the back of the chair.

For a moment, Bucky worries he’s fallen asleep right there, until his blond head lifts ever so slightly and he says, “Would you like something to drink?”

You quirks a smile. “I’d like a proper introduction. What, were you raised in a barn?” The smirk is teasing, but there’s no bite, like you’re greeting an old friend with an inside joke. Barton traces the edge of the table.

“Almost. Ever heard of Waverly, Iowa?” He asks.

You shake your head, and then, grin, informing, “No, but I have heard of you, Clint Barton.”

“So you didn’t need an introduction.”

“I’m a prankster, can’t you tell?” Bucky thinks of the navy blue dress in Prague, the tiny but powerful stink bombs you had kept in a thigh holster, how you had left them coughing.

“Jokes are all well and good but, uh, stealing isn’t so funny,” Clint answers., sitting up, and Bucky can hear in his hardening tone that he’s starting to get serious.

“Depends on who you’re stealing from,” is your flippant response.

“Also depends on who has to get the money back, too, and let me tell you, we’re a little tired of playing games.”

“Then I guess I win, right?”

“Are you sure you don’t recognize her? Her tactics seem familiar,” Sam says, and the sensation that has been aggravating the nerves in an unlocatable part of his brain since he saw her for the first time worsens, but Sam’s question is addressed to Nat.

“She’s not Red Room, if that’s what you mean. The Widows were trained to be merciless. She avoids getting more physical than she needs to,” Natasha answers, retying the band on her braid, flaming red hair coiled over her shoulder.

“She broke Bucky’s nose,” Steve points out in protest.

Nat shrugs, leans forward to doodle on the notepad resting on her knee. “If it was me, I might have knocked some teeth out. Maybe pulled a knife or garrotte.”

“You have to tell me where you get those sting-y things,” you say the moment Nat enters the room, eyes sparkling and wide with awe. Bucky winces as he remembers the short-circuit from that little electric disc. The engineers in the bank had been pretty troubled by the thought of what could’ve caused that kind of damage to the internal systems, until he his fist around one of their necks gave them something else to worry ab--

Steve’s hand on his shoulder startles him back to the observation room instead of Hydra’s clutches, and he says, “Hey, Bucky, how’s it going?” with a nod to the room in front of them. Vibranium cuffs peek out from under the large, green hoodie that envelopes your form, making you look deceptively soft.

“She wants to know where Nat gets her taser discs.”

“You’re eager for those even after you’ve felt how much they hurt?” Nat asks calmly, and Bucky imagines an ice-cool smirk on her lips as she reminds you of how exactly you were captured. It was the tasers that brought you down, after Sam, Steve and Bucky flew and ran you to exhaustion through the streets of Algiers, costing Stark some collateral payments. He hadn’t minded too much, just been happy to have you in custody, finally.

“They look like they’d be fun to use. Pretty handy around certain metal armed men, too,” you suggest playfully.

“Yeah, he isn’t going to talk to you, but I’ve been looking forward to this chat of ours, so why don’t you start by telling me your name.”

“I don’t have one. I’m a ghost story,” you say, and Bucky assumes Nat is looking unimpressed, because you press forward with the joke. “You’re going to need a medium to talk to me.”

“And where do you suppose I find one of those?”

“You have one. Isn’t Bucky Barnes a ghost story, too?”

Sam’s about to name what is sure to be another way to cause unnecessary injury when Bucky butts in. “It doesn’t matter how she hurt me or how she could have hurt me,” this, with a glare at Natasha, who smiles down at the paper. “We have a burglar with billions stashed away and a buncha angry billionaires breathin’ down our necks to find it.”

“Well why don’t you give it a go if you think it’s so easy?” Looking up from the hangman sketch, Nat fixes emerald eyes on his, reminding him, once again, of the unusual interest you’ve taken in Bucky. One that started with mid-battle conversations of a different nature, and that has extended into custody. Something that’s been bugging Steve, his protective instinct whirring into overdrive -- Bucky sees his eye twitch from across the room at Nat’s remark -- no more so than during Steve’s turn to question the captive.

“You guys are all taking your turns playing Good Cop Bad Cop, but I haven’t seen Robocop yet. Why is that?”

“You left him tied up in Paris–”

“There’s an innuendo in there somewhere,” you sing-song, head tilting rhythmically from side to side. Bucky clenches his fists in the observation room.

“–so he isn’t much obliged to see you,” Steve finishes, bypassing your interruption.

Playful eyes with laser determination, unperturbed by locked rooms and handcuffs, focus on a spot just above Steve’s shoulder, almost looking through the glass, even though Bucky knows it’s just a mirror for you. “What a shame. I was hoping our little back alley tussle wouldn’t scare the big, bad White Wolf away.”

Steve rolls his eyes. “Are you going to tell us where the money is or do you want formal charges and a jail cell?” He asks, shifting so he blocks your line of sight, folds his hands on the table, and broadens his shoulders, all-Captain and no-nonsense.

“Giving up on me so easy?”

“I wouldn’t call it easy, miss. We’ve been looking for months and tried just about everything to get you to cooperate.”

“Not everything.”

“She’s yawning,” Sam proclaims indignantly, glaring, shocked, at the hologram where indeed, the source of their troubles is yawning, like you could fall asleep, tied up and all. “Unbelievable.” He shakes his head, and Bucky stops a snort from escaping. He’s seen all kinds of interrogations, faced a fair few, too, and this woman is just warming up.

The ensuing discussion and debate continues for hours, until the sun sets behind the window Bucky’s standing by, and what silences them is the thump with which Clint puts his hearing aids on the table in front of him. Sam’s coffee wobbles dangerously, and everyone sighs as Clint wordlessly tells them to shut up. Murmurs of agreement to rest and get a fresh start tomorrow echo through the room, and Bucky catches Barton’s eye, and receives a wink.

Later that night, in his room, Bucky knows he’s not going to get a minute of sleep. It’s just an intuition, something his very bones are telling him, and he sees no reason to dispute it. Under the throbbing ache in his head, there’s an itch in the grey matter of his mind, somewhere he can’t reach, and he twists and turns. The feeling is recognizable as the vexation inflicted when he’s on the verge of a memory, but those return either by dream or by sense these days.

Dreams are for the bad memories, the days of the Winter Soldier, his subconscious loosening whatever locks his mind placed to compartmentalize the pain, to stuff it all away. The nightmares, the terrible memories leave him shaking, but therapy helps. By a few percent, but when the load of pain is as heavy as his is, every small burden taken off his shoulder helps.

Sense brings back the time before Hydra, although it’s sometimes hard to believe there was one. Steve’s face buried in his shoulder, be careful, Buck; Romanian take out, his mother’s hands; faucet dripping, water running out; oranges exploding on his tongue, a month’s salary plus overtime from working at the docks for that sweet rush once a year. The Depression, the first war -- trench memory brought back by a rainy run in Central Park, the scent of muddy petrichor in the air -- snowfall in the Alps, Dugan’s cigar. His body remembers, and then shows his mind the way.

However, this, this infuriating personality that has him incensed and restless, she isn’t in his mind in any capacity, but Bucky thinks he knows her. Or that he might have, once. And he needs to know her, again, because he hates not knowing. The nightmares hurt, and the memories of what he’s lost do, as well, but not knowing, existing in the strange limbo between certainty and loss, it’s unbearable. If this woman knows him, if she’s another key to another past, another piece of him, he has to talk to her.

“FRIDAY?” He asks groggily, sitting up.

The screen in the wall across from him blinks blue in acknowledgement, along with a “Yes, sir?”

“Is Steve up?”

“Captain Rogers is awake and having a cup of coffee in the kitchen, Sergeant,” FRIDAY tells him, and Bucky curses at the idiocy of consuming caffeine at this hour of night -- whatever’s in that shit works even on the serum and that can’t be good -- replacing his sweatpants with jeans once more and heading out to find his friend.

Steve has his back to the entryway, deep in thought -- dumbass, anyone could sneak up on you like this -- when Bucky comes in and clears his throat. The mug in Steve’s hands looks comically small, and Bucky sits down across from him at the island, reaches forward to take it from him, and downs the remaining half.

It’s just one more testament to how disturbed Steve is -- as if the careless consumption of coffee at midnight wasn’t enough -- that he lets Bucky steal his coffee. Blue meets blue in the silver dusting of moonlight, and Steve tries to locate Bucky’s purpose in his eyes before asking him for it verbally. “What is it, Buck?” He’s tired, too many missions weighing on those eyelids, but too worked up to let them close, to find rest. What Bucky’s going to say won’t help.

“Let me talk to her.”

#ayesha writes #jamiesmadwritingbash #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x you

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shadowofthelamp · 3 years

Text

Partners

Swap Zim and Dib decide to work together. Technically a direct sequel to this thing that was posted a year and a half ago. Like, comments, and reblogs all super appreciated!

Wordcount: 1800

Warnings: Mentions of Dib experimenting on people, I guess?

Zim woke up strapped to a lab table that smelled so strongly of blood that he almost threw up. (Which was quite an accomplishment, considering it wasn’t like Zim was a stranger to animal test subjects, or even getting himself injured.) It took him a few seconds to remember why he was strapped to a bloody lab table, but hearing the familiar voice frantically muttering next to him helped.

“Come on, I need to kill him, but it’s Zim, I like Zim, I don’t want to kill him, but he’s a threat to the mission, I can’t upset my Tallest or the Professor, but maybe I could just wipe his memory...”

That voice was Dib. Dib, the stalker who had turned out to be a real live alien. Dib, the kid (was he a kid?) who must have strapped him to a table.

_____

It had started out pretty easy- he’d already known where Dib lived from the one time Dib had dragged him there when they’d both gotten caught in an explosion and he’d wanted to help patch Zim up. All Zim had to do was use a taser to short out the electric fence and some hacking to get in the front door once he found the security frequency they were using.

It was child’s play, although it wasn’t like it would be easy for anybody else. Zim was special. He was always special, always better than everyone else. Dib had seen that. As annoying as he got at times, Zim was glad that at least he was annoying because he liked Zim.

However, things had started to go south as soon as he got inside the front door. There was a chubby little pig perched right next to it, and it sniffed at him before its eyes lit up bright red.

“STATE YOUR BUSINESS.”

“You talk?” It looked like a regular pig to him, usually talking animals were a lot clunkier and more robotic-looking.

“IRRELEVANT. STATE YOUR BUSINESS, HUMAN.”

“Seeing Dib.”

“NONE MAY PASS.” The pig jolted up on two legs, and Zim noticed a small zipper on its belly only moments before the pig grasped at it, yanking it down and ripping off its- costume? It didn’t look like any fabric Zim had ever seen- to reveal a silvery robot with burning red eyes. A dozen weapons, mostly guns and knives, popped out from its head, and Zim couldn’t bite back a yelp as he fumbled in his backpack for his own laser gun.

“I know how to use this thing, you know!”

“ANY THREAT TO THE MISSION AND TO MASTER GAZ MUST BE ELIMINATED.”

Zim squeezed the trigger, but the robot- okay, it moved way too fast for a robot that size, Zim’s tended to blow up if they tried any fancy acrobatics, but this one flipped out of the way, his laser blasting a hole in the wallpaper instead.

He took half a second to breathe before squeezing the trigger again and swinging it around, burning a line through the wall and couch before hitting the robot and getting a metallic shriek out of it as it lunged for him, pinning him down by the shoulders and making him drop his laser.

“ELIMINATED. ELIMINATED. ELMINATED.”

“Release Zim!” Zim kicked up and heard a metallic crack before he rolled to the side, thankful for those self-defense classes he’d taken as the robot plunged about fifteen knives into the spot where his head had been half a second ago. The red eyes narrowed at him before activating rockets in its feet, and Zim ducked as it swung with a giant mallet from its head. He dropped to the floor, fumbling for the laser and swinging it around to take another shot at the thing.

The gun managed to blast one of the arms off, but that sure as hell made it mad considering he didn’t have time to dodge the second swing of the mallet. He saw stars for half a second before there was nothing at all.

_____

“Dib,” Zim croaked, head feeling rather like it was full of rats that had thrown a dance party inside his skull and left a mess all over the cerebral cortex.

“But this is a perfect opportunity for some experiments, you wanted that, didn’t you Dib- huh?” Dib looked up from muttering to himself.

Or rather, the alien did. It was still wearing Dib’s trademark goggles that looked heavy enough to weigh his head down with lenses too dark to see anything underneath, but its skin was an even darker shade of green, and it had a pair of twitchy antennae. No nose, no ears, and it had donned a full-on labcoat that was soaked in a whole lot of red and black stains. He’d always kind of figured aliens were real somewhere out there, but seeing it... it was like reality had tilted a little to the left. There were more pressing matters than a crisis about aliens existing anyhow, and Zim was pretty good at repressing things he didn’t like.

It sounded like Dib, though, and the way it fussed with its hands was the same with two fingers and one thumb on each, same as Dib. ‘Machine accident’, his ass.

“You’re awake?”

“Y-yes, I’m awake. Could you let me go?” His voice came out sickly-sweet and polite, like he was talking to the counselor again to convince her that he was fine.

Dib-alien shook his head. “I’m afraid not. I really would like to, but you know too much. Protocol is pretty clear- dispose of or brainwash all witnesses when the planet is marked for conquest. But brainwashing knocks out a lot of the intelligence, and that would be such a waste, wouldn’t it?”

“Yes, yes it would,” Zim agreed. “So let me off with a warning?”

Dib folded his arms. “Nope. But the fact that you actually held your own against a SIR unit for a full minute as a smeet- and one that I modified to be extra aggressive- just tells me that you’re still useful as a specimen.”

“Hey, I’m not a- a- smeeb!”

“Smeet, child, baby, whatever term it is you humans use.” Dib waved a dismissive hand, stalking closer and looming over Zim. His eyes were a deep, electric blue like an unsucked sour candy, and Zim squirmed under the restraints. “That table is where most of my previous experiments died, and I don’t want you to just be number thirty-six, you know?”

“Thirty-six? Thirty-six what?”

“Oh, this and that. Humans are good for experiments, they’re very determined to survive so you don’t have to use as many.”

“Well, so is Zim.” Zim tried to twist away, but something metallic erupted from Dib’s backpack like a dozen sharp insectoid legs, propelling him up onto the lab table before he dropped directly on Zim’s chest, driving the wind out of him.

“I’m well aware. You’re already a survivor, aren’t you?” He ticked off on his fingers, alien butt shifting on top of Zim a bit to get comfortable. “Barely any parental supervision, yet you create machines and work on biological experiments that are beyond the capability of most humans three times your age. You almost get blown up often and yet walk away from it. You’re an anomaly.” Dib leaned closer, and Zim could taste the sugar on his breath. “I like anomalies.”

Zim attempted to buck Dib off to no avail as he continued. “Find the exception and you’ll have found the thing of most interest, the thing that makes or breaks a species. The outlier the proves the rule, and you’re a human that behaves like an irken, showing just how far ahead of the rest of your species you are. According to my research, they’re going to burn when Gaz decides what to do with this place if they don’t destroy each other before she gets around to it, but I just might keep you as a pet.”

“Zim is no pet!” Even with little oxygen left in his lungs, Zim shouted, snarling up at Dib with his lip curled. “Earth may be terrible, but it’s mine, so back off!”

“Oh? So you agree that Earth is terrible?” Dib tilted his head to the side, one of those long antennae twitching, and Zim narrowed his eyes.

“You’re not very good at research, are you? Of course it is! But it’s mine, and I don’t want any buggy alien getting his sticky hands all over it!”

“It’s not exactly up to me,” Dib replied, hearing the wheeze in Zim’s voice and sliding off his chest to the table itself, and Zim sucked in a deep breath, feeling the air reinflate his squashed lungs. “Gaz is the one who’s actually invading, I’m just here to study the planet in case there’s anything useful. You’re a pre-contact planet, or at least that’s what’s logged, so this place is a treasure trove of undiscovered species. I’m trying to convince Gaz to at least set up a preserve so I can study some of them once she’s done with the invasion.”

“Are you even listening to me? I told you to bug off! Leave me and Earth alone!”

“I’m listening, but I told you, it’s not my call. Even if it was... you said it yourself, Earth is terrible. It would be far more useful to the Empire as a sugar-harvesting operation, or a zoo, or something else. Humans don’t really deserve to be in charge, they’re just going to blow themselves up eventually.” Dib shrugged.

“If I was in charge, you wouldn’t say that,” Zim muttered, and Dib’s antenna twitched again.

“What did you say?”

“I said, if I was in charge, you wouldn’t say that. I bet if everybody listened to me, you’d take that back. I’m a human and I know I could fix everything.”

Dib stared at him for a solid ten seconds, and Zim wasn’t sure he hadn’t spontaneously kicked the bucket. Did aliens do that? “You’re a genius. You’re a genius!”

“Of course I am, but why?”

Dib smacked his hands on Zim’s cheeks, squishing his mouth in like a goldfish. “Of course, how didn’t I see it before? Your potential is stifled by the fact that you only have access to tools that you create, but if we worked together, you could help us because you have intimate knowledge of humanity, and I could help you by giving you limited access to my technology! We could be lab partners- I wouldn’t have to kill you, and you can help reshape your species for a better future!”

Zim blinked. “Does this mean you aren’t going to do horrible experiments on me?”

“I can’t promise that, but I’m not going to kill you right now.”

“Good enough for me!” Zim tried to shake Dib’s hand, before realizing that he was still restrained to the table. Dib leaned over, hitting a button just next to Zim’s head, and the restraints popped off. Zim rubbed his wrists for a moment as he sat up, mind still whirling.

This was a chance to fix everything, to make things the way that they should be.

“So, you won’t kill all humans, and you’ll give me access to cool tech.”

“I’ll consider your input on that, and I’ll give you access to cool tech.” Dib nodded, taking Zim’s hand, and a slow grin spread across Zim’s face.

“Then lead the way, Dib-thing.”

#aip swap au #invader zim #screw it main tag for once #iz blogging #iz #aip #shadow writes stuff

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amaskofmanyshades-archive · 4 years

Text

AMOMS Explains: Possession

Ah, possession. What’s a good horror movie about demonic forces without at least one poor schmuck becoming some demon’s plaything? Well, honestly, quite terrifying--but only if utilized correctly. Tonight, i’m gonna explain what it is (as if some of y’all don’t know what possession is) and the many types of possession that can occur.

I had a post like this on another blog...but sadly, that was deleted by accident and i completely forgot to reblog it here. Oops.

Anyway? What is possession?

Well, putting it quite bluntly to all my newbie horror writers out there, it’s the act of seizing or taking over the body, usual via some supernatural force. Demons are probably one of the most well known for doing this, from the Deadites of The Evil Dead to Pazuzu from the 1973 film The Exorcist.

However, it’s not just a demonically exclusive thing. Ghosts and deities, be they regular deities or eldritch, can also use a human like a meat puppet.

Now, onto the different types of possession --

Possession of an inanimate object - this is can usually take the form of the host taking over a human-like object, like a doll, but this can sometimes be just about anything. A great example is Annabelle the Doll from the Conjuring.

Possession of a human being via demon/spirit - Probably the most common type of possession. From The Evil Dead to The Exorcist and maybe more, this one is like playing Russian Roulette, depending on what you get. Demons are likely your most dangerous bet, as they can easily kill the vessel they possess at the given time, whether intentionally like a hostage or unintentionally.

Soul Binding - This one is actually a fairly new concept of possession, but it’s also one of the hardest to really release someone from. Simply because it involves two things: a deal and, you guessed it, the entity essentially binding themselves to whomever the person is. The only real prominent example i can provide is from a longtime RP partner that i’ve known from many, many years now: @chaoticaofthesun‘s Jaye Wylde. Seriously. Go bug her about the demon lady. You shall not regret it. UwU

Possession of a human via a God - Pretty damn dangerous depending on what it is that’s in the human’s body. While most Gods can take on a human guise to wander the Earth as freely as they’d so desire, some don’t have this option. The Eldritch are such an example as merely viewing them for what they are will drive the sanest of men insane. So, they use humans as a means to safely traverse the Earth, as doing so via their true form could mean the fabric of reality is ripped to shreds, but that doesn’t necessarily MEAN it’s a good idea. Doing so can put the person’s psyche at collateral and exorcising them could spell instant insanity and other horrible after affects. But, the most dangerous of this, neck and neck with Eldritch possession is possession via a Death God. But more of this later; i may cover that at a later time. I have a small surprise later on closer to Halloween in this regard. >:3

Total Vessel Possession - Probably the highest form of possession. When the soul of a vessel is no longer occupying the body and the body is but a hollow shell. Typically, higher up demons will resort to this method so that they can easily come to the human realm. As of now, only Mercedes is able to do this but will only perform this will those she deems worthy of her gift. After all, there is a reason why she was given the nickname of ‘She with Hands Most Deft’.

But Steeeeeph! How would you go about exorcising someone from any of these?

Alright, alright, hold yer horses a moment. There are a couple of ways of going about it!

You could call a priest in to help with the ritual. Depending on the circumstances, this could go down two different way. It might work, or it could end up possessing the poor sod and pulling a Father Karras.

In the sense of a demonic possession, the first thing you wanna do is be respectful to the demon in the room. The last thing you really wanna do is piss it off and potentially end up dead or your buddy end up worse off than they likely were to begin with. Sometimes, it can end up as a version of a hostage situation. If so, follow what the damn thing says. More than likely, if you do, the demon will have no choice but to abide by their end of the deal; Demons are usually very honest and value honesty above all else. I say usually, as some may twist the meanings of certain things, thus spinning a half-truth.

If anything else, you might have to perform a mercy kill, as sad as that is; however, this all depends on what it is. A god or eldritch deity? Probably not the easiest thing to off. A demonically possessed soul? A little easier, if the host doesn’t do that for you.

With Soul-Binding, however, it’s a touch bit harder than just a simple exorcism. You must understand: the soul of the demon and the human in question is bound together. The soul does NOT regenerate after the fact, and attempting to do so as such will royally fuck the person up mentally. They have to want their body back, so it’s not something that’s fixed by normal means.

With an eldritch deity? This one’s a tad bit trickier, as the psyche and sanity is at collateral. You have to perform the ritual very carefully but quickly, as this could be a matter of if the person comes out all there.

But anyhow, this has been ‘Possession for Dummies’ by AMOMS/Steph. Hopefully, y’all enjoyed this little bit of me rambling about how possession works in the universe that i’ve taken a few years to lay out, with the help of some friends who enjoy writing as much i do, so some of this was based off of what was spitballed back and forth.

If you have any suggestions for what i could talk about next in the spirit of Halloween, please don’t be afraid to fling it at me! Any and all suggestions will be considered! Until then, later y’all!

#;SHE SPEAKS!! (OOC)#;About the World (Worldbuilding)

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aggresivelyfriendly · 6 years

Photo

First of all, could the banner be prettier? Thanks @dirtystyles

Second of all: I SEE HARRY IN 12 HOURS!!!!! really, if you are reading this and see my goofy ass grin, say HI!!

Third of all, if you are reading and enjoying still, send me a message and reblog!

Fourth, this is an age gap fic, where the lady in question is older, if this is a no fly zone, no worries, switch flights!

~Who Names The Colors~ Chapter 8-Starry Night

“What are you doing here Harry?” Jo nearly dropped her groceries and was thankful that Zoe finally started listening and held onto her pant leg when her hands were full. It was meant to be more when they’re in a parking lot or garage or summat, but Jo was just glad she was listening about it now.

It was a truly unusual day. Jo had woken up that morning to sun. Sun, in middle England, in November.

She’d been in a bit of a funk since she’d run out on Harry a few days prior. She’d made it to her classes of course, but her nights away from department meeting were filled with Zoe cuddles, Netflix and wine binges, plus attempts at going to bed early. Attempts because little sleeping was happening.

She saw Harry everywhere. She usually never saw him at school, and of course, she’d seen him driving in last week, in the car park, and then him walking with some girl and they were laughing and Jo hated it. Later she saw him at the coffee stand - meaning she had to forgo her fix. Which she’d desperately needed, because she’d been seeing him an unusual amount on campus, but it was nothing compared to how often she could see him at her own home.

Every time she closed her own eyes she saw the mysterious green shade of his. In her studio, she saw him shirtless waiting for her and telling her not to say his name while silently cheering for her to scream it. And worst and best were the dreams.

He was most certainly there, and in those she could feel. Jo was having the most vivid dreams she had ever had. The feel of his plump lips against her own was so real in her subconscious, she could actully feel it against her neck, a place his lips didn’t make it to. And she could most certainly feel his knee between her thighs, and his bulge too, which she had only ever felt through cloth.

And those were just the a sleeping dreams. The waking ones were worse. In those, she saw him telling her about his art, and realization dawned during his soliloquy that his woman was Jo too, so he’d methodically undressed her to check he was right and found nothing wanting, no dissimilarities but became obsessed with sketching her angles and rounded bits before touching them. The trace of his pencil was a sound she could hear and the eventual trail of his fingers was like lava devouring streets. It gave her goosebumps, huge ones.

He was a daydream.

A literal one at the moment. Harry looked like all of her mental hopes and dreams on the concrete step that led to her door. His legs bent high, covered in tight dark denim, but the right knee cap showed through and his lanky arms hung off his patellas like a lever ready to launch her into the sunny sky. His hair was up in a bun and Jo loved and hated it. It was so endearing and homey, but she wanted to see the ringlets around his hair. He was a jawdropper in the sunlight.

Of course the sun is out today. It came out because he was coming to her. The sky needed to be sure to set the proper scene for him to ensure that Jo couldn’t ignore him in his true form, sunkissed and well-made. So Jo can no longer run or avoid him.

She had been doing just that for the last several weeks. In class she would coast her eyes anywhere he was not and had created an entire unit culminating in short class presentations for extra credit so that she could sit in the back of the class and not look at him. This was perfect until it was his turn.

Harry followed proper presentation etiquette, like the ambitious student out for a first that he was, but his eyes lit up when they fell upon her, like he was a flame and she was oxygen, fire and what fuels it. Jo watched his presentation and knew he had picked it just to press on her buttons. The ones he had installed and found. She had never dated a creative person.

Not that she was dating Harry, but he knew things about her that went without saying. Things no one else knew and she’d never been able to explain.

Harry was talking about Klimt, about The Kiss. And Jo wished she was water, though she was sure that she was liquid. He had always had a soft spot for gilding, from that first golden sunset, and he was talking about the positioning in the painting like he had experienced it.

“The two are intertwined, for certain and both lovers seem engaged to be sure. But the feminine figure is in a position that indicates that she is unsure or uncomfortable with the goings-on,” he said. “It makes one wonder why she is engaged in the embrace, no matter how beautiful the experience is, as evidence by the setting, the gold, and jewels and halos. Perhaps she feels like she should not be? Like, it is wrong, but undeniable. So she submits. Her lover seems to accept the submission, because he’ll take whatever she’ll give him. Her hesitance is in opposition to the dreamy moment. This is the moment after, worse than the morning after, because it’s came even sooner.”

He looks like a lightening bug she had seen in a painting before, all aglow with feeling. She doubted they existed, but had been assured by an Amercian painter she had once known they did, and were magic. Why did he have to be magic? Jo thought as she bit her lip.

But it’s when he moved onto his second painting, because his topic was affection and love in paintings, of course, that he really came alive. He was a lightning rod. The entire class was rigid, though Jo is sure they have all seen a Chagall, especially “The Birthday” before. That thing that makes heads turn when Harry walks into a room was amplified while he focused on the blue toned painting.

“You can see here, by the positioning, that Chagall has created a clear imbalance between his figures. The woman is not only facing away, but she wears a look of absolute surprise. But how can she be, if he has gone out of his way to show her his affection, as the flowers suggests. He came bearing gifts and offers even himself.” Harry looked at Jo then and she knows, she knows, she knows, what he is offering. But she cannot take it.

“The kisser is even more interesting and his desperation clear.” Harry might as well have been in the man’s awkward aspect. “He has literally bent in an unnatural position, perhaps bent over backwards, to show his lady how he feels. It makes me wonder what conversations have been had. How has he told her his heart before he got so desperate he had to show her? What made him take the chance? Is she shocked or affected?”

Affected. Jo is still affected. She could feel a tingle on her lips the next morning and she thought for a moment she should get some ice or some lysine, but then it was not localized, but was instead over both of her lips in their entirety. And in her ears where he had first pulled her to him and her back and hip where his hands had landed. It’s especially in her fingertips where she had trailed his perky pecs. She was watching some promo for a superhero movie and had a momentary kinship with the character who had lightening crackling between her fingertips. The girl had looked afraid. Jo could relate.

Jo knew he felt something. She could only be surer of her own feelings, which were growing and turbulent as the sky before a storm, or she suspected, the firmament before the opening of a black hole. That was the worry, if she stayed still, and accepted his offerings, be they flowers, or another kiss, or even more damning, all of him, she knew it will rip a hole in the fabric of her universe. She would be sucked into his gravity and there would be other things flattened by the mass of their attraction.

Jo wasn’t sure what or why she knew it. She may have just been afraid. She’d never felt this much, ever, except for about her children, and they could not be a casualty of any other emotion. She was a casualty of indifference or disappointment, but at least her parents chose themselves over her. She refused to chose another person.

Jo had been run over and devastated plenty, but never by someone she was as compelled by as Harry. If he made her a casualty she was not likely to recover. That went without experiencing any more of his gravity. So she gave him an A+, he deserved it, for the kiss and his plea in the form of coursework, but she kept streaking like a comet across the sky so he couldn’t catch her.

Harry had made other attempts. He was very determined, Jo had learned and was impressed. He had turned up at her office at all appointed times. Not that he needed to, he was already there. He was there, holding her hands across her desk, and hugging by the door after he came out to uncovering her smile. Harry haunted her room.

But Jo has been extremely lucky there. Each time he trailed after her to try to catch a moment of her time, he had been part of a group. Lara and Cecilia the first time, who had shared long looks and then insisted he go first, and Jo was sure that was just so they could walk and sit beside him. It made her a little petty and she told them to get their final papers in on time, though they were asking for extensions. She was happy another student had arrived by that time and she brought them in all together.

Harry gestured for Matt to go before him. She wasn’t sure if his mood was obvious to Matt as well, but Jo could feel it. He was madder than a bee whose hive had been shaken. He vibrated the way she heard bees can do to kill off attackers. It was a sight to behold. Incensed Harry was incandescent.

Jo agreed to Matt’s request for a retake on a earlier test when he slyly said, “I told Jacob you were the nicest professor in addition to being the prettiest,” She barely caught it, except that Harry’s back stiffened and his glow stick eyes lit on his classmate rather than where they’d been trained on her. She barely noticed the comments anymore.

“Oh really?” Jo began, “I’ve been trying for the most professional in the yearbooks this year.” She gave Matt a look, and she wanted to laugh at herself. Harry should have been scoffing, because he had evidence of just how unprofessional she could be.

Jo looked at Harry then too, and she wasn’t meaning to spread her rebuttal to him as well, but he looked contrite. And when Matt excused himself like she had rapped his knuckles, Harry didn’t pounce like she thought he would. Like he planned to 10 minutes ago

“How can I help you Harry?” She started after a pregnant pause that must have made it to its seventh month at least. Somebody had to say something.

Harry swallowed, “Professor Smith,” his mouth pinched the words. He chewed them for a second like bitter almonds. “I wanted to ask you which painting you thought I should turn in tomorrow.” She knew that was not what he wanted to ask her. Jo was fairly certain her didn’t want to ask much, more wanted her to listen. But she appreciated that he got it, right then, in her office, where she was his professor. This, they, could not happen. She should have been relieved.

Jo was at least sorry. Though those weren’t the same feeling.

“They were both amazing Harry. I think either will get you a first.” The one she thought was her, that’s the one. “The large one, the amber woman of grains. Turn her in. Though I’m not sure how you’ll manage that.” She almost offered help, but held back, and really, all of her motives were ridiculously questionable in that moment.

He nodded and pinched his lip before getting up to go. Jo allowed her eyes to caress down his back to the skinny jeans he favored, she recognized the pulled back corner on the pocket. Those ones and the ones with torn knees were his favorites. She was watching him at the door when he turned back. His mouth opened, and he made eye contact with her, the words a diver poised at the tip Of the springboard.

Her tongue felt dry and she wanted him to ask, she did, but when he walked out wordlessly, she let him.

So, when Jo came to her home days later after a long afternoon, she was susceptible to the brilliant portrait he made. Harry’s head came up at her voice and made her melt onto the pavement below her. She was sure she was as attractive as the ring of wet near a drain after the day she’d had. Not that it mattered she reminded herself. She should not be attractive to him and anything that could kill the tendrils of voltage that hung around them were needed.

“Arry!” Zoe called and Jo was amazed she remembered him at all. It had been some months since swim. He made an impression. Zoe looked fed up at Jo and pulled at her pant leg until she nodded and ran to him. He hoisted her up onto his knee. God, the nose bonk they exchanged was about the cutest thing she had ever seen. No, that was another reason, any man she dated, had to know she came with a ready made family, had a toddler. That was wholly unfair to someone as young as Harry. Even if he wasn’t put off by Zoe in the slightest.

“Missed you bug!” Harry jostled her up and down. His attention was focused on Zoe, like his attention always focused on whoever he was giving it to. So unfair, but Harry was better than Zoe’s own dad with her, by miles.

Speaking of, “Hey loves, we need to get in the house. Daddy is coming.” She faked excitement in her voice. “Remember baby girl?” Zoe gave her a dead eyed look and Jo couldn’t exactly read Harry’s, he looked like a shuttered home, all prepared for a hurricane.

She hoped it was nothing so dramatic. She moved her groceries while everybody got themselves up. When Jo reached the door, Harry took her groceries and her bag once she found her keys and stepped off the step she would never be able to unsee him on.

Jo got them inside and Zoe made a run for the toy that she wanted to show Harry, was full of plans about her upppets. The air stilled and warmed now that she was in the kitchen, in the hearth and heart of her home with him. He’d always been part of their lives, now he seemed to belong here. Jo wanted him to belong here.

She shrugged that off, with a physical motion, “How can I help you Harry?” He didn’t respond, though she could hear him breathing behind her.

Jo turned with eyebrows raised to Harry looking at the floor. At the sight of her toes, he looked up, first at her, then the ceiling. “You said it Jo!” His toes clenched. “If you didn’t want me to…. I told you where I was at….and you said it. Then you kissed me like that. Like that, Jo! You ca….” he stopped and squared his shoulders. She could see the muscles at his temples flexing.

“Har—H!” She really didn’t have a defense for her self, but he seemed so upset and she hated it.

“How could you kiss me like that and then run? Avoid me like you have? You, like, Jo,” her name was a shout, maybe not in volume but emotion. “You cannot fake that feeling, I can still feel it! And then mess me about. I tried….I tried to stop myself for ages, and then you kissed me and gave me all this hope and confirmed everything I could feel between us, and you said it….You said my name, Jo….then you took it away.” He pulled out a chair and collapsed into it then, like he’d been holding his breath waiting to tell her all this and needed a rest now.

“H,” Jo started when Zoe came back into the room and with her newest acquisition, a collection of finger puppets that fit perfectly in her sweaty palms. She rarely relinquished them.

Zoe climbed into the chair Harry had become a broken doll into and laid them out for him. She was chattering on about them and Harry was faking a smile for her. It slowly grew, and Jo felt like shit, or gum on the bottoms of a shoe. She’d made him sad and Zoe was cheering him up with little girl magic.

She didn’t mean to mess him about. She couldn’t help herself. She needed to be better, the space between them was the problem. Jo needed to be all in or out. Out, she needed to be out, anything else was emotionally irresponsible.

She watched Harry put three puppets on his fingers and then four on Zoe’s and she was emotion. Big ones and little ones and all the hope between them.

When the knock sounded, she hurried to the front door with relief. It also made Jo so happy Colin went back to the front door so quickly after he moved out. He did not have back door privilege. She smoothed her hair and then realized she couldn’t be fucked to care. Her bun-and-mum day attire would have to do. The bigger deal, was she was not ready for him. No bag of extra clothes for the accident Zoe seemed to reserve for Colin, though Jo suspected he just didn’t pay enough attention to her to see she was wiggling. Jo hated sending her off, the man was too selfish to be trusted with a child.

This is why it sucks to make a baby with someone not up to the task, she supposed.

“Hey Colin.” She moved back so he could come in. “Took a while to get shopping done. She’s not ready.”

“Where is the little goblin?” Jo hated that nickname.

Colin frowned at her face and she figured it must show. Or there was something on there. She waited until he looked away to wipe it. She didn’t want to show her belly to him, not ever again.

“Oh hey Henry,” she heard Colin say flatly as she came into the kitchen. Zoe was still sitting on Harry’s lap happily, she had moved from playing with her puppets to his rings and she had yet to notice her dad. Jo was ashamed she liked that.

“Hey goblin!” Colin tried to get Zoe’s attention, but she was playing with a pretty carved rose ring on Harry’s finger. Jo saw a flash of a smirk on Harry’s face. “Oi, kiddo, you gonna say hi to your old dad?”

Zoe looked up then and shyly said, “Hi” then made herself smaller in Harry’s lap.

Colin looked at Jo, “Is Ethan home then?” She must have looked puzzled because Harry spoke. And his voice raked over coals.

“Nah, Jo called me just in case, she has a department meeting she has to make, needed a Plan B I guess.” And Harry shrugged like it was no big deal, but Jo was delighted that he knew how often Colin put other things above visitation and left Jo in a lurch, and that Colin knew he knew.

Colin’s usually bland face had some life in response to that, he looked like he’d eaten a lemon. “She ready to go then?”

“Yeah, just let me pack her a bag.” She turned to go and felt every eye on her. Zoe’s was the greedy gaze of love only a toddler feels for its mother, Harry’s she imagined as soft and appreciative, like he looked at an art piece he liked. And she had no idea what Colin’s was. Funny that the man who was her husband was the greatest enigma in her home right now.

“Jo, I like your trousers. Nice fit!” She heard from behind her and looked back, because she knew that tone in Colin’s voice, but it had been absent since her bump popped. She just had on leggings, nothing special or even clean, probably. Jo looked back to be sure and he was giving her that salacious eye that she had craved when she was in her second trimester heat and he’d ignored her needs. She wanted to slap him.

Harry cheeks were red and his jaw was clenched. Thankfully, Zoe was still on his lap. She had better hurry. Jo extended her arm and made sure to keep distance between her and Colin.

While she was in Zoe’s room, Colin had wrangled Zoe onto his hip and he looked like a giraffe in a Tesco for all his comfort. Harry was standing as well, by the door, but didn’t look like he was going to leave until Colin was out of the door.

“I put some extra clothes in there. In case and her pj’s if you think it’ll be later when you bring her back. Then I can just get her in bed.”

“You can change her when she gets back.” Colin deflected and Jo squeezed her fist to keep from telling him that would disrupt her sleep, that should be obvious.

“She’ll prolly just stay asleep if she doesn’t have to be changed though mate. It worked last time Jo got in late with her and I was here with Ethan,” Harry chipped in.

“Think I’ve got it, mate.” Colin looked down his ever so slightly crooked nose at Harry. The younger man stood up to his full six feet and looked at Colin squarely.

“Just seemed like common sense, courtesy, is all.” He shrugged like he couldn’t care, but Jo could kiss him. She wouldn’t, not again, but she wanted to.“Professor, I’m gonna send you a picture of my final submission later, ok? I’d really value your opinion.” That last bit was said with subtle, but detectable sauce.

“Sounds good Harry. You’ll get a first, no doubt!” She smiled to him and reluctantly watched him go. Their conversation was not finished, but he seemed to know she had met her limit today,with Colin and all. Was to considerate of her to force her into more discomfort.

Jo got Colin out the door and fretted while she did grading until he made it back with Zoe three hours later, right on time and in pajamas. He had some shame it seemed. Harry bolstering her in that situation had her smiling as she went to sleep. He was a good person to have on her side.

Late that night, she woke up to a buzzing phone. It was a picture of a night sky, with womanly shapes within the celestial bodies against a turbulent sky.

I know she is everywhere, but tonight I can’t quite find her. Read the accompanying text.

@bleedinglove4h and @nocontrolforlouis-where would I be without you?

#harry styles #harry Styles fanfiction #harry Styles fanfic #harry styles alternate universe #harry styles au #who names the colors #wntc #chapter 8 #starry night #painter au #art fic #one direction #one direction fanfiction

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hadjii-blogs-undertale · 7 years

Text

[23 days later]

In reference to https://hadjii-blogs-undertale.tumblr.com/post/163800444030/

@lynns-art-blog

...

And honestly, @everyone-needs-a-hoopoe because there's things in here that go for you too. Please read it through to the end. Or just skip to the very end at first and then go back and read through if you need.

I really, really, really didn’t actually want to get off my butt and do this, for multiple reasons. And not just cuz I’m a lazy jackhole with depression who doesn’t want to do anything in general. But recent events have brought things to a head, and I cannot remain silent any longer.

First, I should like to clarify just where I stand as regarding the Undertale fandom.

The Undertale fandom is a beautiful thing. It is extremely imperfect but I love the fandom and will continue to do so for as long as I am able.

Second, I should like to clarify where I stand as regarding Undertale itself.

It will be difficult however, because I love Undertale more than I am capable of putting into any transferable medium that I know of.

Am I a bit emotionally over-invested in Undertale?

Heck. Yes.

I also don't care that I am.

Undertale has brought more joy and happiness and meaning to my life than literally anything else save my family who raised me and loves me, my religion, and a shortlist of friends, some of whom I only have so dear to my heart because of Undertale, so the point is moot.

I can't say that Undertale cured my depression, because it didn't.

What it did do is it showed me at a critical point in my life that there's something outside the grey murky mire.

I'd considered myself an emotionally open person before Undertale. This was only vaguely true. Current me cannot comfortably say that old me was emotionally intelligent without severe disclaimers.

Old me was an emotionally awkward dirtbag who had some idea of how to be a person but on the whole was completely clueless.

I had forgotten how to feel. Like, really feel. And not just from the depression.

I could occasionally get hits from certain songs and I absolutely lived for those moments but the songs would rapidly hit their saturation levels and I'd be cold again.

Then Undertale came along. I loved the game long before I played it, discovering things about it slowly through an endless flood of my tumblr feed.

It looked like a rather good, cute, compelling little game. Eventually I decided to write a bit of fanfiction about it because it looked really good and I wanted to churn out what would happen if GLaD had an interaction with a murdery timeline.

So I went and researched. I dug and I dug and I dug. This wasn't all of my research, but on one particular tumblr alone I went through 700-odd undertale posts.

Between that and pouring out my heart and soul into the writing as I discovered just how much I could care about these things, or care in general really, I found that I'd left the door open, and something came back. A whole lot of something.

Undertale is a Happy™ game about Happy™ things.

I had learned that maybe sad things weren't all bad back from the days of Background Pony. The difference being, Background Pony had a disappointing, absurd ending. They'd won the right even by my sappy heart to have a sad ending, then they completely botched it. I'd associated one of the most significant songs I know of with it, and they failed terribly.

But Undertale had a good ending. As aggravating as it is to not be able to keep Asriel, much less Chara, in the bounds of the game itself, that's part of the point of the ending. So there was no knee-jerk shock. While it is true that in a practical Undertale implementation, unbounded by the Game Maker engine, fuelled by the raw power of Determination, human spirit, and imagination, surely something more could have been achieved. But that does not take away from the coherent ending of Undertale.

There is a lot of pain in Undertale. So much pain.

It is overwhelming and vivid and searing and scorching and so very, very tangible and understandable and real. Not that the events of the game are real, well, as far as I can tell. The emotions are deep and real, I mean.

This was to me as the gas leak was to Vinny Santorini in Atlantis.

Due to the combined pressure of the mental overhaul Undertale was giving me, and the softness and vulnerability it re-introduced, throwing in re-learning certain cold facts about how much the powers-that-be at my previous job didn't care about doing good work, only making money, more severely than I had previously believed from last year, I lost my ability to continue driving there and showing up every day. Now, due to the way the contract works, and my having left the job gracefully, I am free to go back whenever I want. I was not fired. There are many employees who just go there, work as long as they can, then leave and wait for next season to come back. Their efforts are appreciated, especially when all heck breaks loose at the beginning of the on-season because all the bugs in the software that weren't found yet are harsly exposed. What happened with me is not ideal, nor is it rare or even unusual at this place. In about 3 months I could walk in the door and they'd welcome me with a smile and I'd get back to politely telling people that they're wrong and clueless and fixing their crap for them and half the time doing their job for them. (as if that's terribly different than my current job... just in person now instead of over a phone)

Anyways, so, Undertale hurts. Loving Undertale so deeply hurts a lot.

But it's also happy. It has so much happiness. It's so bright and wonderful. It's a warm, soft, fuzzy hug from goatmom and a slice of butterscotch pie. It's making spaghetti with Papyrus, only using an actual recipe this time and making it turn out well. It's watching anime until 4 am with Alphys and Undyne and suppressing giggles at seeing the two precious gay babies asleep and cuddling. It's hugging Sans and telling him it'll be okay. It's having a lovely tea party with Asgore and Muffet.

It's kissing a sad sapient golden flower on the forehead, buying a bar of chocolate and raising it in the air as a toast before eating it.

Bittersweet happiness sometimes but so very, very good and I love it and I really cannot get enough.

I'm addicted. Addicted to feeling again.

As the band Ghost says, "From the pinnacle to the pit, it is a long way down."

I haven't been to the absolute bottom, in that I haven't been institutionalized/hospitalized/just straight up killed by my depression, But I have been in the shower for 4 hours before from 2 am to 6 am at college, for one thing, so uhhh, nobody can say that I'm utterly clueless about such things without looking like a lunatic.

https://hadjii-blogs-undertale.tumblr.com/post/164567314340

Posts like the above still rip my heart out every time I see them. I've long since re-associated the song mentioned earlier with this particular point of note of Chara.

It's not entirely pleasant, no, but it makes me feel so alive and real and like I'm an actual human being and not an emotionless, soulless automaton covered in flesh.

And the happy posts are just that much brighter because of the contrast.

https://hadjii-blogs-undertale.tumblr.com/post/164689197750 https://hadjii-blogs-undertale.tumblr.com/post/164498003145 https://hadjii-blogs-undertale.tumblr.com/post/164161681835 https://hadjii-blogs-undertale.tumblr.com/post/164061257705

Some people can get by on just fluff alone. There's nothing wrong with that. This is just the way I personally operate. As for me, I've had too much saccharine positivity and "oh dont be sad everything is completely fine and theres nothing to be sad about youre not depressed just get up and go to work son!"

sorry got sidetracked and a little oddly specific there anyways

So the point is from the above wall of text that I have a lot of investment in Undertale and it means a lot to me.

Now, it's time for me to pull receipts.

One receipt, to be exact.

On a semifamous Undertale blog, that I still have not responded to, and quite possibly never will, unless you count this post as a response.

http://charadreemurr.tumblr.com/post/157052680490

I literally couldn't even read their last response for a solid two months because my eyes would skim off the words because they were full of so much utter crap. When I did, I was sorry for it, because it was still so much crap. And no, this isn't like the average tumblr receipt pull, because a lot of the time, a given person has changed for the better, and the receipts you're pulling are for a dramatically different person. This person has not changed and as best as I can tell will never change, or at least not for the next decade or so, unless something dramatic happens. They were the OP of the twitter bustercluck. If you don't know, don't ask, because I don't feel like getting into that right now. I may do so later though in a different post.

All I was trying to do was share a little positivity, and I was met with discourse, hostility, and self-righteousness.

"And second “biological gender” is a statement rife with discontent-"

Pardon my french but wtf m8?

Since then I have learned more thoroughly that in more modern usage, that sex and gender don't have ambiguity and don't need "biological" and "identity" modifiers for clarification, so to a limited extent, they were correct.

However, this does not excuse their behavior. There are many people, myself included back then, that because of their upbringing are uncomfortable saying the word "sex" in any context. I am not now, but I was then, which is why I used "gender" with modifiers for clarification. I gave them multiple chances in earlier reblogs to realize that I was just trying to share a bit of happiness. I clearly conveyed the belief that what's in one's pants doesn't necessarily align with what's in one's head and that it's not a problem. I also clearly stated that when referring to Frisk and Chara, one should use they/them.

And yet, they chose to perceive a threat where there was none. They prefaced their statement with "Yikes" then "Im gonna assume the best here though because i wanna assume people are good"

And completely did not follow through on that.

Statement rife with discontent, indeed.

I was rather hurt by this. Especially, especially because of the uniqueness of their url. They are the one and only charadreemurr. That's a very particular title, and they ought to live up to it.

And here, they did not. Unless Chara Dreemurr really is supposed to be a pretentious self-serving self-righteous paranoid uptight jackhole of a binch. In which case, congratulations, they succeeded.

I showed the post to a different trans friend of mine, and they were shocked by the post as well, looked through their tumblr, and declared the person "basically their least favorite type of person".

To this day, I feel uneasy just seeing the word "yikes" sometimes.

I have mentioned it a few times to some people but this really sent me for a loop. I almost left the fandom on the spot, like far too many good people have done when they were burned by the toxic side of the fandom.

And honestly, if I'd lost Undertale at such a key point in my life, with my job already falling apart, and the other crap I was going through at the time, especially with the election, I cannot safely say that I'd still be here. With the friends that I wouldn't have made solid yet, I probably would have attempted suicide.

And believe me, I'm an engineer. I would not have survived. Knives, pills, guns, rope, water, heights, motor vehicles, police, fire, bleach, all are too unreliable for me. I know exactly how I would do it, if I were to ever do it.

Yeah, I know, it's not anyone's job to make sure I don't commit suicide beyond my own. People who threaten others with their own suicide are horribly manipulative. I am not threatening anyone with my suicide here. I'm not saying "ermagersh dont break up with me or ill literally kill myself" What I am saying is "X happened to me in the past and it's made me want to kill myself" Suicide baiting someone is a terrible thing to do. Accidental baiting someone is not someone's fault, as it's accidental, but generally one should try to avoid it. Very similar to triggering somebody. Don't trigger people. If you do, apologize, and do better in the future, and be more consistent about tags and crap.

Just for the record, due to that and other things that have happened to me, I know that I am not now and not ever going to die by my own hand.

Because, I stood up. I turned around. And like Captain America, I said "No. You move."

Well, in my head. I didn't actually say anything to them.

And I stayed.

And that has made all the difference.

I have a great job now that pays moderately well. I have a wonderful aspec girlfriend now. My life still sucks in so many ways but I actually oftentimes see a light at the end of the tunnel. The world is crap and it's going to get crappier but not everything will be bad forever.

Now, we get to the center of the issue, having explained some needed context.

Nonbinary Frisk and Chara.

I love nb Frisk and Chara.

I have not and will never make a Frisk or Chara that is anything but nb.

At one point, a certain Frisk was going to maybe use She/They (or He/They, hadn't decided yet) instead of just They when they became a parent, but I scrapped that idea long before any of this.

It is completely correct to use they/them pronouns when talking about Frisk and Chara in general. These are all that are used in the game itself.

The pertinent question though is does this mean that Frisk and Chara are canonically nonbinary, and what of people who make variants/instances that aren't nonbinary?

Thus far, most of the argument I've seen in favor of nonbinary being a forcible requirement is only slightly more solid than claiming that the Boss in the Saints Row series must be nonbinary, as an example.

Yes, it is true that in SR2 and later, one chooses the boss's sex.

However, they also choose a voice, and the voice doesn't necessarily have to match the physical sex. Trans and NB Bosses are completely plausible within the game's canon. All dialogue just refers to the Boss as They/Them, regardless of player choice, to the best of my knowledge. Or just refers to them as "The Boss". In SR:GOOH, Satan (yes, the literal Prince of Darkness, ruler of literal actual Hell) refers to The Boss as "They" so yeah. Anyways.

Honestly the strongest argument I've seen in favor of NB Frisk and Chara being canon is "Because NB people could use the representation!" Which boils down to "Because I said so!" Which boils down to "Because f*** you, that's why"

Now, I personally love this reasoning and I'm already on board, but with three quirks.

1. I can see why other people may not be so satisfied with this. 2. I cannot see this as an absolute requirement preventing any other possible interpretation of Frisk and Chara being okay. 3. I do not find this a remotely strong enough reasoning to condone attacking other people over it.

I personally headcanon NB Frisks and Charas being by far the dominant kind across the entire Undertale trunk. And I look across the internet at the many, many wonderful creative people who have instanced Frisk and Chara, and I see that this is so. And this is how it should be.

Frisk and Chara are excellent NB representation.

I quite firmly believe Tobyfox intended this to be so, and created them as such.

On a side note, I just found out the "my last wish for undertale is that when discussion of it fades it dies peacefully instead of morphing into a garbage cesspool" tweet was faked. Probably should've figured that out a long time ago, that's not quite how toby tweets.

...

Anyways,

https://twitter.com/UnderTale/status/644614840925978624

Tobyfox, the one who made Frisk and Chara so readily NB, who put so much NB representation into the game in general, did not ask for this. He did not create them to be sticks to beat others with. They were a gift of kindness. To say "Hey. Hey you. You matter and are important and are valid. Have two complex characters who have no indicated and strongly ambiguous gender, not even barriers blocking a particular interpretation."

Thats the kicker. No barriers blocking a particular interpretation. The road goes both ways.

Frisk and Chara were meant to be characters one identified with. "It's me, Chara." "It's you!"

Frisk and Chara ought to be NB, yes. Unless otherwise specified, they're NB.

Thing is, not everyone who plays Undertale is nb.

real shocker there yeah

Point is, hurting someone who's not nb for identifying with Chara or Frisk is on the same level of behavior as yelling at someone for being kin with the same character as someone else, or yelling at someone for selfshipping with the same character as someone else.

It's immature, unkind, greedy, and completely unnecessary. Even illogical.

Even if Frisk and Chara were real in their own timelines and not just pixels on a screen, there are an infinite number of instances and infinite number of variations of them.

Even if infinities don't appease one, and they demand to examine the situation proportion/representation-wise, NB Frisk and Chara dominate the multiverse.

And if that does not satisfy, then what will?

Even if the entire infinite expanse was filled solely with nb Charas and Frisks, and there was only one Frisk across the trunk who was not nb, because they were created by one author in memory of a cis person who played and loved Undertale and fought through the entire game reset after reset, in a fruitless effort to save Asriel, will you rip that from their hands, in the name of "equal representation"?

Will you be like David in the bible, who had more than anyone could ask for, and lost it all because he wanted one last thing? One more person to be theirs as well?

There is a song by Tool which is very relevant here.

https://www.azlyrics.com/lyrics/tool/rightintwo.html

"Don't these talking monkeys know that Eden has enough to go around? Plenty in this holy garden, silly monkeys, Where there's one you're bound to divide it. Right in two."

I'm sorry, but I cannot condone vitriol over this. I cannot condone such hateful attitude and behaviors.

Just like the antifa who was punched by another antifa at a protest because they judged them by mere appearance to be a fascist, hatred doesn't accomplish anything.

There are times and places when due to the actions of other people, there is no valid choice remaining but violence.

This is seen in Undertale. Even when attempting to run a True Pacifist route, one has to beat down Asgore, and/or Flowey. This was seen back in WWII. We could not allow the Axis powers to enslave the world and murder whomever they wished.

This is not the case here.

Yes, there are those who purposely seek to misgender Frisks and Charas all around. Such folks correctly are rebuffed and banished to the shadows. And people who argue that Frisk or Chara canonically have to be a boy or girl really need to find a new hobby.

Those, if anyone, are the enemy. The lost, clueless, angry, bitter enemy, who need to be talked to and brought into the fold of those who know better, in true Undertale MERCY fashion. Or, if they will not listen, to be sent away, and blocked if harassment continues.

Random creatives on the internet who create a Frisk or Chara, maybe modelled after themselves, maybe after someone else, doens't matter, anyways, who happen to create one that isn't NB are not the enemy. Some young unlearned cis 12 year old who wants to be like Frisk and thinks Frisk is just like them, or that they are Frisk, and has little involvement with NB matters, or perhaps just hasn't yet heard of or seen how well NB and Chara and Frisk go together, is not the enemy.

NB folk have a lot of very, very real enemies. We have a long way to go as a species. Please, do not make up enemies where there are none.

I ask anyone who attacks others solely for having a different idea of Chara and Frisk's gender to please reconsider.

Please, spread NB Frisks and Charas all around the net. Let them enter the hearts of everyone who can appreciate this beautiful game. Not through anger and aggression, but through love and kindness and patience.

If you cannot abide my having such a stance on this, Mel, then I suppose this is farewell if you must break off all contact. And if you must leave, you may keep that commission money, whether or not you ever finish the art.

Thank you to anyone who reads the entirety of my words.

#language warning #suicide warning #meta #discourse #general trigger warning #things get deep here and i'm sorry but i had to share how i feel

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