#when i was a little bit younger i always internally got it mixed up with servine‚ i guess? i kept mixing up their names‚ for some reason | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

on-my-vigilante-sht · 1 year

Text

Sparring Matches

Aaron Hotchner x Reader

Summary: The BAU undergoes PT evaluations, that includes sparring matches. And in the ring will be the secret couple, tipping off the rest of the team.

Warnings: Canon level violence secret relationship, slight suggestive language

Word Count: 2.7k

Masterlist

The BAU were all sat in the bullpen trying to get work done when their Unit Chief, and Y/N’s secret boyfriend, walked out of his office, overseeing his team. “I have some bad news,” he announced, catching everyone’s attention.

“Another case?” Rossi guessed, coming out of his own office.

“No, the new Section Chief wants us to perform physical evaluations.” That earned groans from Spencer and Garcia. Meanwhile Derek and Emily were already placing bets about how each other would perform in each activity.

“But we haven’t had to do physical training in years because of field hours!” Reid protested.

Internally Aaron chucked at the doctor’s childlike protest, reminding him of Jack when he didn’t want to do something. “I’m sorry but he’s insistent and won’t be allowing waivers for any of you… except Rossi as well as Garcia because she’s never in the field.”

“Whoo!” she cheered, earning another groan from Spencer.

“And due to a recent incident… we will also be evaluated in hand to hand combat.” Everyone on the team turned to look at Y/N.

“He snuck up on me!” she defended for the millionth time. “I still beat him.”

“Still got a broken rib out of it,” Derek informed tauntingly.

“You’re one to talk,” she scoffed. “You throw yourself through doors even if they’re unlocked.”

“Oh yeah? We’ll see who fairs better in the ring.”

Before Y/N could get another jab in her boyfriend spoke. “Seeing as we are one of the most hands on units the Section Leader wants us to compete with each other so he can get an idea of our capabilities and because we are the most evenly matched. Thank you,” he dismissed, promptly walking back into his office so he didn’t have to witness anymore bickering. As much as Aaron loved the team, especially Y/N, he didn’t enjoy their bickering for prolonged periods of time.

Later that night at home, Aaron and Y/N were discussing the upcoming PT tests. “Why does he want us to fight each other?” she asked, plating their dinners.

“He said that based on reports we end up in physical combat a little too often,” he answered, setting the table. “He said that if we struggle too much then he’ll make it mandatory for us to have SWAT more often and no one will be allowed to move in on an unsub without SWAT presence.”

“That’s absolutely ridiculous,” Y/N cried, carrying over the food. “Stupid bureaucrats thinking their ideas are god’s gift to the FBI without even being in the field within the past five years.”

Aaron chucked, taking his seat across from her. “Well an evaluation isn’t too bad of an idea considering…” his voice trailed off as both recalled the weeks Y/N spent lying in bed waiting for her rib to mend itself enough so she could walk.

Y/N blushed, always getting intensely embarrassed whenever anyone brought that up. “He was twice my size and snuck up on me. And then I still managed to pin him with a broken rib,” she pointed out.

“Yes you did,” Aaron agreed, admiring her scowl.

“So do you know who will be fighting who?”

“Yes, it’s a mix of someone you’re fairly evenly matched with and someone who’s very different. You and Prentiss will spar, as will JJ and Reid, then I’ll be against Morgan. As for the opposites I believe it will be Prentiss and Reid, JJ and Morgan, and then you and I?”

“You and I will spar?”

“Yes, don’t worry I won’t blindside you,” he chuckled.

“Oh I’m not worried about that,” she smirked coyly. “I’m a bit younger than you, a bit more spry if you will.”

“Well I don’t know that I can call you younger considering you just used the word ‘spry.’ Besides it’s not a competition.”

“Sure,” she hummed sarcastically.

That only egged on the normally cool Unit Chief. He put his utensils down, forgetting his meal before hardening his expression. The same look he gave the team when he needed them to stop behaving like children, causing Y/N to squirm. “I guarantee you I’ll have you pinned by the end of it. I’ve never had difficulty pinning you before.” Y/N choked on the sip of wine she was drinking at that comment. Before she could say anything her boyfriend was at her side with a napkin. “Be careful, Y/N,” he said slyly, bringing the napkin under her chin. She stared at him in disbelief at his ostentatiousness as he backed away, trailing the napkin across her skin with a smirk.

After a week of intense sexual tension it was sparring day. Everyone was stretching in the FBI wrestling room except for Spencer who looked like he’d pass out. “Don’t worry Spence, I’ll go easy on you tomorrow,” Emily smirked.

He looked dissatisfied but took it with a sarcastic “Thanks.”

JJ and Spencer were the first to get in the circle but as soon as the whistle blew and JJ started advancing at him he dropped to the ground. “I yield,” he pled, raising his hands.

“C’mon pretty boy, you gotta do better than that,” Derek called. But Reid was completely unwilling to fight if there was no real danger so JJ was declared the winner.

Next up were Y/N and Emily. “Be careful, Y/N. I’m kind of infamous for hand to hand combat,” Emily bragged.

“I was a marine for four years,” Y/N shrugged arrogantly.

“Whoo girl fight,” Derek jeered from the sidelines.

“Shut up, Derek,” both women called, not moving their gazes from each other.

Also from the sidelines Aaron was resisting the urge to tell Prentiss to go easy on Y/N. Not only would it infuriate Y/N, it would clue the team into their relationship. Hiding a relationship from profilers was difficult but so far Aaron felt that they had managed. As the whistle was blown, Aaron watched in mild horror, keeping his expression hardened, as his girlfriend fought another very highly trained FBI agent.

Derek and Reid came to their boss’ side. “My money’s on Prentiss, she’s stronger,” Derek bet.

Aaron stayed silent, worried he’d betray some sensitive information while being so focused on the fight. Fortunately for him, Reid chimed in with his analysis. “While Emily was a part of Interpol, a very specialized group of agents, Y/N’s younger and more agile. Her training in the marines, while not having as much focus on hand to hand combat, will help her and I’d argue makes her stronger than Emily considering the amount of carbo loading they do.”

Before Morgan could disagree Aaron watched as Y/N pinned Prentiss by literally sitting on her back and pulling Emily’s arm behind her back up in the air. When the whistle blew, declaring Y/N the winner she simply stood up, helped her teammate stand, and went to the bench for her water bottle without a word, not wanting to humiliate her teammate anymore.

Next it was Aaron and Derek stepping onto the mat. Y/N watched them with unwavering eyes, hoping her expression wasn’t too worried. Aaron was tough, he got into more than his fair share of scraps with unsubs and he was still strong and fit. But Derek was well… Derek. He practically lived at the gym when we weren’t on missions and had the most takedowns on the team, preferring to throw himself at the unsub rather than shoot.

Y/N forced herself to look away from the mat, turning her attention to JJ who was approaching. “This should be interesting,” she commented, observing the flurry of fists.

Y/N hummed in agreement, busying herself with the objects in her bag. “Yeah but Derek’s got him. Hotch is tough but Derek’s favorite pastime is taking down unsubs.” Looking up Y/N couldn’t help but cringe as Derek landed a punch on Aaron’s face but he took it like a champ, barely even flinching before pushing Derek back.

The match was long and bitter but it ended with Morgan pinning his boss to the mat. Both were exhausted with labored breaths as the whistle blew. The second it did, Derek moved off of Aaron, sitting at his side trying to catch his breath. Emily went over to Morgan, leaving Y/N the opportunity to go over to her boyfriend without making it too obvious.

“C’mon,” she said as casually as possible, helping him off the mat. Helping him over to the bench she brought him his water bottle, as did Emily for Morgan.

“We’ll continue onto the next portion tomorrow,” the ref informed us before taking his leave.

At Aaron’s house, Y/N was trying to treat his cuts and bruises as best she could. “Are you sure you’re up to sparring tomorrow?” she asked, placing an ice pack against his bruised jaw.

“I’m fine, just some superficial cuts and bruises,” he dismissed.

“Still that was pretty brutal, I could hardly watch.”

Aaron took the cold compress she had been using on him earlier, pressing it to her visibly bruised collarbone. “Was hard to watch you too,” he murmured, feeling a little embarrassed about being so sentimental and protective.

Y/N smiled softly, trying her best to hide it so her boyfriend wouldn’t get too embarrassed. “Let’s get you to bed,” she suggested, helping him up. “This is the longest we’ve gone without a case in a while. You should enjoy it.”

“By sleeping?”

“Yes, sleep is one of my favorite things.”

By the next morning Aaron’s face was mostly healed and it was time for the other sparring matches. First up: JJ and Morgan.

While JJ was far more agile and quicker than Derek, all it took was him getting a grip on her and she was pinned.

Next up were Reid and Prentiss. Spencer didn’t immediately collapse but after she swept his leg he never got back up.

And finally it was the two secret lovers. “Don’t worry, L/N, I won’t blindside you,” Aaron smirked just like he did when he first told her they’d be fighting. This was also the first instance of teasing the team had ever seen from their stoic boss.

“You couldn’t move fast enough,” Y/N sneered in return.

With the blow of the whistle both advanced, trying to gain the upper hand. As Aaron tried to grab Y/N she dropped down, kicking him in the legs. It wasn’t enough to knock him down though, only sending him stumbling a few steps. As Y/N was scrambling up, Aaron had already regained his footing. Approaching her again he grabbed her wrist giving him the opportunity to punch her in the face but he hesitated, not wanting to hit a woman much less the woman he loved. His hesitation gave her enough time to twist her arm from his grip. Taking the opportunity once again, she kicked at his legs, sending him sprawling on the ground. She then straddled his abdomen, smirking in victory. But Aaron wasn’t done yet, easily flipped her so now she laid on the mat with him straddling her hips. He watched in amusement as her eyes widened in shock and she tried to struggle free but it was no use seeing as Aaron was twice her size.

The whistle blew again bringing both back to the present. Keenly aware of the position they were in in front of the entire team, Aaron immediately scrambled up onto his feet. Reaching a friendly, professional hand down, he helped Y/N up. “Good match,” he said awkwardly before scurrying off to the bench where his water bottle sat.

Y/N took a second to catch her breath, trying to figure out what would be the least awkward and obvious next move. Fortunately for her, JJ was already bringing her her water bottle. “Thanks,” she wheezed.

“Yeah, how’re you feeling?” JJ sympathized, also just having taken a bit of a beating.

“Aside from having the wind knocked out of me? Fine. I’ll just need a few minutes,” Y/N coughed out.

On the other side of the gym Derek had the biggest grin on his face, very much enjoying teasing his boss. “That was quite the match. Interesting method of pinning L/N.”

Hotch was trying to quickly think of a way to dismiss Morgan without drawing too much attention to him and Y/N. So he just gave him the stern Unit Chief look that instantly shut everyone up. “That’s not appropriate,” was all he said before exiting towards the locker rooms, eager to be back in the safe authority of his suits.

On his way out it took most of his willpower not to think too much about the way he had his girlfriend pinned.

The sound of Aaron’s ringtone jolted the two FBI agents up. Aaron grabbed the phone from his nightstand, keeping an arm wrapped around Y/N as she pulled the sheets tighter, cuddling into his chest. She let out a soft groan at being woken up as Aaron answered it. “Hello?” he answered in his groggy morning voice. After a few seconds of muffled information from Garcia he spoke again. “Okay call the rest of the team. I’ll be right there.”

“Another case?” Y/N asked, not even thinking.

“Yeah, sounds like a serial killer in SoHo,” Aaron informed as he hung up. Realizing what just happened he cursed. “Shit.”

“What?” Y/N asked, still gaining her bearings.

“I hadn’t hung up yet.”

“Shit,” Y/N cursed as well. “Okay it’s fine, if anyone says anything you fell asleep on the couch with Jack.”

“Yeah, okay,” Aaron agreed beginning to get dressed in the dark.

Y/N’s phone then went off. “Hello?” she answered, already knowing who would be on the other line.

“Good news, we’re going to New York City, bad news there’s a serial killer,” Penelope announced.

“Okay, I’ll-”

“Ow!” Aaron deep yell and a crash cut Y/N off.

“Was that Hotch?” Penelope gasped in shock.

“No!” Y/N answered too quickly. “Uh no,” she tried to answer more nonchalantly, “it was a guy but definitely not Hotch.” She cringed at her words.

“Ooh details,” Garcia begged.

“Another time,” she promised. “I have to get dressed. See you in 15.” And with that she hung up. She groaned, throwing herself back onto the pillows. “They’re definitely going to figure it out. I don’t have my car and I live on the other side of town we won’t make it.”

“We’ll walk in a few minutes separated. We still have plausible deniability,” Aaron tried to soothe Y/N. “It’ll be fine.”

“You’re surprisingly calm about this,” she observed, getting up to find her clothes.

“Would it be such a bad thing if they found out?” he asked shyly.

“No,” she answered, “not the team. I worry about the Section Chief and others.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll handle it if I have to,” Aaron promised, wrapping his girlfriend in his arms before pressing a kiss to her temple.

Once they pulled into one of the far parking lots, the couple scoped out the other cars as best they could from their seats. “I think we’re good,” Y/N informed. “Follow me in like 3 minutes later?”

Aaron nodded as Y/N opened her door but the second she opened the door, Derek’s car pulled up with Garcia in the passenger seat. “I knew that was Hotch’s voice!” she yelled.

The couple groaned. “Not a word to anyone outside the team, got it?” Y/N immediately demanded.

“Of course, of course,” Derek promised.

“When did you know?” Aaron asked.

“We all had our suspicions but we knew during your sparring match. You were way too comfortable sitting on top of each other. And then my lovely Ms. Garcia’s phone calls confirmed you spent the night together,” Derek smirked.

Meanwhile Garcia was already group calling Emily, Spencer, JJ, and Rossi. “Hotch and L/N confirmed,” she squealed.

Masterlist

#aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner x reader #criminal minds #hotch #hotch x reader #criminal minds x reader

1K notes · View notes

sarahowritesostucky · 4 months

Text

📖The Captain and the Rake

Rated: Mature

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Bucky Barnes

Word Count: 7338

Tags: historical romance, regency time period, slavery, racism (not from Steve of Bucky tho), period-typical attitudes, prejudice, mermaids, curses, internalized homophobia, historical fantasy drama, prostitution, period typical race relations and terminology ("colored," "mixed," and "black" are used)

Summary: After receiving a large inheritance, Steve must travel to the West Indies to figure out the origins of a mysterious letter.

(Regency manips made by @amarriageoftrueminds)

A.N. This fic was originally for the Stucky historical fiction event in 2023. I never was able to finish due to injury, but thought I'd brush it off for Mermay this year. This fic contains subject matter to do with the trans-Atlantic slave trade, so please heed the tags as they are updated each chapter. Racial descriptors used in this fic include: colored, black, and a couple instances of negro. I did my best to balance historical realism without getting too offensive to the reader.\ The name "Alva" was chosen before I knew about Alba, I swear to God 😂

Chapter 1. A Great and Grievous Rumbling

Steve emerged from his stateroom when a knock came at the door and a gruff voice called out, “We’ll be makin’ port within the hour now, Capt’n!”

Thank goodness.

He’d been queasy the entire trip, ever since they’d first sailed from Charleston and the rocking of the boat set into his bones. Storms had delayed their progress halfway through, and the closer they got to the equator, the more unbearable the underdecks of the ship had become. As a paying passenger, Steve was afforded small but tidy accommodations, and Captain Odinson had merrily invited him to explore the ship at his leisure, but Steve had been reticent to engage with the crew. They seemed … not distrustful of him, per se, but perhaps disdainful. In the way that men with hardened hands often disdained men with soft ones. One look at Steve, and they’d made up their minds about him being a spoilt “fancy man.”

Steve could concede that he was a comely fellow, with short, fair hair and uncommonly bright blue eyes. He sported a strong jaw and handsome nose, but his mouth had always struck him as a bit too feminine, and his eyelashes didn’t help the matter. He kept no beard, and was better groomed than the men on Odinson’s crew. Tack on the fact that he dressed in the fashion of his peers, and he supposed he might seem a bit foppish to a bunch of hard worn, seagoing men. But his body was tall and strong, towering over most other men back in New York by several inches at least.

That didn’t seem to make a difference to the crew, who’d readily laughed at a man whose constitution was weakened by seasickness. Steve had kept to his cabin, reading what little he could in between bouts of nausea. To be called up to set his eyes on land was a mercy. He was relieved that the journey was almost over.

Steve emerged above deck and squinted as his eyes adjusted to the light, the fresh air a tonic to his mood. It was late into the day now, the storms having swept away all traces of cloud cover. The tradewinds came in sharp and brisk, filling the ship’s sails and propelling them closer to the coast. Seeing the dark shapes of mountains swelling in the distance, Steve felt immense gratitude for land, and even greater excitement for the unknown. Nervousness, sure, it wasn’t all pleasant business that brought him halfway across the world. But he’d been going crazy back in New York. The pleasantries and mundanalities of society life having been twice as stifling after coming back from the war—and thrice as much since his inheritance. It’d been time for a change.

“Got yer sea legs now, Capt’n Rosewater?” one of the younger cabin boys snickered as he passed by.

Steve waved him off with a gamely scowl and continued towards the port bow. He held firm to the banister and looked out at the churning waters below, then up to the land ahead. It was still too far away to make out all the details, but as the next few moments brought them closer, he could see more and more of the island: masses of trees and distant green hills, mountains beyond that, the white tops of breaking surf at the edges of the inlet, and then increasingly jewel blue tones of water that bled from pure azul, to aqua, to sparkling green in the shallows. It shocked Steve, how beautifully colorful it all was in comparison to the dull, muddy waters they’d left behind in Charleston.

They sailed past a bar of land on the starboard. It jutted out far into the ocean, curling in like an arm, as if to cradle the ships come into harbor. Steve caught sight of stone ruins poking out of the water and strained to try and see more. Captain Odinson and his quartermaster—an imposing and impressive man named Heimdall—had spent their second evening at sea consoling Steve over his embarrassing queasiness, offering him drink and telling him fairy stories of the sunken pirate city of Port Royal. Standing in the just-setting sun, Steve had to squint to see. There appeared to be something left of the old town out on the sandbar, but not very much. Most of it must be underwater, Steve thought with disappointment. Earthquakes tended to do that. It sure didn’t live up to any of Odinson’s stories.

The sun was close to setting as they drew in, other ships in the harbor floating nearby with increasing frequency. There was one particularly massive frigate on the portside as they sailed, perhaps fifty yards away, and Steve noticed some of the crew shooting it dirty looks. He turned to watch as they passed. The other vessel was moored in place. It had thick, old rails with weathered paint up top and a pitch-blackened hull below, barnacles creeping far up the sides. No sails were rigged and no crew was visible, yet as he stood there, Steve began to hear something faint.

At first he thought he’d only imagined it, or that perhaps some of Odinson’s men were below deck, hauling heavy things about in their preparations for docking. But the sound came again, and Steve felt a chill on his skin as the sound grew unnaturally, filling his ears and consuming his senses to the exclusion of all else. Louder and louder it became, until he could feel it reverberating in his head, like the inside of a conch, like a pulse. Leaning harder against the rail, his fingers gripped the wood as he listened to the sound.

It was coming from the other ship, not theirs.

Steve glanced about, but none of the crew were paying attention. It was as though they couldn’t hear it. He couldn’t understand how that was possible, as the sound swelled to a grievous rumble that made his heart beat faster in fear. It sounded like a … like a machine, like some great and groaning monster was inside the belly of the other ship, producing a deep and steady pounding. Steve hadn’t a clue what on earth could make such a noise. They’d already passed the ship by, so the sound should be fading, not growing louder. It didn’t make any sense. Steve stood there, aghast and locked in place.

Until a hand clapped down on his shoulder from behind, and he all but jumped out of his skin. The roaring was sucked clean out of his ears, immediately replaced by the usual cadence of wind and boat deck chatter as Steve whipped around and blustered over the embarrassing yelp he’d given. “Oh! Quartermaster!” He straightened himself. “Um, forgive me. I didn’t hear you approach.”

The quartermaster’s eye twinkled as he stepped up to join him. His name was Heimdall. He’d seen where Steve was watching the other ship. Together they stood at the rail and observed the island that lay ahead of them. “That, back there,” he said, referencing the frigate.

“Yes,” Steve said, not quite wanting to look over his shoulder at it anymore. “What was that?” He meant the monstrous sound of it, but had an odd and chilling suspicion that he’d been the only one who’d heard the noise. “The ship,” he said. “Didn’t you … didn’t you hear it?”

“Hear what?” Heimdall peered at him strangely. “The Hannibal. A Guineaman, godforsaken craft.” When he could see that Steve didn’t understand the scorn in his voice, he told him, “That’d be one of the old slave ships, Captain.”

Steve felt his stomach drop out. “O-Oh?” Heimdall nodded. All of a sudden it seemed that he was doubly as black—and Steve doubly as aware of it. He bit the inside of his cheek as he wondered if Heimdall knew his business on the island. Steve had mentioned his inheritance to Captain Odinson, but no one else on the ship. He wasn’t exactly proud of it, and he hadn’t wanted word to get ‘round that he was a slaveholder. Assumptions might be made. No one here knew his character or his intentions, after all. Nobody knew about Sam, or Hamilton House back home in Brooklyn, or that Steve’s aunt in Utica often mailed him back issues from her subscription to the Emancipator. Steve frowned at the distant shoreline, resisting the urge to twist his fingers into his ears. They still held the echo of that phantom sound. “Ships like that still sail?” he asked. “How?”

“Sugar, molasses, rum.” Heimdall shrugged. “For less profit.”

Steve wasn’t an idiot. He knew how all three of those things were produced: sugarcane. He now owned a large plantation of the stuff. “I see,” he said stiffly. “Do you know what’s brought me out here, then?”

Heimdall looked over at him, and for a tense moment, Steve thought he’d say yes, but then the quartermaster’s mouth twitched up in a smirk of gentle disdain. “You’re from New York,” he drawled. “Only two things’ll bring a gentleman American out to this edge of the world: money, or a powerful need to run away from something.”

“Run away,” Steve murmured, thoughts instantly veering to the genteel form of Miss Alva Barclay. He fought not to wince. He wasn’t running, and certainly not from her. “Yes,” he said, wetting his lips as he realized that he could relax once again, because Heimdall had no ill opinion of him. The man obviously didn’t know. So, Steve joined him in staring ahead peaceably, watching as the edge of the world drew into clearer relief.

“Jamaica at last!” Captain Odinson arrived happily at Steve’s side and threw his hand out at the town and the docks below. “Isn’t it beautiful? Just as I said!”

No matter the topic, Odinson always seemed to say everything with a boom, his enthusiasm infectious. Steve nodded in agreement. “Indeed.” Even in the day’s waning light, everything seemed brighter here. Steve had never once seen an entire building painted egg yolk yellow. “I knew it would be warmer here, but not like this. I’m afraid my trunk won’t be suitable for such a climate.” When they’d departed Charleston, it had only just turned November. Now all he could see were palm trees and folks dressed in light cotton clothes or even with no shirts on at all. “Incredible.”

“Indeed. You may find your New York winters more difficult to bear, once you return.”

Steve grimaced, remembering the past two winters and how exceptionally harsh they had been. When he’d departed for Charleston, there’d already been snow on the ground in New York. One of the crew members called out to the Captain, and he excused himself from Steve’s company. Steve decided to remain where he was until the work of unloading the ship died down a bit, as he didn’t want to be in the way. He spent the time watching the docks below, fascinated by the scenery.

Despite the unsavory nature of his inheritance, Steve was still very excited to be in Jamaica. Already it seemed amazing, and he’d only stood there on the ship looking at the ruddy docks, not even yet ventured into the town! He took in all the action of the street: carts and chickens and sailors cursing at one another. There was so much green. The forest beyond seemed lush and dense, the wilderness of it curling in at the edges of the town and creeping to fill up empty spaces. And oh, with the sunset just beginning to cast its colors, Steve’s fingers itched to find a paintbrush. The people bustling about were of such variety and comport that he instantly knew a day in Kingston could never be dull.

There were far more people of color than Steve had ever seen in one place. The ship captains and many of the crewmen were white, but not all, and out on the street there were many colored merchants and dockworkers. Groups of black and mixed-race children loitered about, looking hopeful for either mischief or play. Steve inhaled deeply, figuring that he’d continue to feel odd and out of place no matter what he did, but certain that he’d feel better once he’d visited his solicitor.

Mr. Coulson was due to arrive on the island within the week. Steve had corresponded with him before he’d departed from New York. Coulson had been to the West Indies many times, and had suggested they arrange for their travel schedules to align. He was the one who knew the most about Steve’s property in Jamaica, as he’d worked for and been closely acquainted with Steve’s late uncle, back in England. Steve hoped that Coulson would be there soon, as this was far from a leisure trip for him.

Coulson had warned Steve that there would be numerous steps to take, both legal and practical, before his end goal for the estate could be achieved. Nothing would be done in a day, little in a fortnight. It would take time, and both men had agreed to make themselves available on the island for not less than two months—and more, if need be. Steve himself had half a mind to winter over here and not return to New York until the spring.

It took a while before the ship was fully unloaded. Steve disembarked and stood by his trunks as he waited for his ride. He was to be picked up by a man from the estate, so he kept an eye out for anyone who might be looking for him, and in the meantime bought a sweet bread from a street vendor and sat eating it next to his luggage. Wiping his hands clean, he reached into his breast pocket and retrieved the letter which he’d received in the post several months ago—the letter that had started this whole journey. He unfolded the paper and read the words that he all but knew by heart, at this point:

꘏ Mister Steven Rogers, I hope this letter finds you well, and I send my condolences for the loss of your uncle. We are not acquainted, and indeed I’m sure you’ve never so much as heard my name spoken in conversation, as I have not spent time in New York in many years. I am writing in regards to what is going on at your property here. As I am sure you are aware, since the passing of your relation, Mr. Charles Cleland, the house of Shield Hall and all of its materials, peoples, and lands have come into your possession. As a fellow landowner on the island, I feel it is my duty to inform you that the operation which your uncle upkept in his lifetime has quickly deteriorated into a state of chaos and disrepair. The property is currently being mismanaged by several hired men, none of whom are keeping care of their charges, the land, or the profits that the land is meant to yield. Since this property is part of your estate, and your estate pays these very men’s wages, I felt I should write you. There is a great manor house which sits functionally abandoned, with hardly a single man watching over it day and night. Vagrants have had to be chased away more than once. Your working men and women number close to two hundred, and they all have been treated harshly and unfairly by the overseers, often deprived of suitable conditions. The harvests of this past year were summarily affected by these happenings. Word of the disorganization and abuse has reached many in the community already, and rumors abound of the great discontent brewing amongst your slaves. I have received only general description of you from my aunt in New York, but am sure that you are a fine man and will agree with me that it is our Christian duty to treat all of God’s children with dignity and fairness, including the negro man in bondage. I urge you to come at once and see for yourself, for only then can things be put right. Your respectful neighbor, J. Buchanan ꘏

Steve blinked down at the page, looking once more at that elegantly scrawled name: J. Buchanan. Only an educated and moneyed man would have such excellent penmanship, lending credence to the writer’s claims of who he was. But the letter was signed only with “J. Buchanan,” with no other identifying information given. It had arrived several months ago, posted from Kingston, Jamaica, but with no return address. Its author claimed to be a fellow landowner and wrote “neighbor” as his salutation, but when Steve had looked at records of land holdings on the island, he’d found no history of a Buchanan family.

Still, the stranger had thought the situation serious enough to contact Steve, and so whether the letter’s claims were true or not, Steve felt he should investigate. That was the only respectable thing to do, since it was his property now. The very land that made him rich.

That in itself was still novel. Steve had never owned much of anything, other than his house in Brooklyn which he’d inherited from his mother. He’d grown up privileged but not overly so, within the bounds of New York Society but never pursued the way that more moneyed gentlemen were. That had all changed once his uncle had passed and word got out that Steve now owned a large sugar plantation and all of the wealth that came with it. He’d spent the past twenty months fending off eager mothers and their daughters. Two seasons’ worth of balls, courtships, and fripperies had been useful in warding off the loneliness, but they were exhausting at the end of the day.

And then there was Miss Barclay, who was one of the many ladies being continually foisted upon him. Though she was the most agreeable, Steve still felt that his lungs could take in twice the amount of oxygen now that he knew he was a thousand miles away from her—an ungenerous sentiment, perhaps, but nonetheless true.

Steve hadn’t yet spent much of his newfound fortune, the habits of a widowed spendthrift mother having been ingrained in him since boyhood; but the one thing he had indulged in, was the singular luxury of a private box at the opera house. A veritable bidding war had commenced when the next box over came up for sale not long after. That was how Steve had gotten to know Alva over the arias of Fidelio and Silvana, her mother always looming nearby like a hawk searching out prey.

Though Steve enjoyed Miss Barclay’s company as well as any other lady’s, it’d been months of these not so subtle overtures, and he feared he would soon wind up engaged if things continued on the way they were. Traveling to Jamaica now, he’d narrowly avoided the crux of this year’s winter season. It was his hope that this sojourn would send the message of his disinterest without him having to actually turn the poor girl down. Steve was only twenty-eight, after all. He wasn’t ready for all of that.

Both his solicitor in New York and Mr. Coulson in London had told him not to worry about the details of his inheritance and the running of the estate in Jamaica, insisting that others were handling it and his bank account would remain well-padded without any direct interference. “Nasty business, sugar,” Coulson advised, pointing out that Steve’s late uncle hadn’t visited the island himself in decades. It was a common arrangement that absentee landlords would hire competent men to manage the operations of their plantations. The hired men at Shield Hall would continue to do so, Coulson had assured, whilst Steve continued to reap the benefits. Steve had believed it for a time, and had been sufficiently distracted by the demands and complications of his sudden shift in New York Society. But as soon as the letter from J. Buchanan had arrived, everything had changed.

Steve couldn’t ignore “the slave problem” anymore, and he had the exact excuse he needed to make a quick escape from the burgeoning weight of high society and all its expectations of him. He was grateful to J. Buchanan, whoever he was.

Carefully, he refolded the letter and tucked it back into his breast pocket. J claimed that conditions at Shield Hall were abusive. Steve couldn’t fathom a reason for a stranger to fabricate such a story. So here he was to see for himself. He was absolutely dreading it.

“There you are. Ha, I’d thought we’d lost you!” Steve looked up and saw Odinson approaching from across the cobblestone in long strides. “We’re nearly finished,” he said, eyeing up Steve’s luggage approvingly. “You pack light for a gentleman. You must have a sense of adventure!”

Steve gave a good-natured grimace. “I’d have said not, nineteen days ago, and yet here I stand.” He illustrated his meaning by looking about the wharf. Not even away from the docks yet, and already he’d seen a parrot with more colors in its feathers than any single living thing in Brooklyn. He scratched behind his ear. Life had been in color before, hadn’t it? Surely, New York wasn’t as dull and gray as his memory was now painting it. He said as much to Odinson, who agreed and noted the closest building’s bright coral stucco. That was when Steve caught sight of a crewmember lugging out his crate of painting supplies. “Oh! Over here! You can put that one just here. Thank you.” When Odinson raised an eyebrow, Steve explained, “Well, my easel and things. I paint. A bit.”

“An artist! Good for you.”

Steve blushed, but he could tell that Odinson meant no harm. Other men in Steve’s life had contrived plenty more obvious ways of telling him that it seemed foppish and silly for a man of his status to spend so much time on such a frivolous hobby. “Yes,” he agreed. “Subjects will be in no short supply, in this place.”

Captain Odinson bid him farewell once Steve’s helper arrived and made himself known. A large and competent man named M'baku had come from the estate with a carriage. Steve shook his hand and M'baku looked at him sternly and then announced that he would be Steve’s man whilst in town. (Steve feared that he might also be his property, but hadn’t yet gotten up the courage to ask.) “Erm … shall we be off?” he asked.

M'baku took the lead and indicated the carriage. He gruffly refused Steve’s help with the luggage, and sat up front on the bench while Steve rode as lone passenger. Since Shield Hall was located a ways outside of the city, and evening was nearly upon them, they sought out local accommodations. M'baku asked Steve what sort of place he wanted to go to. “Do you want a big room? Company?” he asked, a distinctive island accent clinging to his vowels. “There are a couple of places to choose from. Different.”

“Eh, anywhere will do,” Steve hemmed, adding offhandedly that he wouldn’t mind the company of others.

So M'baku drove them to the Royal Naval Hotel. It seemed a handsome establishment, lively even, with quite a few people loitering about the downstairs. Steve checked himself in and had his luggage sent up, then he walked to the lounge with M’baku by his side. There were many fine couches and tables for the hotel’s patrons to use. Steve and M'baku spoke together for a moment, discussing their plans for the next day, when they would meet again and depart for Shield Hall.

With that settled, M'baku seemed eager to leave, and Steve could see a fancily dressed woman standing in the doorway leading into the next parlor, hiding behind a partially tied back velvet drape. She was peeking out at M'baku and Steve with narrowed eyes, looking none too pleased.

Steve turned back to M'baku and thanked him again for his help, eager to not have the prim hotel ladies complaining to management about him so soon. “I’ll see you in the morning,” he said in parting, and M'baku left as sternly as he’d arrived. Steve chanced a glance towards the draped doorway again, but the lady had turned away to converse with a gentleman. The backside of her gown faced Steve; a fine India silk and muslin, as was the fashion, but it was the amount of skin permitted to show which stood out. She wore no gloves, and Steve couldn’t keep his eyes from honing in at the low dip of the neckline which was nearly below the lady’s shoulder blades in the back.

That tantalizing stretch of skin continued up her back and slim neck, to the mass of dark curls piled atop her head. Steve hadn’t realized it when she was peering out from the shadows before, but she wasn’t white. His own gaze narrowed at her in distaste, finding it odd that she of all people would take issue with a colored manservant being briefly inside the room.

Not that it was any different in New York. Indeed, Steve had tried—and failed—on an occasion or two to get Sam in with him to a certain place or another. Sometimes, if enough money was being spent and the proprietors were the right sort and employed discretion, there wouldn’t be much of a fuss made over who Steve wanted to have with him. But in many places, other patrons would eventually complain. However it was normally white people doing the complaining and looking down their noses.

The lady in the fine gown reacted to something her companion said, drawing Steve’s attention to the sound of her laughter that was like a little, tinkling bell. His eyes flicked up, and over her shoulder he caught the gaze of the gentleman with whom she was speaking. The man was easing off from the grin of a joke he’d told, and his still-laughing eyes locked intently on Steve. For a split second, it was electric, something in the man’s glittering eyes stealing the breath from Steve’s lungs.

Steve hurriedly looked away, feeling caught out. He thought he’d seen the man’s mouth twitch up there at the end, but he hadn’t the courage to turn back and check. The man was very good looking, in a rakish sort of way, with an unshaven jaw and murky blue eyes set in a handsome face. He kept his hair longer than was the fashion, but pulled back in a way that suited his features. He looked older than Steve’s own twenty-eight years, perhaps a man of twenty and fifteen or more, and he moved with the loose sort of confidence that a man did when he knew himself to be attractive. He was the exact type of fellow whom Steve avoided looking at or being around any more than was strictly necessary, lest he look or linger too long.

He turned away and ambled over into the next parlor, where he leant against the bar top and found his reprieve. He told the barkeep he’d have some good sort of rum, and took his drink off to another of the downstairs parlors, planting himself on a velvet settee where he could be out of the way and still observe the room at large. The place grew more crowded as evening drew in, and Steve saw enough to become convinced that the Royal Naval Hotel was not just a hotel: It was a bawdyhouse.

In the span of an hour, he witnessed no less than five different girls, interacting indecently amorous with seven different men, before taking said men’s hands and leading the grinning dopes away. Steve couldn’t see where they went once out of the room, but he could make an educated guess. None of these ladies wore gloves, either.

Incredible, he thought, as he watched one of them returning to approach her second gentleman within the span of forty minutes. The game began all over again, and Steve felt shocked and yet fascinated by her practiced movements and speech. It was like watching a ballet: scandalous and still elegant, the girl comporting herself with grace and impropriety all at once. Steve felt his cheeks heat as she left the room with her newest suiter, and he went back to the bar to get himself another pour.

A piano took up in one of the rooms, heard throughout the place, and more men came in. The number of women multiplied as well, but at a ratio which substantially favored the men. There were a number of British naval officers present, and Steve felt even more uncomfortable about that than he had been being led around by M'baku. He’d never hurt a negro man before, after all. He had killed English soldiers, and quite recently at that.

The last time Steve had fought had been in Canada, less than two full years ago. Niagara, dead Indians just as plentiful as all the uniformed red-and-whites, bodies bleeding into the snow. Steve suddenly remembered that he’d resolved to not make his nationality overly apparent whilst visiting Jamaica—a very British colony. And he certainly wasn’t planning on letting anyone know about his recent military service. He hadn’t a clue what the English soldiers’ attitudes towards Americans were, but back in New York, no known Brit was yet tolerated in polite company, even these twenty long months after the war had ended. Steve was certain that he’d be treated poorly at best, pickpocketed or accosted in the street at worst.

Unsurprisingly, about half of the men who filled The Royal Naval Hotel’s downstairs parlors wore the royal naval uniform. Some of them sat in groups and drank together and laughed, others played cards, their behavior for the most part unremarkable. But the ones who were there for other services made their interest plainly known as the evening wore on, and the ladies of the room would respond and float over like swans bobbing to breadcrumbs on a pond. It was not possible to miss that all of the crumbs were white, and all of the swans were black.

They were black, and less black, light skinned, and very dark indeed; as exotic and varied as any man could want. Much like the very first lady whom Steve had observed, they all wore luxurious clothes in the current fashions, with their hair piled high and woven through with decoration, sweet silk shawls draped about their arms, necks left bare of any jewelry, bosoms powdered and presented. It really was a bit like watching the ballet, and as the evening wore on and Steve sat there drinking a second and then a third round of what the barkeep called “grog,” he found he couldn’t tear his eyes away from their dance.

They spoke and whispered into the men’s ears with cultured English and sometimes French, and they moved and walked like true ladies of society (at least when they weren’t sneakily sliding their hands into places they oughtn't be). Many of the men seemed respectful at best and besotted at worst, but Steve did catch a few dark glances that they would share amongst themselves when they thought the women weren’t looking. The way they looked made Steve uncomfortable—less so for the impropriety of it all, and more so for how it made him recognize his own lack of such interest.

For a moment, he thought again of Alva, back in New York. She was a pretty and tolerable girl, well-mannered and quick-witted even, with an interest in the theater and the arts that, while not matching Steve’s own, was robust enough to hold a conversation. He had no real objections to her other than that he didn’t love her, which in itself wasn’t uncommon between couples courting engagements. The thing was though: Steve had never loved any girl at all. He’d never felt the real and pressing temptation that other men seemed to harbor deep within themselves. He lacked that natural inclination which made men’s eyes linger and their gazes go dark behind ladies’ backs.

Steve squirmed in his seat, agitated when he tried and failed to view the various prostitutes as the other men saw them: alluring, desirable, lustful. He thought they were very pretty and graceful, of course, but in the way that birds were pretty and that cats were graceful. He felt nothing more towards them. Certainly not the things that the British naval officers clearly felt. … Certainly not the things which Steve had been known to feel about certain men.

He felt his cheeks go hot as his mind strayed to the unbidden memory of a crowded house: Bleecker street, dark rooms filled with smoke and drink and chatter, people in less and less clothing the further in one went. A broad back, two men pulling off shirts, their squared jaws kissing against a couch. Steve had nearly dropped his brandy glass when he’d walked in on it. He’d always fraternized with the bohemian types through his interests in the arts, and parties in the Village were undoubtedly of a different ilk, but he’d never imagined that any man could just … would just …

And right there in the middle of an unlocked room, no less! With others not even ten paces away who might look, might see—who had seen, and had simply looked the other way.

The drapes in that Molly house had all been heavy and drawn.

Steve squinched his eyes shut to try and knock the memory from his mind. Perhaps he should choose a woman, he thought. Try and pretend for a night, maybe even awaken the desire inside himself that he was supposed to have. Steve had never been with a woman, so perhaps his perversion was only due to inexperience. Perhaps he could change, if only he put in some effort and sought out a beautiful, soft body.

He drank the last of his rum and kept hold of the glass, keen on going to the bar for another pour. Three miserable weeks at sea and not a drop had passed his lips. He was overdue to indulge in one way or another. And since he wasn’t likely to work up the nerve to actually pay a woman for her company, he thought he might as well drink. The rum was sweet, after all.

Just as he was about to stand, a dress’ hem appeared in his field of vision, the tiny white points of a lady’s satin slippers peeking out from the bottom. Slowly, Steve let his eyes trail up. Oh. It was the same girl as before, the one who’d observed Steve and M'baku with meanly narrowed eyes. She didn’t look quite so peevish now. Her dark hair was curled and styled to frame her face, her cream-in-coffee skin on prominent display in the shelf of her bosom against the dress. Her features were graceful and classically feminine, but she had a prominent forehead and a dimple in her chin that elevated her from simply pretty, to handsomely striking. Really, she seemed a girl of hardly twenty, but her perceptive eyes hinted that she might be older.

“Hello,” she said, stepping even closer, until Steve could smell her perfume. “I saw you alone over here and thought I’d come to say hello. Maybe even cheer you up.”

“Cheer me up?” Steve breathed, then sat there like a dummy, speechless for long seconds. He hadn’t entertained the possibility that any of the working women would focus their attentions on him. Not when there were so many other eager breadcrumbs fellows in the middle of the room. “Well, I’m uh, I don’t need … cheer,” is what he eventually said, the words coming out weaker than intended. He watched as the girl’s features pinched in a polite sort of titter at his expense. Steve could hardly blame her. He sounded like a regular moron.

She perched herself daintily on the cushion beside him. “Don’t be silly. Everyone needs company.” Her voice, Steve noted, was fluid and viscous, like warmed honey. She lacked the island twang and in its place there was a hint of French. “I’m Rebecca,” she introduced, holding out her hand.

Steve took it, grazing lips to the backs of her scandalously bare fingers. He let it go, and she placed it on his shoulder rather than back in her own lap. Steve gulped. Now he felt less like a breadcrumb and more like a worm on a hook. “I … I’m only just arrived,” he rasped, feeling the need to excuse his antisocial behavior. “Not staying long. I was about to go to my, um, room—to sleep, that is! Go to my room to sleep.” He coughed. “I, erm, have some business in the morning.”

Rebecca tilted her head, eyes glittering. “Don’t we all. But you must tell me your name, Sir. I’d remember if I’d seen someone who looks like you at the Royal Naval before.” She touched her finger to her chin, as if putting great effort into guessing. “Mm. You’re American?”

Steve hemmed, overly conscious of where she was still touching his shoulder. Never in his life had he experienced such forward attentions from a woman, not even from Miss Barclay and her mother. “Um, yes,” he bumbled. “American. I’m … am.” She giggled at him and Steve shook his head. “I’m not planning on making any public announcements about that, you know. I don’t want trouble. I'm only here because I’ve inherited land.” An American veteran in British territory, not even two full years since the war? Yes, discretion would be prudent. “I’m Steven Rogers,” he hastily added, realizing that he hadn’t returned the introduction. “Of New York.”

“Steven,” she cooed. “Oh, how lovely. Steven from New York. May I call you Steve?”

“Um,”

Her lashes lowered demurely. “I’m Rebecca. Rebecca Beauchêne Proctor-Polgreen.”

“That's a mouthful.”

She laughed and winked. “Oh, I don’t mind a mouthful.”

Steve felt his cheeks flame at the double entendre. He cleared his throat and looked down at his lap. Her hand was still on his shoulder, and he hadn’t a clue as to how he should politely inform her that he had no intention of paying for her services. Suddenly, he thought of how M'baku had phrased his question earlier: if Steve would like to stay in a place where he could find “company.”

Oh. Steve realized that he was an utter dolt. “Um, well. I appreciate your welcome, Miss, um …”

“Just Rebecca,” she teased.

“Right. Miss Rebecca. You’ve been most kind, but my travels have left me tired and I wasn’t particularly seeking the … the company of a lady this evening.” He waited, and sure enough, her hand was soon removed from his shoulder. He nearly sagged in relief.

“Oh,” Rebecca said. “Oh yes, well you wouldn’t know, being new to town and all. I ought to have said. I serve in a managerial capacity here, Steve.” She grinned. “I take care of the girls, you understand? I’m afraid it is the rare gentleman whom I invite up to my private quarters, these days.” As Steve’s face continued to reach new levels of heat, she stood again and went to take his empty glass from the table. “A welcome is all I had on offer for you, handsome as you are. That, and any of my flock whom you might fancy.” Her eyes skimmed brazenly up and down Steve’s form. “I daresay they’ll fight each other for a chance at you.”

“Pardon,” Steve spluttered. “I shouldn’t have assumed.” He could see it now: how much more expensive her dress was than the other girls’, how fine the combs in her hair, the gold dangling from her ears. “Madam,” he said, “You have my apologies, please.” She waved him off, obviously unoffended and perhaps even amused. Steve realized that he was wasting his good manners, blundering and blushing the way he was.

Rebecca gestured at him with his empty cup in hand. “Don’t stress, Steve from New York. You’re on Caribbean time now. ‘Eaze and breeze’.” Her voice picked up the lilt of the island accent there at the end, and she sauntered back across the parlor to hand Steve’s glass over to the barkeep to be refilled.

Steve felt glued in place until she returned with yet another helping of rum, which he was sure he didn’t need. “Thank you,” he managed, sipping it only to be polite. Between his previous three rounds and the thinly-veiled obscenity of the atmosphere, he felt drunk already. Luckily, Miss Rebecca seemed to understand his discomfort and soon left him alone, though not without giving him one last wink and a pointed nod in the direction of her company of girls.

Steve wilted, watching as she went about that parlor and the next, stopping to chat with different groups of gentlemen—some with girls in their laps, and some without—never staying in one place for long. Steve felt foolish for not having realized her as the madame that she clearly was. It was so obvious now, as he watched her in the dance of the room and its ladies. She was the prima ballerina in a sea of coryphées.

After some time had passed, Steve felt himself quite literally falling asleep in his chair. Dear lord, he needed to go to bed. He abandoned his cup and stood, heading back out towards the main lobby. Tomorrow would be a productive day, he resolved as he went up to his room. He could start on what he’d come out here to do in the first place, not sit around bawdyhouse parlors making a fool of himself.

He’d just turned at the top of the stair when he caught sight of Rebecca again. It was dark and she didn’t see him, facing the other way. But the gentleman with her did. It was that same man with whom she’d been speaking before, downstairs when Steve first arrived with M'baku.

Steve gulped and stood very still, not wanting to be noticed and drawn into conversation. The man seemed to know this, as he smirked secretively in Steve’s direction but continued on in his murmured conversation with Rebecca. The two of them stood just outside one of the doors of the long upstairs hallway, and Steve pressed himself back against the wall in an attempt to be unobtrusive.

If the fellow was going to pay to spend the night with her, why didn’t he just get on with it already? They remained there speaking for long enough that Steve had ample time to appreciate the man’s features all over again. He was as tall as Steve, which was in itself uncommon, with a straight nose and shapely lips, not to mention a strong, unshaven jaw that all but had Steve’s mouth watering in a way that he was loath to admit. He held his breath as he was shot another leer from over Rebecca’s shoulder. If Steve didn’t know any better, he’dve said the man seemed almost amused at him.

The man bent to kiss Rebecca on her cheek. He took her hand and opened the door to the room, leading her through before himself. And when he turned to close it from the other side, he paused and stared long enough to make Steve’s blood stir, before shutting himself away behind the wood.

Steve was left feeling unsettled, and not sure that he’d entirely imagined the heated look in the other man’s eye. This fellow, he surmised, must be one of the ‘rare gentlemen’ who merited invitation into Miss Rebecca’s private quarters.

Steve put himself to bed hastily that night, aroused and frustrated as to the cause of it. And despite his long-held resolve to never touch himself to the thought of another man, he was soon reminded that even he couldn’t control what things crept into his dreams.

Story Masterlist

Masterlist

🍵Consider tipping your friendly neighborhood starving artist smut author!

✍🏻Commissions: reach out via Tumblr DM or contact here

💖Join the tag list by filling out this form

Tag list: (to join, click here): @scottishrosefury, @not-that-syndrigast, @lolitsbuckybarnes, @kathy-2005, @stuckysgal, @thenewmissescullen, @sapphirebarnes, @Yoruse, @autumnrose40, @alexakeyloveloki, @gretasimp, @kandismom, @ivoryangel1290, @mrs-rogers-barnes1, @iloveshawnieboi, @m0k0k0, @sousydive

This has been a fill for @steverogersbingo, card SB3088 "stark contrast," square A1: pre war era

#steve rogers #bucky barnes #steve rogers x bucky barnes #stucky #historical au #regency era #slavery #curses #mermaids #mermay #afro caribbean lore #racism #period typical homophobia #mcu #marvel #period typical everything

9 notes · View notes

idioticsky · 1 year

Text

Hello- hi- I'm sorry for so little updates but hey, new stuff for things you check my page for-

I have been working on the rottmnt thing don't worry for whoever wanted to see that, but this post is mainly for something else

And that something else is Psychonauts, that's right, I collaborated with @doodle17 to make a Psychonauts au called Welcome new campers! (Also tw for mentions of abuse and murder)

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

This au is a future au that mixes bits of doodle's own future au and new characters, but unlike that au it mainly focuses on the kids over at Whispering rock and the new interns which I can tell you a bit about now and give some picrew visuals (or at least the closest I can to how they look and I'll try to find the links to the ones I used and add them later, but I wanna get this out first)

First: Sora Elliott Zanotto

Sora is one of the older campers coming in at the age of 14, he used to live with his father who normally abused him and his mother before she was murdered by him and he got away with it over lack of evidence and he bribed the jury. During the time he still lived with his father he used camp as a way to escape his home for a few months where he learned how to use pyrokinesis before ending up getting adopted by Lili. He dresses like a gay little emo (cuz that's what he is) and he hates most people cuz trust issues, but will warm up to you if you start talking about music or bands he likes. He has a bit of medical knowledge cuz he would try to help his mother whenever he could when she was alive, including stitches and bandaging up wounds, he can even do a minor surgery if he's asked to.

Second we have the twins: Callie and Milo Tucker

Callie and Milo are some of the younger campers at the age of 9. They're little balls of chaos who love to mess with people and cause mischief. Callie love to levitate out of people's reach and throw water balloons at them while Milo (who can see the dead) just loves to throw people away with telekinesis so he can talk with his ghost friends alone, he really only let's Lili, Milla or D'art get close. These two have older sister that will be talked about later and two parents who have a hard time dealing with them most days. Their clothes match most of the time and they love it, makes them feel special to one another. But yeah, they're chaotic, they're cute, and I love them.

Third: Marshall Watts

He's one of the only non psychics on this roster, being one of two. He's an intern who's just there to help with paperwork. Not too much is known about him other than that he's a psychic fan boy. He's also Sora's partner that Raz doesn't really like for whatever reason.

Next is is the start of doodle's little friends and I love them: Margo Teef

(Note: I copy and pasted all of this from a convo doodle and I had) He was raised by his non-psychic grandparents after his mom left when he was a baby and his father was nowhere to be found. Other than that, he's had an okay life, other than the fact he couldn't afford a way to get to and participate at camp which made him really sad. It ended up in him actually sneaking into the camp and running into his hero Raz! (But he had no idea it was raz at first) his personality is pretty simple. He's kind of shy, but always up for an adventure, as well as being super nerdy lol. If you bring up something about comics or the Psychonauts he'll start rambling for hours put of nowhere.

And next: Natalie Fealt

She's a punk girl who isn't afraid to tell you how things are. She lived with her dads and still kinda misses them now that she lives in the dorms at the motherlobe. She interns under Adam but is a little upset that she didn't get Lizzie or Lili as her mentor, but Adam is nice enough.

Now we have one of my favorite little goobers: Shirley Adams

She's very strange and very loveable in my eyes. She normally has a weird fact or two up her sleeves and is never in one place for too long. She mentors under Gisu, and as per Doodle's words (or at least close) will take any chance she can to escape. She'll come back like an hour or two later with bugs in her hair or on the back of a goat or something.

Finishing up: Luca Nein

As his name suggests he's the child of Milla Vodello and Sasha Nein themselves. He's not really an intern, but hangs around them enough to be like one. He's kinda a germaphobe and if you cough near him he'll freak out. He tries his best in what he wants to do and we love him for that.

Alright! This is the basics for the interns+ Luca! I'll have to make a part two for the camp councilors and other adults that are featured in this au but I hope you guys have fun with this! This au is still a work in progress, we still need a solid story to figure out as well as a few other things, and you guys are free to give any suggestions you want!

#psychonauts #welcome new campers #master post i guess #i already have some stories ive alright written and ill post later #ive put this off for too long #but yay i did it #woooooooo

19 notes · View notes

quindriepress · 1 year

Text

This week's spotlight is on Ell J Walker and their comic Catharsis. Ell is an Edinburgh-based artist who originally washed up on the shores of Orkney. She likes drawing sad men, horses, guitars and folklore. (@elljwalker | website | instagram | mastodon | twitter)

Catharsis follows Dimitri and Asha, two young heavy metal musicians. "Catharsis is about self confidence, figuring out how to express vulnerable and destructive feelings, and about seeking confidence from within yourself rather than from some outside source. It’s also about death metal, demons and young aspiring musicians, backed by the setting of remote coastal Scotland."

Read the spotlight below the cut!

"This comic is a bit of a mix of things - first and foremost I wanted to create something that I’d really have a lot of enthusiasm about. I’d had a really rough time creatively over the past few years during lockdown and the ongoing pandemic, and I really needed to be kind to myself and make sure the next thing I made was going to be fun. I remember thinking to myself when I was putting together the pitch: ‘if I’m going to be drawing 40 pages of this, it’s going to have to contain things I really enjoy drawing’. Hence the sad boy with long hair, the horse, the demon, the guitars and the sea."

"On top of that, I’ve been on a huge metal kick lately. It was something that helped pull me out of the strange, buzzing, numb anxiety that the pandemic had injected into me. Listening to metal was weirdly soothing - it felt like a way to feed the parts of me that had been depleted with music I could really feel. Growling, angry, monstery vocals, insane shredding, weird time signatures, the seismic thrum of double-pedalling bass drums, galloping rhythms - it’s something that helps me simultaneously soothe myself and really feel things. Maybe that doesn’t make a lot of sense. I just really like metal, and wanted to express both how it’d helped me, and how much of a valuable medium it is to safely express volatile feelings - a key theme in Catharsis."

"I think since music has always run parallel to art for me, they naturally feed into one another, even if it hasn’t felt like it at times for me. I’m sure it’s different for everyone, but personally, playing music feels like tapping into an internal part of me that knows what it’s doing - it’s how I found confidence in my teen years. I was lucky enough to start learning piano from age 8 and guitar and bass from age 12 - so I got the awkward part of the learning process out of the way fairly quickly, when I didn’t have all that much self-consciousness to hinder me. And while I’ve never been super great at composing or improvising, having the confidence to know my technical skills let me perform always fuelled my confidence. Saying that though, like Dimitri, at times I do often struggle to play in front of people. Ironically, my younger, more generally self-conscious self was better at that than my current, more confident adult self. I wonder why that is? Maybe I should draw another comic to find out."

"Art, although I’ve been doing it for even longer than music, feels very different as a creative process. It definitely comes from somewhere else in me, somewhere maybe a little bit more introspective and personal, and therefore more delicate. I’m still grasping to find my art confidence - I suppose writing and drawing Catharsis is a reflection of that, and reminding myself that it’s just a case of finding it within yourself eventually, even if it means taking baby steps, and gradually practising how to express that vulnerability."

While music has played a big role in Ell's life, it hasn't been their only influence. "For a long time I’ve drawn inspiration from folklore and stories that appear fantastical, but can be read as allegorical or metaphorical. I think art and stories are made real by the viewer/reader and their interpretation, and ancient stories that are retold through the mind of someone new are super interesting to me - what new themes can be added by the reteller, and what original themes that were put there hundreds, maybe thousands of years ago, persist? I particularly enjoy the Hellboy comics for this reason (also because they’re so much fun) as well as the God of War games.

"I also take a lot of inspiration generally from the natural world around me, and how I feel when I’m in nature. I think having recently taken more time to practise mindfulness and work on my own mental health has really expanded how I think about stories, the world around me and how I relate to it. I want to help inspire others to find the strengths that exist within themselves that they might think aren’t there, or they can’t reach."

"I grew up in the town of Stromness, in Orkney (a small archipelago of islands off the top of Scotland, for those who aren’t familiar), and therefore spent most of my young life living about ten paces from the sea, so the sea in particular has always felt like a part of me and my development.

"I was taught to fear and respect the ocean from a young age, particularly because the sea could be incredibly rough and dangerous around the islands. I know of several people who have lost their lives to it in one way or another. I think the fact that such a powerful natural force that was nevertheless teeming with life - the contents of rockpools, seaweed, seals, otters, seabirds, fish, cetaceans - was just really fascinating and interesting to think about. Of course folklore is something else I heard a lot about as a kid, and being able to hear these stories, then go for a walk down the shore and imagine these creatures of myth and legend existing in the same place - or even to see the selkies watching me from the water - was an amazing inspiration."

Ell has this advice for aspiring comic creators: "Make sure you’re making comics for YOU, not what you think other people want! This is something I’ve struggled with for a long time (art school taught me to make what the tutors wanted, not what I wanted) and can be more difficult than you think. But ultimately if you have enthusiasm for your project, it will always shine through. If it’s a slog, and you’re not enjoying it, hit the bricks! Have fun with it and don’t let expectations, or worse, perceived expectations, curb what you enjoy making."

You can pick up Catharsis, alongside the other three comics in our 2023 collection, right here on Kickstarter!

#elljwalker #ell j walker #catharsis #2023 collection

14 notes · View notes

patchedrabbit · 1 year

Text

The Smoke Surrounding Silver

I recalled how SoulSilver and HeartGold expanded on the rival's story, and with that knowledge, Silver's actions hit especially hard this time around. Sure, he was annoying and a prick, even a criminal unlike Blue, but how could you blame a kid raised in a mafia? Always trying to prove himself, better than his past, his own father. A part of me resonated with it, the part of me that takes games a bit too seriously, maybe.

cws for this pasta: death, (internal) burning

or read it here!

Despite never finishing it, I have to say that Pokémon Gold and Silver versions are some of my favorite games. The new Pokémon, the characters, having two regions in one — Hell, not even the more recent games went that far! My one complaint has to be the level curve. When I was younger, I couldn't beat the final gym leader, and eventually gave up. I always have been quite the quitter. And after I moved out, I lost my Gameboy, so there went all hope of completing that save.

Luckily for me, recently I learned the magic of piracy. As I scoured the internet for a ROM of Gold and/or Silver, I came across one that claimed to be a direct Japanese translation. While I'm sure I could find a native English version somewhere, my curiosity was piqued. There could be any number of differences between the two, and since I have the option, I wanted to see it.

I have to say, at first I was rather happy with choosing this translation. The dialogue changes were refreshing, the occasional grammar error was endlessly amusing, and I got to learn some neat little factoids along the way (for example, one of Gold's predetermined names is Hibiki. I still named him Gold, but it was a pretty cool pick regardless.)

On this save, I was able to finally beat the game, even Red with enough time. Everything worked perfectly, contrary to the horror stories I've heard of illegally downloading these things. The only thing that stood out to me was that I caught a Lugia, not a Ho-Oh. I could've sworn that this was Gold version, not Silver. Maybe there was a mix up. At least I had something on my team to cover fire types anyway, my trusty Typhlosion.

After I had completed the post-game, I tried the replay codes to access the Celebi event. Still, nothing new. I thought I had finished everything, aside from completing the Pokédex. But, really, who ever plays Pokémon games to go through that bothersome process?

I flew back to New Bark Town with Lugia, to save and wrap things up once and for all. But once I had landed in front of my home, I immediately got a call. I groaned, the ringing of the phone had gotten annoying over this session, especially with trainers that were on — what, Route 3? — challenging me for the fiftieth time. However, I was pleasantly surprised to see Elm bugging me this time.

PROF. ELM: Gold! We have a predicament at the Bellsprout Tower. Please hurry over.

Beep.

Odd. I didn't know there were more events. Though, if the distributor wasn't lying when they called this a direct translation, maybe there was some content in the Japanese versions that were cut when they were sent abroad. Regardless, I was pretty stoked to have something new to do. I couldn't bring myself to mind the tediousness of having Lugia fly all the way the way back to Ecruteak.

The trainers inside the Bellsprout Tower all stuck to the walls. Talking to them only gave the same plea Professor Elm had said. "Please hurry." "Help him." "We're so glad to see you, Gold." A few Pokémon were scattered here and there too, but they brought up no text box and made no noise. It was as if they were dead silent.

I was starting to see why this could've been cut out. Things were growing eerier and eerier by the second. The music even started to fade out, growing quiet each floor I climbed, until I reached the top. Nothing. I lost control of Gold, and I assume a cut-scene began. It started with a Ho-Oh cry.

SILVER: Finally. I don't want to do this to you, but we both need it.

You want to be stronger, don't you?

There was a flash of light, and when the scene came back, the bird behind my rival had disappeared. And yet, it let out another cry. He turned to face the camera.

SILVER: So this was their goal. The Mewtwo experiments, combining the DNA of human and Pokémon. Monsters, that lot. But it doesn't matter anymore! It was all worth it, now I can finally prove I'm better than you, f- ]

The text was interrupted by a sudden exclamation point. Focus was put back on my character as Silver approached.

SILVER: YOU. I could never beat you. But now, I know what you mean. I have become one with my Pokémon, and this time, I won't lose.

The battle theme played, sounding loud from the lack of noise up until now. The text box appeared below our sprites. Silver had his arms to his sides, hair covering his face. It announced, "??? Silver wants to battle!" His sprite moved forward, in place of where his Pokémon should be. All six of his Pokéball sprites were crossed out, like they do when they have fainted. Finally, it dawned on me; the Pokémon in the tower! But, why weren't they with him? I wasn't given time to think before Lugia was released, and I prepared for battle. My first move: Fly. Silver was faster. By some stretch of the imagination, the text announced, "Silver used Sacred Fire!" Taking out nearly half of Lugia's HP. How was he so strong? And why was he using battle moves?

Lugia fled from the scene, leaving Silver to use Sunny Day. The sudden A.I improvement would've shocked me if so much wasn't happening already. Lugia descended, chipping off maybe an eighth of Silver's health. The battle paused for another set of dialogue.

SILVER: You're going to have to try harder than that. I don't battle weaklings.

Umbreon came next. Little by little, I began to chip away at his health bar as he took my Pokémon down. I was rewarded with more dialogue when he got to half HP, and a sprite change as well. When he shifted back into the trainer position, his sprite was now hunched over, hugging his chest.

SILVER: ...Stop that. It burns.

The screen moved back to the battle, Scizor waiting patiently. He had stopped using Sacred Fire now, instead falling back on Gust and various normal types moves to finish the bug-type off. Trying to save Typhlosion for last, next to sacrifice was Ampharos. More chipping, and my fifth Pokémon was about to faint before I could trigger another dialogue.

SILVER: No. This wasn't supposed to happen. . . I was supposed to win!

If only I didn't know what was coming. But I did. The sprite changed again, this time mangled as the boy's hair sprayed out. Ho-Oh's wings had been hastily sprawled out behind him. I had a feeling, but seeing it confirmed was devastating. He had tried to fuse himself to the legendary.

Despite my regret, the Sacred Fires returned, killing off Hitmontop with no problem. Now, only Typhlosion remained. I gulped. At least I had the type resistance.

That type resistance would save my skin, it seeems. The A.I., too desperate to try any other attack, was taken down before Typhlosion could suffer any real damage. A distorted cry of the Ho-Oh played out before Silver's sprite fell. There was no dialogue, no winning text, no money. The screen just faded to black before showing me the overworld again.

Silver took a step back, before collapsing. Reluctantly, I followed suit, to interact with the rival. If I could even call him that now.

SILVER: . . .

Don't leave me like this. Please.

. . .

It burns.

It BURNS!

Another white flash, before he disappeared from view. Various people walked by me, but didn't move to talk to me. I wasn't in control, though, as hitting my arrow keys proved useless. I could just overhear their conversations.

PROF. ELM: What do we do with him? Either one may be disrespectful.

PROF. OAK: To respect a legend or a life. . . a tough choice, truly.

He wasn't. . . ? No. He couldn't be. He was just supposed to faint.

ROCKET GRUNT: What do we tell the boss?

ROCKET GRUNT: We'd have to find him first.

When all the figures faded out of view, the screen flickered to nothingness. I just barely caught my reflection, jaw agape, before I was returned to New Bark Town. No calls, no dialogue. Just as it was before Gold was requested. That was it.

I don't read Japanese, so I still don't know if this was hidden in the code or if it was the uploaders sick prank. Every now and then I climb to the top of that tower. I still don't know why. To... mourn, I guess? But that sounds ridiculous. The only thing I know for certain is how the place draws me in.

Like a moth to a flame.

#pokepasta #pokemon #silver #silver pokemon #creepypasta #fanfic

11 notes · View notes

the-delta-42 · 2 years

Text

Wings - A New Day Part 1

[First] [Previous] [Next]

Wings

A New Day Part 1

If you were fortunate enough, you were born with wings. If you weren’t, you’d hope a child in your family would born with wings. Lee and his younger brother fell into the former camp, their parents were in the camp with them. Centuries ago, people with wings were once treated as deities, then were hunted, and then treated with the utmost respect.

That wasn’t to say they were above the law. Criminals with wings had them amputated when they reached prison. Which Lee was on his way to.

A fact about wings, despite being feathered appendaged that could be incredibly fragile, they were sharp. If done correctly, a wing would be able to slice through reinforced steel, hence why criminals had them amputated. Not all criminals, just those who had committed serious offences, like rape, murder and so on and so forth.

Lee found himself thinking more on Sam than his wings.

“Alright, I reckon you didn’t do it then.” Said the police officer driving him to the prison.

“Why do you say that?” asked Lee, looking at the man.

“Y'know, I've driven a buncha fellas down to this prison. Lord knows how many. Usually is 'bout now I get the ‘I didn't do it.’” Answered the Police officer, “Had one of your kind try and tear the seats up with his wings while doin’ it.”

“Not from me.” Sighed Lee, looking back out the window.

“'Cause guys in your position already said it enough?” Asked the Police officer, as the radio said something, “I followed your case a little bit, you being a Macon boy and all.”

Lee looked at the Officer in the rear-view mirror.

“You’re from Macon then.” Said Lee, adjusting himself in his seat when he felt his left wing cramp.

“Yep. Came up to Atlanta to be a city cop in the seventies.” Responded the Officer, smiling wistfully, “Always wanted to work a murder case, like that senatorial mess you got yourself mixed up in, with all due respect. A real shame, that is.”

A Police car shot past them, heading towards Atlanta. Lee frowned, wondering what it was heading to.

“Hell, the whole family used to be regulars at your folks' drugstore right in downtown. Still there?” Said the Officer, glancing back at Lee.

“Sure is.” Answered Lee.

“Good.” The radio sparked back into life and said something that Lee didn’t catch.

There was a moments silence between the two, before the officer started speaking again, “I got a nephew up at UGA, you teach there long?”

“Going on my sixth year.” Said Lee, ‘Or I was.’ He thought.

“You meet your wife in Athens?” Asked the Officer, passing a couple of cars.

Lee froze, internally panicking, before he turned and looked out the window.

The officer quietly looked at Lee, “You wanna know how I see it?”

Several more police cars shot past them, along with a SWAT truck, all of them heading towards Atlanta.

Lee looked away from the window and at the rear-view mirror, “Sure.”

The Officer went to speak, before catching sight of Lee, before deciding against it.

“Regardless, could be you just married the wrong woman.” Dismissed the Officer, making Lee open his mouth to speak, before deciding not to.

“You'll have to learn to stop worrying about things you can’t control.” Continued the Officer, as a helicopter flew past them and towards Atlanta. The radio started making noise again, Lee couldn’t understand what they were saying.

Another helicopter flew towards Atlanta, followed by two SWAT trucks and several police cars.

“I'm driving this man once, he was the worst one. He wouldn't stop going on about how he didn't do it. He was an older fella.” Said the Officer, either unaware of, or ignoring, the other police vehicles heading towards Atlanta, “Big, soft eyes behind a pair of smart folk glasses, and he's just wailing back there, says it wasn't him. Crying and snotting all over, right where you're sitting.”

Lee tried not to wince at that piece of information.

The radio made some more noise, before the officer turned it off.

“Then before long he starts kicking the back of the seat, li--like a fussy baby on an airplane. And I tell him he's gotta stop, that's government property, and I'll be forced to zap him otherwise.” Continued the officer, “So he stops, and having exhausted all his options, he starts crying out for his Mama. ‘Mama, it's all a big mistake! It wasn't me!’”

“So, did he do it?” Asked Lee, curious.

“They caught the fucker red-handed! Stabbin' his wife, cutting her up as the boys came through the door! He sits in my car screaming bloody murder that it wasn't him!” Spat the officer, “I think he actually believed it himself. It goes to show, people will up and go mad when they believe their life is over. Oh, I got another good one for ya. This one's a little bit less depressing and a bit more hilarious if I do say so.”

The Officer looked away from the road and towards Lee, just as something stumbled across the road and into the path of the police car.

“WATCH OUT!” Yelled Lee, his wing flaring out and breaking the binds on them.

“This other time-” The Officer was cut off when the car crashed into the thing in front of it, making it veer out of control, through the guard rail, off the road and into the forest.

Lee hit his head on the seat in front of him, half-conscious, he saw figures moving outside of the car, before hearing screams and growls before passing out.

Lee woke up some time later. He didn’t know how long he’d been unconscious, but the sky had started to change colour, so he assumed it’d been a few hours at least.

“Ugh... Ow, shit.” Groaned Lee, his head was pounding.

Lee tried to take his handcuffs off, the object unyielding against his hands.

“Thirsty...” Groaned Lee, rubbing his throat, before he shifted and felt a stabbing pain, “Ahh! Fuck, my leg.”

Lee looked down at the large, bloody gash on his thigh. He looked out the back window and spotted the officer lying face down on the ground with blood streaks leading up to him. Lee turned to look at the door window and growled, before positioning himself with his wings facing the window. With one swift movement, Lee’s wings cut through the metal and glass. He grunted as the remains of the door fell on him. After carefully turning around, Lee hauled himself out of the police car. He grunted again as he fell to the ground.

Lee unsteadily got to his feet and hobbled around the car, stopping before spotting the officer. He glanced down and spotted a shotgun and a shell. Lee frowned, before stumbled over to the shell, he picked it up and slid it into his pocket. He briefly considered picking up the shotgun, before deciding against it. He needed to get the handcuffs off, he considered using his wings on them, but dismissed the idea, he didn’t want to run the risk of accidentally cutting his hands off. Lee hobbled over to the Officer.

“Officer?” Rasped Lee, looking down at the older man, “Officer, are you alright?”

The Officer didn’t respond to Lee. Lee felt a pit of dread form in his stomach, he hoped he was wrong but, he thought the Officer was dead.

“How did this happen?” Muttered Lee, frowning at the body, “He wasn’t ejected from the car.”

Lee leant down and took the handcuff keys off the Officer’s belt, he swore when he dropped the keys, leaning back down, he grabbed the keys again and unlocked the handcuffs. The metal restraints fell to the ground, as Lee rubbed his wrists.

The Officer then groaned. Then he growled, before his head snapped up and looked at Lee with cold, dead eyes and lunged at him. Lee acted on instinct, swiping his wing at the Officer, cleanly separating the head from the body. Lee shuddered as he felt the blood soak into the feathers, before limping over to the shotgun. He picked it up and loaded it, sighing through his nose, Lee looked around. He spotted a figure standing on top of a hill.

“Hey!” Yelled Lee, waving at them, “Go get help! There’s been an… incident.”

The figure turned and ran away, Lee caught a glimpse of a small pair of wings before they vanished. Groaning reached Lee’s ears, making him swear and look around.

More of those things were heading towards him, taking a deep breath, Lee limped up the slope as fast as he could and, as soon as he reached it, hopped over a fence and landed on his bad leg in some stranger’s garden.

“Fuck.” Wheezed Lee, checking his leg and making sure he still had the shotgun.

He quickly looked around, before placed the end of the shotguns barrel to the ground and pushed himself to his feet. Looking around, he noticed he was in the backyard of a house in a small neighbourhood. He hoped that no one called the police on him.

“Hello?” Called Lee, deciding to throw caution to the wind, “Anybody?”

He heard some distant gunshots and the monsters on the other side of the fence wandering away.

“I can't go back out there.” Muttered Lee, turning away from the fence and looking around the garden. There was a covered-up swimming pool and a patio that led up to a front gate, a wooden porch that led up to a sliding glass door and a patch of grass that had a big tree with a tree house. Lee contemplated checking the tree house, but dismissed it, if there was someone there, they wouldn’t’ve been able to climb all the way up a tree, get into a tree house and close it all up to appear that no one was there. He looked at the door.

“I wonder if anybody's home.” Wondered Lee, before walking up to the door and knocking on it, “Hello? Anybody home? I need a little help.”

There was no reply, Lee glanced at the tree house, before looking at his leg, “I’m not getting up there with this.”

Lee looked at the door again, before sighing, “Screw it. I’m just going in.” He went to open the door, before he paused, what if someone was hiding and they thought they were being robbed? What if the door was locked and he set off a burglar alarm? He knocked again.

“Hello? There’s something going on.” Called Lee, as he looked in through the window, “Doesn’t seem like anybody’s home.”

Lee banged his fist on the door again, hoping to coax someone out of hiding and open the door for him.

“Maybe it’s unlocked.” Muttered Lee, when no one appeared. He gingerly gave the door a tug, wincing as it opened slightly. Reluctantly opening the door, Lee called out, “Coming in. Don't shoot, okay?”

Lee entered the house and closed the door behind him, he felt a sudden stab on pain from his leg, making his wings flare out, then grabbed his leg.

“Ahh, shit.” Winced Lee, almost falling to the floor, “Hello? I'm not an intruder... or one of them.”

Lee silently chided himself, of course he was an intruder, you just can’t go up to someone’s door and let yourself in.

Lee then noticed that the furniture in the living room was knocked over and there were bloodstains on the floor and wall of the kitchen.

“These people might need more help than I do.” Muttered Lee, looking around the ground floor. He considered looking around, before he spotted a bowl of fruit on the table. Reaching out, he grabbed an apple, “It’s fake. Damn.”

Turning away from the table, Lee limped into the kitchen and slipped on a pool of blood. Grunting, Lee hauled himself back up and hobbled over to the sink. He filled a glass up and took a drink from it. Feeling the dryness disappear from his throat, he sighed, before looking through the draws. He came across a note that had a hotel name and a Savannah area code, before he opened a drawer and found a radio. Lee frowned, before placing the radio in his pocket. He checked the other drawers, but found they were empty. Lee paused, tilting his head slightly, he could hear something. Looking around, Lee couldn’t find the source of the noise, but it sounded like beeping. He slowly made his way out of the kitchen, before he finally spotted a phone and an answering machine.

Lee approached it, turning it on and making the beeping stop.

“Three new messages. Message one. Left at 5:43 PM.” Said the automated voice of the machine.

“Hey, Sandra, this is Diana. We're still in Savannah. Ed had a little ‘incident’ with some crazy guy near the hotel, so we had to get him back to the ER and have it checked out.” Said a woman’s voice, “Anyway, he's not feeling well enough to drive back tonight, so we're staying an extra day. Thanks so much for looking after Clementine, and I promise we'll be back in time before your spring break!”

“Message two. Left at 11:19 PM.” Said the machine.

“Oh, my God, finally! I don't know if you tried to reach us; all the calls are getting dropped.” Said Diana, sounding panicked, “They're not letting us leave and aren't telling us anything about Atlanta. Please, please, just leave the city and take Clementine with you back to Marietta. I've got to get back to the hospital. Please let me know that you're safe.”

“Message three. Left at 6:51 AM.”

“Clementine? Baby, if you can hear this, call the police.” Diana sounded like she was near tears, “That's 9-1-1. We love you...we love you...we love y—"

The machine beeped after the last message. Lee picked up a picture near the phone and looked at it, which showed a young girl and her parents. This must be Clementine, mused Lee, before the walkie-talkie activated.

“Daddy?” Came a little girl’s voice.

“Huh?” The voice jerked Lee from his thoughts, he took out his walkie-talkie from his pocket and walked over to the glass door, flaring his wings as he did.

“Hello?” Asked Lee, looking around the garden.

“You need to be quiet.” Said the girl, making Lee frown.

“Who is this?” Asked Lee, trying to spot her.

“I'm Clementine. This is my house.” Said the girl, sounding indignant.

“Hi, Clementine. I'm Lee.” Said Lee, only noticing that his wings were still flared and folding them.

“You're not my daddy.” Stated Clementine.

“No, I'm not.” Responded Lee, as he walked into the living room, “How old are you?”

“Eight.”

“And you're all alone?” Lee frowned, who’d leave an eight-year-old girl alone?

“Yes. I don't know where anybody is.” Answered Clementine, “How old are you?”

“I'm, uhh...37.” Answered Lee, starting to question how he entered a game of 20 questions with a child.

“Okay.” Said Clementine, as Lee entered the kitchen, avoiding the puddle of blood, and stopping and looking out of the window.

“Are you safe?” Asked Lee, trying to find where Clementine was hiding.

“I'm outside in my treehouse.” Answered Clementine, “They can't get in.”

“That's smart.” Said Lee, looking at the treehouse, as Clementine appeared in the doorway of the structure.

“See?” Asked Clementine, looking at the window, “Can you see me? I can see you through the window.”

Clementine waved at Lee prompting him to wave back. Clementine suddenly let out a scream and disappeared back inside the treehouse, closing the door behind her. Lee turned around and saw one of the monsters behind him behind him. It growled and tried to attack him, making him push it to the ground. As he tried to escape, he slipped on the puddle of blood, making him fall and hit his head on the counter and landing awkwardly on his wings. His vision was blurry, but he could vaguely make out the creature crawling toward him, making him kick it away.

Lee screamed as he felt pain course through his leg, reminding him that he was still hurt. Lee got back on his feet and tried to run, only for the creature to grab his leg and trip him. He punched it away as it tried attack again. Clementine ran up to the glass door and opened it, holding a hammer. The creature attacked again, making Lee push it away, continually kicking it in the head and crawling backwards.

“Here...” Said Clementine, holding the hammer out to Lee. Once Lee reached Clementine, he took the hammer from her shaking hands and looked at the creature. He felt his heart plummet, realising that this creature, that was trying to kill him, was what remained of the babysitter.

Lee yelled as he violently bashed the creature on the head with the hammer, deforming her face in the process.

“Man...” Gasped Lee, taking a step back and placing his hands on his knees, before remembering about Clementine, “Hi there.”

Clementine took a step back as the creature's blood oozed across the floor, her small wings quivering slightly as she stared up at Lee.

“Did you kill it?” Asked Clementine, as Lee’s wings twitched.

Lee looked down at the deformed corpse, before regretfully saying, “Yes.”

“It's okay.” Said Clementine, making Lee look at her, “I think she was a monster.”

“I think so too.” Mused Lee, before kneeling in front of Clementine and looking her in the eye, “You've been all by yourself through this?”

“Yeah. I want my parents to come home now.” Clementine nodded, making Lee frown.

“I think that might be a little while, you know?” Said Lee, as gently as he could.

“Oh.” Said Clementine, looking down sadly, making Lee move closer.

“Look, I don't know what happened.” Said Lee, gently making Clementine look up at him, “But I'll look after you until then.”

Clementine gave a small smile and nodded, her wings giving a little flutter. Clementine looked around, before looking up at Lee and asked, “What should we do now?”

“We need to find help before it gets dark.” Answered Lee, standing back up and looking down at Clementine.

“Yeah, it's not safe at night.” Agreed Clementine, reaching out and grabbing Lee’s hand.

“Let's go. Stay close to me.” Instructed Lee, folding his wings against his back.

The two then left the house, Clementine closing the door behind them and then going ahead of Lee, leading him to the front gate. Lee approached the gate and noticed two men in the street trying to push a car out of the road.

“Aw, man... I ain't never getting home to Mama at this rate.” Bemoaned one of the men, looking at the other man.

“This sucks.” Agreed the second man, making Lee frown.

“It's hot dish night.” Continued the first man.

Lee reached to open the gate, before pausing and turning to kneel in front of Clementine, who looked conflicted about something.

“What's the matter?” Asked Lee, gently placing a hand on Clementine’s shoulder.

“Should I stay?” Asked Clementine, quietly.

“What?” Frowned Lee, confused.

“I don't want to sleep in the treehouse tonight,” Continued Clementine, “but I don't know if I should leave. What if my parents come home?”

Lee sighed, “I won't leave you alone.”

Clementine smiled at Lee, getting a smile from him in return.

“Let's go somewhere safe that's close, okay?” Suggested Clementine, trying to take the lead.

“That's a good idea.” Lee smiled, before getting up. Clementine opened the gate. They approached the two men, the two still somehow unaware of their presence, “Hey, man!”

The men turn around, startled.

“Holy shit!” Swore the second man.

“Don’t eat us!” Pleaded the first

“We're not gonna hurt you.” Said Lee, frowning in confusion at the two men, “Why would we eat you?”

“Phew, thought for a second you and the little one were both gonna give us the chomp.” Said the second man, only furthering Lee’s confusion.

“What are you doing?” Asked Lee, his wings flicking slightly.

“Trying to get home, this neighbourhood's a disaster.” Said the second man, “Are you trying to get outta here? Because you should be. Those things are all over the damn place. I haven't seen anything as gnarly as this neighbourhood since downtown Atlanta, fifteen miles back.” Before adding, “I'm Shawn, by the way, Shawn Greene.”

“Lee.” Responded Lee, before gesturing to his side, “This is Clementine.”

Chet knelt down and waved at Clementine, “I'm Chet.”

Clementine smiled at him, making Chet get up.

“We shouldn't be out in the open like this.” Said Shane, looking between Lee and Clementine, “How about you help us clear the way, should be easy with those wings of yours, and we'll take you and your daughter out of here, and down to my family's farm. It should be safer there.”

“I'm not her dad. I'm...” Started Lee, before pausing, unsure what to say, “...just some guy.”

“Some guy?” Shawn frowned, looking between Lee and Clementine.

‘Great,’ Thought Lee, ‘now he either thinks I’m pervert or I kidnapped her.’

“Yeah.” Said Lee, awkwardly.

“She's alone?” Asked Shawn, frowning when he got a nod from Lee, “Let's get going. Staying put for too long is a mistake. Even for a guy with wings.”

Lee nodded and turned to Clementine, “What do you want to do?”

“I...” Clementine trailed off, looking at her house, then back at Lee. The growls of the creatures reaching their ears.

“Them monsters comin'!” Gasped Chet, crouched down, “We gotta go!”

Shawn started pushing on the car, trying to move it out of the road.

“Lee, quick! Let's go!” Yelled Shawn, looking at Lee, making the winged man rush over to him. Lee and Shawn pushed on the car, Clementine joined in helping them push after a few seconds. Chet crouched behind the truck, hiding from the approaching creatures. Once the car was out of the way, Shawn got into the driver's seat, and looked at the others.

“Get in!” Commanded Lee, hauling Chet to his feet.

Chet jumped in the truck bed, while Lee got in the front passenger seat, after making sure Clementine was sitting in the middle looking out the back window. Shawn drove the truck away from the approaching herd.

“For just ‘some guy,’” Said Shawn, glancing at Lee, “it seems like you've saved a bunch of lives today.”

Lee sighed and closed his eyes, the sound of the creatures fading away and being replaced by the sound of the truck running, he carefully adjusted his wings against the seat, with Clementine mimicking him.

#the walking dead game #lee everett #clementine #twdg clementine #Shawn Greene #Chet #Police Officer #Sandra #TWDG Wing AU #delta writes #Walkers #telltale the walking dead #the walking dead #twdg

9 notes · View notes

givemethepage · 1 year

Text

Layers of Fear 2023: The Actor's Story, Chapter 3

First time through. I didn't realize I was gonna get ALL the backstory I just asked about yesterday. This queer narrative is so front and center and I'm here for it.

SPOILERS.

So so so so. This man is a war photographer, he loses an eye, but he's not a soldier so instead of a pension they give him a medal and call it a day. He's got a wife at home where he becomes a projectionist at a theater he doesn't own. Has a daughter. Real firecracker. Eye hurts. He drinks. You find his wooden eye at one point. Of course that would hurt. Why not glass? Wife gets pregnant, gets sick, dies in childbirth with their 2nd child, MAB. This guy misses his wife, sort of kind of maybe blames the younger child, or that's how it feels to the kid. They're timid, effeminate. This makes the dad ashamed. The older sister is protective of the little one, teaches them ways to cope. Roleplay, hiding. Stay in the dark, play a part. Masking. (See chapter 2 on masks lol,) The young kid doesn't want to do this, isn't great at it. Yet they're coached by the sister to be brave, strong, like her. She even models for him the rejection of traditional gender roles when he questions her choice to play the captain, who is a man in the film. So, playing pirates like the movie that runs in their theater, the sister plays the captain and creates the quartermaster role for the kid, but the kid, instead, decides to create this first mate character, Lucia: a femme pirate who is a lot like the sister, and "so proud" of the captain. And by the way, the sister has seen how the pirate movie ends, but the younger sibling hasn't, and she's sort of withholding it from them. The theater is falling apart and the owner won't invest. People aren't coming, nobody is getting paid. The father must have caught the kid dressing up as Lucia and gotten real mad: you find a belt, the dad becomes represented by the cyclops from the movie, and once you make it through a maze with his burning eye in pursuit, you find these flowers and learn that on the anniversary of his wife's death, which is also the young kid's birthday, he spends all his coin on the wife and forgets the kid. Note here that the dad says "I'm going, look after your brother." Like, maybe he's not coming back. But that's speculation. It's also shown that the sister found news relating to this ship, and has the initial dream to escape their life by sneaking aboard. And perhaps the most interesting bit during the pretend space mission, she reveals that she always knew her sibling had this actor's charisma, this ability to affect people. And that's why she always cultivated it. But no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't teach them to internalize her natural bravery, confidence, grounded sense of identity. "He could be anyone... But not me." Not the exact quote, but I think that's what that means.

And then! I found this weird box thing! When I got back to the cabin it went in the section with the Rat Queen lore note. There's an achievement about strange objects. This must be one. I must have missed some in the first 2 chapters. I know I missed a poster in ch 2. And when I touched it again in the cabin, the box got stuck on my flashlight hand! Glitch? Puzzle? Do I need more stuff? And then in the telescope I found another floating but, but it didn't appear in my room like the first two. I hate the feeling of missing stuff. But that's why I start in chapter mode.

And then here's what it says when I try to exit on the first floor. This must be dependent upon the choices I make during the decision points.

1. You run, but do you know the way?

2. You build one character. You destroy the other, but do you know which one is which?

3. You follow reason, you see through it. You cut away the strings.

4. You're not afraid to play your part. You accept the inevitable.

Very cool. I can't wait to see the opposite, to mix and match, to fail to decide later??

The Rat Queen does keep taunting the writer, comparing her to the young sibling. "You're just like him," etc.

I'm also really interested in the way the daughter has sympathy for the father, warning us that the monster is also hurting, much like the formless version of the actor. And we see a sort of formless version of the father as he's losing his identity. It's alllll connected. This game is great, and I'll say it again, just as rich as the Painter's story if not richer. It's so REAL and plausible. Not exaggerated, not reliant on egomanaiacal or melodramaritic personalities. So, onward! And then maybe I'll correct myself about details during the 2nd playthrough.

#layers of fear 2 #game analysis #the actor #layers of fear

3 notes · View notes

onedayistodayornever · 2 years

Text

Thoughts on Avatar 2

I loved it!

Visuals were stunning. Loved the thought that went into how water Na’vi would live and the creatures that would live in their oceans. Loved all the little details, the homages to Maori culture, the differences in forest na’vi accessories vs water na’vi accessories. THE BABIES!!! Baby na’vi, baby whales. so cute~

Rather simple storyline with some plotholes. I knew humans were gonna be back to cause trouble (duh) but i wish they hadn’t. Could have been a really cool epic with just the various na’vi peoples alone. Cultural values and norms of the na’vi ended up being a bit too reminiscent of western culture. Could have definitely put more thought into that.

Spoilers

Felt like Jake and Neytiri ended up taking a step back in their character development. Did not like what they did with Jake’s parenting style or Neytiri’s reactions to it. For a guy who supposedly embraced na’vi culture and learned their way of life, it felt like his parenting was straight out of the american marine father handbook (the ‘sirs’! really!?). And i get that the english was for the audiences benefit but I thought the water na’vi knew a lot more english than made sense for a people without much contact with the humans. So i just ignored that and pretended like most of the movie was in the na’vi language.

I loved the kids!!! i really wanted more interactions between them. With the metkayina kids more involved too. Ronal was such a badass! I love that she was hard but also showed compassion and mercy. Tonowari was so cool! Man that respects his wife!

Quaritch. So many mixed feelings. Loved the disconnect between a na’vi body and Quaritch’s human expressions. Its not so obvious on jake but quaritch just has a very human mug. I really don’t like him but i loved his internal conflict over his prejudice against na’vi and having such a feral na’vi raised child. I love that he was so subtly soft for his kid. And spiders internal conflict over finally getting to meet his father and his father’s kindness to him vs everything his father stands for and has done. That ending between them was on point. I get the feeling as redemption is in store for him but i don’t know how i feel about that lol. I want it and i don’t. I love a good redemption arc but Quaritch has such a punchable face lol.

Payakan! Payakan baby i hope you and Lo’ak have the best life ever and i swear if they touch you in the sequels imma be so pissed.

Neteyam! They did you so dirty! i could honestly see it coming a mile away (dutiful, good older brothers always die so younger, reckless brothers get *character growth*) but i was still blind sided and i swear i cried an ocean for him. He was my favorite. Poor boy only wanted his father’s approval and his family safe. ╥﹏╥. Whyyyyyyyyyyy

I can’t wait to see what they do with Kiri in the next installments and adorable Tuk! I wonder if she will grow up to take after her mother or father?

Marine Na’vi lady with the tattoos. I know she was a villain and bad, so bad. But damn she was fine.

Boat man and his quest to kill whales. I honestly laughed when they introduced him. And his storyline!! LMAO! they really be ripping off moby dick! Don’t get me wrong, i love it. But its a kind of love for the campy. And for evil fisherman getting their dues. One of my favorite scenes of the whole movie when he lost his arm. And the alcoholic marine biologist! honestly he was a whole mood. “That’s why i drink”, “Now whose got the harpoon.” lol.

Jake sully and his idiot self going straight for the tsurak instead of starting with the Ilu is so in character. Its also one of my favorited character traits of his. His whole competent but also a little bit dumb and stubborn lol. He can be so adorable. I love that neytiri kept her ikran and we don’t see a lot of her adapting like the rest of her family does. It makes sense in that jake has had to adapt many times in his life to new circumstances and ways of life (army life, loosing his mobility, na’vi forest life and now na’ve water life). It makes sense that he would throw in and embrace this new life. Kids are obviously kids and while its difficult in some ways its also easier for kids to adapt. Neytiri hasn’t had to adapt to a whole new way of life yet. This is a first for her so it makes sense that she’d be more reluctant and cling to reminders of the familiar. But also shows her devotion to her family by trying her best. I really hope we get to see her and Ronal develop a friendship in the next installment cuz they seem like they would get along fantastically after the initial tension.

Also Neytiri wearing Neteyam’s necklace at his funeral ╥﹏╥. James cameron! Why you gotta break my heart like this!?! beautiful detail.

I just have so many feelings for this series. Now excuse me while i go deep dive into AO3 for all those worldbuilding details that can’t make it into a budget driven 3 hr movie.

#avatar #na'vi #avatar the way of water #avatar 2

4 notes · View notes

xiaq · 3 years

Note

Hi, I have a question re:sex and Christianity. Small background: I still go to church, and I still live with my parents even though I'm not much younger than you, because housing is very very expensive where I live (pretty common here, I would say about 2/3 of my friends live with their parents and we are decently privileged kids)

Anyway. How does one get over purity culture? To be clear, I've never been told in church not to have sex, I've never gotten the gendered lessons that you got. But I am terrified of having sex. My first real, multi-year relationship just ended and while there was hand stuff etc, there was never any p in v sex (lol I feel 12). But I still had insane anxiety about being pregnant despite being on bc. And I think its because I know my parents would be so disappointed if I had sex. And if I was pregnant I could imagine all the gossip. And honestly I think im from a pretty open church, b/c one of our previous ministers kids recently got married at 8 months pregnant and lots of church people were at the wedding and supportive and her parents were there and everything.

I dont even think I particularly like sex, i might be on the ace spectrum, but how do I remove it from all the anxiety that's tied to it so I can even give myself the chance to find out???

(Asking because it seems like you've been pretty open about purity culture/removing yourself from it)

CW for sex talk (again)

How does one get over purity culture?

Oh man. That really is the million-dollar question, huh? Obviously, I can only answer re my personal experiences, and this is something you should talk to a therapist about, but I can tell you how I’ve tackled it with my therapist at least.

Purity culture is, at its core, an ideology that is perpetuated by shame. If you’re indoctrinated into purity culture when you’re a kid, the concepts become baked into the way you construct your identity, your perception of self, and your perception of your sexuality. It’s practically intrinsic, by the time you’re an adult, to feel shame any time you’re reminded you have a body, much less a sexuality.

According to the chapels I sat through every week as a kid, a girl's body could be 3 things: an intentional stumbling block for men, an accidental stumbling block for men, or unnoticeable. Women were to strive for the third option so as to keep their (and their male friends/authority figures) purity intact. After all, if a boy, or even your male teacher, had impure thoughts about you, it was your fault for tempting them (which, holy shit. I still can’t believe that was a thing I bought into for so long. If my 45 yr old grown-ass teacher had impure thoughts because he could see my 12 yr old collarbone, that sure as hell wasn’t my fault. But I digress.) The Only time a woman’s body can be something else, is when she gives it to her husband, at which point she must suddenly flip the switch in her brain that she is now allowed to be a Sexual Being and she must perform Sexual Duties despite living in outright fear of her own body and sexuality for years (decades?) up until this point. Jesus take the wheel.

Purity culture isn’t a thing you can just decide to walk away from if you’ve grown up in it. Because its ideology is insidious and internalized. So first you need to submit to the fact that you’re going to be fucked up about sex. It sounds like you’re there. Second, you need to interrogate what you believe. If you’re leaving religion behind entirely, you’ll approach removing yourself from purity culture differently than if you still identify as a Christian. It sounds like you might be the latter, which meant, for me, separating what’s actually biblical and what’s shitty, contrived, doctrine that I was told is biblical but is actually more political than spiritual. This helps you address the shame issue.

You need to throw away I Kissed Dating Goodbye and Lady in Waiting and all those ridiculous books you read and reread in the hopes of somehow obtaining impossible marriage perfection and look into actual scripture interpreted within its historical context. I could write a book on this, but the TL;DR is that the text of the Bible was written, translated, curated, and changed multiple times over thousands of years by human beings with human biases and, often, personal and/or political agendas. It contradicts itself! Reading it as it is—a flawed historical document—rather than some sort of God-breathed perfect document—is incredibly freeing. When you do, you’ll probably realize that purity culture is bullshit on a spiritual level. Which is a good start, if that matters to you. Because any time you start to feel shame or guilt you can ask yourself: does God actually care if I wear a bikini or touch a dick I’m not married to? Probably not. Wear the bikini. Touch the dick.

The most important therapy session for me was when my therapist asked what I would do if I got to heaven and God was actually the God I’d been raised to fear. What would I do if he condemned me for being bisexual and having premarital sex and becoming educated, for arguing with men, and failing to isolate while menstruating, and wearing mixed fabrics? If Montero had come out at the point, I probably would have said I’d pole dance down to hell. Instead, I said I would spit on heaven’s gates. If a god that cruel and that pointlessly demeaning really exists—a god who would create in me condemned desire—I won't worship him. The good news is, I’m 99% sure he doesn’t exist. At the very least, he isn’t supported by scripture.

Okay. The final thing you need to do is figure out what you actually want, sexually speaking. This bit is probably the hardest. I’m still in the early stages of this myself. You say: “I dont even think I particularly like sex, i might be on the ace spectrum, but how do I remove it from all the anxiety that's tied to it so I can even give myself the chance to find out???” Bro, I wish I had an easy answer for you. For me, whenever I’m feeling anxious about Sex Things, I tell myself: 1. My God does not equate my worth to my sexual habits. 2. My partner does not equate my worth to my sexual habits. 3. I do not equate my worth to my sexual habits. It seems silly, but reminding myself of those three things is massively helpful. If, after I’ve sorted through those, I’m still anxious or uncomfortable, I stop doing the thing. I evaluate. Am I overwhelmed and I need to try again some other time? Do I just not like the thing? Sometimes it’s hard to tell. Sometimes you change your mind. Sometimes you just don’t know. That’s why having a partner who you trust and who’s willing to patiently explore your interests (and respect your disinterests) is so important. Half the battle, for me, was having a partner who told me they’d be ok with no sex at all. Because that took the pressure off me. If the bare minimum they need is nothing, then anything more than that is a bonus! Hooray! This is maybe TMI, but let me tell you. I thought I was asexual* right up until I was able to have moderately non-anxious sex. Never in my life did I think I would initiate a sexual situation but… I do now. It’s a fun thing to do with a person I love and, holy shit. I am furious that I nearly missed out on it.

Finally, re birth control: I don’t know how you can approach that fear in a way that works for you. If you don’t want to ever have penetrative sex, that’s fine! If that’s a point of anxiety you can’t get rid of, then don't push yourself to do it. If you find out you like other sex things, do the other sex things! If you don't like doing any sex things, don't do any sex things! Also, have you considered sleeping with people who can’t get you pregnant? Always an option if it’s an option you want to consider. ;)

Okay. I hope this was even a little bit helpful. Sorry if it’s a little convoluted, I typed it up in bursts during my work breaks.

*This is not at all to say that asexuality can be “fixed." Rather, it’s to say that things like purity culture can drastically confuse your sexuality in general. If you’re asexual, then this process is still important to discover what you like/dislike. Then you can be explicit about those necesities and find a partner who’s a good fit (if you want a partner at all, that is).

#purity culture #sex talk #christianity #sex and relationships #sex and religion #mylife #answered asks #aspec #cw sex

466 notes · View notes

emmys-writing · 3 years

Text

Ballerina

Pairing- Hotchner x Reid

Warnings- bottom spencer, explicit content, dom hotch, sir kink, small cock spencer, this is unedited, hotch is kind of a dick but not really, short spencer, ballerina spence, jack is in ballet <3, degradation

When the class of 6 year olds finally was rounded up and cleared out of the studio by stressed and exhausted parents, Spencer sighed in relief. The last kid was picked up 20 minutes late and of course it was inconvenient but Spencer loved these kids. They always had bright happy smiles on their faces and cute clumsy wobbles as they tried to balance on the bar the way Spencer did. Spencer smiled softly and hummed to himself, grabbing the loose pieces of garbage that occasionally littered the floor. It wasn’t until he heard a throat being cleared that he jumped with a small yelp and looked towards the door where the noise came from.

Aaron Hotchner, Jack's father who rarely showed up to their rehearsals, stood there with his arms crossed and his normal stern facial expression on. As much as Spencer wanted to remain professional, he couldn’t help but notice how handsome the older gentleman was. He wore a gray suit that although slightly unfitted, still fit the broad and muscled shoulders and Spencer hated to admit it but this man was definitely a weakness of his. He was arrogant at times and not one for joking around, if he did show up he didn’t stay to chat either. He just grabbed Jack and left.

“Sorry Mr. Hotchner, I didn't see you there!” Spencer blushed and connected his own hands behind his back in a shy manner. Aaron just nodded.

“I’m here to pick up jack” Straight to the point.

“O-Oh… Jessica actually already picked him up. I’m sorry sir, i would’ve phoned you if i knew you planned on picking him up” He explained, walking closer and flashing an apologetic smile. Normally if this was any other parent he would roll his eyes at the bad planning but Mr Hotchner was different. Spencer saw this as an opportunity to get to know the man who he’s been ogling for more than a year.

“You look tired, do you want to stay for a coffee? I already have some brewing and I have lots of sugar and cream” The younger one offered. Aaron surprisingly took him up on that offer as well.

It had been a long case and he just got off the jet, coming straight to the ballet studio afterwards. So what if he found his son's instructor a bit attractive? coffee wouldn’t be so bad, he thought. It’s not like he would end up bending him over and- no. He mentally smacked himself for being so perverted towards the man in front of him. He was small, maybe 5’6 or 5’7 at most, had a slender frame as well as the most adorable smile and soft looking hair that he would love to reach out and touch. Aaron took a step towards the stack of plastic chairs and took one, placing it down on the ground. He took a seat while Spencer made his way towards the coffee pot.

“I take it black” Hotch told him and watched the ballerina as he smiled at him and poured the bitter liquid in the plain white mug. Hotch took the opportunity to admire the young body when Spencer was turned around. Hotch knew it was wrong, the boy was just so sexy without even trying. The thin black tights hugged his thighs just right and the little skirt he wore flared out around his small waist, accentuating the round of his ass. Hotch felt the front of his pants tightening, his chest tightened and he felt himself getting warm. Spencer turned back around forcing hotch to immediately struggle to tear his eyes away. Spencer noticed though. He saw the lustful glances and tent in his pants, it gave him an amazing opportunity. After Spencer handed Aaron the cup he looked up at him with the same lust filled eyes.

“Do you mind if I work on some of my stretches?” Spencer asked while internally smirking.

“No, go ahead” He took a slow sip from the cup and leaned back in the small, plastic chair.

Spencer went to the bar and lifted his leg up, he did it a few more times before huffing and looking over at the other presence in the room.

“I need a little bit of help, could you?” He blushed and looked down at his ballet shoes. Hotch couldn’t say no, he knew that Spencer would feel the bulge but he was hoping to play it off as just having a big dick, which technically wasn't a lie either. Aaron got up from the small plastic chair and stood behind Spencer, he lightly placed his hands on the younger man's bony hips and bit his lip gently. Spencer was perfect in every way. Spencer lifted his leg up once more but not without pushing his behind against Hotch's groin. Hotch struggled to keep in a groan but successfully was able to, this didn't stop the other man though. He continued to push up against him and made small groaning noises as he stretched despite not actually needing to make noise. The thing that finally broke hotch was when Spencer bent over and the thin tights truly lived up to their name. The tights were slightly see through in the lighting and position he was in, this caused hotch to groan and place a hand over his crotch through his dress pants, cupping it lightly in hopes he could conceal it even just a little bit. He couldn't. Spencer turned around at the noise and smiled cheekily.

“Something wrong Mr. Hotchner?” Spencer leaned against the wall and looked up at him.

“Nope, just keep doing what you were doing”

“Oh really? Because I think that I...” He trailed off while reaching out and placing his hand over Hotchs, feeling his erection go slightly stiffer at the contact. “...Am making you hard”

Hotch didn't know how to respond to that but he kept his straight and tall, intimidating posture to make sure Spencer knew he had no control over him.

“Am I making you hard sir?” Spencer asked innocently and looked up with big brown eyes. That was all it took for Hotch to grab Spencer's waist and push him into the wall further. Spencer giggled and tangled his fingers in the taller man's hair.

“You're such a little slut you know that?” Hotch chuckled darkly as Spencer nodded in response. Something in the older man's demeanor changed and he was no longer the stern father who made minimal small talk. He was now the Sexy, dominating, strong man who had his son's ballet teacher pressed against the studio wall and degrading him. They both loved it.

“Answer me” Hotch said harshly and used one hand to grab hold of Spencer's jaw, forcing him to meet his gaze.

“Y-Yes sir, i'm a little slut” He whimpered.

“Good girl” He smirked and Spencer swore that he melted at the nickname. Hotch looked down between their bodies and furrowed his brows, Spencer didn't have a visible erection and it confused him slightly. Surely if he wanted this he would be hard, and especially noticeable if he's in tights?

“Spencer, are you sure you want this?” He asked, concerned.

“I- yes why?” Spencer looked up at him confused.

“Well- I erm… You are not visibly hard so I wanna make sure you don't feel pressured.” Spencer blushed furiously in embarrassment and gulped.

“I'm just on the smaller side…” He whispered but it was loud enough for Hotch to catch. He groaned softly and reached down to Spencer's hips, flipping him to face towards the mirrored walls.

“Is that so baby?”

“Yes sir…” Spencer surprised himself when he felt his face get warmer than before because he was pretty sure it was almost impossible. Hotch placed his hand under Spencer's chin, forcing him to look at himself in the mirror. It was embarrassing how easily he fell apart. Aaron kissed and sucked and nipped at Spencer's pale neck, leaving behind dark marks that would definitely be difficult to cover up before his next class. Aaron brought his hands down to Spencer's ass and grabbed the thin fabric of tights and underwear before ripping a hole in the back of it, the tights were easily ripped up the front as well though leaving the man's small, pretty pink cock and hole on display for the other man.

“Oh, so cute and small, darling. Like a little clit” Spencer whined and leaned forward to place his forehead on the mirror but quickly corrected by Aaron who laid a harsh and loud, echoing slap to his bare behind.

“Don't hide, I want to have you watch me make you fall apart. I'm going to break you into nothing but a whimpering and whiny mess” Spencer just nodded, he was at a loss for words and had no idea how to reply. Hotch brought one hand to Spencer's mouth, Spencer gladly took the long and thick fingers into his mouth, sucking for a good amount of time before pulling off and looking into Hotch's eyes through the mirror.

“I-I have a small bottle of lube in my bag” He didn't have any shame at this point, all he wanted was to have Aarons cock filling his ass. Aaron went to the side and looked through the dance bag, smirking at the spare pair of clothes and thongs to reduce the panty lines when wearing tights. It wasn't long before he found the bottle and quickly went back to Spencer who eagerly pushed his ass out.

“Patience, you may be a slut but you can wait” he chastised and chuckled darkly before spitting on his hole before placing a generous amount of lube. Hotch added two fingers immediately and Spencer cried out at the burn he felt, it was a good burn though… It became a mix of pain and pleasure so it wasnt long before Spencer began fucking himself onto the older mans fingers. Soon enough he had four fingers fucking into him but it didnt last long because Hotch pulled them out and placed the tip of his cock at his entrance.

“Beg.”

“Sir please!” He cried, tears almost forming in his eyes from desperation. Hotch seemed to take pity on poor Spencer luckily. The tip of Hotch's cock was pushed into the desperate and greedy hole before slowly sinking in more until he bottomed out.

“Such a good hole for me aren't you? My little slut, little cockslut…” Hotch groaned and gripped Spencer's hips tightly.

“Yes sir, i'm your little cockslut!” He whimpered and threw his head back. A few slow thrusts were made, slowly building up in pace and roughness until Spencer was a whimpering and moaning mess beneath the older gentleman. Hotch reached forward and grabbed ahold of Spencer's little cocklet, rubbing at the tip and watching Spencer's facial reactions through the mirror.

“S-Sir im gonna-”

“No.” He whined and looked up at Hotch, clawing at the bar in front of him.

“Such a cute little cocklet huh? Do you like it when I rub it like a clit?”

“Yes sir, p-please i-i need to”

“Shh.. it's okay. Just a little bit longer okay? Hold on for me”

Another few minutes go by of Hotch jack hammering into Spencer before he looks into Spencer's eyes through the mirror and he gives him verbal confirmation to cum.

“Cum with me” is all it took for Spencer to let go and cum all over the mirror, clenching his hole around the hard cock inside of him to milk him as well. He felt hotch's cum fill him up to the brim and when he pulled out, the bit of remaining cum spilled out of him and down his thighs.

When both of them catch their breaths and steady themselves, Hotch grabs a thong from Spencer's bag and cleans up the cum falling down his thighs but leaves the cum inside of him.

“I’ll see you next class” Hotch smirked and slapped Spencer's ass before grabbing his cup of coffee, downing the rest of it and walking out the door.

#hotchreid #hotchreid smut #spencer reid #aaron hotchner #criminal minds smut #spencer reid smut #aaron hotchner smut #heid #hotchxreid

249 notes · View notes

yurimother · 3 years

Text

LGBTQ Manga Review — Alter Ego

An Unexpected and Enjoyable Turn of the Lesbian Best Friend Trope

As some of my supporters over on Patreon will know, I recently put out a deep dive into the character Yaya from Strawberry Panic. In it, I discussed her role in the series as fulfilling the lesbian best friend trope. This archetype, a character who surfers for loving the protagonist, comes in various forms and is a staple of current Yuri and Yuri adjacent media. However, I thought it might be worth examining a work that entirely revolves around the lesbian best friend, Ana C. Sánchez's Alter Ego. This Spanish manga was recently released by Tokyopop earlier this year under their Love X Love and international women of manga line. I was eager to see what Sánchez did with the classic Yuri concepts in this energetic one-shot.

I mentioned that the best friend is usually a supporting character interacting with the protagonist, but in the case of Alter Ego, she is the main character. University student Noel is in love with her best friend and classmate Elena. However, she has never been able to voice that love before. She has always contented herself with being close to Elena. However, now that Elena has a new boyfriend, Noel's chances to be intimate with her friend are dwindling. When Elena's other best friend, a writer named June, moves to town and begins living next to Noel, it is too much for the girl to bear.

The basic premise of this series is well established and easy to grasp. The story focuses less on Noel reconciling her feelings for Elena, as other unrequited love Yuri stories have in the past. Instead, the manga follows her struggle to deal with the changing reality of her friendship with Elena. While the two used to be solitary companions, the addition of Elena's boyfriend and June clearly has Noel feeling insecure and fearful. These feelings manifest in some truly toxic behavior, including shouting at her friend and generally acting selfishly. Noel's behavior makes it challenging to enjoy and root for her. However, to Alter Ego's credits, the actions are always treated as inappropriate and not played for cuteness or laughs. Much of Noel's struggles involve her guilt over her treatment of Elena. Unfortunately, although she makes some steps to make reparations, the single-volume work is too short to accommodate a complete personality swap, so Alter Ego is trapped between a rock and a hard place or making a likable character and keeping proper pacing.

Speaking of the story's pacing, it is relatively strong. Particularly in the first half of the story, the plot slowly moves forward as the stakes for Noel are established and escalated. As June enters the story, she appropriately disrupts the rhythm Sánchez set up while still keeping the progress constant. Through the chapters, we slowly begin to learn more about this young writer, and the focus of the story smoothly transitions from Noel and Elena to Noel and June. Alter Ego does a great job at helping readers discover elements of June's personality and history alongside Noel, thanks to the latter's perception and naturally building a relationship with June.

Here is where we get to the central Yuri element of the story, June and Noel's relationship. For (minor spoilers ahead), it turns out that both girls love Elena. This shared affection and their different perspectives of it drive the girls together. While Noel predominantly acts selfishly and controlling, June is the type of lesbian best friend that just wants to see the other happy, to sacrifice her own desire to know the one she loves is content. June imparts these principles onto Noel to mixed results, as discussed earlier, but the direction the work aims is clear, and the logic follows for both girls.

June and Noel's mutual love for Elena, the person who brought them together in the first place, becomes the foundation for their relationship. It is a rather fun twist on the lesbian best friend trope as the two girls begin hanging out together and share their interests outside of Elena. As one would expect, there is a fair bit of angst, a confession, and at the end, they are together. Unfortunately, while the premise that got them there is a fun manipulation of the lesbian best friend trope, the romance's path is predictable with the rushed resolution you would expect of a one-shot. However, the execution is pretty smooth, and except for Noel, particularly at the start of the story, its characters are likable enough to carry to drama and romance.

Sánchez's artwork is above average. I particularly enjoyed her attention to the character's outfits and designs. The settings are unremarkable but do not distract from the work's overall quality, and the background characters add a lot to make the world of Alter Ego full. The more emotional scenes are illustrated well, with Noel's pain and frustration being especially apparent. However, there are a few flaws and inconsistencies. Occasionally, especially in comedic moments, the art drifts a little closer to the moe edge and dips noticeably in quality. The character designs overall, while I enjoyed them, look a little younger than I would have expected. I honestly thought they were high school students until the work explicitly states that June is 24. Alter Ego already feels like an angsty high school Yuri romance despite its characters, and the art did little to help that feeling.

Alter Ego is an enjoyable single-volume Yuri drama. Sánchez did an admirable job creating a compelling story and characters, and her play on unrequited love is exciting and enthralling. While it does little new, Alter Ego is a highly polished manga with flawed characters, interesting relationships, and superb storytelling. There are also some fantastic art inserts at the start of the manga and a few vibrant color pages that stuck in my mind longer than most similar volumes have. I recommend Alter Ego for a solid afternoon Summer read and am eager to continue following its creator to see what else she does. Thank you, Tokyopop, for bringing this international manga to English audiences.

Special thanks to translation Nanette McGuinness, Editor Lena Atanassova, and the rest of the team at Tokyopop for their excellent work on Alter Ego.

Ratings: Story – 7 Characters – 6 Art – 7 LGBTQ – 6 Sexual Content – 2 Final – 6

Check out Alter Ego in English digitally and in print today: https://amzn.to/3jFruf1

Reading official releases helps support creators and publishers. YuriMother makes a small commission from sales to help fund future content.

#Yuri #lgbt #lgbtq #lgbtq+#queer #gay #girls love #gl #manga #lesbian #reviews #lesbians #wlw #anime #alter ego #review #tokyopop

257 notes · View notes

chrisevansjellybeans · 4 years

Text

Happier|Part Four

You guys! I’m kind of sad that Happier is ending. I really enjoyed writing it and from the feedback I know a lot of you guys enjoyed reading it. This part is a little different. We get a little back and forth from Reader to Chris’s POV.

Previous Parts: One Two Three

Word Count: 2.8k

Warnings: angst (surprise), swearing, mentions of accident and a small mention of blood

“You want to explain what the hell that was?” Carissa snapped as soon as Chris stepped into her line of sight. “Seriously, Chris. What were you thinking? You can’t just punch somebody.”

“Well it’s my house.” He grumbled. Carissa shot him a look that had him letting out a long sigh.

She ran her fingers through her hair, her eyes getting glossy. “This was supposed to be my night. I wanted to celebrate my birthday with friends and get to know some of your friends as well. What is going on?”

“Nothing.” Chris shoved his hands into his pockets, the night air mixed with this conversation causing him to shiver. He watched as Y/N walked out of his house, her cheeks flushed and her eyes red. He did everything in his power to not walk over to her and wrap her up in his arms. “Nothing, it was a misunderstanding.”

Carissa followed his gaze and let out an unamused laugh. “Okay if it’s nothing we’ll ask, Y/n. Since she was right there she can clear it up.”

Chris tugged on her hand as she called out her name.

“Stop. Okay? Just stop.” Chris pulled her back towards the side of the house as Y/N jumped in her car without turning around. “She’s leaving anyway.”

Carissa didn’t say anything as she just watched Y/n drive off. Finally she turned back to Chris, her shoulders dropping. Chris watched as her resolve vanished and her shoulders started shaking slightly.

Shit.

“Honey, I’m sorry.” He walked over to her but she took a step back.

“Why did you bring me here?” She looked up at him as the tears flowed freely down her face. “Why did you bring me back here when you’re in love with someone else?”

Chris took a step back as if she slapped him in the face.

“Carissa, what are you talking about?”

“Please.” She scoffed, wiping away some of her tears. “Please don’t patronize me. I’m a lot of things, but stupid is not one of them. I see the way you and Y/N are around each other.”

“Y/N? What? That’s-there’s no way. That’s crazy.” Chris fumbled over his words. “We’re just friends, Carissa.”

“I’m not mad.” she sniffed. “I should be, but I’m not. Because it’s so clear that she’s as in love with you as you are with her. It was evident the first night I met her.”

Chris shook his head still trying to process everything that was coming out of his girlfriend's mouth.

“Look me in my eyes and tell me that I’m wrong. Tell me that you aren’t madly in love with her.” She said softly.

Chris opened his mouth, willing the words to come out but nothing could. He couldn’t. He couldn’t lie to her.

“I think I’m going to stay with Veronica for a couple days. I’ll have some people come by and grab my things.” Carissa mumbled before she walked past an open mouthed Chris without another word.

Chris watched as Carissa faded back into a throng of people in the house. He had two choices: go after Carissa or go after Y/N. He ran his fingers through his hair before running into the house.

“Where are you going?” Chris walked past his brother as he reached for his keys that were hanging in the foyer. Quickly he glanced back inside where the party was supposed to be taking place. The music had been turned down and the carefree attitude that had been there all night was now replaced with a palpable tension. Chris knew he would have to give Carissa a better apology, for everything, but not right now.

“I’m going after Y/N.” Chris finally answered simply.

“Listen, I’m all for Team Y/N and Chris but you guys can talk tomorrow. Give her some time. Tonight was a lot. For the both of you.”

“We’ve wasted enough time, Scott.” Chris narrowed his eyes.

“I know you have-” Scott was interrupted by the loud ring of Chris’s phone. Chris held up his finger, silencing his brother as he saw Y/N’s name flash across the screen.

“Sweetheart, hey-”

“Mr. Evans?” Chris stilled as a different female voice answered him on the other end.

“Yeah?” He questioned. He glanced at Scott who now had a confused expression on his face. “Who is this? Where’s Y/N?”

“Sir, my name is Nurse Stadler. I work at Boston General. I’m calling on behalf of Miss Y/L/N.” She paused for a moment. “There’s been an accident, Mr. Evans.”

Chris felt as though his entire body shut down. He reached out for Scott, his hand landing on his brother’s shoulder.

“What?” Scott asked. “Chris, what is going on?”

“What do you mean by an accident? I just-I just saw her.” Chris stuttered, his breathing coming out ragged. Scott stiffened as the word accident passed through Chris’s lips.

“I’m not at liberty to give information over the phone, Mr. Evans. You are Miss Y/L/N’s emergency contact and if you come down to the hospital someone will be able to fill you in more.” Nurse Stadler’s voice was calm.

“Uh yeah, of course.” Chris clicked off, his mind in a daze.

I shouldn’t have let her drive off. She was drunk and emotional. No state to drive a three thousand pound vehicle.

This is my fault.

“Chris!”

Chris blinked and looked turned to his younger brother who was searching his face for answers.

“You have to drive me to the hospital. It’s Y/N.”

Everything felt heavy. Your head. Your body. It was like you were weighted down. You slowly opened your eyes as they began to focus.

Why is there a pole in my car?

You tried to move but your body felt pinned in place. You glanced down at let out a silent whimper as you saw the blood pooling from your abdomen.

“Oh my god…” You again tried to move, but once again failed.

“Ma’am?” You turned your head as much as you could to the voice to your left. “Ma’am are you alright?”

You groaned as your head lulled forward, too tired to stay upright.

“Help me.” Your voice came out in a weak whisper. You couldn’t hear what the voice had to say as you passed out seconds after your plea.

“I’m looking for Y/N Y/L/N.” Chris said hurriedly as he tapped his hands against the desk of the nurses station. Scott right on his tail, placed his hand on his brother’s back hoping to calm some of his nerves. “Y/N Y/L/N!”

“Chris, calm down.” Scott warned his brother before giving the startled nurse an apologetic nurse.

“I’m not going to calm down, Scott.” Chris snapped, spinning around on his sibling. “She’s here and she’s hurt and it’s my fault. So don’t fucking tell me to calm down.”

“It’s not your fault, Chris.”

“The hell it isn’t.” Chris looked away, turning back to the nurse. “Please. Where is she?”

“Mr. Evans.” Both Chris and Scott looked up to see a plump, older woman waving them over. Chris recognized her voice as the one from the phone.

“Nurse Stadler?” Chris pushed away from the desk and rushed to the woman. “Where is she?”

“Mr. Evans-”

“Chris. Please.”

Nurse Stadler gave him a warm smile. “Chris. She’s right over here, but I’m going to warn you she’s pretty banged up. Her car collided with a guard rail on the highway.” Chris almost lost it. He bit his knuckle to stop him from crying out. “She sustained serious injury to her abdomen and her face has some lacerations and bruising.”

“Is she awake?” Scott asked, his voice thick.

“No.” Nurse Stadler shook her head. “She lost a lot of blood before the ambulance got there.”

“Jesus Christ.” Scott muttered as Chris sat in silent shock.

“They were able to get her into surgery and fix the internal bleeding. But her body has been through a tremendous trauma. Right now it’s just a waiting game. But she’ll come out of it.” Nurse Stadler laid a gentle hand over Chris’s. “Okay? You just have to have faith that she wants to wake up soon.”

Chris just nodded before walking into the room. He stood at the foot of the bed, watching her breathing as her heart monitor let him know that she was still alive.

“Come on, sweetheart. You gotta wake up.” He pleaded, his eyes blurry. “Please.”

Again you felt heavy, but this time it was different. You opened your eyes slowly, afraid of what you might see. You squinted as the bright lights above started coming more into view. The steady beep of the heart monitor next to you and the whir of the fan above let you know that you were now in a hospital. You tried to move, but your arms were pinned now by IV’s.

“Sweetheart?” Chris walked into the room carrying what looked like a fresh cup of coffee and a bagel. He looked like he hadn’t slept in days. His hair was unruly and his usually trimmed beard was now a mess. His pale face accentuated the dark circles that were forming under his tired eyes.

“Hi, buddy.” You tried to sound chipper but it came out in the form of a groan.

Chris set down his breakfast before rushing over to you, his lips instantly finding yours. At first you were too shocked to even kiss him back but as his fingers skimmed down your bruised cheeks you melted into his kiss. It was gentle and passionate and everything that you thought kissing Chris would be like. Slowly he pulled away, his forehead resting against yours.

“Don’t scare me like that ever again.” His blue eyes were swimming with tears. Carefully this time you reached up and wiped away a tear that had fallen down. Chris closed his eyes as he rested his cheek in your palm.

“I had to get your attention somehow.” You joked quietly. Chris let out a sob/chuckle as he kissed you again.

“You have my attention. Always have and always will.” You tried to sit up to get closer to him but let out a whine as your stomach contracted in pain.

“Don’t try and sit up right now, honey.” You looked past Chris to see a nurse walking in. Chris smiled at her warmly and gave her a quick hug. You raised your eyebrow in a question as he came back to you.

“Nurse Stadler,” The woman playfully swatted Chris who just laughed. “My bad. Julie over here has been my saving grace. Well...yours too, but she’s kept me from chewing off the head of every hospital staff here.” Chris answered sheepishly.

“Oh. Well then I guess thank you, Julie.” You smiled at her as she started checking your vitals.

“Of course. This poor boy. Thought I was gonna have to call a code on him once or twice while he was waiting.You’ve got a keeper here, Y/N.”

Chris squeezed your hand, careful of your wiring, before bringing it up to his lips.

“He’s alright.” You laughed before wincing in pain.

“Ahh, careful. Laughing is not going to be as enjoyable as it once was for a while.” Julie explained.

You and Chris talked with Julie while she finished checking everything that needed to be checked. Thankfully she was able to remove one IV so you had a little more motion with your right arm. As soon as she left, Chris placed another sweet kiss on your lips.

“Now that I’ve kissed you, I don’t want to stop.” He smiled against your lips. You hummed in agreement as you kissed him back.

Carissa.

You froze and pulled back slightly. How could you forget the biggest obstacle in yours and Chris’s way.

“Chris what about-”

“I ended it with her. Or she ended it with me. It might have been mutual, I don’t know.” Chris rambled. You squeezed his hand and he took a deep breath. “She came. Here, I mean. While you were still asleep. We had talked at the house but we officially ended it here.”

“I feel terrible.” You said, absentmindedly rubbing your thumb along the track of his knuckles. “I never meant to hurt her or anyone.”

“Hey,” Chris scooted his chair closer to your bed, if that was even possible. “Please don’t beat yourself up. This was on me. I shouldn’t have gotten into a relationship with someone when I was very clearly in love with someone else.”

You chewed on your bottom lip as you processed his words. “You love me?”

“I love you.” He leaned in and pressed a kiss to your nose. “I love you.” Another kiss to your cheek. “I love you.” Another one to your other cheek. “I. Love. You.” He ended on your lips.

“Would this be a bad time to say I think we should just be friends?”

“You’re not funny.” Chris rolled his eyes, kissing you again.

“I’m a little funny.” You smirked before your gaze softened. “I love you too.”

“Promise me, no more car accidents? I don’t think I can handle that kind of torture. Worst three days of my life.”

“I was out for three days?” You gasped.

“Yeah…” He sighed before smirking. “There are more fun reasons to be holed up in bed for three days and none of them include a hospital.”

“Chris!” You smacked his arm but grinning none the less.

“Ew, are you guys going to be this sickening forever?” Scott made a face as he walked into the room, a giant bouquet of flowers in his hand. He shot you a wink as he set down the flowers before going to your other side and giving you a quick peck on the cheek.

“If you don’t like it, don’t look.” Chris answered, but his eyes never left yours. “Cause I don’t plan on stopping any time soon.”

Seven Years Later:

You squinted as the light snuck its way through the small crack in the blinds, always somehow landing right on your face and causing you to wake up. Groaning, you rolled over throwing your husband over your husband's torso. But your arm fell straight to the mattress. You opened your eyes again and noticed that the spot usually occupied by Chris was now empty. You sat up and rubbed the sleep from your eyes.

“Momma!” You smiled as your three-year-old daughter, Julie (affectionately named after her godmother), poked her head through the door. She let out a little squeal before running to you, jumping up on the bed and into your arms. “Morning, momma.”

“Good morning, baby.” You pressed a light kiss to her nose and she scrunched her face in amusement. You scooted her back in your arms as you noticed she had something all over her pajamas. “What is all over you, silly girl?”

“Sorry, that would be my fault.” You looked up as Chris snuck into the bedroom carrying a tray full of pancakes, bacon and fruit. “We wanted to make you breakfast.”

“You did what?” You tickled your daughter’s side as you smiled. “Did you help daddy make breakfast?”

“Yeah!” She said excitedly, her tiny hands clapping together.

“She’s the best sous chef in the state.” Chris set the tray at the foot of the bed and crawled next to the both of you. “Good morning, beautiful.”

Your heart fluttered as he gave you a sweet kiss. Five years of marriage and you still felt like a teenager in love every time Chris was affectionate with you.

“Good morning.” You whispered against his lips.

Your heart felt full as you enjoyed your breakfast with your family. Julie thoroughly enjoyed when Chris made a big smile out of the bacon strips. You sat back content as you watched the two best people in your life laugh and play. You never thought that your life would end up here; Chris by your side and a beautiful little girl that was the perfect mix of the both of you.

“I love you, momma.” you were snapped out of your thoughts as Julie climbed over to you again.

“I love you more, bug.”

“Daddy wins. He loves you both the most.” Chris said triumphantly, pulling the both of you into his arms. You cuddled into your husband and laid your head against his shoulder. Chris leaned down and gave you a kiss on your head.

“Are you happy?” You asked after you all just sat in a comfortable silence, Julie slowly nodding off from all the excitement.

Chris squeezed you closer as he brushed a piece of Julie’s hair out of her face. She gave him a sleepy smile before closing her eyes and resting her head on your chest.

“I’ve never been happier.”

TAGS:

@username23345

@thesecretlifeofdaydreams-bl-blog

@stopbeingcurious

@lharrietg

@officialmarvelwhore

@memoriesat30

@mydarlingharry

@kelbabyblue

@evansphrix12

@thegreentwin

@denisemarieangelina

@joannie95

@crossfitjesusinblackskinnyjeans

@jennamarieee623

@undecidedsworld

@tenaciousperfectionunknown

@lovelyladymayyy

@mindfreakswaggy

@before-we-get-started

@captainchrisstan

@the-soot-sprite

@patzammit

#chris evans imagines #chris evans imagine #chris evans #chris evans x reader #chris evans happier #happier #im sad it's over

437 notes · View notes

gay-snom · 3 years

Text

contextualizing lwj’s coming to terms with his feelings subplot!

i wanna talk about the role of confucianism in this subplot because i think it’s something some western fans might not pick up on. basically, the sociopolitical climate of confucianism in his character arc, and a little bit about his interaction with the public image theme.

disclaimer: i’m not chinese but i do have a double minor in chinese and asian studies and have written a few papers on confucianism.

we’re gonna be talking about the novel bc i feel its a little more in-depth and nuanced than lwj’s “what is black, what is white” monologue in cql. namely the tension and misunderstanding in wwx’s first life and how lwj got his scars. i feel like it’s pretty well accepted that wwx made lwj reconsider his world view, so i’m just gonna expand on it. also i want to point out it's pretty unspoken in most of the text, but lwj is also affected by/used to explore the public image themes, as his image the is ideal confucian scholar.

confucianism is centered around the ideas of how to behave “good” in sociopolitical contexts. basically it boils down to a belief system on how society should be run. if everyone follows confucian beliefs, you will have an ideal society. the main text is the Analects, which you can read here. it’s been around for a few thousand years (like around 200 BCE ish), had a huge revival in the tang dynasty (618-907 CE). it was put on imperial exams, the emperor’s cabinet had confucian scholars, etc. this is just to say confucian values are important to historic society, especially upper-class scholars, which seems to be a role cultivators commonly fill in xianxia. here are some basic tenants:

being a gentleman/scholar/superior man (君子 jūn zǐ) : partly being learned in the arts, literature, music, poetry, etc., mostly behaving righteously and dutifully.

filial piety: usually described as obedience. it's not simply obeying everything elders tell you, it includes doing it with reverence and thankfulness for their sacrifices for you.

leading by example: if leaders/the government is righteous, the people will follow. lwj has his flock of juniors that are all strong cultivators and the lan sect is just generally known for being moral and good.

rites/rituals: a focus on politeness and holding proper ceremonies, sacrifices, and funerals

speech: there’s some great meta about the register he speaks in here, i just want to touch on think carefully before you speak, only speak sincerely, etc.

tldr; lwj is THE perfect gentleman (even his title contains the character suffix 君 -jūn, like lxc. which, while this character is not uncommon for cultivator titles, it wasn’t chosen carelessly either. also not to be confused with 尊 -zūn). seriously, look at almost all of book 10 and you'll see don't do/consume in excess, don't talk during meals, sit only when your mat is straight, etc.

okay, so Why is understanding his feelings for wwx so troublesome?

1.2 "They are few who, being filial and fraternal, are fond of offending against their superiors. There have been none, who, not liking to offend against their superiors, have been fond of stirring up confusion... Filial piety and fraternal submission! - are they not the root of all benevolent actions?"

in other words, people who are filial will never create political tension. so like, morally, wwx should be considered horrible person! he’s not only snubbed the jiang sect. he was a head disciple who undoubtedly had younger students looking up to him. and then he goes and stirs up some huge political issues! he is now a bad role model for the people below him and disrespected the people above him. lwj has an entire image to uphold, he has poured his entire life into following these rules and beliefs, and then wwx comes along. would continuing to be in wwx's life taint lwj? there are some contradicting teachings in regards to interacting with wwx:

15.4: "Do not take counsel with those who follow a different Way"

15.28: "When the multitude hates a person, you must examine them and judge for yourself. The same holds true for someone whom the multitude love."

15.36 "When it comes to being Good, defer to no one, not even your teacher."

this is part of the reason lwj had so much trouble accepting his feelings. he didn’t know how to handle this situation, making him appear distant during/directly after sunshot. if he judges wwx's intentions to be pure, it's then not wrong to be friendly with him. but wwx still is morally wrong by society's standards. now, lwj has to not only figure out his feelings, but also reconcile this with how he still thinks wwx is Not a bad person, despite everything. what if he does get "tainted" by wwx? will it hurt the reputation of his sect? that would be un-filial, right? he spent his whole life memorizing rules that are probably extremely similar to sections in the Analects, and now these mixed messages (coupled with the relatable gay panic) are overwhelming.

onto the next! there’s something unspoken in the scene where wwx discovers why lwj has the whip scars. as other posts have mentioned, lwj taking wwx back to the burial mounds and nursing him is high treason. however, this action is also extremely un-filial. also his entire image is built around being a perfect gentleman, if this were to get out to the public he would lose absolutely everything. he would be just as irreparable as wwx.

“I was worried if those from another sect found you first, WangJi would be considered your accomplice. The best scenario was his name being forever tainted, and the worst was his life being taken away right then. Thus, along with Uncle, we chose thirty three seniors who had always thought highly of WangJi... ”

there’s no way lwj didn’t know what would happen if he did this. obviously as lxc says, if this got out, he would lose basically his entire face. and even though lxc didn’t mention this, it would definitely lose a lot of face for the lan sect as well since lwj is so prominent. the decision about what elders to bring is also notable.

“...As if he knew all along he would be discovered by us, he said that there was nothing to explain, that this was it. Growing up, he had never talked back to Uncle, not even once. But for you, not only did WangJi talk back to him, he even met with his sword the cultivators from the Gusu Lan sect...”

so yeah, he obviously knew they would come for him and what the consequences would be. and he still talked back! that’s already not a good look for the lan sect. but attacking them? totally unforgivable! lwj gives up how he was raised and the importance of filial piety, what he has held on to until this major plot event. since it's basically the biggest "fuck you" to his uncle and his clan, this was not a decision he made lightly. lwj shows them he cares more about wwx and His Own ideas of right and wrong than the sect’s or society’s.

Wei WuXian dug his hands into his hair, “...I-I didn’t know... I really...”

when was the last time wwx was at a loss for words? wwx spends a few paragraphs after this lamenting how he hurt lwj, but he's not unaware of the gravity of what lwj did. it's an underlying assumption from being raised in the culture. i would argue his first instinct is "oh god he gave up what for me?" since those lamenting paragraphs are after lxc finishes speaking.

"But he said... that he could not say with certainty whether what you did was right or wrong..."

this is something thrown around a lot in the Analects, that not even confucius can say for sure what is right or wrong. what better way to show lwj is still a perfect confucian than have him paraphrase confucius himself?

“...WangJi was a model for the disciples when he was young, and a prominent cultivator when he grew up. In his whole life he had been honest and righteous and immaculate--you were the only mistake he made!”

here’s the confirmation that the world and even his family thinks of him as a perfect gentleman, the top tier of society, and it was all thrown away for wwx. this is just so heavy. the mistake thing? thats not only because lwj is fraternizing with an enemy. lxc and the rest of the sect who knew are terrified this will forever corrupt lwj personally, not just publicly. lwj was so devoted to believing this was the right thing to do he offered up everything he had. the gravity of this decision is insane. it’s very obvious that he loves wwx, it’s just that he struggles a lot internally to accept everything that is happening.

as for helping wwx leave after the massacre, is this gentleman-ly of lwj? was it actually in-line with his image? is it more honorable to save someone who is dying, at the cost of your own health, than to look away? isn't looking away a form of resentment? i wasn't able to find a specific passage about bystander-ness, but personally i think it qualifies as "bad intentions." there is also this passage for what it's worth, originally it was about government suppression:

12.19: "...What do you say to killing the unprincipled for the good of the principled?" Confucius replied, "...why should you use killing at all?..."

lwj is always more actions than words, and he was not fucking around. his core beliefs really haven't changed, and remain very strong throughout his life. he is still righteous enough to accept his punishment, graceful enough to search for wwx's body since there was no one else to do the funeral rites (10.22/10.15), caring enough to take in a-yuan, upright enough to still spend his years going where the chaos is.

just with this one action, the audience knows he has come to terms with realizing that authority isn't always just, and neither is the public opinion/opinion of other gentlemen. he has reconciled. this is him standing for what he believes is right. this is his devotion. this is his own choice. just. poetic cinema...

anyway that's it for my first meta post! i would love to hear your thoughts, feelings, opinions, discussions, other meta ideas, whatever! thank u for reading! <3

#its My post and i get to pick the subplot #i have...brainworms #wwx and lwj are foils in the public image theme change my mind #mdzs #mdzs meta #lan wangji #mo dao zu shi #stfu #meta

389 notes · View notes