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goddamnwebcomics · 2 months

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To bring back this old conversation, I’m fully aware of the longevity and rigid yet inconsistent update schedule of a lot of webcomics. The problem I mainly have is that most webcomics, usually the ones with an overarching plot or narrative, tend to stretch their mysteries out for too long, or worse, spend time on mysteries that are the least important or interesting part of a story. An ongoing mystery that may have been going on for over a decade or two and yet drags out and drip feeds so little information that it becomes both frustrating and utterly pointless to the overall themes, interpersonal character writing, and plot of a webcomic. I’m not faulting an author for how they enjoy the pieces of their story being picked up by their readers, but I am if they have a mystery that’s only filled with questions and rarely, if not never, feels like they’re ever close to a clear answer or good-sounding implication for the next several years. There’s only so much that can be stretched for that.

For something easier and more current, see Peter and Company’s ongoing mystery about the Guardians. Since day one, these guys have just had an ongoing mystery written around them about what the specifics of their jobs are, how their power apparently works, where they came from, and what they are exactly. Somehow close to 20 years, the author still seems to drip feed information at a constant snail pace whenever he just feels like being a cheeky fucker about it, and most range from pretty basic (their general roles for helping troubled children) to just being plain insipid (they’re immortal and they’re sort of multilingual). The lore around the Guardians is far too vague and frustrating to really care about. The information can only be seen as neat to someone like me, but it is not worth spending so much time thinking about, regardless of how many seeds Jon drops around them. It’s the least important thing in the comic compared to what anyone really comes here for. You know, like the interactions and relationship of a guardian with the child they’re watching over and guiding in life and how it might affect one or the other before and after a job is done, something Jon is good at showing when he needs to. The lore is barely even a window dressing worthy of acknowledgement.

Come to think about it, worldbuilding is almost the same to me, really. Sure, it’s important enough for some growing investment in a story, but it’s mainly just there to set up the setting and location. It’s not something to be invested completely in when there are character arcs and storylines with said characters to care more about. It gets even dumber if a webcomic is a slice-of-life or even sitcom that may or may not be placed in a fantasy world, like Las Lindas. It never should’ve gotten so up in its own ass about wanting to be about something, yet refusing to go in any straight direction like all of the Knighthood crap it decided to shove in later on. It most likely would’ve been fine if the people writing it just played to its strengths of being an interpersonal slice-of-life story about people on a farm needing to work through their pasts and issues on a farm, if I’m allowed to be so crude about it. Just something that definitely sucks the more you look back on it.

You are right about guardian lore and it is extremely annoying. I really hope that after the current arc we FINALLY get SOMETHING close to a revelation. And if the revelation is disappointing, I don’t blame anyone but Jon for taking so long with it. But also you’re right that it technically doesn’t matter that much, like the Guardian Lore isn’t that important all things considered aside from few vague gestures, like Seth’s letter or Persephoni’s grandkids. I don’t think outside of those instances, it’s not blatantly robbing away from character interactions.

I do agree with you on how Las Lindas got way up its own ass, but also I would argue, since Las Lindas is infamous for never having any conflict, that the Knighthood stuff should make things a little bit less monotonous, but I think at the end of the day it should have been kept to its own comic. All the other Las Lindas comics are not necessary in any way shape or form, Knighthood would have helped us to get to know about the history of this world without taking away from the character arcs of the main comic.

Stephen King’s statement about worldbuilding however, it is hypocritical for him to say it because dude’s writing is fucking filled with worldbuilding, his stories constantly drop easter eggs that only hardcore readers get, and he has many times gotten up his own ass about how his world is this “grand connected universe” and as a result has sometimes downright destroyed elements of dozens of stories at once, like the ending of Dark Tower. I know that it’s Twitter, and Twitter’s character limits have destroyed people’s sense of communication and created multiple previously unknown to science learning and behaviour disabilities, but Stephen should have actually elaborated his statement, because now he looks like a fucking idiot, much like 99% of Twitter whenever they say ANYTHING about ANYTHING, no exceptions.

Well-written world is like good eyesight, you can see everything that is necessary to see, but the best focus is on the main story. A comic with bad worldbuilding is like tunnel vision, you have no idea what the world is like and there are too many unnecessary mysteries the creator will never get into, or if they do, they’re only explained in a 50,000 word LiveJournal page that nobody will read. A comic with distracting worldbuilding like Las Lindas is visual snow syndrome, there’s too much going on and it is difficult to really focus on the main story.

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jameswilliamjw · 2 years

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Suggestions for Effective Family Therapy

My mother and I have had a rocky relationship for most of my life. Everyone has family difficulties, but such vague promises from outsiders never helped us resolve our pointless arguments or how I felt. Even though I was unsure of what to do, I knew it had to end.

The greatest disputes in life may often be traced back to family ties. They may last decades and are often complex. Many people have persistent sentiments of anger and bitterness as a result of the constant drip of unsolved disputes and personality conflicts. However, there is a solution to this. A promising line of action is known as family therapy.

Taking a Chance on It

Family therapy is a team-based, all-inclusive procedure that emphasises the family as a whole. Family therapists are experienced in resolving a wide range of disputes, including those brought on by poor communication, alienation, money troubles, divorce, a death in the family, and more.

Before beginning treatment, there may be a moment when you won't want to go. Definitely not me. Mom, for one, didn't. It wasn't enjoyable to have to sort through years' worth of conflicts. But if we don't face the past, we'll inevitably make the same errors again. You could get the answer you've been looking for via therapy. It's crucial to give it a go.

Selecting the Best Therapist

I felt at ease throughout our first few sessions, which gave me confidence that the family therapist I selected was efficient. I was certain that I could be honest with her. I also never hated speaking during class. Regarding my mother, she also mentioned borderline and narcissistic personality disorders. Because my therapist was able to see it early on, it gave me even more reason to believe in her knowledge.

It's OK to search for another therapist if you think the current one is ineffective. Most therapists, in my experience, don't take it personally. In fact, they urged my family to locate the ideal environment for us. In a therapy partnership, your comfort level and capacity for open communication are crucial.

Your therapist will eventually discover how your family communicates. While some families spend the minutes with solitude, other families speak more loudly than others. In stressful situations, some family members could retreat while others might become hostile. These distinctions will be noted by your therapist, who will then direct you all individually.

How to Conduct Successful Therapy Sessions

A 50-minute treatment session takes place once a week on average. It takes very little time for many individuals to resolve a lot of problems. Here are a few suggestions for productive therapy sessions to help you make the most of your time with your therapist.

Prior to treatment, get ready. Everyone in the family should make a list of any questions or concerns they have.

Consider carefully what you'll say to any family members with whom you don't get along before you have the opportunity to speak.

Maintain your resolve and decorum.

Be composed while you speak.

Try to avoid arguing.

You could think that your family's long-standing disputes will never be resolved. But it's conceivable. Your family may strengthen its ties, resolve past disputes, and mend old wounds through listening and moderation. Or maybe you'll decide that it's time to move on. Although it may have been controversial for some, I felt that the decision to have less contact with my mother was the correct one. I no longer feel guilty about not being able to get along with others. I'm certain that I would continue to have a very intimate and turbulent connection with her absent treatment.

I often advise family therapy to people since for me, it was such a strong and pleasant experience. Even the tougher, painful sessions were required. Without them, I would not have been able to recognise unhealthy behavioural patterns, comprehend my sadness, take charge of my life, and grasp what I needed to do to make a difference.

Family therapy is a safe space to go through uncomfortable emotions and make progress, so there is nothing to be afraid of. Your family will base any choices you make on serious consideration and discussion. Without the assistance of my therapist, I am certain that I would not have made the same decisions as I do now.

#Christianfamilycounseling #familytherapyminnesota #familytherapywhitebearlake

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hereforhalstead · 3 years

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Tell me that when you’re sober

*Gif not mine, credits to the owner*

• Pairing: Jay Halstead x Reader 18+

• Requested: Yes:

“I fucking love you”

“Hang up and tell me when you’re sober”

• Warnings: Swearing - PURE FLUFF

• Summary: Jay isn’t happy with you bringing work home but leads to a confession he’s wanted to tell you for a long time.

• Words: 4215

• A/N :I slightly adapted this to fit it better and intended for this to be a short fluff but 4000 words later.. here we are😅Thanks so much for your request and hope you enjoy!

You groan and throw your pen down onto the table, this case was really getting the best of you and frustrating you to no end. You look up at the time to see ‘10.30’ flashing in the green light back at you. You run your fingers through your hair which was now borderline greasy with how much you had been absentmindedly running your hands through it as you’re deep in thought. Eyes burning from how much you had been straining them and a slight blister on your finger with how hard you’d been holding the pen as you cross examine the notes intently.

You didn’t realise how quiet the apartment was, the faintest noise from your neighbours TV and the cars rushing past on the street below was all you could make out. This wasn’t like you, you basked in the liveliness and thrived in busy environments, the ones where you barely have time to think so therefore don’t spend much time on the outcome. You picked the pen back up to click it on the papers that were spread out in a manic like fashion in front of you, it made sense to you but if someone else was to see they’d think you’d just picked up the lot and thrown them down in a huff.

You scan over the CCTV stills and traffic cam screenshots, as if you hadn’t been staring at them for god knows how many hours and by a much needed miracle something was going to jump out at you and you’d have your lightbulb moment. Instead, you’re greeted with the same dead end paths and pointless thoughts you’d been fighting relentlessly.

You hear the keys turn in the lock and normally you’d be out of your seat and over to him in a heartbeat, your feet hitting the floor as if you were a kid at Christmas on your way to see what Santa left under the tree but today wasn’t that kind of day. You tried to tell yourself it was just because you were tired and it wasn’t that you didn’t want to admit you’d had another night of little success after being warned about bringing the work home by Jay several times. He always loved to prove a point and you weren’t about to let him get another one over on you, you couldn’t handle those eyes boring down on you as he stands behind you to examine you work, even if it meant lying to him.

You jolt in your seat as you feel him rest his hands on your shoulders before dropping a kiss to the top of your head “why are you still working? How many times have I told you..” he trails off but you’re quick to cut him off with your best ‘I’m fine’ smile “Jay, I’m finally getting somewhere” you falsely admit and feel the pit of guilt instantly form in your stomach as his eyes light up, he probes his thumbs into your skin in a light massage “proud of you” he softly confesses as he continues kneeding your skin.

If you weren’t so determined to get this case tied up this easily would’ve lead somewhere else but you had your focused mind at work and nothing was going to change that. He remains standing over you as you scribble pointless notes onto your notepad, highlighting the odd name and photo as you go as if to convey you had some trail of thought but really you were just buying yourself time until he left your side.

A few minutes go by but to you it feels like hours, you hate what you’ve become in that you find yourself dreading seeing Jay when you bring your work home. Knowing he was right in what he says and that he only says it because he cares but you always wanted to prove yourself and especially to him. He managed to get you into Voight’s good books after pissing him off one too many times, you had a back bone and even though most of the time this was an admiral quality it sometimes backfired.

You and Voight disagreed regularly but you had now learnt how and when to bite your tongue for the best result in cases but there were times you just couldn’t. After coming to blows and being sent to ‘get some air and cool off’ Jay was quick to plead with Voight for your job back and luckily it worked and you were back in the department the next morning. This lead to you now feeling this internal debt had to be paid to your boyfriend to prove you deserved your place and it was worth him sticking his neck on the line.

The pair of you became increasingly serious, starting as partners with the occasional flirty comment or glance soon lead to the regular sting of jealousy or worry which was now the feeling of emptiness when you weren’t together. Some may say you moved on fast, having only been together just under a year and already basically living together. However, due to the uncertainty of your job you decided to not hesitate and wait for when everyone else said it was right and do what felt right for the pair of you. Even if this did mean earning raised brows from Jay when he comes home from a late night to see you hunched over a stack of paperwork that you’d bought home, god knows how many times you’d seen him do it but for some reason it was a different ball game when it came to you.

It pulled at your heart how caring he was, always keeping an eye out for you and sometimes even more for you than himself. As much as there’s endless amounts of perks for dating your partner it sure did come with its consequences and you learnt them faster than you were expecting. Jay throwing himself into danger because it meant protecting you, you leading on suspects on undercover missions to try and get them to confess to which Jay hated and heated debates on the best way to handle a case were just a handful to name a few.

But, despite all of those you truly wouldn’t have it any other way, as you see it as spending as much time with him as possible and being grateful to have him beside you and always in your corner no matter how he feels, he will always back and argue for you.

After Jay strolls into the bedroom to change into some comfier clothes you start to fold some of the papers to create a bit more space, the thought of waking up to this mess wasn’t the ideal situation as you’d find yourself working on them at the crack of dawn and hardly in the right frame of mind to work. That was Jay’s one rule that he never budged on ‘put it all away before you go to bed’, he had hammered this into your head hundreds of times that it became natural for you at this point.

Neatly shuffling the papers to stack them in a pile on the side, helped you to resist the temptation to take a peak at the late or early hours when you should be asleep. He caught you one time glancing at an open file at the dead of night and he was not happy to say the least so knew he had to put his foot down. He knew you were like him and would work until a case was done but unlike him, you rarely knew when to stop.

He would know when his vision starts to loose focus from staring at a screen for too long or he gets a headache from the scrunch between his brows as he examines some notes that it was time to call it a day whereas you, would pop a few painkillers and carry on.

You hear Jay’s phone ring from the other room, not really taking much notice as you continue to fold the papers and shuffle them in a pile but can’t ignore when he comes bounding out of the room over to you “Baby, Adam and Kim are down at Molly’s. You wanna go?” He asks and normally you struggle to turn down such an invite but tonight you just weren’t feeling it and it’s as if you not replying instantly already told Jay you didn’t want to go as his face falls “let me call you back” he mumbles into the phone before shoving it into his back pocket.

He continues in his strides over to you and crouches down in front of you, taking your hand in his as he places a light kiss to your palm “please don’t tell me you’re going to sit here and work and make me go to Molly’s alone?” He pleads, eyes in puppy dog form as by now he knows the best way to get to you.

You run your hand over his disheveled hair as he leans into your touch “I think I’m just gonna have a shower and head to bed” you lie through your teeth, knowing full well the second he steps out the door you’ll be back knee deep in your files with the added extra of knowing you won’t be interrupted by your concerned boyfriend.

He scans your face with a concerned look on his own, lightly running his thumb over your knuckles as he sighs “you promise me you’re not going to carry on working and that you’ll give yourself an early night?” He rightfully asks, you nod in response thinking to yourself that you can’t verbally promise as you were one to never break promises and especially when it came to Jay.

He reaches up to plant his lips on yours, lingering them for a few seconds before standing tall in front of you “give me a call if you want me come home”. He reaches to tuck a piece of hair behind your ear and you instantly regret not allowing yourself for be bundled into his arms as you crawl into his lap for the night but you knew you weren’t nearly as done with the case as you’d like and the only way you could continue was if he wasn’t there.

He heads into the kitchen to grab the coat he left on the counter but is back at your side within seconds, placing a glass of water on the table in alongside another kiss being left on the top of your head “make sure you drink that please baby” his voice slightly elevates in concern and you can’t contain the smile that spreads on your face at his worry for you.

“have a good time” you call out to him as he heads for the door “text me when you’re in bed and I want proof!” He yells over his shoulder and without looking you can see the smirk engraved onto his face “get out Halstead” you tease, earning a wink from your boyfriend as he exits the apartment to leave you again in total silence.

You pick up the glass of water he left and take a sip, struggling to think of the last time you hydrated yourself and thankful he knows when to think of these things for you. You lean back in your chair and cross your legs beneath you, slight hunch in your back from the pain of being in the chair for so long and now wishing you were still receiving the massage from Jay that you desperately craved. You shake your head to clear the the thoughts and pour yourself back into the notes. Re reading the interview script over and over again, eventually reaching for your phone to find the recording you’d sent yourself before you left the district to be able to listen back at home.

You chew the inside of your cheek at the sight of your lock screen, a photo you’d taken of Jay on vacation just after the pair of you became an item. His back was towards you and he didn’t even realise you snapped the photo of him looking out from the balcony window at the gorgeous beach front below, reminding yourself that everything you do is for him. As cringy as it sounds, you longed for his approval and praise as he was always so vocal about it, wrapping you in his arms after you finish a case report, sitting you between his legs as you work late on a report with the occasional kiss to your shoulder to remind you her was there or the way he just knows how’s to give you that look that says ‘you’ve got this’ was what kept you going.

You click play on the recording and sink back into your chair as it plays, leaning your notepad on your legs as you listen along. Laughing to yourself when Jay looses his temper or Voight makes a snarky comment to which they both laugh to made the listening all that much easier as it seemed to drag on for hours.

You checked the length of the audio on your phone and the combined clips had only been playing for just over an hour. With the faffing around when Jay came home and the breaks you took to replay certain parts, the time had soon passed. The clock now beaming down on you with the time flashing ‘12.45am’ made you toss your head back in frustration. You’d been round and round in circles, still getting no where and conscious of the fact Jay would be home soon.

You certainly didn’t want him to find you like this as you’d never hear the end of it, you have a stern word with yourself and play back Jay’s warning of packing everything away as you finally close the files you’d been staring at for far too long. You push them to one side and prop your head on your elbows on the the table, you finish the glass of water that had been sat at your side that was truly collecting dust at this point due to you forgetting about it. You glance down at your phone to see a text from Jay flash up on the screen

‘You in bed yet baby? Not seen any proof..’

You roll your eyes as you just know he’s been impatiently sat there waiting to hear from you ever since he left just a few hours earlier. You stare at the screen to debate whether it’s best to ignore it and pretend you’re already asleep or to lie to him again for the second time that night. You’re soon interrupted as his name lights up the screen, his toothy grin staring back at you from the contact photo he had set for himself after a night out reminding you how ‘you always make me smile so you deserve to see it when I call you’.

You hesitate to pick up but know he won’t stop until you answer, after having a few drinks the last thing you want is for him to bound home to you in a mood about how you didn’t answer his call. You sigh and slide the button to answer the call and can barely contain your laughter as you hear his drunken slurs on the other end of the line

‘You haven’t answered me you know?’ he moans, annoyance in his tone but also sounding like a child who hasn’t got their own way at the same time. You laugh to yourself but careful to not let him hear as this wouldn’t go down well “ was asleep” you hang your head in shame as you yet again lie.

‘Why are you lying to me? You were working weren’t you?’ He accuses and you’re stumped on how to reply, even without being with you he knows you better than anyone to which you always seem to forget. He huffs on the other end of the line after he doesn’t get a response, knowing he has you cornered. ‘Y/N please, just get to bed and I’ll be home shortly’.

“I’m just packing it away Jay, I only had a few more bits I wanted to do. I promise” you nibble on your fingertips in slight nervousness as he continues to groan down the phone.

‘What, like how you promised me you were gonna give yourself an early night you mean?’ He questions but you’re quick to reply “well actually, I never promised I just nodded” you chuckle to yourself, feeling clever with your response but Jay isn’t happy.

“Y/N I’m just looking out for you, I care about you too much to see you draining yourself over these things” he begins and before you can get a breath in he carries on his drunken rambles “I love you too fucking much to watch you not look after yourself, as much as I love to be the one who takes care of you I can’t be there all the time so I need to know you can put yourself first baby” you’re silent after his admission, unsure if he’s even aware of what he’s just spilled out

“Do you know what you just said?” You tease, trying to lighten the subject but the sigh on the other end tells you he was still in a mood.

“Yes Y/N, I said I love you too fucking much to watch you destroy yourself” he expresses in outrage but you were in too much of a shock to think of a clever reply “hang up and tell me that when you’re sober Jay”.

“I’ll be home soon” he cuts the conversation short before ending the call, you take a moment before placing your phone back on the table and you try to comprehend what just happened. He said I love you.

Fair enough it wasn’t in the way you had envisioned, him confessing his love for you as you lay wrapped within his arms or him accidentally spilling his admiration during a teasing session you often had but he still said it. Whether he meant or it was just a drunk slip up was another question. You couldn’t let yourself say it back in case he woke up tomorrow and didn’t remember, it would pain you to let the last piece of your guard down for him to take it all back the next morning and the whole thing becomes a distant memory.

You finish tidying away the papers, patting yourself on the back for the great job you’d done of making it look like you hadn’t spent hours on end sat at that table, it now gleaming the exact way it did this morning. You place the glass back onto the kitchen counter and trudge into the bedroom, thudding down onto the bed as you lay staring at the ceiling. Wrapping yourself in the comforter and attempting to close your eyes but nothing was enough to push down that anxious feeling in your stomach. This isn’t how you should be feeling after your boyfriend says I love you for the first time and even though you’d both wanted to say it for a while it still didn’t seem real. You didn’t deserve him, all the things he does for you and the way he takes care of you didn’t seem feasible in your mind that it would happen to someone like you.

Moments pass and you hear the front door shut, his attempts to be quiet made you laugh into the pillow as you hear him lightly walk across the hardwood floor. Bumping into the doorframe as he enters, grateful the comforter covering your face to avoid him seeing your amusement of his drunken self trying to be quiet and navigate his way to the bed. You stay laying on your side, hand tucked under the pillow beneath your head and the other resting on your stomach. You hear his belt unbuckle and watch hit the beside table as he gets himself undressed, tempted to turn over and help him but knowing he would still moan at you for being awake no matter what state he was in.

You force your eyes closed, keeping your head slightly buried into the pillow as you feel the bed dip beside you. Within seconds you feel the all too familiar comfort of his arm latching around you, pulling you into him in one swift motion as he tucks his head into the nape of your neck. Your heart flutters as you feel him place a kiss to your back before further pulling you into him, any chance of a gap between the pair of you was well and truly diminished.

You stay facing away from him, now far too comfortable to move and knowing he will be asleep within seconds, as long as he was by your side and you were wrapped tightly within the safety of his grasp he would sleep anywhere. You soon feel the light puffs of air to your skin as he falls into a sleep, the occasional nudge into your back as he gets himself comfortable but after a while he lays still to signal he was finally asleep.

You lay there trying to ignore your thoughts, cursing yourself for being such an over thinker as the one who had sent you into this spiral now laid passed out beside you, unbeknownst to the panic he set off inside you as he falls deeper into his slumber. You run your hand up and down his arm to sooth yourself to sleep, thinking to yourself of how you’re going to forget what happened and tomorrow will be a new day.

***

You awake to the sunlight peering through the window, annoyed at yourself for not closing the blinds before you went to bed as the rays shine in your eyes. You turn in Jay’s grasp and jolt in his arms as you’re met with him softly smiling back at you “morning” he groans, his normal groggy morning voice now made more intense with the slight hangover he would soon be facing. You drop your head to lay on his chest, pressing your lips to his skin as he runs his fingertips up and down your spine and resting his head on top of yours as you lay in a comfortable silence. “Good night?” You break the air, knowing he certainly wasn’t in the mood to be talkative but if you didn’t have some form of interaction from him you’d go insane.

“Wasn’t the same without my girl” he tightens his grip on your waist, a soft pinch of your skin as he teases “but she was at home working when she promised me she wouldn’t, clearly choosing work over her boyfriend” he huffs into the top of your head as you bury yourself further into his chest.

“don’t go there” you warn as he chuckles in response “choosing to look at old case notes than spending time with your boyfriend, that’s a tough one” he continues to ramble, you detach yourself from him and turn to face him with stern look “I said don’t go there”you warn but he pouts his bottom lip at you as he raises his brow. You narrow your eyes at him and he cracks his serious exterior, bringing his hand to the back of your head as he brings it to him to connect his lips to your temple “It’s a good job I love you” he mumbles into your skin, pressing his lips onto yours for a brief second before allowing himself to pull back and admire your expression of shock.

“You remembered?” You question, still nervous he wouldn’t have a clue what you were talking about. “Of course I remember, you think I’d forget when I first tell my girlfriend I love her?” He tilts his head as he asks, you lean your head down onto him as he clears his throat “would help me if you said it back though, bit embarrassing if I’m the only one to say it” he jokes, grin encompassing his morning glow as he gloats “I love you too idiot” you roll your eyes at him, bringing your lips onto his for a chaste kiss. He brings his hand up your back and tousles it into your hair, keeping you in place as your lips intertwine before pulling back and running his eyes over the happiness beaming from your face “you have no idea how long I’ve waited to hear you say that”.

inbox and requests open🥰

#jay halstead x reader #one chicago #chicago pd #chicago pd imagine #jay halstead drabble #jay halstead imagine #jay halstead smut #jay halstead #one chicago x reader #jay halstead x you

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anonymousfiction211 · 3 years

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You always have a choice: 1

Summary: Loki and you are in prison together. An oppertunity presents itself and the two fo you can escape. But things take an unexpected turn.

Word count: 3.585 words

Warnings: Angst, mention of torture and abuse (but not in detail what happened), eventually smut!

A/N: Hope you like it! If you have any ideas, requests or comments, plese let me know.

Click here for chapter 2

‘Can you breathe any louder?’ Loki asked you irritatingly. Like your punishment couldn’t get any worse, you had to share a cell with the God of Mischief and Lies. The only upside was his mother, making sure he had plenty of books, a comfy chair, and a table. She even got him a bed, even tough it was one bed. Even her influence was limited, but you were more than grateful for these extra’s in your shared cell. Of course, Loki wouldn’t let you sleep in the bed. No, you should be happy he was not making you sleep on the floor. He gave you the chair to sleep in instead, bastard.

‘What was that, dear?’ you asked innocently. You knew how annoyed he would get when you called him by a nickname. Loki certainly was a dominant man, and nicknames was not something he accepted. You smirked when he didn’t answer you, he just grumbled at the name you gave him. You grabbed one of his books and began to read it. You were halfway the first chapter when you hear an annoying voice say ‘Who told you that you could grab my things?’

‘Come on, I’m bored out of my mind. It’s not like you need all these books at the same time’ you argued back. Loki, who was sitting on the floor against the wall, got up and strut towards you. He slapped the book out of your hands. The book went flying against the wall, the barrier burned it a bit. It made a hard sound when it hit the floor. ‘Those are MINE’ he growled. He didn’t move from his position, trying to dominate you with his stance. You were still sitting on the floor on the opposite side from where he sat. You weren’t having this. You looked him straight in his eyes ‘The fact that I’m stuck in here is also YOURS’ you said back.

Loki gave you a mean glare but returned to his original position, sitting across the ground on the other side of the cell. You had to admit, it wasn’t entirely his fault that the two of you were stuck in this cell. You had to steal the Tesseract from Odin’s fault, and it took a long time planning the heist too. Everything was in place, until he had to ruin it, of course. You knew he was planning on taking the Tesseract himself, some people close to him told you. But the idiot hadn’t taking into account the new alarm system. So, when he set it off the guards were gathering around you. They saw you holding the Tesseract and Loki standing right behind you. Your explanation to the Allfather didn’t matter, what you did was wrong and both of you needed to be punished.

You could handle the imprisonment, it wasn’t the first time you were. But imprisonment with him was. And you knew he hated it as much as you. You were convinced the only reason Odin put you in a cell together, was to add a sting to Loki’s sentence. You looked around the prison, your cell was the only on with furniture and books, thanks to Frigga. How the other prisoners coped, you did not know. You turned your attention back to Loki. He licked the tip of his index finger and turned a page. You got up and sat in the chair, also known as your bed.

‘Loki, I’m bored’ you whined to him. ‘That is not my problem, tell someone who cares’ he replied. ‘You are the only one here’ you sighed. ‘How lucky are you’ he said sarcastically. ‘What, if you weren’t there I wouldn’t be caught. Unlike you, I had an escape plan´ you argued. Loki just smirked ‘What was your escape plan on Jotunheim?’ he asked. The remark gave you flashbacks to the time you tried to steal the source of powers from the Frost Giants. But Loki interrupted you suddenly, because he was there with Thor and the Warrior Three on a different quest. You hadn’t had an escape plan and spend the next six months in this prison. After that you ran into him in a sleezy bar far away from Asgard, right before he tried to take over Midgard. You should have known he faked his death. Even tough you hated him, you had to admit he didn’t look like himself. He looked awful.

When you heard the Tesseract was on Midgard, you went yourself. When you saw him on Midgard he looked even more terrible. His hair was a mess, he had dark circles under his eyes and was walking with a limp. Something that was weir, considering he healed fast. But you didn’t care, you had a mission the finish. If you didn’t you would pay for it with your life. It was annoying that Loki himself wanted the same thing you were after. You felt Loki trying to invade your mind. ‘Stop it’ you yelled. Hoping that he would, because you didn’t know how to stop this kind of attack. Loki just smirked and returned to his book.

Your favourite guard brought the two of you your lunch. ‘Thank you, Baldar’ you said when he opened a small part of the barrier and slide two meals inside. ‘My pleasure’ Balder replied politely. You saw Loki role his eyes at the interaction, but he didn’t say anything, You grabbed your tray and began to eat the meal, it tasted terrible. ‘How is it?’ Loki asked. ‘What do you think?’’ you replied. Loki got up, grabbed his tray, and tasted it You smiled when you saw his face scrunch. ‘I may have found something more terrible than you’ he said while scrunching his face.

The rest of the midday, you two didn’t speak to each other. You grabbed another book and luckily Loki didn’t smash it from you. The lights were going off and you realised was night-time. You had enough of the chair you were sleeping in and decided to lay down on the bed. ‘What do you think you’re doing?’ Loki asked, when he saw you laying down in his bed. ‘I’m going to sleep you answered while pulling the blankets closer to your chest. Loki must have been tired because he didn’t argue with you. He just sighed and walked towards the bed.

He laid beside you. Just before you drifted to sleep, he grabbed your throat. ‘What game are you playing?’ he asked. You tried to not be intimidated ‘Look, I needed the Tesseract, I wasn’t planning to use it for my own. But even if I do get out now, I’m in trouble’ you finally snapped. You had no interest in telling him your problems, but knew that lying to him was pointless. Loki didn’t say anything for a long time. He let go of your throat and laid back down facing you. ‘What if I’m in that predicament too?’ he asked you. You didn’t know how to respond to that. Loki could never know that you encountered Thanos and that he expected you to deliver the Tesseract. He didn’t have to know what you went trough, it was too painful to think about. You didn’t know what situation Loki got himself into, but you couldn’t let him best you anymore. Thanos’ patience had run out and you were in serious trouble. ‘Trust me, it’s not the same’ you replied. You closed your eyes and turned around.

It was the middle of the night when you woke from a loud explosion. ‘What is happening?’ you asked. You looked around your cell and saw another cell with its barrier breached. A prisoner was freeing some of the other inmates from different cells. This was your chance! Before you moved you felt one of Loki’s arms retracting from your sides. ‘Well, good luck to you, daring’ he purred. Was he just cuddling you? You decided not to dwell on it. You grumbled at him, you hated when he called you by a nickname, and you knew he knew that. The prison was now absolute in chaos. Guards were running around, and more and more barriers were breached. It didn’t take long before the barrier of your cell was broken. Loki and you exchanged a look before running in the opposite way from each other.

The chaos was your moment of opportunity. You ran towards the vault, there were only two guards guarding the door. You took them both out quickly and entered the vault. You ran to the end of the hall. There you saw it, the emulating light blue cube that you needed to escape whatever death Thanos had in store for you. You picked up the Tesseract when you heard a voice behind you ‘I wouldn’t do that if I were you’.

‘You have no idea what you’re talking about. Just leave me alone’ you said.

‘If you bring him that he is just going to send you to get another stone. If you fail him you die, if you don’t and he succeeds that chance of you dying is about 50 percent’ Loki told you.

You just stared at Loki with wide eyes. ‘How do you know that?’ you asked. He took a few steps towards you, standing very close before you. ‘I’ve been doing everything in my power to stop Thanos, you on the other hand have not been making that task easy’ he growled.

‘How do you know about him?’ you yelled.

‘There was a time he thought I was working for him. I know more about him than you might think’ he answered.

‘Then you know I have no choice, I’ll be dead if I don’t do this’

‘I didn’t do it and I’m still alive’ he quipped back.

‘Unlike you I don’t have magic to help me’ you took a step back and turned around. Ready to teleport with the Tesseract out of the vault. Loki grabbed your wrist and spun you back around. ‘You have me’ he said.

‘What?’ you asked absolutely stunned. ‘There’s always a choice, darling. You have three options. One, you give him the stone and probably die serving him the rest of your life. Two, you hide on your own, but he surely finds you and you die anyway. And don’t for a second think it would be quick and painless. We both know Thanos doesn’t do that.’ Tears were starting to form in your eyes, thinking back to all the torture you had been put trough. You noticed the look in Loki’s eyes, you saw something vulnerable in them. ‘What is the third one?’ you asked. ‘You come with me, I’ll keep you safe. And we think of a plan to stop him’ he gave you a genuine smile.

‘You hate me, why would you do that?’ you asked.

‘Just because we’re enemies doesn’t mean I hate you. We both did what needed to be done to survive. But, you have 10 seconds to decide before an army of guards burst through those doors’

For a few seconds you looked at him and thought over your options. Did you really have a choice? you thought. ‘Fine, I’ll go with you’ you said before your time was up. Loki engulfed you in a hug and a green shimmer formed around you. You started to feel dizzy and closed your eyes, leaning on Loki. You heard him chuckle. ‘As much as I enjoy this, you can open your eyes and let go now’ he said. You did as he said and found yourself standing in the middle of a cottage. ‘Where are we?’ you asked. ‘My safehouse somewhere in the woods on Midgard. You can relax, Thanos won’t find you here. I put up shields, nobody knows we’re here’ he answered.

You moved around the cottage. It was slightly bigger than the cell you just escaped from. There was a fire burning in the hearth, with in front of it a very comfy looking couch. There was a big bookcase with a desk and a comfortable lounge chair. The kitchen was small, but all the essentials were there. There was one door which led to the bathroom, with only a shower, sink, and a toilet. When you closed the door and stood in the main room you noticed that there was one large bed. You glared at Loki ‘I’m not sleeping in a chair again’ you said. Loki laughed ‘The bed is big enough for two, I think you’ll be fine’

‘One thing, I need you to hand me the Tesseract. My shiels may hide us, but they can still sense it is here’

You doubted giving him the cube. He saw the doubt in your eyes. ‘I made a promise to keep you safe, all you need to do is trust me’ he added.

‘Would you trust you?’ you asked.

‘Probably not, but I need you to’ he said back.

You took a deep breath and gave him the Tesseract. What choice did you have anyway? A green shimmer started to shine over the cube, and it slowly disappeared in his hands. He gave you a reassuring smile. Despite the fire burning you felt a little cold. ‘I’m going back to bed’ you said. Loki nodded, followed you and laid down next to you. Even tough the bed had room for four people in it, Loki laid close enough for you to feel his warmth. The orange light of the fire was dancing over his face, and you noticed that Loki was quite an attractive man. The only thing you wanted to do that moment was cuddle closer, lay on his chest and fall asleep while he was holding you close to him. You were wondering what sparked these feelings. You never thought about him that way. But then again, this was the first time you felt safe in a very long time. He made you feel safe.

‘See something you like?’ Loki smirked. That was when you realized that you were staring a bit too long at him. You felt yourself starting to blush. You wanted to turn around, but Loki put a hand on your shoulder to stop you. He moved closer to you and you froze, not knowing how to react. He didn’t stop until his lips almost touched yours. He looked in your eyes intently, waiting for you to make a move. You shut your eyes and closed the distance between the two of you. His lips started to move softly against yours. The way his lips felt on yours, you needed more, more of him. You put a hand on his neck and deepened the kiss. Loki eagerly returned your affection by sliding his tongue in your mouth. His hand trailed from your shoulder to your lower back. He pulled you closer to him. You put a hand under his t-shirt, starting to explore his chest and abbs. Loki started to kiss down your neck and you felt him smile against your skin.

He stopped to crawl on top of you and removed his shirt. You couldn’t keep his hands off him. He ducked back down to kiss you. He starting to kiss you deeper and faster. Your hands started to stroke his back and you opened your legs to pull him closer. He moaned into your mouth. It spurred you on to undo the button of his pants. ‘Eager, aren’t you?’ Loki smirked at you. You stayed silence and pulled his pants from his bottom. He helped you by taking them off completely. You tried to pull him down to kiss you, but he grabbed your hands and put them down beside your head. ‘Now, I don’t think this is quite fair’ he said. ‘Well, I always was a few steps ahead of you’ you smirked. Loki let out a low growl. He found the clasp of your dress and unlocked it, immediately pulling the fabric from your body. You laid beneath him, in your lingerie. ‘If I knew you were this underneath your clothes, I would have done this much sooner’ he whispered to you.

He started to kiss you, while his hands were roaming your body. You did the same and couldn’t help but land your hands on his butt. You give him a light squeeze, making Loki moan hard. You really liked this side of him. He undid your bra and hooked his fingers on the side of your thong. ‘Wait’ you said. Loki immediately froze and looked at you questionably. ‘What’s wrong?’ he asked. You felt a little bad, seeing the worry in his eyes. ‘Nothing, I just want you to undress first’ you smirked at him. Luckily, your comment put the twinkle back in his eyes. ‘Have you earned that?’ he challenged you. ‘I’ve bested you in most situations, so yeah, I’ve earned it’ you grinned widely at him. He just chuckled ‘I will let you think that, but you still haven’t earned it, darling’ he said. He pulled your thong down and you were now completely naked underneath him.

‘You look absolutely beautiful’ he sighed while kissing your stomach, trailing downwards. You thought he was going for your clit, but instead he just resumes kissing you. His lips went to your hips and your upper thigh, down towards your knees. He trailed back upwards, but still was avoiding the place you needed him the most. ‘Loki’ you panted. ‘Hmm, say that again’ he hummed. His lips trailed further upwards until he reached your neck. ‘Loki, please’ you panted again. You felt him hum again, and he sunk his teeth in your neck. You hissed from the sudden action, he didn’t bite down hard, it was enough for you to feel alive but not hard enough to actually pierce your skin. ‘If you want something, all you got to do is ask’ he purred. ‘You really think you got the upper hand here, do you?’ you asked. Loki didn’t have to answer you, his face said it all. He did.

That’s when you bucked your hips and rolled against his. You felt his erection clearly through his fabric. Your wetness left a small stain on his boxers, only adding friction to your movement. Loki let out a silent moan. He replicates the movement and didn’t stop. The fabric of his boxers between the two of you felt thicker each time he slid it against your core. Loki let out a hard growl ‘Fuck it’ he said. You were a bit shocked, you never heard Loki curse before, he always kept his composure. He leaned back a bit and undid himself of his boxer. He laid back down on top of you, putting more weight on you than before. ‘Normally I would play with you for hours, but right now I need you’ he whispered in your ear. Without any hesitation you opened your legs more and felt Loki enter you. He certainly was bigger than you first anticipated. He filled you up like you never had before. You felt every movement he made, every vein on his cock and it felt like Valhalla itself. Loki, who was thrusting slowly in and almost out of you, picked up the pace. The length of his erection reached all the way to your G-spot. The way he hit that sensitive spot inside of you made squeeze around his cock. He started to moan, grunt and curse under his breath.

He didn’t slow down. The way he fucked you could only be described as animalistic. Like he was denied his release for so long, he couldn’t hold back anymore. You put your hands in his hair and pulled him down for a kiss. He started to kiss you like he was fucking you. Leaving fast and open mouth kisses on your mouth, your cheek, and your neck. His put a leg over his shoulder and you felt his fingertips grab you hips tighter. You knew for sure his kisses and hands would leave you bruised the next morning. But you didn’t mind that people could see you were his, you knew he was doing this for that reason on purpose. ‘I’m close’ Loki panted. He put one of his fingers on your clit, drawing circles on it with much pressure. The only thing you could do was moan his name. You moaned it over and over again. Loki grabbed your chin and kissed you. He broke the kiss to let out a loud grunt. Your orgasm hit you hard and you felt his seed spill inside of you.

Loki pumped in and out of you a few more times, before he collapsed on his back beside you.

‘That was amazing’

he panted. You were out of breath and the only thing you did was hum in agreement. After Loki had cleaned himself up, you went into the bathroom to do the same. When you walked back to the bed you saw Loki almost drifting to sleep. He looked innocent and pure in that moment. You crawled into the bed and he immediately grabbed you and pulled you close to him.

‘I’m never letting you go’

he whispered to you.

‘You better not’

you quipped back. He nuzzled his face further in the crook of your neck. His arms tightened around you. For the first time you felt safe, peaceful, and relaxed. The problems the two of you were facing would come tomorrow, but right now, everything was perfect.

#loki #Loki Laufeyson #loki odinson #loki marvel #loki smut #loki story #lokixofc #lokixyou #loki x y/n #loki angst #Smut

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sylverstorms · 3 years

Text

Mother Miranda x Lawyer!Oc ----Tilted Scales

Hello guys :) This is another commission I wrote for the amazing, wonderful @saltwatereulogies

Your support has been insane, I can't thank you enough. Hope you enjoy the story ❣

Three days.

That is how long you've been in the village, after years of studying abroad, before everything turns to shit.

As you slowly blink focus back into your eyes, you try to clear the haze from your mind. It feels as though you've collided with a truck. Your body hurts, your wrists protest in their iron cuffs, stuck to the wall as they are, having supported your weight while you were unconscious.

Desperately, you try to recollect the events that led you here...

A grey sky. A bleak day. One moment you were making coffee for your mother, excited to be able to sit down with her in the mornings again... and the next you heard the echo of screams.

Overcome by adrenaline, you bolted out of your house, only to witness a scene straight from a nightmare; humanoid monsters ripping villagers apart, cries and blood and animalistic growls all blending together into one mad mix.

And before you could even warn your mother...

Damn it all, what the fuck happened!

You suddenly struggle against your bonds, hard enough to rattle your whole frame. Your wrists burn from the grind against metal, but you don't care–

“Stop that. It is pointless and you will only injure yourself.” A cold voice, strangely familiar, says from far to your right.

You peer deep into the shadows, searching for the only other person in the empty room... until you see her. A mask advances on you, gold and shaped like a crow's visage, then wings folded into a cloak come into view.

You would be a fool to not recognize her. The local saint. The village's prophet. The very 'saint' your mother prayed to, for your safe return, all these years. Mother Miranda.

The sound of her heels bounces off the walls until she comes to stand directly in front of you. Looking past the openings of her mask now, you realize....

This isn't possible.

She hasn't aged a day. Not a single day, since you left the village. The years should show around her deadly blue eyes, somewhere, and yet they don't.

“I see you remember me...” she says, while you're still trying to find your voice. “Miss Warren.”

“What is going on? Mother Miranda, what happened to the village?!” you demand.

Her expression shows nothing. “The village is in need of... renovation.” she speaks, even, regal. “Repopulation, even.”

You stare at her with wide eyes.

“Now, don't give me that look. You would not be here if you weren't of the ones I chose to keep.” she continues. “You see, from now on, every single person in my domain will make themselves useful in some way, or they will be replaced. And you... you have been abroad studying law for a while now, yes?”

“I... yes.” you reply, still not fully having wrapped your mind around your situation.

“Excellent. What I need from you is simple. You will make the village independent from the state’s taxes as a religious organization... and you will keep foreign investors out from that point onward.”

What... what part of that is simple?!

“Do that for me and in return I guarantee your mother and you will go back to your house safe and sound. You will have no shortage of Lei for as long as you live, Miss Warren.” Miranda promises.

But it is not the sweet part of the deal your mind stays glued to. “And if...” you gulp. “If I can't work around the law to do that...?”

Miranda blinks slowly at you, like you shouldn't even ask such a basic question. Like the answer is obvious.

“Well. Then I have no further use for either of you.”

It is in this moment that it dawns on you.

This woman is no angel and no saint.

She is a devil.

You spend countless sleepless nights pouring over every single paragraph, every little opening or ambiguity in the law you can use to free the village of taxes.

To keep your mother in the dark about this, you work in the office Mother Miranda has provided for you, in her very stronghold.

Although technically it's her home, you don't see her nearly as much as you initially thought. She is gone throughout the day and returns late at night, not even sparing you a glance before heading for her chambers, at the upper sections of the building.

The days she does come into your office to inquire on your progress are few and far-between, your conversations always short and cold.

This evening is different.

“How is your work coming along, Miss Warren?” the prophetess asks with her aggravatingly nice accent, seating herself like a queen on the chair in front of your desk.

Your eyes are tired, but you force them on hers, through the mask obscuring her face. “I think I've got it. I'll be sending the necessary papers tomorrow and the answer shouldn't take longer than a month.”

“Very good.” she nods, a miniscule curve to her lips.

Icy eyes then drop to the wine in the whiskey glass at the corner of the desk. You think she will make a comment about drinking at work, but instead she says;

“Pour me a glass, will you?”

You will your hands steady as you comply, then carefully slide her drink over.

Miranda takes her mask with claw-shrouded fingers... and soundnessly sets it on the wooden surface. Then she pushes the veil at her hair back, shaking long, platinum locks free.

You do a double take you hope she doesn't notice. Because what the actual fuck.

You didn't think her hair was that long, or that straight, or that it would fall over her shoulders like she's staring in a shampoo ad. You didn't think her lips were shaped like a cupid's bow or that her skin was this flawless and radiant.

The helplessly lesbian part of you could begrudgingly admit she was beautiful before... but now you arrive to the painful realization she's drop-dead gorgeous.

“So. I've heard you won cases others would describe as impossible.” she begins.

“Nothing's impossible. You just need to know where to look.” you reply. Law is your comfort zone and she is not that far above you here. “But how do you know that?”

“I have my sources.”

"Nobody truly leaves this village, huh.”

“Not without my consent, no. But I knew you'd come back.” At your slight frown, she elaborates, “You would never leave your mother behind.”

She's right. There was a whole world of opportunities waiting for you out there and yet... here you are.

“Good work, so far. You can take the next two days off. Your eyes could use the rest, Miss Warren.” Miranda speaks, finishing her wine.

“Sarah.” you say. 'Miss Warren' is for clients and she is your boss.

Miranda's lips give a slight quirk that may or may not be a trick of the light.

“I know.” she replies and exits the room, long hair billowing behind her back.

The taxes were only the first challenge. Now that the village is free of them, investors are flying in circles around it like vultures over meat.

In the meantime, Miranda comes to talk to you more frequently.

Lately, it seems she has more free time. You wish that was a good thing, but...

“So... are you like... going to stay here?” You ask after reading the same sentence five times to make sense of it, because her gaze on you is distracting as fuck.

“I'm not getting in the way of your work.” she says. You want to argue she is, but can't quite do that in a way that won't get you killed.

“I'm simply not used to working with company. Isn't this boring for you?”

“No, actually. I find it interesting, even though science is my field of expertise.” she answers. “And the way you take notes is… amusing.”

You try not to blush as you look down at your notebook, filled with different colored markers and post-it squares with tiny stick figures pointing to the more important paragraphs. You have been doing this for so long to sort out information you didn't even realize you were keeping it up in her presence.

“What is this supposed to be?” she asks with a small smile, the first of its kind you've seen.

To your horror, her clawed pointer aims at a particularly silly doodle, barely the size of a pencil's eraser.

“A... bird.” you grimace like you've been stabbed.

“Ah, of course.” Miranda holds back a chuckle but you can tell she's dying to make a comment.

Studying becomes hell for the rest of the time she's there with you, those sharp eyes picking apart every little move you make. At the same time, though, the hours you spend with her make you realize...

She's not a saint, though she may look like one. She's not completely a devil, either, even if she may act as one, at times.

She's human.

Miranda shares nothing about herself when you chat, but she seems to like it when you speak about your time abroad and all the things that left an impression on you there.

Your conversation over wine is cut short, however, when you receive a call from a number you learned means nothing but trouble, lately.

“Sorry, I have to take this.” you tell her.

The one calling you is none other than this month's rival lawyer, trying to dispute your claim over the land for his own boss. He's lost to you before, so it's also personal, but you are confident you have cornered them good with the latest papers you sent them...

And you are proven correct, when, a few seconds later, he is all faux polite on the other line, resorting to offering you money for you to withdraw your arguments.

Miranda comes to stand next to you, listening in to what he's saying.

The problem with that is, the second her arm brushes yours and you catch a whiff of her perfume –which always lingers in your office long after she's left— youare the one who stops listening to him.

Your attention flies to other things, like the inches she has on you, the exact color of her pale blonde hair, the little glint of victory in her stunning eyes.

Oh, no. God, no...

You know what this is, the feeling in the pit of your stomach. Alarm bells go off in the back of your head, as though your own mind is telling your body how foolish it's being.

There isn't a worse thing you can do to yourself than be attracted to Miranda.

Over time, familiarity with the prophetess brings higher levels of difficulty into your 'try to ignore your crush on her' game.

Miranda joins your side and leans over your shoulder, sometimes, to peer down at what you're doing. You don't move and don't breathe until she's within a safe distance again.

Then there are the wayward 'reward' touches, when you turn another investor away from the village. She may pat your back or leave her hand on your shoulder, or even scratch your nape with her claws as a job well done.

You hope your poker face hides the fact you feel her touch on you for far longer than you should, after she's gone.

Tonight, the situation is the toughest it's ever been for you.

There is a rainstorm going on outside; the waterdrops are tapping against the windows of your office as though they're trying to break it. Miranda has pulled her chair next to you so you can talk easier, without having to shout over the cacophony.

“And basically the judge's decision was that—”

You are interrupted by a blinding flash of lighting, during which your mind lets you know the stronghold is easily the tallest structure in it's vicinity—

When thunder cracks down the sky and strikes the building, you nearly scream. Your body tenses and you jump; but Miranda's hands come to your biceps and hold you steady, against herself and your desk.

Another flash comes before you really have time to think about your proximity. She covers your ears with her palms before the thunderclap can send you into overdrive again.

“You are with me and you're scared of a little thunder?” she teases when things quiet down and your heartbeat eases.

It's true; Miranda is the more terrifying force of nature. At the same time, however...

You feel oddly safe to be this close to her.

“Well... I'm not scared right now...” you quietly admit.

Her pointer comes underneath your chin and lifts it so you are looking straight into her hypnotic blue eyes. How is this color even real...

“And why is that?” Miranda asks, her wings coming around you both. They're curtains of black, cutting out some of the storm's sounds.

You want nothing more in this moment than to run your fingers through each individual feather.

You lick your lips. That's...not a question you can answer if you want the balance in your arrangement with her to remain.

Perhaps, though, the scales have tilted for you long ago. You just haven't been brave enough to admit it.

You have the courage to face it now when she leans down and covers your lips with hers, warm in a manner you never imagined she could be.

Her wings pull tighter around you and your mouths slide more firmly together. Lipbalm and creamy lipstick mix, tongues brush, tasting of wine. You are shaking so bad on the inside from how much you want this, more of this, the rumbling of the thunder be damned.

Miranda's palm cups your flaming cheek when she pulls back, perfectly composed and staring at you with a little smirk in place.

You dare to turn a little, lay a tiny kiss on the inside of her wrist, beyond her rings and accessories.

You aren't very fond of storms, but...

You willingly walk right into the eye of this one.

#mother miranda x oc #mother miranda #resident evil village #resident evil 8 #fanfiction #creative writing #commission #thank you so much :')

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funkymbtifiction · 3 years

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6 vs 9

Thank you for answering my question on Ni and worrying!

I have debated on 6 vs. 9 before, but I’m pretty sure I’m a 9.

Not sure if you want an answer or not, but why not? I’ve got time. ;)

I do see 6 aspects in myself:

Lots of self-doubt and over-thinking. I take commissions as an artist and usually I’m excited to hear about a new commission but then get worried and think I won’t be able to do it / won’t do a good enough job. <- if you are a 9, this could just be your line to 6 and general anxiousness about doing a good job per your (I assume) 1 wing.

Being indecisive when anxious and wanting someone to tell me what to do/solve my problem. <- Hmm, I haven’t talked to my 9 core friends about this a lot, but I do notice some of them consult me in a “this is happening!!!” way and I give them suggestions on what to do, so… I’d say 9s will consult people they trust if they don’t know what to do. Also, did you decide on INFP? If so, indecisiveness is Ne.

I tend to plan for the worst/expect the worst (but hope for the best). <- Pessimism is a human condition. xD

I don’t project, though - I do worry that people may not like me, but I don’t test them to find out if that is the case and I always blame myself for it (i.e if they don’t like me it must be because I’m boring or weird or not emotionally reactive enough). <- I used to do this way more when I was young. I’d send an e-mail, get anxious if I didn’t get a normal prompt response, comb back over what I said searching for anything that might have upset them, and feel anxious for no reason assuming someone is mad at me. I would send out little feelers to see what was going on – quick texts or notes in a friendly tone to see if that generated a response. Now I just assume, when that anxiousness kicks in, that as adults, we’re all busy. But self-blaming is a condition of Fi, and not related to Enneagram type, IMO.

Also, I don’t provoke people to examine reactions. In fact I hate conflict (the classic “raised voices = yelling” 9 issue is true for me; in 95% of arguments I’m the peacemaker trying to find middle ground between other people). <- with me, it depends. I have zero problems with conflict at home or arguing with my parents / family members, but the less I know you and the less I trust you, the more I don’t want to fight with you. It’s true, though, that I have that bratty 6w7 energy that sometimes provokes to get a rise out of my loved ones, which my mother (a 1w9) absolutely hates. It’s hard to shut off, but I try for her sake. Course my father is quarrelsome too, so we’re like a tempest in a teapot sometimes.

I also don’t see many positive 6 aspects in myself:

The ability/desire to build connections and make a security system. <- Interesting. My security is my bank account and having a few people I can count on. It’s not stalking up my pantry, for sure. *cough * weak Si, like what kinds of foods even go together? *cough* Though I work very hard in my family business so we can all thrive, which is a security of its own.

Being loyal to friends and checking in with them to make sure we’re “okay” (I never do this barring an actual argument or something - mostly I ghost people; loyalty is not my strong suit!) <- This is very true of me. If anyone picks on any of my friends, I will get offended and fiercely defend them (even if I have criticisms of them myself). And I do like to stay connected as an extrovert. But following up what I said above, I don’t try to build super close connections as much as I did when I was younger. I’ve realized people have their own lives, and you’re lucky to get their attention at all. But I don’t ghost people. I used to stay in very immediate contact with them.

I feel very little need to connect with other people. My friends are basically my family and in-laws - about 10 people who I truly trust and would do anything for. I don’t really want more people-related responsibilities. <- lucky little sp-dom introvert. ;) Though I can somewhat relate. More people means more energy going out, and I spend so much of it on my books and hobbies, I don’t have a lot left over. I was laughing with a fellow sp-dom INFP just yesterday about how we are both like “OMG, I have SOCIAL events in October, 5 of them!! I’m going to be so busy!!! Will it be too much???” Chill, girl. They’re interspersed over weeks. Stop over-thinking “invasions of my time!”

Meanwhile, I have many positive and negative 9 attributes:

The core problem of 9, apathy, is a BIG problem for me. Many problems in my life have been caused by not acting, by waiting too long in hopes that the problem will go away, by riding along on easy work (even if it is work I love and is worth doing) and not doing the hard work that would lead to the achievements I really want to make (writing a novel, etc.). I’m not a lazy/apathetic person in general - I can (and do) work extremely hard (I run my own art business and working 12+ hours a day is typical for me). But it’s a mental apathy issue, the quailing at mentally facing hard tasks and ending up doing small easy things that soothe me. <- aww, tho I relate to procrastinating. Being around 9s, it kind of amuses me to watch you self-soothe. Like, shouldn’t you be studying for your math final and not reorganizing the bathroom cabinets? And it seems like 9s can drag their feet even when it’s important until they decide to do it, then nothing stands in their way.

Other 9 aspects/problems I can see in myself:

Being vague - not knowing what I really want and getting frustrated by not having a clear vision of what to do. <- yeah, that’s 9ish.

Suppressing anger and other “negative” emotions because of seeking inner peace/blankness. And if I do express anger (usually in a burst under stress) I feel guilty about it. <- 1 wing, yeah.

Setting up walls between other people and myself because I can’t deal with their emotions. I don’t struggle with the intense kind of “merging” described by many 9s, but I think that might be because I’m Fi-dom and probably sp-dom. But it is still exhausting to handle the emotions, opinions, etc. of many people for long periods of time. <- I need to ask my 9w8 INFP more about this specifically, but I don’t know that she fully merges so much as prematurely (sp-dom) throws up a barrier and says Nope to things, in hopes of avoiding other people creeping into her feelings. And yeah, she finds being around especially temperamental or high energy people difficult, since it’s such a bombardment of drama + her own intense reactions.

Tolerating behavior I don’t like for too long because “they might have good intentions.” Thinking positively of people because believing the worst of them feels mean. <- same for me, Ne + compliant type issues.

I have very strong opinions but I don’t like to argue with other people. I tend to believe that if the truth exists, other people will be drawn to it without my twisting their arm and making them see it. <- that’s nice of you and very healthy Fi-dom. I … will absolutely argue up to a point, then decide it’s not worth my time and pointless.

My motto (good and bad) is often “Let’s wait and see if things improve.” <- haha.

Also, although I do struggle with 6ish self-doubt, when it comes down to it I trust my gut and believe that I know what is best for myself. People can give me advice and I’ll nod and thank them but inside I’m thinking “You don’t know me!” In general I am (or at least appear and strive to be) a cheerful, emotionally stable, positive person. So… I still think 9 gets more points. But honestly, this is one of those things that makes me believe in tritypes because I relate a lot to both of them! Thank you for reading all of this!

Go with your gut. Be a happy little 9. :)

ETA: Regarding relating to them both -- of course you do, 6 is your stress line, so it will show up regularly. ;)

#question #enneagram #enneagram 6 #enneagram 9

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an-annyeoing-writer · 3 years

Text

vulnerability. – chap. 1.

Read the prologue here

Story info:

Pair: Byun Baekhyun x Reader

Rating: +18 for mentions of s*x and violence (future chapters)

Genre: angst, smut

Chapter info:

Release date: 16th May 2021

Word count: 3 727

Warnings: mentions of trauma (nothing descriptive)

Vulnerability Masterlist || Fanfiction Masterlist || Ko-Fi

Taglist:

@shesdreaminginoverdose @mybiasdashboard @marimsun @byuns-asscheeks @multi--kpop--fanfics @vunv @making-me-blush @skittlez-area512 @bloopbloopkai @byuns-asscheeks @baekyeonoreo @kimcarinaa

Please, always comment on the newest chapter if you wish to be added to/removed from the taglist. I will be also checking the tags, so if you're shy – feel free to leave a note this way.

Previous (Prologue)

Chap. 1.

Living in a small apartment close to the city center was not always convenient.

You regretted you couldn’t buy all the pretty things that you saw in stores or on Pinterest, because they’d easily overwhelm the limited space. Your neighbors constantly reminded you that they’re a few meters away from you, with screams, children’s cries, music, or chopping meat at 2 AM if that’s what a particular neighbor decided to do.

Fortunately, as the time passed, you got used to most of it and started to appreciate the small space, almost effortless to keep clean, close to both your university and the workplace, and the city center – an area that was always restless during the long days and nights that you spent watching it through your tall window, as if waiting for someone to look back at you.

Despite the comfort of living alone that you tried to indulge in, you couldn’t help growing lonelier and lonelier with every passing day. At the very least, your job and university often took the worries off your mind, and they eventually became your whole life, an existence that focused on never-ending effort in the name of better future, as though there was nothing in the present worth fighting for.

You studied finance; you didn’t give it much hope at first, but it ended up becoming interesting as you started connecting the dots and realizing how broad and important this topic was. Yet, as any newborn financier, you used your secret knowledge in the mysterious field of retail. In other words, you worked part-time as a cashier in a convenience store. Twenty four years old, on your way to getting that famous Master’s degree, already more than halfway through the process, yet – education without experience mattered nothing, as you realized the very moment you started looking for your first job, unable to keep counting on your parents. Not like you wanted to stay in touch with them, anyway.

Adulthood was difficult; the small apartment, due to its location, costed more than your whole family’s used to in your hometown. A small scholarship kept you set up with electricity and water fees, but for WiFi you needed to depend on a close-by library with a good signal; it turned out to have the connection good enough to reach from at least one place in your apartment, the one you coincidentally used for occasional observations. You weren’t sure whether you discovered the WiFi while sitting or if you developed the observing habit upon having to spend your time there over any other place. The only downside of this solution was that some sites were blocked after a scandal over men in the library performing actions other than polite studying, with the help of library computers. The event was outrageous to some, but primarily it became an object of jokes and memes all thorough the city, and maybe even country-wide to some extent. Either way, in times of need, your phone still had its meager data transfer. Good enough.

It was Saturday now; Saturdays were good but busy, because you worked at nights, then slept the shift off, and after you woke up, you could go and study all that you missed throughout the week, if for any reason the classes didn’t sound appealing enough or something else happened, distracting you from them. You spent Saturday afternoons either by the window of your room (where the WiFi reached) or just went straight to the library – a place way more spacious than your own apartment, and quieter as well. The only issue was, that you couldn’t snack in there and you ought to stay quiet. You decided to go with the latter and set foot towards the library.

Therefore, when your phone suddenly rang there, a few faces snapped towards you in obvious disapproval; you cursed internally, before you even managed to pull the phone out of your pocket, because you panicked so much that your hands shook at the initial attempt to do so. You got up from your seat and quickly disappeared between the bookshelves, where the people staying by the tables wouldn’t hear you so well anymore.

“Hello?” you whispered into the phone.

“Hello. Am I disturbing you?”

Your heart dropped as you recognized the voice, although you weren’t completely certain if you recognized it well, it sounded a bit different through the phone. The number was unknown on your phone, but there was only one person that could be calling you today.

You took a few seconds to compose yourself; less than you actually needed, but just enough so that the silence would not turn awkward.

“Um… I can’t talk loudly, but that’s okay.”

“I can call you later.”

“N-no need to, I’ll just whisper.”

“Okay, then.” He was quiet for a few seconds, but you heard some shuffling on the other side. “Do you have time tonight?”

The question was sudden, so you weren’t completely sure, if you did. But your mind felt too empty to figure that out, anyway.

“No. I mean, yes. Sorry, I meant I don’t have plans. So, um, yes, I’m free.” This didn’t sound professional at all. However, you heard quiet laughter on the other side and exhaled almost audibly in relief; it was the first time you heard him laugh with you, and it served to calm your nerves like a wave of calmness coming over you.

“Well, do you want to meet? I’m going to a museum and I don’t feel like going alone. What about that?”

“A museum? That… sounds nice.” When was the last time you’ve been to one? What a perfect opportunity to make a fool out of yourself. “What time?”

“Around six? If that’s okay with you.” If you remembered well, it had to be around three now.

“Sounds alright, where should we meet?”

“I’ll pick you up.”

“Okay. Thank you.” What were you exactly thanking him for? Hard to tell. But you heard him laugh again; you felt like he’s mocking you, but you quickly realized it couldn’t be the case – a warm voice like this couldn’t be ill-intended.

“Sure thing, you’re welcome. We’re set up, then?”

“A-actually, I have a question, if it’s not a problem.” You bit on your lip, knowing than in less than ten seconds, you were going to probably embarrass yourself in front of an educated and serious adult.

“What’s the matter?” he asked politely.

“So, um… What should I wear?”

* * *

You were grateful for the few tips given by Byun Baekhyun at the end of your conversation, because otherwise you’d either be underdressed or overdressed. You ended up wearing a more elegant university attire, something you usually wore for exams, but which didn’t make you appear too formal; a long, woolen skirt that was your private treasure due to its ability to keep you warm even in winter (and it was still spring; the weather was questionable), as well as leather shoes, a beige shirt and a thick, knitted cardigan. You felt quite modest; something told you that it wasn’t a regular date. You didn’t feel a need to reveal anything, or to focus on your feminine attributes. You just felt like it wouldn’t serve any purpose. As long as Baekhyun was concerned, you had an impression that he’s more interested in your mind than in the way you look – the clothes you wore last time, just a little bit revealing and suggestive, had done nothing to save you. You wanted only to look appropriate, and you were sure you managed to achieve at least that.

As you found out soon enough, he wasn’t particularly dressed up, either. A button-up shirt without without a tie – bow or neck type – and jeans, made of high-quality denim, not like the ripped through or worn out ones people sometimes wore. And a suede coat. Although he wasn’t dressed up to look attractive, it would be difficult not to feel attracted to him. Byun Baekhyun had his own aura of independence and considerate distance connected with subtle proximity, and this time, you had the chance to appreciate this harmony, working perfectly for him, highlighting his soft masculinity. Even more so, when you noted a small, gentle smile that appeared on his lips when he spotted you leaving your apartment block.

“Hi there” he spoke.

“Hi there” you replied.

“The museum is nearby, so I didn’t take the car, is that okay?”

It was probably too late to change the means of transport anyway, so the question was pointless. But no, you didn’t mind.

“It’s okay. What museum are we going to?”

He put hands in the pockets of his coat and tilted his head to the side, observing as you approached. You crossed your hands over your chest; it was a bit colder than you expected, and the skirt only warmed you up at the bottom, the wind still reached the top.

“You should put on something warmer. It’ll get even colder on the way back” he spoke. “Go back and get yourself a jacket, I’ll wait.”

You wanted to oppose and say it’s alright, but you didn’t; it didn’t feel right to argue with him. You only nodded and went home to retrieve a better outwear; you were back in no time.

“So? Which museum?”

You looked up at Baekhyun: the man walked by your side, or – in fact – you were walking by his; he stayed in control of the situation, but resonated with warmth and peacefulness rather than the coldness and stillness you experienced last time. And especially as he spoke, you found yourself easing into the conversation more naturally, and your initial fear quickly turned into innocent shyness upon the older man’s presence.

“A complex of museums nearby. There’s everything there, a historical museum of the region, one about the history of mining worldwide, and an art museum. I wanted to see the last one, I heard they unveiled a few new pieces since the the last time I went. You’re not local?” He glanced at you with polite curiosity.

“Not really. I moved here to study” you explained. “I know the nearby area, but I’m not too… um, social. I only know where to do the cheapest groceries and where they sell the best bread.”

“Where?”

“Behind the river, by the intersection with the highway. It looks small but really, you should try it out. Especially their cinnamon rolls.”

Baekhyun hummed.

“That sounds nice. I can recommend the best pizza in return.”

“You eat takeouts often?”

“Yep.”

“You’d save money if you cooked for yourself. Pizzas are expensive.”

Another warm laugh reached your ears, and through them, your heart as well.

“I’ll save money if I spend the time for cooking on working instead.”

“Okay, that’s a valid point. But homemade food is healthier.”

“Depends on where you buy your takeout.” He seemed to have an answer to your every doubt. “I wouldn’t trust just any restaurant, you know? It’s basically what my diet consists of.”

“Variety is also important. Don’t argue with me on that.”

“I won’t. But I won’t take you for a pizza, if that’s your stance on that.”

“I didn’t say I don’t want it” you remarked right away; he replied with laugh, which you found yourself copying naturally.

The conversation flowed smoothly, reaching more or less unimportant topics: the city life, current events, your university, possible career, Baekhyun’s interests – you found out he likes music; it’s too sad to work in silence – and the museum you were going to.

The place you felt initially quite neutral about, brought you more peace than you expected it to. It looked harmonious and the lights were soft. No one hurried through the gallery, and the paintings, although not so interesting at first, you soon learned to appreciate, trying to catch onto small details that, you could tell, Baekhyun already knew by heart, but he smiled every single time you pointed at something specific that caught your attention, even if it was as silly as matching colors, or realistically portrayed lights – these were your favorites.

And, slowly but surely, you got accustomed to the pretty sights, excitement turning into relaxation, and even Baekhyun himself seemed more content than you thought he’d be in your presence.

“You’re different,” you spoke as the two of you sat on a bench in front of one of the tall, monumental pieces; this one was a modern painting full of splashes and mixed colors, soft browns, yellows, and greens, so big that it definitely wouldn’t fit in your bedroom – the first thought you had upon seeing its size.

Despite the painting being in the very center of the gallery, you were the only ones watching it now.

“What do you mean?”

“You’re different today than you were yesterday” you elaborate. “Less… intimidating” you tried to put your thoughts into words.

Baekhyun laughed in response; the laughter was soft and warm, which made you exhale in relief – you feared that he’d feel offended at the remark.

“Yesterday was different. I needed to test you.”

“What do you mean?”

He stared at the painting as he leaned forward, resting elbows on his knees and shifting a little bit, probably thinking how to say the thing he had to say, without causing misunderstandings. You stared at him, completely having lost interest in the painting by now, ready to hear out whatever was to be spoken.

“People often come to me because they’re attracted to me. Well, not blaming them” he grinned; you rolled your eyes a little, but it did relieve the tension, most likely according to his own intention. “However, I’m not interested in romantic relationships. If you come to me expecting a date, you’ll get disappointed. And you won’t be able to handle what it is truly about, if I’m the only thing keeping you interested. It’ll be a hassle for the both of us.”

He glanced at you only briefly, ensuring that you’ve heard him so far before shifting his eyes back forward.

“So I’m always like this at first, just to see how determined you are, and how you behave under pressure. Then I leave you for a few minutes so you have the time to reconsider and leave if willing. That’s a safety measure for you.” He stopped for just a few seconds. “And you – all of you – always check what’s on the other side of the sheet. That’s a safety measure for me.”

“Safety measure?”

“Trust is the basis of the whole deal. If you don’t admit, that you looked at it, it means you’ll keep hiding things later on as well, and I can’t have that.”

“So if I…”

“Yes. If you didn’t correct your statement, we wouldn’t be here right now.” The words sounded ominous even despite the calm tone that Baekhyun used.

“I understand.”

You actually did; the strange aura of yesterday’s meeting finally started to clear out, leaving the simplest facts that all fit into the bigger picture. Yet, you still didn’t know enough. There were more things, more questions, each of which demanded an answer of its own. However, you were still unsure of your stance, and of what Baekhyun had planned for you – for the both of you.

“Will you accept me, then?” you asked finally, breaking through the silence.

“I don’t know yet” he replied in an honest tone, finally reciprocating your gaze. His features were soft, you could tell, he tried not to hurt you with his words. “You’re a nice girl, but I’m not sure if it’ll work out. I need more time. Primarily, I need to get to know you better. And I feel like you need more time, too.”

You nodded slowly.

“Could you, um… tell me more about it?”

“About what I do?”

“Yeah. You didn’t tell me much last time. You mostly only asked questions.”

“True. I may answer some of yours, if you’d like. What are you interested in?”

You cleared your throat; some questions seemed more intrusive than the others and you preferred to leave them for later.

“What would you want to do with me, if we set up a um… a scene?” Is that how you professionally call it? You didn’t remember all that well; you were, in fact, with no experience, only the Internet and your own curiosity to lead you forward – the temptation to explore your interests had been progressing in silence up until now.

“Well, depends on what would be suitable. I do different things with different people. Sometimes, it’s about what they like, and sometimes about what I like, and, the most often, it’s about what we both like. Everyone needs a different approach. I enjoy finding the right approach, and exploring it. It’s different when you start with a virgin, different when you start with a brat, different when you start with someone experienced, different when you start with someone with trauma. The last type is a person I don’t like engaging in. It’s a vulnerable ground and the person often seeks relief instead of therapy. I’m not a therapist. I’m a dominant.”

You took your time to analyze his words and put them all together in your head before you spoke again.

“You wrote something like that on the sheet. That I may have trauma.”

“That’s different,” Baekhyun was quick to elaborate. “Everyone has trauma of sort. Childhood traumas are more common than you think. I meant specifically trauma that comes from similar ground as the one I’m on. It’s not the case for you. According to what you said, you’ve never had any experiences like this and never engaged sexually or romantically.”

Pointing that out hurt a little; yes, so what if you’re 24 years old and a virgin? You had the right to choose your pace. But, you quickly realized, it was your own insecurity poking at you, because Baekhyun sounded anything but judgmental. He didn’t seem particularly impressed either – and you were thankful for that as well. You’ve seen enough men sounding excited when a woman was discovered to be unexperienced. You hated that even more than those who made fun of you; and in the long run, you just learned not to overshare. Telling Baekhyun this truth wasn’t the easiest, so having him say it so casually was definitely weird in your ear.

“However, that’s also a vulnerable point. You don’t know what you’re getting into. It looks different on the screen or in the books than it is in real life. I’m not going to reject you just because you’re new, because everyone’s been at some point. But you must understand, it’s a responsibility, and I don’t want to take one I’m not capable of handling.”

“Have you ever been with someone else like that?”

“With a virgin?”

“…Yeah.”

“Yes. Once. But I didn’t handle it too well back then.”

“What do you mean?”

Baekhyun rubbed his chin, pressing his lips together in slight uneasiness. But you didn’t revoke your question – maybe you should have, for the sake of his comfort, but you felt that the answer wouldn’t be meaningless to you.

“She wanted to be exclusive,” the man finally answered. “I tolerated her for too long. I should have broken the deal as soon as I started seeing red flags, instead of ending up sleeping with her. It made everything only worse.” He spoke quietly, making sure people passing by at times would hear no word. You heard everything clearly, though. “That’s why I’m more picky now. Breaking the deal is not a good thing if it comes from one side. It may leave the other devastated, that’s why I’d rather reduce the risk in advance.”

He looked at your face, seeking understanding and acceptance. You nodded slowly, trying to keep your face as neutral as possible. You didn’t want to add to the pain already displayed on his own. But you appreciated his transparency.

“Does it mean that sex is not always involved?”

“With me, it rarely is” he admitted patiently. “I’m not against it, but I usually do other things. People rarely expect it, and I never pry. Mainly, because in this particular case, I do expect exclusivity. So, as long as no sex is involved, I know some of my subs are dating other people, or even engaging with other doms. However, for safety reasons I demand health checks prior to intercourse, and so on. Not just for me, but because I’m not exclusive myself.” You wondered if his choice of vocabulary was meant to make things less awkward. “However, actual sex is only one of the possibilities. Sexual pleasure that doesn’t involve direct touch may be used as a tool for training, for rewarding and for punishing, even as entertainment… not necessarily to the person it influences. As I said, it depends on who it’s done with. And it may take different forms, too. What’s your stance on that?”

“I don’t feel like I’d be able to as much as undress in front of someone who’s not my doctor” you answered almost instantly, the answer obvious to you, a matter you’ve thought about enough. “Although… well, I suppose it takes time. I’m not against the idea, just… you know.”

Baekhyun only nodded; you glanced at him, feeling a need for any reply that’d soothe you a little.

“I understand. That’s okay.”

You figured it out now; using more formal language made it less embarrassing to listen to. It’s like he tore the words off emotions and left facts only, and you found yourself easing into saying more and more, your embarrassment dissolving as well. No judgments were made.

“Is there anything else you want to know?”

“A lot, to be honest. But I think I know enough for now.”

Right as you said the last words, a sound echoed in the museum, in a soft female voice saying that the museum will close in fifteen minutes.

You took one last glance at the huge painting in front of you, but you felt like, at this point, you wouldn’t find anything new among the random stains and splatters. Baekhyun got up from his seat on the bench and so did you. You spotted him hide a small yawn behind his hand.

The day was coming to an end, and so was your small date – as un-date-ish as it could be.

* * *

Please, reblog if you enjoyed, it'll help me a bunch!

Author's note: hope you're enjoying it so far! Trying to give it a bit sense before more things happen, and, hopefully, this chapter clears it out a little bit. Feel free to talk to me if anything is unclear!

Next (Chapter 2.)

#exowritersnet #kdiarynet #bbh-net #exosnet #exo baekhyun #exo bbh #bbh x reader #bbh #exo #byun baekhyun #exo fanfiction #baekhyun fanfiction #exo x reader #baekhyun x reader #vg: vulnerability #vg: exo #vg: baekhyun #vg: series

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imkylotrash · 3 years

Text

You'll Never Need Me Again (You Look Happier Final Part)

Pairing: Trevor Matthews x reader, Hardin Scott x Tessa (current), Hardin Scott x reader (Ex)

Summary: Hardin shows up ready to make amends but is it too late?

A/N: The final part. I’ve loved writing this, and I hope you enjoy this last part!

Tagging: @justyouraveragedorkygirl

READ PART 1 READ PART 2 READ PART 3 READ EPILOGUE

“Hardin?” He looks like shit. He hasn’t sleep at all and his hands are trembling. For a second you wonder if he’s drunk, but his eyes seem focused and clear. Not the usual glazed look when he’s been downing shots.

“Nice office,” he states looking around.

“What are you doing here?” you ask feeling like you just entered the lion’s den. He could strike at any point and you’re defenseless. Everything in you is screaming but you stay calm on the outside.

“I wanted to, no. I needed to see you. And then I found out you were working for Vance now.”

“So, you just showed up without telling me first?” you ask trying to buy yourself some time to figure out why he’s here. Did he get tired of Tessa already? Perhaps he realised he made a mistake. But if that’s the case, were you prepared to take him back?

“I’m sorry. I guess I’ve messed up a lot of stuff lately.”

“You think?” You’ve spent so long crying over the boy standing in front of you that you haven’t been able to feel all the anger too. But now you feel it. You feel the humiliation of being cheated on, the anger of his betrayal, the utter defeat of losing him. In some ways, it’s liberating to feel angry instead of heartbroken - though some may argue that it’s the same thing.

“I know I have. I messed things up with you and I’ll never not be sorry about that, Y/N. You have to believe me.” He’s stepping closer to you with clear desperation in his eyes. He means it but you’re not sure you’re ready to hear it.

“I moved on, Hardin. I picked myself up after you broke me and I moved on. You can’t just come here and say things like that unless-”

“Unless?” The hope in his voice is evident.

“Unless you mean it.” You’re angry and hurt, but Hardin was the one person you thought you were going to spend the rest of your live with. And now he’s standing in front of you saying everything you’ve wanted to hear for the last couple of months. Your pride wants you to yell at him and tell him to go, but your heart is not ready for that yet.

“Of course I mean it. I wouldn’t be here, if I didn’t mean it. I messed up. I got complacent and I forgot how good you and I work.” He’s mere inches away from you and you’ve forgotten how to breathe. He’s all you see and he’s all you feel as he wraps his arms around your waist and pulls you close.

“Kiss me.” His eyes have gotten ten times darker. So you kiss him and it’s like breaking through the water surface. Like the world had lost all its colour, but now you see them again.

“I missed your lips,” he gasps as if trying to inhale all of you in one breath. You kiss him again having completely forgotten everything else.

“So this is it, right? You pick me. You’re done with Tessa?” You have to hear it. You have to hear him say that this is the part where he chooses you.

“I’ll tell her as soon as I get back,” he replies not even realising the reaction his words create in your mind. He hasn’t broken things off with her before coming. He kept her as a backup plan in case you said no. If he truly wanted you, it wouldn’t have mattered if you said yes or no. He should’ve ended things with Tessa before coming here. Suddenly, the colour fades and you’re back to normal. In horror you remember Trevor, who’ll be here any minute now. How could you do this to him?

“I want you to go, Hardin.” It feels good to say. Like a sort of closure you never got.

“What? Baby, I’ll take care of everything when we get back home. We can go back to how things were before.” The change in your mood hasn’t registered with him yet.

“I want you to walk out that door and never come back.” You say it slowly, tasting every word as they pass your lips. There’s a liberating feeling in finally being done with Hardin. You needed this last thing before you could truly let him go. You’ve held onto him for far too long and he’s done nothing but pull away. The two of you are not the people you were, when you first got together.

“Don’t say that. Baby-”

“I’m not your baby anymore, Hardin. I’m not yours anymore. You couldn’t even finish things with Tessa before coming here. You didn’t believe enough in our love to risk being alone rather than being with the wrong person. I need someone who’s sure of me and who’ll never hurt me the way you do repeatedly.” With his perfect timing this is the moment Trevor walks through the door.

“Ready for lunch?” He looks up to notice Hardin visibly distraught and you tense and uncomfortable. “Is everything okay?”

“Who is this?” Hardin asks as if Trevor didn’t say anything.

“This is Trevor. We had plans to go for lunch, so I really need you to leave now.” You don’t want him to cause a scene, but you know Hardin so your hope is pointless.

“Fucking Trevor! Is he the reason you don’t want me anymore?!” He’s yelling and you’re horrified by what your colleagues out in the hall thinks.

“Buddy, I think she asked you to leave,” Trevor says calmly putting his hand on Hardin’s arm. It’s the wrong thing to do when dealing with Hardin.

“Please don’t,” you say noticing his clenched fist. He knows what you’re asking but it’s not in his nature to respond in any other way than violence.

“Don’t make me call security,” Trevor says sensing what’s about to happen too. The threat of security seems to wake Hardin up. He rips free his arm from Trevor’s grip and turns to me.

“If I leave now, I’m not coming back, you hear me. If I walk, I’m done with your ass.”

“Fine.” Four letters, one word, a thousand hidden goodbyes. He walks out the door leaving you and Trevor alone.

“Friend of yours?” he asks breaking the silence.

“Ex actually. I’m sorry you got involved in that kind of drama,” you reply hiding your face in your hands.

“Hey, look at me,” he pleads slowly removing your hands, “let’s talk about it over lunch.” And you do. You tell him all about Hardin and the years you’ve spent with him. In the spirit of complete honesty, you tell him about the kiss in the office and your brief moment of misjudgment. You tell him that there was a time when you thought Hardin was the one you’d spent the rest of your life with but now you don’t feel that way anymore. Everything gets laid out on the table because you’re tired of drama and secrets and if things are ever going to work between you and Trevor, you need to play with open cards from the beginning.

“That’s a lot to take in,” Trevor says when you’re finally done speaking.

“I understand if you never want to talk to me again. But I just want you to know that I’ve really enjoyed getting to know you.”

“Well, there’s much more to tell so you’re not done yet.” He smiles warming your heart.

“Just promise you won’t be kissing anymore ex boyfriends, yeah?”

“I promise not to kiss anyone who isn’t you.”

“Good.” He leans in and kisses you softly. You don’t know why he forgives you or why he gives you a second chance, but you’ll be forever thankful that he does.

261 notes · View notes

ahwait-no-yes · 4 years

Text

Let’s talk about if Saihara hated Ouma

So lately I’ve actually seen a bit more comments on how Saihara doesn’t actually like Ouma and people have gone as far as saying he hates him and idk why people genuinely believe it so here I am about to refute that (I’ve been waiting ages to make this post just so you know so this came out as a horribly unstructured ramble more than anything oops)

some notes beforehand:

I have an obvious bias as I do ship saiouma. although i’ll try to be neutral on what I say here, I can’t hide my bias. I have tried to include what people that hate this ship believe to counter them though, also if you ship other things that’s totally fine?? don’t think of any of this as an attack at your ship and I’m not saying Saihara loved Ouma, I’m just tired of people saying Saihara hated him.

You’re allowed to respectfully disagree as long as you don’t berate me or say I don’t know the game when the majority of the screenshots in this are from my own gameplay, lmao.

and massive whole-game spoilers! Don’t read this if you’ve not finished DRV3!

Glad to know you made it under the cut! now I can begin with where I think people got this idea that Saihara hates him from- the infamous “You’re alone Kokichi and you always will be” line.

I admit this was very cold and still breaks my fragile saiou heart, but to base Saihara’s entire perspective of Ouma on this one line he said while he wasn’t thinking straight is just.. no.. It’s unrealistic. we’ve seen how Saihara is able to adapt his views and grow (I’ll come back to this later), he’s not stubborn in this regard like Momota or even Ouma is, so even if he did mean it 100% (which I doubt because when *anybody* is angry they will say or do things they may regret had they been calmer), it’s not like his view on Ouma from chapter 4 was his final view on him. And that’s what people fail to realise.

So, how does Saihara view Ouma then?

well, I’d say he’s been interested in Ouma as a detective from the moment he met him with his curiosity piqued at Ouma’s claims of leading a secret organisation.

and he remains curious about Ouma throughout, always questioning why Ouma says certain things, what Ouma is lying for, he just wants to figure him out- and this doesn’t just apply to free time events either

I think you get my point there, now, I think if I didn’t ship saiou and read this, I’d argue these are all pre-chapter 5 and before the breaking line so he may have been curious before but not after- that then brings me to my next point

Saihara was confident- dare I say believed- in Ouma, especially after Chapter 5.

how bold of me to say ikr, but this ties in to Saihara’s ability to adapt his views. He’s sort of like a mixture of both Kaito and Ouma honestly, because naturally as a detective he has to be suspicious and think logically as Ouma does, while at the same time Kaito taught him to believe in his friends which has also helped him to advance in trials. I think he might have extended this belief to Ouma, because he trusts that Ouma is doing what he does for a reason.

In fact, I’d argue he’s the only one of the remaining group who wouldn’t readily accept pinning Ouma down as a villain. If anything, it’s the opposite- Saihara fought to clear Ouma’s name, and never stopped trying to understand whether or not his intentions were true or false

i’ll just drop this screenshot here (that i named THIS MAKES ME SO HAPPY.png in case you were wondering)

this is what I mean when I say he wouldn’t accept it as fast as the others and would second-guess it, bear in mind this is the moment Ouma “admitted” to being the mastermind. and it’s not like this doubt was sudden or anything, cause I can recall this moment (that I actually didn’t catch on to on my first playthrough)

which gives me the idea that hadn’t Ouma purposefully messed with everyone and built up his bad reputation, it would’ve been so much easier for Saihara to disprove him being the mastermind at the point he said it.

Anyway, going back to my point- excluding Kaito (cause Ouma directly told him), Saihara is the first to bring up Ouma’s innocence, and this is what I mean when I say Saihara believed in Ouma

note that I say believed in. believing Ouma and believing in Ouma are different, it’s like how loving someone and being in love with someone are two different things, so don’t argue that by saying “he didn’t trust him” because ik that and that’s not what I’m trying to say.

but he did believe that Ouma had his reasons, and he tried to discover and understand them. I mean, take this for example

he’s already on board lool look at him go, but no really look at the confidence

he’s both confident in himself and in Ouma not lying here, then goes back to being curious about his intentions

oh and let’s not forget who it was that searched Ouma’s lab to find clues to prove he is a remnant of despair. Why do you need to search for evidence for something you (and the others even more) think is irrefutably true? the answer is obvious- he was doubtful of it from the start, and needed evidence to convince himself it was true, but then as he found nothing to prove it (and even evidence against it), he had to convince the others of it too- and prove Ouma’s innocence

(the last screenshot was from Hikkie’s playthrough on Youtube)

But as you can see, he’s clearing Ouma’s name as the leader of the Remnants of Despair.

Now, I bet someone would argue that this only proves Saihara was determined to find the truth in general, because he’s mister detective, so I’ll raise you the fact that Saihara didn’t need to try figuring why Ouma does the things he does- he could leave it at just knowing the truth and if he really didn’t like Ouma like people say then there’s not much merit to it.

“So what if I know this now? I didn’t care about him, it’s pointless” he could’ve thought something like that, but no

(I also think the “you’re lying again kokichi, there’s a method to your madness” moment fits here too)

Not only this, but there’s also how Saihara learnt from him.

honestly im still kinda mindblown from this ever since I first realised it, but when you think about it, Ouma hinted to Saihara in his FTEs how to win the game.

(those 3 screenshots are from justonegamr’s kokichi’s FTE video; random fun fact this was the playthrough that i watched while first getting into drv3)

But if you think about it, Ouma tried this again in his own trial in his attempt at ending the killing game and then Saihara also used this to actually end it

Not only that (which personally i think is pretty powerful in itself), but Saihara also tries to take Ouma seriously and picks up hints he leaves and uses them later

as well as

(and generally just)

generally, Ouma will hint and then Saihara will pick it up. it’s been like that for the whole game- why should Saihara give any extra thought to what Ouma hints if he dislikes him?? really, he could’ve just ignored him the same way he did at the end of chapter 4- but again, he didn’t “”hate”” Ouma enough to keep ignoring him, he considered him a friend in the end anyway.

and the end is what I’ll talk about now, too.

first- can we just acknowledge this?

he doesn’t ignore Ouma at all here. even though he didn’t trust him, he was sad to have lost him.

Not to mention the way he thinks about lying at the end of Chapter 6. (like, please this is just- *chefs kiss*)

IMAGINE Ouma was alive to hear him say that omg but Saihara could (and probably would) extend what he says here to Ouma himself- y’know, the ‘embodiment of lies’

by thinking about lies in a different angle instead of at face value like this, he gets a more neutral view on them rather than just thinking “they’re bad!!”, why wouldn’t he be able to do the same for Ouma? especially now that he knows Ouma was innocent and actually hated the game as much as they all did. I mean hey, even after chapter 5′s trial he sort of already thinks about lies differently

and throughout this post, I’ve tried to avoid talking about his free time events or his salmon mode ending because people always say “well they’re not canon” and to that I say not canon to the plot, yes, but still canon to the characters. so yeah, I don’t disregard any of them.

from this point onwards these all technically happen before chapter 5, so it’s not entirely relevant to my point that saihara still liked ouma even after the end of chapter 4, but it’s still something that shows he liked him beforehand at least. I mainly just wanna ramble though haha

one thing I’ve always thought was interesting was how Saihara easily lashed out at Kaito in his own free time event

and Kaito is undeniably Saihara’s best friend who he holds in high regard. If Saihara having backbone means he doesn’t like someone then damn bye bye momota have a nice trip in space

in terms of ouma and saihara though

how about the fact that Saihara willingly sat there and played rock paper scissors (janken pon!) with Ouma 100 times?? bruh I got bored playing that with my brother after 8 rounds yesterday how would Saihara manage 100?? would you really have the patience for that when you don’t even like the person you’re playing with?

how about his third free time event too?

(from justonegamr’s kokichi fte video)

Saihara wanted to spend some time with Ouma, that’s- its literally written there I don’t know what you want from me the guy wanted a nice time with someone he supposedly doesnt like

what I love about this is how “reaching out” could be taken both literally and figuratively. Wanting to understand someone and trying to find a way to but them being too unwilling to trust anyone.. damn 😔👊 also shuuichi either wanted to handshake or hold hands, what else do you do when you reach for someone’s hand come on

oh yes and how about that he’s content with the refusal because it allowed him to figure out a small thing about Ouma? understanding that Ouma has a different way of being reached out to? mhm please think about that for a bit

that parallel in the salmon ending too...

he considered how it’ll be like with him after they get out and how he’ll learn about him, then ultimately decided when ouma reached out to him that he does want this, and even comments on the warmth of his hand... afhskfdlj

his blush when ouma mentions how his lies didn’t bore saihara was also a very cute moment

ooh and what about the love hotel???

there’s that one line “I know i’m meant to be Kokichi’s ideal in this fantasy but when he tells me he loves me I feel like he means the opposite” or something like that- i’d argue it’s because he’s cautious of Ouma for one but also am I getting something wrong here or is he talking about how he, Shuuichi, thinks Ouma doesn’t like him? because I see people argue this is proof saihara doesn’t like ouma but all he’s really doing is just doubting ouma loves him

well in any case

WHY would he want him to stay in a love hotel of all places if he disliked him?! I know I’m just a broken record at this point but I can’t think of anything logical for it. they didnt even need to include that line in the scene at all but they did like they could’ve easily said something to do with realising where he was instead but nah. even after the event’s over, he says to himself

doesn’t he sound disappointed by it? and the fact that he even questions if it was a dream- okay

ooh, something i’ve realised while writing this as well: it kind of seems like Saihara might not want to like him but does anyway; he quickly ‘smothered the thought’ of staying with Kokichi, didn’t want to admit that Ouma’s lies never bored him, and I also thought about how in one of Kaito’s free time events he says to himself “I shouldn’t be talking about another boy like that”- well, maybe it’s similar for how he thinks of ouma? it’s not like Saihara didn’t care for the others’ opinion on him (probably the opposite ngl if you mess up in class trials he says something along the lines of“Ah I screwed up! They probably think I’m a fraud”) and considering nobody else liked ouma (except for maybe gonta) I wouldn’t be surprised if he felt shame for liking him, thus repressing that feeling (especially around the others, there’s that part in trial 4 where he’s trying to convince kaito he isn’t siding with ouma cause he knows by doing that could damage his friendship with his bro)

I mean this is something I only thought of just now, but it could be plausible (i hope?)

One last thing- I find it incredibly funny how in chapter 2 when ouma is literally on top of saihara he doesn’t freak out or scream and everyone else in the room is also completely chill with it and unquestioning. no really they’re just standing there.. and how long was ouma even in that position for??

Now, I think that’s all. So to finish off, I’ll just say

People get the idea that saiouma is bad because some don’t realise Saihara can still like a person without idolising or putting them on a pedestal. Idk if this is gonna sound controversial or not, but I honestly do think he did exactly that to Kaito and Kaede- which doesn’t make what they have with him toxic or bad at all, I just think his view on Ouma is a lot more realistic and less clouded. Heck, if Saihara canonically liked Ouma as much as he does with the other two I don’t know if I’d ship saiouma as hard as I do (it is fun to imagine though).

If you actually read through this then.. wow? I’m surprised you got through this unstructured mess? I hope you can agree with me for some of my points at least but I’m not here to convince you or anything, this has just been on my mind for weeks now I needed to get it out somehow.

I said it at the start and i’ll say it again now too- i didn’t intend on attacking or comparing saiou to any other ships so I do apologise if I seem like it, i’m just terrible with my wording (lmk if something genuinely offended you, i’ll probably change it) but you’re free to ship whatever you like cause at the end of the day it’s just a bit of fun. that being said, I don’t want to actually argue on this so please don’t haha, i’ve contemplated just deleting this but I’ve put a lot of effort into this post even though i cant analyse for 💩

I hope you can enjoy the rest of your day!

have the kokichi gaygun as a farewell present

566 notes · View notes

withastolenlantern · 3 years

Text

What do you think it was like?” Rafael asked as he hacked at the tough vegetation with his hoe, pulling the dense vines into a pile in the pathway. The soil was nitrogen poor, even when heavily fertilized, and the local flora had a fibrous root that was always threatening to choke out their transplanted species. The ground cover was too thick for the harvesters to handle, so the crops were still pulled by hand at the end of the wet season.

“Why do you always ask that?” I said, stooping down to the ground and dusting the dirt from the now exposed potatoes, gently brushing them clear like an archaeologist might some ancient, precious treasure. I pulled the tubers from the ground and put them into the cart.

“You don’t wonder?” He leaned on the handle of the hoe, brushing the sweat from his dark brow.

“I try not to.”

“Come on, Shan. If I have to have one more meeting about soil nutritiation, I’m going to kill myself. And you’re down there all the time…”

“We’re not having this conversation again.” I hadn’t come out to the fields looking for a fight, but I was always prepared for one. “Stop changing the subject.”

He frowned. “Please don’t start.”

“I’m just saying. The season’s almost over, and we’re not getting any younger.”

He put down the hoe and knelt down next to me, lifting another potato and cradling it. He looked at me plaintively. “I just… are you sure this is what you want? To spend your life toiling in the dirt? I mean, your father…”

I put my hand on his shoulder. “My father is a drunk, and he has nothing to do with this.”

“He didn’t used to be. He might snap out of it. Some of them do,” he said. “I’m just worried you’ll get bored of me, of this. It’s not a glamorous life.”

“No, but it would be our life, Rafe,” I pleaded.

“One more season. The bureau is due to review the allotments soon, and I almost have enough saved up for a down-payment on my own forty.” He kissed me gently on the forehead, then stood, and stared up toward the sky and sighed. “You honestly don’t wonder? What it was like, knowing what was happening out there?”

I stood too, matching his gaze. I put my arm around his wrist and held it gently to my chest. “Come with me. I have to check on him, and then maybe you’ll see why I’d much prefer to farm potatoes with you.”

It had been one-hundred fifty-nine years since we’d last heard from anyone outside the system. The Network had gone down July 17th, 2938, or at least that’s what the history books said. And that is only if you went by the original Earth calendar, which no one did anymore. With a twenty-eight hour day and a rotation period of six-hundred seventeen days, matching time here on New Caledonia to that on Earth was pointless. With The Network, information would take an interminable time to transit the two-hundred eighty-four light year and four relay distance between us; even then, relativity was unclear on whether there was any such thing as simultaneous events at these stellar distances anyway. For me it was irrelevant: the Earth might as well not exist, may not exist, and Sol was just a very dim star you could barely make out in the southern sky.

For us, it had been a normal Sunday, Wet Season 12, CSY 134. New Caledonia is an eccentric planet with a single landmass in its northern hemisphere surrounded by a large planetary ocean. Because of its near forty-five degree axial tilt relative to the ecliptic, the year is divided into two seasons of nearly equal length. During the Wet Season, the more direct sunlight heats the seas, driving strong currents that bring strong storms to the western coast. The moist air blows in and dumps copious rain across the western plains before climbing into the central mountain range that separates the continent, the only remnant of the clash between the two gigantic tectonic plates that formed the land we now call home. This quirk of a jetstream leaves the eastern plains beyond the mountains in a giant rain shadow, barren and dry. For this reason, all the major settlements are here in the west, and in the Dry Season, the ocean gyres cease and we hunker down for a long, cold, arid winter.

The rains were strong that Wet Season, or so the stories go. At first they though the heavy cloud cover and unstable air was interfering with communication to the satellite arrays. Minkowski Transmission provides a supraliminal link through the interstellar void, but it was still subject to the space-time warps of a heavy gravity well; we are forced to rely on more pedestrian broadcast methods to communicate with the Network Relays out in longer orbits free from gravitational interference. But they checked the dishes and the transmission center and everything was fine. Then they checked again. Then they waited until the Dry Season, and checked again. And then they waited.

We walked up the path to the main road where I’d parked my truck, and Rafe loaded the cart, only half-full of potatoes, into the rear cargo bed. “How is he doing?” he asked, hopping into the cab and pulling on his safety belt.

I pushed the ignition switch and the engine purred to life. The battery chimed a plea that it needed to be recharged soon, and I felt that deep in my soul in a way the inanimate vehicle could never understand. “He has good days and bad.”

“How much longer?”

“Too long.” I put the truck into gear and programmed the destination into the navigational system. It lurched forward, the tracks catching slightly in the soft, damp clay of the plain. “Honestly I stopped counting a long time ago.”

We made it maybe half a mile before the rain started again, at first light pricks ricocheting off the windscreen of the truck, but quickly growing to fat blobs that exploded with a violent thud. I opened the valve to the distillation unit on the roof and a slow drip of cleansed water trickled into my canteen. After a few seconds I closed the valve and took a sip; the water was cool and clear. I offered some to Rafe, but he demurred with a slight wave. “Do you think he’ll go back to his career, after?” he asked.

I shrugged. “I don’t know. At the beginning they said they’d welcome him back, but I think we all expect that was just a pleasantry. I’m… I’m not sure if he could handle it, now.”

We rode in silence for a few more minutes before he spoke again. “I’m not sure he’ll approve,” he said with subtle defeat. “Especially if he goes back to work.”

“He doesn’t get a say,” I replied. I reached across the seats and took his hand in mine. I smiled as brightly as I could in reassurance. “I’ve made my choice. This is what I want, for myself. For us. He can object if he wants, but what’s the worst that happens? It’s not like we can be further apart, not after what’s happened.”

It was several days into the Dry Season before the panic really set in. The original settlers had always known it was a one-way trip out here- four hundred years was a long time in stasis, and there was never a guarantee the planet would provide a sufficient fuel source to power the generation ship’s massive thrust engines back up. So like seeds in the wind humanity scattered itself across the stars, secure in the knowledge that the Network Relays would prevent them from ever being truly alone. Mankind might diverge physically and spacially; over time genetics and environmental factors would certainly breed out several new homo subspecies. But with the Network we could at least stay connected enough to share our stories, our art, our discoveries, and what else has humanity ever been but that?

The governor made an address and appealed for calm. New Caledonia had been self-sustaining since the beginning, she reminded everyone. They’d be fine. It was always a known possibility that this might happen, and the best everyone could do was to go on with their lives. The Network would come back, or it wouldn’t; they’d keep trying to re-establish communication.

The rumors started swirling immediately. The panel show ratings skyrocketed. We watched some of the footage in school, when I was younger; one talking head insisted it could be an alien threat, splitting us up before some pending invasion. There’s never been any sign of extraterrestrial intelligence even exists, let alone in competition for colonization, the other shouted. A third argued it was a sign from God, that humanity had outreached its grasp.

A popular conspiracy stream posited that maybe it was just New Caledonia. What if everyone else’s Network connection still works, and they’re cutting us out? The opposition party saw an opportunity and ran with it- what if the government shut down the link? On purpose! What if this was all a ploy to consolidate power and rule the planet as an oligarchy? The riots lasted three days, with violence and looting in the city streets before cooler heads prevailed. The government stayed in tact, and the opposition leaders were purged for fomenting insurrection. And thus was born the New Caledonian hermit kingdom.

“I don’t think I’d even want it to come back, at this point,” I groused. “Not after all of this.”

“How can you say that?” Rafe asked, incredulous. “You’re not the least bit curious?”

I thought for a moment. “Curious, yeah, I guess. But I don’t know that it would change all that much. It’s been so long. What if it comes back and it’s just… too different?”

“Yeah but think of what we might be missing out on,” he argued. “It might have helped with The Rot. It might have…”

“Don’t,” I warned, feeling the threat of tears welling my eyes.

For one-hundred fifty-nine orbits we’d tended our flocks and tilled our soils alone. Without a broader knowledge base, technological progress slowed. In CSY 204 a plague came, some meta-organic compound released from a pit mine dug too deep. The Rot claimed thirteen percent of the population before we could quarantine it out. When I was nine they finally found a way to inoculate against it. I remembered wincing at the shot as my father looked on, relief evident in his face that I’d be spared the fate that had claimed so many lives, including my mothers.

Maybe Rafe was right; maybe someone out beyond the stars might have helped us avoid that tragedy. And maybe someone here might know or do something that could save lives elsewhere. But in the years since the Network went down, we’d persevered, raised generations on our own. And inevitably just like Rafael they would stare up at the night sky with the same wonder as those before. And then they’d also ask about the abandoned broadcast center in the empty valley beyond the outskirts of the main settlement, grown over with the local moss-analogue from years of disuse.

The truck crested a small hill, the tracks struggling for purchase in the mud as they pulled the vehicle over the incline, and we looked down into the valley where that broadcast center sat. Every two years an adult was selected by random lot to man the station, in the increasingly unlikely event communication with the Network was re-established. The government called it “The Receiver” in an effort to present it as some important position, but everyone knew it was a joke. It came with no real benefits, just a small stipend and the obligation of a community. We all prayed at the Harvest Festival that our number would not be drawn from the bowl.

My father was a proud man, an engineer who helped manage the settlement’s geothermal power station. His luck had run out eight-hundred sixty-three days ago. He swore up and down that the lottery was rigged; that the government thought him being a technical expert instead of a field-hand, that the fact that his wife was gone and his children all grown, made him expendable. He might have been right, but that didn’t absolve him the responsibility. So he’d resigned himself, and us with him, to the doldrums of minding an interface that may never come back online.

He read a book a day, or at least he claimed, and while the library did have a fair amount of humanity’s literary efforts prior to the cutoff, their plots and concerns were divorced from life here on the frontier. He took up drinking, inevitably, as did everyone else assigned to the posting. What they don’t tell you when your name is pulled from the bowl is that the sacrifice is not yours alone- the burden is your family’s to bear. My brother’s and I took turns minding him, bringing him food and checking on his mental well-being but they all had families of their own now, and I was desperate to start mine too. We were all ready to move on, and I hoped by bringing Rafael with me he could see that I was serious about starting our life together.

We pulled up outside the comms center and dismounted from the truck.

“Hang on a second,” Rafe said. “I want to talk to him.”

I looked at him quizzically.

“Just… let me do this, okay?”

I smiled and kissed his cheek gently. He went inside while I unloaded a tote filled with fresh fruits and a sandwich I’d laced with some amphetamines to help keep him lucid. The interior of the building was dark; the lights hard burned out several months ago and no one from the government could be bothered to maintain the place on any expedited time scale. I brushed some of the local vines from the threshold of the entryway as I entered. “Dad? It’s Shan. I brought some food.”

As I passed from the mottled grey sunlight outside to the dark interior I could make out blurry figures backlit by the eerie glow of his reading lamp.. They were both standing, which was odd. Dad was usually in the chair when I visited, most of the time asleep.

Rafe emerged suddenly from the shadows and grabbed me by the shoulders. “Shan. Stop.”

“What is it?” I asked, taken aback. “Is everything okay?”

“It’s… here. Let’s go outside.” He pulled me gently but forcefully toward the door.

“What the fuck, Rafe, stop it. Tell me what’s wrong.”

“It’s your dad. He…”

I shoved Rafael out of the way and stepped forward into the comm station. My father came into clearer focus, and I could tell immediately something wasn’t right. I came closer and dropped the basket to the floor in shock. His body hung limply, his feet swaying gently five centimeters from the floor. A length of electrical cord, half-stripped from the wall behind him, was wound tightly around his neck. I grabbed his feet and lifted, crying. “No no no no no, dad, fuck.” I pushed and contorted his body, trying to free him but to no avail. Tears were streaming down my face now, hot and wet.

I pulled a short table across the concrete floor and climbed up onto it, my vision blurred with anger and fear and sobs. I yanked at the cable, trying to unwind it, to free his body. I pulled and wrenched and screamed in desperation, banging on the overhead truss that supported it until I nearly broke my hand. I collapsed onto him, my hands around his shoulders, my face against his chest. His skin was cold and pallid. I was too late to save him.

“Shan.” Rafael stood in the entryway to the station. He offered his hand I took it gingerly, climbing down from the table and following him outside. He pulled me in close as I wailed. “I’m so sorry. I don’t…”

I pulled Rafe to the ground and cried for another few minutes, my chest heaving with agony. “It’s not your fault,” I whispered finally.

“It’s not yours either. You did the best you could.”

“I know.” I pulled the sleeve of my jumper up over my hand and wiped my eyes. “I think a part of me knew it would always end like this. It has so many times before. In a way it might be… I don’t know. Better? I’d always worried about what he would be like after.”

I gulped in air as my breathing stabilized. “Come help me get him down?”

“Sure,” he said, mustering a weak smile.

We went back into the station and looked upon him once more. He looked frail, fragile in a way he hadn’t before. Being alone this long, it just did things to a person. Rafael grabbed his feet as I climbed back up on the table. With Rafe bracing his weight I was able to loosen the taught cable and slip it free, and we lowered the body gently down to the table. He went out to the truck to get a bag to cover my father, and I stood silent vigil, until in the quiet I heard a strange humming noise from across the room. I turned and saw that the Network terminal screen was activated. “That’s… weird.”

I walked across and stood in front of the terminal, suddenly alive with activity. Rafe entered back in with the bag. “What’s that?”

“I don’t know. It’s not usually… on.” I leaned in close. “It’s displaying something.”

A line of dots and dashed appeared on the interface. “I… I think it’s old morse code. Dad had to learn it. I helped him practice.”

“What’s it say?” he asked, a sudden dread in his voice I didn’t recognize. I could feel my stomach welling up in anxiety as well.

“It says.... HELP.”

#was thinking about this again the other day #and then i expanded it to... this #i legit think this is one of the better short forms i've ever written #anyway screaming into the void etc

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dwellordream · 3 years

Text

“In the 1910s and 1920s, some people took particular offense to short skirts. Others were more disturbed by the sleeveless tops, delicate fabrics, and sheer stockings that young women fancied. Still others judged short hair the most troubling of fashion innovations. Yet no matter which aspect of the new styles they found more provocative, critics shared one fundamental conviction: They believed modern fashions to be part of a broader rebellion against conventional gender arrangements and therefore inextricably linked to the issue of female emancipation. Whether they talked about short skirts or short hair, they generally agreed that the new styles made women "much freer" and "more independent," both physically and psychologically, and that the reason for their enthusiastic embrace of the modern fashions lay in this fact.

In the years since then, both popular and professional historians have tended to reproduce this belief. With few exceptions, they have presented postwar fashions as a sign of young women's refusal to accept the constraints of nineteenth-century femininity and as evidence of their insistence on new physical freedoms. Like commentators at the time, they have emphasized the ease and practicality of the new styles, assuming that it was these qualities that held particular appeal to young women in general and working women in particular. Such claims are not without merit. When asked why they liked the new styles, many women who embraced modern fashions in the 1910s and 1920s pointed to their simplicity and convenience.

In retrospect, Henny Nedergaard, for example, explained that "old-fashioned dresses were so complicated. I remember in my childhood, it took forever for my mother to get dressed. The modern dresses were much easier. You just slipped them on—that was it." Charlotte Hansen also described the older styles of female dress as confining and appropriate only for a sedentary existence. "Our generation was different," she explained. "We were not content to just sit still and do nothing. Corsets and stays, that was not for us. We did not want to wear all those heavy clothes. They just did not fit us." According to Edith Jensen, the new styles "made it easier for women to move."

"Short dresses were much more practical," added Lily Enevold, "especially if you had to work. You couldn't really work in those long dresses." Some women endorsed short hair for the same reason. "Who in the world had time to comb and brush and put up long hair," Henriette Marie Markfeldt wanted to know, "when you had to be at work at seven o'clock in the morning? No, short hair was a lot easier." To deny that the new styles were in fact easier and more comfortable than the restrictive, corseted fashions and the elaborate coiffure of the nineteenth century would be pointless.

But to argue that the new fashions freed women from physical restrictions and eliminated time-consuming grooming would be equally untrue. Short, narrow skirts did not exactly promote free and unrestricted mobility. Neither did the high heels that became so popular in the postwar era. Silk stockings may have felt more comfortable than the older wool stockings, but they were also more fragile and more frequently in need of mending. Similarly, short hair may have required less daily attention, but it demanded regular trimming, and when curls and waves became the new fashionable norm, most women had to spend considerable time, not to mention substantial sums of money, at the hairdresser.

In addition, the new fashions demanded a slenderness that had not been a requirement for older generations of women. As fashion historian Valerie Steele has pointed out, stylistic change applies to bodies as well as clothes, and with the new, slimmer lines in women's clothing went slimmer female bodies. From the beginning of World War I, when the new fashionable styles first gained popularity, the "tyranny of slenderness" thus began its ascendancy over all women who wanted to be in style. In the postwar decade, this led to an unprecedented emphasis on dieting, a phenomenon still unfamiliar to most women in the early 1910s.

Yet already in the mid-1910s when the new styles were first introduced to broad audiences, advice on how to obtain a slender body became a regular feature in women's magazines. At first, such advice was rather infrequent and not particularly demanding. "The most efficient method is to eat minimally," one newspaper advised in 1915, acknowledging, however, that "this is of course not entirely convenient when one has a good cook." As a solution to this dilemma, the journalist recommended standing up for twenty minutes after each main meal, an exercise that supposedly would counteract the unfortunate effects of (too much) good food.

Gradually, dieting became more rigorous and sophisticated, and by the mid-1920s beauty experts were prescribing strict diets of grapefruit, fish, and raw vegetables "not just for a few days at a time, but. . . day in and day out, year in and year out." Other recommended ways of acquiring the slender body were equally taxing. In addition to dieting, women were encouraged to engage in various forms of physical exercise, not for the pleasure this might entail but for the results it would produce. If both of these strategies failed, a variety of commercial products promised shortcuts to a slender body.

From the early 1920s, a multitude of remedies, including oils, drinks, salts, and tablets, promised female consumers instant health and gradual thinness. Finally, women aiming for a sleek-looking body could—and very often did—turn to modernized versions of the traditional corset. Most famous for being discarded during the 1920s, corsets were in fact simply remodeled to suit the new styles. Replacing whalebone and canvas, tough elastic material flattened breasts and stomachs and eliminated the visible curves of hips and thighs.

Obviously, then, the fashions that made women more mobile and less physically restrained also made them more self-conscious about measuring up to the new "look." And no matter which strategy women chose in order to obtain the desired shape and weight, they had to engage in the immensely demanding process of self-surveillance and self-disciplining that the American historian Joan Jacobs Brumberg has labeled the twentieth-century female "body project." But if the new styles were neither as easy, simple, nor carefree as they have often been described, why did young women so eagerly embrace these fashions?

At the time, answers to this question were rarely articulated by the women who adopted the new styles, especially not in writing. After all, fashion is, as Mary Louise Roberts has pointed out, "something to wear, not [something] to write about," and even though journalists were fond of querying their readers about virtually any topic under the sun, they apparently never thought to ask young women to explain their enthusiasm for the new styles. But when asked several decades later, most women had an answer at hand. "It was what was fashionable back then and of course you wanted to be fashionable," said Dora Ingvardsen.

Lily Enevold gave a very similar explanation. "I guess it was just what was in style, and you know how young girls want to be stylish." Others, including Stine Petersen, explained that "for me, it wasn't really a big deal. I just wanted to look good." Had contemporaries heard such explanations, they may well have been less perturbed than most of them were. For some women, the new styles clearly had no significance beyond being the prescribed fashion. Their reason for liking the new styles was not that they permitted women new physical freedoms, and they did not associate short dresses or short hair with any kind of rebelliousness against the status quo.

As Marie Hedegaard poignantly remarked, "I belonged to Conservative Youth, but being politically conservative had nothing to do with that. Of course, we wore short dresses, and most of the girls [who belonged to the organization] had short hair." Still, the women who recalled their stylish appearances as merely the result of fashion prescription constituted a minority. Far more frequently women gave another explanation. In general, they claimed to have liked the new styles neither for their practicality nor for their ease, but because they were a particularly effective way of displaying their difference from older generations of women and asserting a distinctively "modern" female identity.

As Agnes Nyrop explained, "We were young and gay and full of life, and we wanted to look like that, look modern." Voicing the same sentiment, Louise Ege explained, "Those dresses did not just make you look stylish, they made you look modern." "Having short skirts and short dresses, that was part of being modern," added Gertrud 0st. "It made you feel free and young and modern. Stylish, you know, glamorous, and that was what we wanted," according to Amanda Christensen. Whether or not the new styles were in fact easier, more practical, and more convenient, this was obviously not the only factor in determining these women's fashion choices.

The fact that the new styles set young women visually apart from an older generations whose confining lives they did not care to emulate was at least as important. As Thora Smed recalled, "My mother, she never had a moment of ease in her life. It was always toil and moil for her. I think most of us dreamed of a life that would not be like that." For her, and for many other women who were young in the 1920s, sporting the new fashionable styles was simultaneously an expression of this desire and part of its fulfillment. In her words, "We wanted something more, something better, and I guess [wearing fashionable clothes] was in a way part of that."

Simply wearing the new fashions certainly seemed to provide many women with a sense of glamour and style that lifted their existence into a "modern" realm of luxury, pleasure, and indulgence unfamiliar to most of their mothers. As a result, even the stringent requirements for slenderness and the laborious aspects of other forms of beauty care seemed well worth the effort. In fact, engaging in such beauty care was in itself a privilege that many young women treasured. "I have to admit that [we] spent a lot of time on looking good," confided Vera Thorsen. "But it was fun. Trying different things, trying this and that. No, it was fun."

But the new fashionable styles did not only play a role on the individual level. They also signaled young women's collective embrace of a new identity as "modern" women and their commitment to creating a life for themselves that would be "modern" in a much broader sense. Ingrid Kristensen's answer to the question of why she liked the new styles was therefore less a non sequitur than it first appeared. After a brief pause, she explained that "young girls had a lot in common back then. We wanted something different." After yet another pause, she added pensively, "I think that was why we liked [the new fashionable styles]. It was like— like that was what you let people know when you looked like that."

Clearly, then, young women did not consider the new styles emancipatory in and of themselves. Still, to dismiss the women who wore them as merely clothes horses and fashion plates would be mistaken. Their pursuit of the modern look may have been informed by mass-produced images of female glamour and style, and the acquisition of a fashionable appearance unquestionable tied young women into elaborate patterns of consumption and individual beauty care.

But to the extent that the new styles provided young women with an individual and collective identity as "modern" women, fashion and appearance were part of young women's rebellion against the past. While they did not define themselves as feminists in any way, they were certainly not willing to accept the restricted, joyless lives they believed their mothers and grandmothers to have lived, and in their own understanding, this was exactly what they signaled through their adoption of the new fashions.”

- Birgitte Soland, “The Emergence of the Modern Look.” in Becoming Modern: Young Women and the Reconstruction of Womanhood in the 1920s

#birgitte soland #becoming modern #1920s #fashion #diet culture #history #gender

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seasonsofeverlark · 3 years

Text

Something Red

Author: @eiramrelyat

Prompt: Everlark meets during a crazy shopping experience (pre-Christmas sales around US Thanksgiving). Bonus points for romance blossoming! (well, of course!) ;) [Submitted by @mandelion82]

Rating: M

Author’s Notes: As I started writing this, I’m not sure how realistic this would be, but I went with it. Also, the store mentioned in the story is entirely made up, but my inspiration came from the Capitol. Thank you @jroseley for editing my story, and thank you @mandelion82 for the prompt. I hope this shopping experience is crazy enough haha. Enjoy!

___________

“So how did you two meet?” Delly, their neighbor, asked.

Katniss and Peeta glanced at each other. “Oh, um…” she faltered.

Peeta turned toward Delly, giving her one of his charming smiles. “I’ll let my wife tell this story. She’s a great story-teller.”

He was doing this to tease her, and Katniss scowled at him.

Of course, she should have expected the onslaught of questions from their neighbors during the neighborhood autumn block party. And it was a simple question, really, one that they answered often. Still, it flustered her every time she recalled that day…

“Jo, couldn’t we have waited to come on a different day? You can’t even walk around in here,” Katniss grumbled while squeezing her way between sales racks and huddles of women.

She hated shopping, especially on one of the busiest days of the year. Not to mention that the store Jo wanted to go to (a high-end lingerie store downtown known as Capitol Delights) was holding a fundraiser that day. But Jo was persistent when she showed up at Katniss’s door that morning, practically dragging her out of bed and force-feeding her toast. Jo’s excuse was that she needed something to wear for her and Gale’s anniversary. Katniss thought it pointless.

“Well, then there wouldn’t be any Black Friday sales, brainless,” Jo said dryly. Then she held up pink fuzzy handcuffs. “These look just like the pair Gale uses at home.” Katniss’s face felt hot as she looked at the cuffs, and she tried desperately to erase the mental image that was slowly unfolding.

“I could have gone a lifetime without hearing that.” This made Jo snicker and put the cuffs back.

During their one hour of shopping, Katniss had learned way more about her friends’ sex lives than what she was comfortable knowing. Like Gale’s reaction to Jo in stockings or how her friend owned several dominatrix costumes⎯ it made her cringe just thinking about it.

As they moved from showroom to showroom, Katniss had no intention of trying anything on in that store, least of all the actual lingerie. Most of it was priced way above what Katniss was willing to spend on a pair of lacy underthings. And it was overly bawdy compared to the simple cotton underwear that she owned.

Though Jo had other plans. Of course, she did. “Here.”

Katniss had just enough time to react to Jo tossing her something she found on the sales table⎯ the item nearly hitting her in the face. She glared at her friend, then looked down at the red strappy teddy in her hands. Her eyes widened. The garment didn’t even have enough material to pass as a piece of clothing. “I’m not trying that on,” she said firmly. “Plus, who am I going to wear this for?”

Jo gave her a mischievous grin. “Yourself… or for your blind date that your boss is sending you on with her grandson, duh.”

Katniss rolled her eyes and tossed the teddy back onto the display table. “I’m not going to sleep with him. We’re only going out to dinner.”

“Right.” Jo snorted. “You say that until you find out that he’s hot.”

“There’s more to someone than their looks, Jo,” Katniss insisted.

“Come on, just try something on. I feel like I’m shopping by myself here.”

“That’s because you are. I’m an office assistant. I can’t afford any of this,” she argued.

Jo released a dramatic sigh, then leaned forward to pluck three items off the nearest rack and shoved them into Katniss’s hands. “Fine, you twisted my arm. I’ll buy them for you.”

Katniss shook her head. “What, no-” But Jo cut her off with a tsk and grabbed her hand.

“Now, would you hurry up? We’re never going to get a fitting room if you keep dragging your feet,” Jo grumbled. Katniss didn’t even get a chance to inspect what Jo grabbed before being pulled in the direction of the fitting rooms on the second floor.

At the top of the escalator, they entered a dome-shaped room that looked nothing like fitting rooms⎯ it almost resembled that of a hotel lobby. In the middle of the room, a woman with brightly colored hair and a chipper voice greeted them from her reception-style desk. Katniss wasn’t sure what was more absurd, the reception desk or the woman’s orange hair. “Hello, how may I help you, ladies?"

"Two fitting rooms, please,” Jo told the woman.

“Of course, right this way!” They’re led down a hall of doors similarly styled like the rest of the store with its black floors and walls, making the narrow strip appear endless. Two doors were unlocked for her and Jo, then the woman turned toward them with a wan smile. “Now, if you need help, ask for Effie,” she said.

Before Effie had walked away, Jo was already closing the door to her room.

Katniss gave the woman a smile and turned the handle to her own door. After she opened it, she paused to take in how polished the room was. Silver wallpaper covered the walls, paired with dark carpet and a single maroon chaise in the middle of the room. But that wasn’t what stopped her. No, it was the giant one-way mirror on the far wall that overlooked the fundraiser in the neighboring building. Sounds of clapping and music can be heard from the other side.

How… odd. Katniss had never seen anything like it. Nor was she comfortable with the idea of changing in front of the people below⎯ not that they could see her. Still, she closed the long drapes puddled on one side of the window, just in case.

Katniss set her pile of clothes down on one side of the chaise, feeling hesitant to try any of it on. But after a moment of contemplating whether to lie to Jo about it, she sighed and began stripping down to only her underwear.

It didn’t take her long to figure out that Jo’s style conflicted with hers, though she probably could have figured that out before she went through all of the trouble of trying the first two garments on. She almost didn’t bother with the red teddy that Jo had tossed at her last minute. But she removed the narrow straps from the hanger and started working her arms and legs into the strips of lace and nylon⎯ a decision she soon regretted.

Everything was going fine until one of the straps in the back became tangled as she was adjusting the fit. She tried reaching behind her to undo the knot, but it was too small for her fingers to grasp onto.

After six attempts, her arms fell down to her sides tirelessly, blood pounding from holding them behind her back for so long. She released a frustrated sigh, pushing her sweaty bangs out of her face. “Shit.” She was undoubtedly stuck in that ridiculous red teddy.

Now what?

She bit her lip, pondering whether she should walk over to Jo’s door in her current state of dress… or lack thereof.

After deciding that it was her only option, aside from risking the reception desk, Katniss slid on her flats and opened the door to her fitting room. She covered her nearly exposed breasts with her arm and stepped across the hall toward Jo’s room. Her knuckles rapped against the door. “Jo,” she said, waiting, then tried again when there was no answer. “Are you in there?” Still, no response.

God, she really didn’t want to walk all the way out to the reception area. But she looked down the hall, anyway⎯ it was empty. Maybe she could make it to Effie and back without being spotted.

Now with both arms crossed over her chest, she made her way toward Effie’s desk. She was walking so fast that she didn’t have time to stop for the person that rounded the corner into the fitting rooms.

“Oof,” she gasped as she bounced off a solid chest. A hand gripped her elbow before she could fall over as the sound of boxes clattering to the floor reached her ears.

The person she had run into let go of her elbow and crouched down to pick up the two boxes at her feet. When they stood up again, her breath caught in her throat. All she could do was helplessly gawk at the guy in front of her.

He was a few inches taller than her and wore a short-sleeve white button-down, the words Mellark Bakery etched into the right pocket. Short curly blond hair was neatly gelled back⎯ only two unruly strands rested against his forehead. She also noticed the series of colorful tattoos that covered his skin. They started on his taut biceps underneath his shirt sleeves and ended at his hands.

He was extremely attractive.

“Are you okay?” he asked, looking down at her.

She blinked, then remembered the mess she just made. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t paying attention to where I was going.” Heat swirled in her face.

He smiled. “Don’t worry about-” he stopped suddenly, his breath hitching, ears turning pink.

It was then that she realized she was no longer shielding her chest. Instead, only a thin strip of cloth covered her nipples from the stranger, leaving her almost entirely exposed. “Oh!” Katniss crossed her arms over her chest again, hoping to preserve some modesty. “Men aren’t allowed back here,” she exclaimed in near panic. Her face burned hotter.

He looked anywhere but her while rubbing the back of his neck with his free hand. “Er, sorry, I uh- I was told to use the back door for the fundraiser,” he explained and nodded toward a door next to one of the fitting rooms. “I’m the caterer.”

“I… oh,” she said lamely.

Still not looking at her, he asked, “are you one of the models for the fundraiser?”

His words left her stupefied and a little speechless. She didn’t think she could pull off being a model, but she was flattered that he thought so. “Uh, no. I-” she cleared her throat, “I was looking for my friend.” For some reason, she was embarrassed to admit the next part. “I, um, I’m kind of stuck.”

“Oh?”

She nodded her head, even though he couldn’t see it. “Yeah…”

“Well, I can help you,” he suggested.

Her eyes widened, and she was pretty sure her brain stopped working. “What?”

His head snapped toward her. “Wait, that came out wrong! I meant I can help you find your friend, not with your outfit. Not that I don’t want to-,” he paused, scrubbing a hand over his face and his mouth tilted up into a shy smile. “I’m sorry, do you want me to find someone to help you?”

Katniss bit the inside of her cheek. She wasn’t going to lie. The thought of him helping her didn’t seem totally unappealing. But what if Effie caught them and assumed they were doing more than untangling the teddy?

Honestly, it didn’t make the idea any less inviting. In fact, it did nothing more than add fuel to Katniss’s imagination.

“Okay,” she said after a moment. “You can help me if you want.” The request was barely audible to her own ears, but the red splotches spreading up his neck told her that he heard her.

“I don’t know, are you sure?” he asked carefully.

“Uh-”

At the sound of women coming up the escalator, Katniss grabbed his hand (ignoring how warm it felt in her palm) and guided him back to her fitting room. Once inside, she dropped his hand and tried to fight the blush that followed.

Now that they were alone, she suddenly felt anxious and giddy. And she silently hoped that he didn’t think she did this often. Because she was already having a hard time believing that she just pulled some stranger into her fitting room. He could be some crazed killer for all she knew. Although, the way he was nervously fidgeting next to the door made it seem unlikely.

“So, where do you want to- where do you want to do this?” he asked finally.

“Oh, um,” she turned toward the chaise in the middle of the room, “maybe it’ll be easier if I sit down.” He followed her, and she sat down with her back facing him.

She pulled her hair out of the way as he set his boxes down somewhere behind her. “Okay, where are you stuck?” he asked shyly. Her skin broke out in goose flesh as she felt the heat from his hands at her back.

Katniss reached behind her, searching for the small knot. “Right here.”

“Okay.” An involuntary shiver coursed up her spine when his fingers touched her skin, but he didn’t seem to notice (or ignored it) and continued toying with the knot.

It didn’t take him long to undo the mess she made at her back, then he worked his way toward the next part that became twisted. She gasped when his nimble fingers brushed a sensitive spot on her side. His hands froze, and she blushed furiously.

“Sorry,” he said quickly.

Katniss licked her suddenly dry lips. “It’s okay, I’m just… ticklish.” He hesitated for a moment, but then she felt his fingers working at her side again. When he reached her front, her breathing sped up because he was currently crouched in level with her chest. She tried to distract herself by watching his tattooed fingers undo the lace, and became slightly in awe by the contrast between his hands and her stomach.

But this did little to distract her. Because now she was thinking about those hands exploring all parts of her skin.

Another breathy gasp escaped her when he reached the bit at her navel, and this time, he bit his lip but didn’t stop. His brows furrowed in concentration until he had finished untwisting the teddy. Katniss had to bring her hands up to keep the garment from falling down, and she gave him a timid smile.

“Thank you,” she murmured.

He rested his hands on either side of her thighs. They were a respective distance, but it didn’t stop her stomach from swooping or thinking about how precarious their position was. After all, he was kneeling between her partially opened thighs, and she might as well be naked.

“You’re welcome,” he said, his voice sounding an octave lower than before.

She bit her lip and watched his eyes follow the movement. There was a sudden urge to lean forward and kiss him, but he pulled away before she could respond to the impulse.

He stood up, the left side of his mouth tilting upwards. “I’m sorry, I should probably get going. I might be missed downstairs.”

“Yeah,” she breathed, nodding her head. “Er, thank you again. You didn’t have to help me…”

He shrugged. “I’m a gentleman. What can I say?”

He walked around the chaise to pick up his boxes, and before he could leave, she quickly said, “I don’t normally ask random strangers to help me out in the fitting room. This is kind of… well, it’s a first-time occurrence.” Katniss was unsure why she said it, but she felt like she needed to convey this to him.

He laughed, though, the sound thrilling her. “I didn’t think you did,” then he left her room.

Katniss changed back into her clothes and exited her room in a bit of a daze. Jo walked back toward her room, hands full of more clothes, and released a low whistle. “You should have seen the hottie I saw leaving the fitting room. If I wasn’t married…”

“Mhm,” Katniss hummed, not really paying attention to what Jo was saying, but her ears perked up at what she said next.

“So, did you find something for tomorrow night?”

Oh,… right. How did she forget about her date?

She sighed. “No.”

“Good, because I found more things for us to try on.”

Katniss didn’t bother telling Jo that the ‘hottie’ she was referring to had helped her out of a piece of lingerie.

The following day, she wasn’t any more enthused about her date and dragged her feet to the door when she heard him knock. However, as she pulled open the door, she was a bit startled to find the guy who helped her in the fitting room on the other side. He was dressed in a navy suit and a pair of dark dress shoes that revealed more tattoos on the tops of his feet. And instead of boxes in his hands, he held a bouquet of orange dahlias.

Okay, maybe he was some crazed killer… or a stalker.

She was about to accuse him of following her until a mutual look of surprise registered on his face. “Katniss?” he asked slowly.

She nodded, fidgeting with the skirt of her dress. “And you must be Peeta, Mags’ grandson?”

“Yeah,” he breathed. “Wow, small world.”

“Yeah,” she repeated after him. They awkwardly stood in her doorway, and Katniss couldn’t seem to take her eyes away from how well he filled out his suit. And another look at his hands had her thinking about his fingers feathering over her skin again. The thought discomposed her, making her blurt out her next words before she could think about them. “I like your tattoos.”

When he didn’t say anything right away, her cheeks went hot with humiliation. But then his mouth broke into a grin. “Thank you.” She sighed with relief, then he added, “I like how you look in red.” Her eyes widened. He couldn’t be referring to- “Your dress, I mean,” Peeta continued.

“Oh.” Of course, what was she thinking?

At her reply, he rushed to correct himself. “Not that you didn’t look good in the teddy yesterday! Wait- I mean-” He was rambling, but Katniss could only focus on the fact that he was thinking about her in that piece of lingerie.

She paused for a nanosecond, reluctant about what she would say next⎯ her blood rushed into her ears. “Well, I can show you what else I bought yesterday?"

He visibly gulped, and he nodded his head stiffly. "Uh, sure.” Then she walked away from the door.

He followed her inside, and the door closed behind him with a soft click…

“And that’s how we met,” Katniss finished with the story, shooting Peeta a secret smile. His mouth quirked, and he took a drag from his beer.

“Oh, that’s so romantic,” Delly exclaimed, sighing to herself. “Don’t tell Thom, but I wish we met anywhere other than a grocery store.”

When they left the party later that evening, Peeta stopped them in the middle of the sidewalk on the way to their house. “So, you find my tattoos attractive?” he asked, smirking.

She blushed, poking his ribs playfully. “You already knew this. I’ve mentioned it in numerous versions of the story. Plus, I tell you this all of the time.”

Peeta laughed and pulled her against his side. “Also, that’s not exactly how I remember us meeting,” Peeta said, looking down at her with amusement. “You seemed to have left out the part where we had sex on that maroon chaise, and again in your apartment. But I appreciate you making me sound like quite the cavalier.”

She shivered at the memory. How is it after three years, Peeta still managed to get her all hot and bothered with a few simple words?

“You are a gentleman,” she told him, then Katniss stepped out from his side and tugged on his hand. “But maybe you can jog my memory about how unhonourable you were that day.”

His jaw ticked, and he gave her a wicked grin. “Gladly.” And Katniss squealed as Peeta picked her up and threw her over his shoulder.

#everlark #everlark fanfiction #autumn #autumn 2020 #eiramrelyat #submission #prompt

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the-chick-of-the-air · 4 years

Text

A Quiet Kind Of Sad

Summary: Cardan is feeling a bit neglected and it makes him sad. Jude is there to make him feel better. Rating: G

Cardan was sad

That may sound ridiculous, even silly. But the truth was, even the High King of Elfhame felt blue every now and again.

Especially when the cause for such feelings were brought on by those closest to him.

It had started with The Roach.

The spy had arranged for an early sly-footing lesson with the King when out of no where he had to “reschedule”. Normally this wouldn’t have bothered Cardan, but he had been slightly anxious that morning (Jude hadn’t been in bed when he woke. Rather a flimsy piece of parchment stating she’d gone with The Bomb to scout out a potential threat lay in her stead. He very much loved waking up to the warmth of his wife next to him, thank you very much.) and he’d been looking forward to distracting himself with some lessons. Alas, that fell through.

In an even worse mood then normal, Cardan decided to show up to the council meeting scheduled for that afternoon. He still detested the things, but Jude was out (which made it even worse, the only reprieve he found during meetings such as these were when he had his wife firmly by his side) and she would want him to go for the both of them.

This brought on a whole new level of irritation, as none of the council members took him seriously in the first place. Without Jude to steer the ship that was this mess of a meeting, things had quickly spiraled out of hand and ended in a wreck. And of course, no one had deigned to listen to anything the High King had to say, which only further upset him.

He left the council room fuming, with no recollection of anything that was said- it had all been useless pecking anyway, but still- and Cardan had found himself in desperate need of two things, a breather and his Queen.

Thankfully, she had returned sometime during the meeting. She would need a break after all that sleuthing as well, right?

Wrong, apparently.

Cardan had all but burst into his wife’s study, intent in asking-begging, if need be- her to take a walk with him around the gardens. Surely she wouldn’t deny him that? Usually when they were separated for more then half a day they would get agitated without one another. Cardan would dare say it vital to all those who lived in Elfhame to ensure their rulers spent as much time together as possible.

Confidant that he would finally find some solace with his favorite person, he finally got to her and reached out to pull her into himself.

And she immediately moved away from him.

A sharp pang-that he would never admit to…probably- tore into Cardan’s chest. Why had she done that?

Though, he supposed, she had looked distracted, probably didn’t even notice his presence, so caught up in whatever document she was reading as she was. And maybe he’d gotten to good at sly-footing and she hadn’t heard him?

Geared with this hope, Cardan had moved in again, this time aiming to kiss her cheek. That would for sure get her attention-he was proud to say he was the only one allowed to kiss her face without consequences!- however as soon as he got close enough to brush his lips to her skin, she turned from him, murmuring, “Hi. Sorry, busy.”

Bus- what?

Cardan had practically deflated. Normally he’d simply grab her head and press kiss after kiss to her face until he got a laugh or a good natured scowl or something out of her.

But he was always in a good mood when he did that.

Now, he’d felt the final blow of the long beating that this day has doled out to him. And he couldn’t take it anymore. He found himself wilting as he thought back over every interaction he’d had that day. Thought of how The Roach had given no explanation as to his sudden disappearing act. Thought of how the Living Council had argued over his orders and drowned out his words until he had no choice but to remain silent. Thought of how even some servants had been eyeing him with an air of cool distrust that day.

And now his own wife, the one person, the one love he was certain he would be freely granted, especially when everyone else pushed him away, was shutting him out.

With a start, Cardan wondered if this was his doing. He frantically wracked his own mind, searching through his memory of the last few days, trying to find his mistake, his misstep. What had he done to incite such cold reactions from his closest company? What did he do to deserve this?

He came up short, but surely he’d done something wrong, at least in their eyes?

Almost too afraid of the answer he would receive, Cardan decided to ask what he’d originally set out to ask Jude for, desperately hoping this was all in his head, “I simply thought I would request a few moments of your time, dear Jude,” he’d bit out against his growing hurt, “A walk around the gardens, perhaps? I find myself in sore need of a break. Surely you would like a moment to yourself as well?”

Jude hadn’t even looked up, “I’m fine but you can go. I’ll see you later.”

Right, then. It appeared his time had been wasted in pursuit of trying to spend it with those who obviously didn’t want his company.

Nodding once, Cardan turned as quickly and as gracefully as he could and all but ran from the room.

He ignored the stares he revived from servants and loitering courtiers alike as he fled to the safety of his chambers-of their chambers. Once inside, he slammed the doors shut and willed a few throned vines to grow tightly over them.

And without further fanfare, he flung himself onto the oversized bed and cried.

So yes. Cardan was sad. And lonely. He could only assume that his closest companions aversion to spending time with him stemmed from their joint displeasure with him. Though what they were displeased about was a horrible mystery to him.

Perhaps he just wasn’t interesting enough for them any longer. Maybe he had done something to elicit subtle anger from everyone-well, the council wasn’t very subtle in their feelings, but The Roach and his lovely Jude had mastered the art of silent seething- it could be that everyone was just tired of him, he did have the remarkable ability to drive people away very quickly. Even those loyal to him eventually found cause for abandoning him.

He cried a little harder.

Rather then further trying to puzzle out why everyone hated him that day, Cardan simply allowed himself the small luxury of just feeling. Just accepting the tears as they slipped down his cheeks. He found it was ok to be sad, so long as you had a sound reason.

He was a bit lost in his own sorrows-mainly trying to ward off harsh memories of a mother who never wanted him and didn’t bother to hide it- so he didn’t immediately notice when someone entered the room.

After the footsteps registered, it wasn’t hard to figure out just who had been able to get through those vines.

Jude frowned when she entered their chambers. She’d had trouble remembering Cardan’s demeanor when he’d attempted to…what had he been in her study for? She had been so caught up in correspondence that she’d failed to really register what he had wanted. She’d figured if he hadn’t pressed the matter then it must not have been that important.

That pretense flew out the window when she reached the chamber doors.

They were bolted shut from the inside. It’d taken her a few moments and the use of her power-which she was still learning to use in its full capacity- to realize that the object blocking the doors was a thick group of thorny vines. She willed them to wither and made her way inside.

Pointless to say, she was slightly stunned when she heard sniffling coming from their bed. Was…was her husband crying?

Despite it not being very loud, nor dramatic-which was concerning, as drama was his go-to emotion- the sound tugged at something in her chest. She found herself hurting for her love, even though she’d had yet to find what ailed him.

She was about to ask-softly and sweetly because he was upset enough to be weeping- what was wrong when she caught herself.

She remembered his question. The way he’d asked her to take a break with him. It was as if the sound of him breaking down slapped the memory back into her.

He’d sounded agitated, upset, even. And didn’t he usually latch onto her as a way of greeting? He hadn’t- …yes. Yes he had. He’d reached out for her and she’d absentmindedly brushed him away, focused on her work as she was.

And, when trying to figure out why else he would be moved to tears-surely her unintentional rejection alone hadn’t pushed him over the edge- she recalled The Roach offhandedly mentioning he’d had to cancel her husband’s sly-footing lesson that morning due to a personal matter. Cardan must have taken it the wrong way.

Randalin had also stopped her in the hall, snidely commenting that her presence at the council meeting had been missed. Cardan hated those things on a good day.

She was an idiot. Her husband had been having a rough day and she’d ignored him in favor of work. Normally he would be fine with that-he always told her he adored the way she got lost in ruling the kingdom now and again- but he’d obviously been upset from the very start of the day.

Jude wasn’t one to coddle, normally. But the High King so rarely showed his vulnerability like this. And the fact that there wasn’t a single flask of alcohol in sight proved how serious this was. It may have not seemed big, but his feelings were valid, at least to her.

A sigh escaped her as she quickly made her way over to her husband. His eyes were open but staring blankly at the wall. A pillow-hers, she noted- was tucked in the crook of his arm, hiding half his face since he was laying on his stomach. Tears streaked his cheeks and dampened her pillow.

She said nothing, knowing words wouldn’t fix this. Mortals could lie, and if he was this down, he’d surely believe anything that came out of her mouth was nothing but false. Actions would have to speak for her.

She leaned over and kissed his bare shoulder. Her fingers found their way into his hair and she gently tugged at his curls when he buried his face in the pillow.

I’m sorry. She hoped the potency of that one thought seeped into his skin where her lips touched, hoped he could feel her asking for forgiveness for making him feel like this. Long past were the days where they derived any sort of pleasure for hurting each other emotionally. Now, any pain one felt was shared with the other, in sync and in love as they were.

Silently she slipped into the bed with him and wrapped her arms securely around him, leaving no room for doubt about how badly she wanted to be near him.

He shuddered, silent cries still wracking his body, and burrowed closer to her, wrapping his arms around her waist and burying his face in her chest. His tail wrapped tightly around her calf. Her shirt was wet in seconds. That was ok though, because her face was wet with her own tears.

She hadn’t meant to hurt him. And she desperately hoped he knew that, could sense her regret for neglecting him when he was obviously going through a tough time.

After a moment, his tears finally subsided. And Jude spoke before he had the chance to feel embarrassed or ridiculous about showing a normal emotion. Placing a kiss to his head she whispered,

“We can go on that walk now”.

His only response was to pull her closer.

Might do a part two where Jude knows from the beggining that he’s upset and we get a bit more insight to how they spend their time together while they are just comforting each other. As always, let me know what you guys think ❤️

Tag-list: (please let me know if you would like to be added to my tag list and I’ll be happy to add you🥰)

@maleckanejnessianjurdansolangelo @woodsbeyond1 @cardan-greenbriar-tcp @thewickedkings @aneurwin @snusbandxknifewife @jurdanhell @andromeddea @dressedindustandshadows @thesirenwashere @b00kworm @hizqueen4life @unidentifiedblackthorn @iminsanenotobsessed

❤️

#cardan greenbriar #jude duarte #jurdan #the cruel prince #tcp #tqon #twk #jude x cardan #fluff #angst #likeonlyalilbittho

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tinkonka · 3 years

Text

sirinoel: trapped in the past

setting: after the mishap at the horror storytelling session. words: 2,448. content warning: descriptions of organs/disturbing imagery. characters: sirius gibson, noel levine, claire elford this was originally intended to be platonic, but i don’t mind for it to be romantically interpreted! enjoy :)

It is not unfamiliar to Sirius how ostracized 'witches’ are by the world around him. He wouldn't know if a person before him was a heinous witch, nor would he take out his frustrations on someone in the first place, unlike the many members of the public that did so without hesitation. It was the way of the society before him - witch, bad. Nicholas, mayor of Ribecca, good. Although Sirius knew that execrable man was buried 6 feet under, his distaste for him still sat sour on his tongue.

To him, and him only, he was the villain, and she was his hero. Lady Dorothy, who had taken him in, shown him love. Surely, someone as compassionate as her would be rendered a good person in society - he was doubtful he was the only one with whom Lady Dorothy had shown kindness. And yet like puppets on a string, the public ate up the artificial story like a moth to a flame. She went down in history as an unwelcome demon.

So of course it was reasonable for Sirius to be upset, yes? Though the curses he had spat out whilst bombarding Ashe with feeble kicks and punches may have been unnecessary, the words of disdain that had slipped out the researchers mouth was deemed a perfect excuse to shut him up. It was explainable that the others would defend him, given his reaction, and yet here Sirius sat, gaze fixated on his hands which were quivering in response to the thoughts that seemed to be burning into his mind.

It was the only thing he wanted to look at. He was sure if he glanced up to pay mind to some inanimate object, he would witness the horrific incident 12 years ago for a second time, where Lady Dorothy had so hastily departed from his life. Organs spread along the walls, gouged out eyes scattered as if they were merely childlike toys - as if the room in which multiple people died were a playroom. Blood, blood, so much blood. The smell was suffocating.

And lo and behold, he was alone. Alone in this wretched room. Most days, he would find solace in his own company, but now it felt like his own shadow was taunting him from another world, prompting him to think of 'what if's despite the tragedy having been over for a long time.

She would come back, he told himself. No matter how long he would have to wait, his heroine would come back and he would prove them all wrong.

"Just keep calm... it's over. She will come back." He whispered, willing himself to keep the tears down, to keep the 12 years of trauma secreted. Honestly, the one moment he wished to let out his emotions, and there were people inhabiting the once lonesome mansion. The size of the place made it so he was confident that he wouldn't be heard, but given the circumstances he didn't have much doubt someone would come to say some pointless words.

Consolation, resentment, neither mattered to him. Simple sympathetic platitudes wouldn't cure his unhappiness.

And as he seemed to predict the future, there came a couple of knocks that snapped him out of his stupor. Followed by a few moments of silence, and then they began for a second time, accompanied by calls for him by two familiar sounding voices.

At this hour? Sirius grumbled to himself, forcing himself to look to the clock. Luckily for him, the sudden spikes of dissonance had grounded him back to reality, and Lady Dorothy's bedroom appeared as it was mere minutes ago. No mustached man pointing a revolver at him, no intestines thrown around as if they were party streamers.

He was safe. And he hoped this would remain, as he promptly stood up to answer the door. Hands still trembling ever-so-slightly, he rubbed his face, just in case some tears had fallen astray without his knowledge. With hesitance, he twisted the knob and opened it slowly.

"Sirius!" Ah, it was Noel and Claire. Predictable.

"Siriuuus!!" Claire exclaimed, overjoyed to see his presence for some reason he fails to comprehend. Combined with Noel's excited smile, the two of them being here, and Claire's usual jubilant demeanor despite the dreary circumstances... frankly, Sirius was baffled.

"Ugh, what's wrong with you two? Do you know what time it is?" He grumbled, a scowl set on his face per usual.

"Wah! Sorry!" came Claire's apology.

"We're sorry!" Noel added. Honestly, the two of them are still doing this?

"...What are you here for?" Sirius decided on saying, his expression softening as he gazed over his two childhood friends.

"...We were worried..." Noel replied, rubbing his arm with his left hand meekly. He chuckled weakly with a small smile. "Haha, though I guess you're okay... Hm?"

Unwarranted, Noel took a step closer to Sirius, squinting with concentration as he analyzed the smaller males face. Aforementioned smaller male was definitely not having the best night - and in response to this, took a step back.

"Whatever do you think you're doing? I'm fine, see?" He scowled. Maintaining eye contact, Sirius could see (even with only one side of his face) that Noel had found what he was searching for.

"...Have you been crying?"

...What?

"...Huh?"

"Your eyes are swollen... and you're a little red." Noel continued with a worried expression, gaze still centered on Sirius' face.

"Oh, dear!" Claire exclaimed, moving forward to stand adjacent to her light-haired companion. "Are you sure you're okay? Can we come in? I'm great at cheering people u-"

"I don't want your flimsy condolence!" Sirius waved a hand dismissively, his face heating up. "I'm fine. I don't need to be consoled. You'd do well to just leave me be."

"Whaaat?! That's not true! Everybody wants help when they're upset, right?" Claire argued obliviously, placing her hands on her hips. Seems she had yet to figure out when Sirius was genuine, that at certain times talking back was deemed a personal attack. Her energy then dulled as she fixed her stare on Sirius' face with a smaller smile than before - one that was sympathetic rather than joyful. "We're here for you, okay? You can tell us-"

"What part of 'leave me alone' do you fail to comprehend?! You're as thickheaded as you've always been- everything was just FINE before you decided to come back!" Sirius shot back angrily, his hands balling into a fist as he progressively got frustrated.

"...Come back?"

Ah, shoot. A slip of the tongue - as composed as he usually was, Sirius found himself seething at her words that likely had good intent - and had so senselessly spat out things he had wished to keep to himself.

"What do you mean, 'come back'? I haven't come here-"

"AHHRGG! Just forget it, okay?! It doesn't matter!" He could feel the tears building up, and yet he stupidly preserved. "Just leave as you did all that time ago! See if I give a damn!"

"Sirius, stop." Noel, who had been keeping his silence, placed his hands on Sirius' shoulders, appearing stern - something extremely foreign to Sirius. He was too stunned to take Noels hands off his shoulders - his serious expression wasn't something Sirius had witnessed before. "...Claire, would you mind leaving us alone for a little?" He turned to the shorter girl beside him, who in response, nodded with a meek expression.

"...Let me know if you need anything, alright?" She mumbled, and with that, she walked off with her head hung low.

Now with the usually boisterous girl absent, Sirius' attention immediately turned to the more pivotal objective - not to confront Noel, who undoubtedly had things to say, but to keep the lump in his throat down. It had been years since Sirius had cried, and with company, he didn't want to start now. He couldn't start now.

Head spinning, no words left his mouth as Noel led him into his room, shutting the door behind him as he led Sirius over the desks in which he would spend a long amount of time slumped over, attempting to complete some work. Upon seeing the protective charms he had recently finished, he was once again reminded of his precious violet-haired witch.

And the world turned red.

Suddenly heaving for breath, Sirius slumped over, his hands rushing up to his face in an attempt to hide from the horror that had befallen him. The pungent, estranged smell of blood that he hadn't suffered for years had quickly made its home back in his nostrils. And before he knew it, the anguish he had worked so hard to conceal came pouring out in a single go.

He was too far gone to hear the cries of alarm that undoubtedly came from his childhood friend, too trapped in the past to realize he was now on the ground, curling up instinctively as he sobbed out years of pain.

And as quickly as it started, it halted with a foreign warmth that had enveloped his body, eyes flying open to reveal aforementioned childhood companion holding Sirius in a tight hug.

"Take deep breaths. You're fine, you're safe." He could hear him properly now. Noel's smooth voice never failed to ground him, whether had been an explosive outburst or being too wrapped in a book - Sirius would recognize his voice no matter what the circumstance.

And with no hesitation, Sirius melted into the touch. It was comical how long he had denied needing to be held, how he had voiced his distaste for physical affection - and yet he had so quickly surrendered his boundaries.

"I- I-"

"Shh, it's okay. I'm here." came the comfort that he swore he detested. He clung onto Noel's blazer tightly as he wept and wept - and he wondered if he held on tight enough he would be able to prevent Noel from leaving.

If he kept Noel close, perhaps he wouldn't have to be alone again.

And thankfully enough, Noel showed no signs of departing any time soon. He seemed content to hold Sirius for as long as he needed, making the effort to continue the small circular rubbing motions on Sirius' back, which were accompanying soft shushing noises - both of which were helping tremendously.

"I promise you that Claire means no harm - none of them do." Noel murmured quietly after a few minutes, head dipping into Sirius' hair. "Ashe may have spoken out of line, but that's no reason to resort to violence, okay? His words may have hurt... but there were other things you could've done."

All Sirius could do in response was hiccup softly, having no energy for some verbose remark. He understood that - he was never one to act erratically, and his sudden desire to hurt also left him surprised. But Lady Dorothy? A murderer? It was as if his pain was no longer valid - like his attachment to the witch was inferior.

He'd be damned to let the researcher continue. To let him slander his heroine even more. Despite that, he wished he could've responded more appropriately - a course of action that didn't require physical abuse.

"...I'm sorry..." He managed to croak out, leaning further into Noel's chest. He could hear a small chuckle leave the taller boys mouth - and now pacified, he knew he meant more good than evil.

"Now, now, where's this meekness coming from?" Taking his arms off of Sirius' back (much to Sirius' dismay), Noel placed them on Sirius' cheeks, forcing the lilac haired boy to meet Noel's single cerulean eye. "Where's the headstrong guy that I know and love?"

"...Quit using words like that, you." Sirius, now feeling a little better, got up on his own and gently took Noel's hands away so that he wouldn’t feel the heat on Sirius’ cheeks. "An apology is an apology. I don't need to possess a certain demeanor to feel remorse."

"Haha." giggled Noel, his usual smile returning to his face. "I know. But... I'm not the one you need to apologize to."

"...Yes, I understand." Sirius replied quietly, his gaze shifting downwards. It's not like he didn't feel apologetic - he just felt like he was owed an apology as well. If simple words from a mere stranger were able to bring him to his lowest point, then surely he was guaranteed some words of remorse, right?

"...Well, I'm feeling sleepy, so... you can leave." Sirius muttered, getting back up on his feet. An awkward close to the emotional outburst, yes, but Sirius was in no mood to spare feelings at this moment. Luckily, Noel knew of his hidden sincerity, evident as he stood up along with Sirius.

"Right, okay. Are you... going to be alright?" Although Noel had just spent time consoling him, he was still able to show some additional concern. How he did that effortlessly, Sirius had no clue.

"Yes, I'll be alright." He sighed, bringing a hand to his face to wipe the tearstains. "...Thank you. For... uh." At a loss for words, he gestured to his undoubtedly red face. "Assisting."

"Don't mention it. I'm happy to help." Noel smiled softly in response, and walked past Sirius with a pat on the shoulder. "Goodnight, Sirius."

"Goodnight to you as well." Sirius replied, and with the click of a now shut door, Sirius was alone. However, this time it was okay. He found solace in the silence, rather than before where it seemed to choke him.

With a deep, long sigh, he made his way over to the bathroom, washing his face with cold refreshing water. Taking a look at himself in the mirror, he cringed - it had truly been a long, long time since he had seen himself look this upset, so teary-eyed and, quite frankly, disgusting.

But strangely, he felt relieved. He hadn't realized how much he needed to cry. It was amazing how light his head felt after only a few brief moments of tears. It was... nice, for a change.

Padding over to his bed, he crawled in, and with another sigh, he let his eyelids shut, welcoming the hopefully dreamless sleep that enveloped him quickly with a heavy, comforting mist.

And as he drifted off, he could hear the familiar sweet melodies of the woman he held so dear, sending him off to sleep as she did 12 years ago when he was plagued with nightmares. No longer did the memory of her bring him sadness, but instead, as he slowly fell into his thoughtless slumber, it brought happiness.

And for the first time in years, he fell asleep with a smile.

#witch's heart #sirius gibson #noel levine #claire elford #this took a few days to write whoops

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