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alovesongshewrote · 3 years

Note

If you’re taking requests, maybe something about Doux finding the reader absolutely delirious from lack of sleep? I may or may not have gotten literally any sleep last night and although I managed to get through my morning routine pretty efficiently I FEEL my body just wiping out. I will be comatose within the hour.

Sleep, Darling | Hisirdoux Casperan x Reader

Plot: you’ve been awake for too long and it is not doing you any favours. Thank god for punk wizards who care about your wellbeing, amirite lads? (Also, the pure Irony that this is getting posted at like, 2:40 am where i am, rip me i guess)

Word Count: 2,292

Warnings: A bit of blood is mentioned in passing, the reader isn’t human and probably has adhd or smthn. Also, Friends is mentioned, like, the tv show, so that’s a thing!

A/N: if you look closely, you can actually see me projecting onto this one. I hope you got some sleep anon.

Tags: @furblrwurblr @einahpetsyarcip @sorrels-scribbling @anxious-stitcher @alive-and-afraid @animedweeb333 @douxiesdamsel @saroski05

Time isn’t real. It’s a social construct made to bring order to the general chaos that is human existence. That was why you were up at 5 a.m for the second, maybe third, night in a row. Was it healthy? Probably not, but you didn’t need sleep, you needed answers. Answers to what? Who knows at this point, honestly.

You couldn’t say you were surprised when you finally noticed the late, or early hour. You just shrugged it off and went “fuck it, all-nighter,” which was fine for the moment. But time’s a bitch, and that moment was over pretty fast. By noon, you were ready to collapse. The three cups of coffee did not help. Instead, they made you vibrate at a frequency that could quite possibly break glass. As much as this sucked for you, it was worse for your lovely friend and co-worker, Hisirdoux Casperan.

Now, our boi Douxie was and is madly in love with you, but shhh, it’s a secret. You also love him, and that’s a secret too. Neither of these secrets are well kept, and the only reason you aren’t together is general stupidity. Literally, anyone else who watches the two of you interacting can tell that you're in love. Hell, half the town assumes you’re together already. The other half keeps trying to get you together. It is not working very well. But that’s all a digression. What you really need to know is that Douxie loves you and watching you suffer from a lack of sleep was Not A Pleasant Experience. You were delirious, shaky, and constantly off-balance. You could work well enough, but it was clear that your health was not in the same zone.

The final straw came when you cut your hand on broken glass. You’d dropped a cup, and instead of using magic, you’d tried to fix the mess by hand. That plan did not work, and you received a bloody slash across your palm for your troubles.

“Ah. Fuck,” you said, thinking you were whispering but instead speaking at a normal volume.

“What’s wrong, love?”

“‘S nothing, I’ve got it,” you did not got it, especially not in this state, and Douxie had the good sense to figure that out. The blood was a pretty good hint though.

“Oh, fuzzbuckets.”

“I told you, I’m toooootally fine, there is nothing to worry about.”

“Here, (Y/N), let me help you-”

“No, no, this is, this is-” it was then that your sleep-deprived brain decided to cut off your train of thought and replace it with another, more chaotic train. You stopped talking and just stared at Douxie for a solid minute. Or at least it felt like a solid minute. Time isn’t real, remember that.

“(Y-Y/N)? You alright there, darling?”

“You’re really cute, did you know that? Like… really cute. Steve was right, you could be a model.”

“I-”

“Also, just gonna put it out there, I freakin’ love it when you call me darling. Like, I know you call most people darling, but it makes me feel special. Don’t ask why, it just does.”

Douxie wasn’t planning on asking why. He wasn’t really planning on anything. Your sleep-deprived half-confession had turned him from a capable individual into a blushing mess in less than a second. You always had that effect on him, but it looked like your exhausted state was giving you a bit of an edge.

“Oh, sorry, I made it weird. Anyway, do you think if I brewed my next coffee with Monster instead of water it would wake me up? Because I’m still tired, and it isn’t fun.”

“I- you- I’m-”

“I think I might try it, honestly.”

“Ok, how about you don’t do that,” Archie said, swooping in, literally and figuratively, to save the day, “Douxie, can you please get (Y/N)’s hand patched up? It looks quite painful and they’re dripping blood onto the carpet.”

You were, in fact, dripping blood onto the carpet. That wasn’t good, “Oh, that’s- I’m sorry.”

“Don’t fret, just go do something about that hand,” with that, Archie smacked Douxie upside the head in an attempt to snap him out of his flustered state. It was super effective!

“Ahh, yeah. C’mon, (Y/N), let’s,,, go,,, fix,,, that.”

“Ok,” you stood, too tired to protest, and followed Douxie into the back of the bookstore, which was literally just his apartment.

It was a nice place. Very cozy, very him. It made you want to curl up and take a nap, but to be fair, literally everything made you want to curl up and take a nap at the moment. Regardless, his home made you feel warm and fuzzy on the inside and you never wanted to leave it. Maybe it was the interior decorating, but you knew it was because your favourite person lived there. What you didn’t know, or didn’t realize, was that you’d just spoken your entire thought process out loud and Douxie heard every word of it. Once again, the boy was a blushing mess. If you were awake enough to process things, you would have found it cute. Or you’d be dead from embarrassment, that one is a bit of a toss-up.

Fighting through his flustered state, Douxie pulled you into the bathroom and collected a first aid kit from under the counter. While he focused on getting things done, you curled into a ball in his bathtub. For some reason, your exhausted brain decided that sitting on the edge of the bathtub simply did not Vibe™ but sitting inside the tub was better than nothing, and so you just,,, curled up there. Douxie was only a little surprised to see you there.

“(Y/N)?”

“D’you remember that time on Friends when Winona Ryder played a closeted lesbian? That was a fuckin’ trip, man.”

“(Y/N), darling-”

“That whole episode is just- it’s just strange.”

“(Y/N)-”

“Hehe, Stranger Things.”

“(Y/N), love, I need to see your hand.”

“Oh, fuck, yeah, I forgot. Here,” you sat up, extending your hand out to the wizard. He took it, sitting on the edge of the bathtub which was fine for him to do, I guess. Not you though, you were stuck in bathtub jail for sleep deprivation crimes.

You squinted up at his face as he tended to the nasty scratch you’d given yourself. You didn’t have the capacity to focus on what he was doing, so instead you focused on him. He was pretty, as you’d said before, but that was always true. At that exact moment, his brows were furrowed in concentration, his eyes concerned and his jaw set. His hands were steadier than yours could ever hope to be, especially since you hadn’t been sleeping. Overall, he looked kind of mad, so you sunk down into your bath-prison, silent and waiting for him to finish so you could get back to work.

Douxie was not mad at you. He was upset that you hadn’t been sleeping, but he wasn’t mad. He was just worried for your health. Your wizard did not appreciate seeing you shaking and sleep-deprived. He didn’t appreciate it when your current state led you to injure yourself, either.

He wrapped up your hand and gave it a small pat, “Done. Now, come on, you’re taking a nap.”

His voice surprised you. It was gentle, calm, not at all angry like you’d suspected. You found yourself so lost in it that you didn’t realize what he’d said until he said your name, trying to snap you out of whatever haze you were in.

“Oh, wait, what? No, shit, I have to get back to work-”

“No, you need sleep.”

“Sleep is for the weak, I need to go-” you stood and almost fell over. You probably would have broken something if Douxie didn’t catch you. You hadn’t exactly expected to end up in his arms today, and despite the heat rising in your face and neck, you were not complaining.

“(Y/N)-”

“I’m sorry, Douxie, I-”

“You need to sleep. Please, (Y/N), don’t make me use a spell on you.”

You froze for a second before a smirk crept onto your face, “You wouldn’t.”

“I-”

“You wouldn’t use a spell on meeeeee-” the smirk grew into a full smile as you let yourself go limp, forcing him to move his hands to support you better and pull you closer to him. Was that your plan? Maybe. Was it part of a second, bigger plan? Also yes.

“You wanna bet?”

“Sure.”

“I-” and then he went silent. There was a moment of tension where you just stared into each other’s eyes, holding your breath to see what the other person would do. Your gaze fell to his lips as his fell to yours. For that moment, your thoughts began to wander far out of your control. Douxie’s mind was also running rampant but in a different direction. You were right, he thought. He couldn't use magic on you. As far as he knew, you were a human. Just a mortal being who crawled their way into his life and stayed there, improving the quality of it greatly. If there was even the slightest chance that a spell may have negative side effects, which most sleep spells did, he wouldn’t dare risk it, especially not on you. He sighed, tightening his grip on your waist, “You’re right.”

“What?” Oop, plan going sideways, PLAN GOING SIDEWAYS!

“I’m- not going to use magic on you,” he helped you to stand, and moved to take a step back before you grabbed his hoodie and pulled him back to you, ignoring the sharp sting in your hand.

“Ok, wait, wait, wait, wait, wait, wait, wait, hang on there wizard boy-” you took a moment to pull yourself out of the bathtub entirely, “You can’t give up that easily.”

“Wha-”

“Come onnnnnn, make it fun, make it exciting. Put a spell on me or whatever, just-” you went quiet for a second, but for once you weren’t distracted. Just quiet. You had to face facts. Your plan had failed, and now you had nothing but the truth.

“(Y/N)?”

“Just make my brain stop. For just two seconds.”

“What?”

“Please. I’m running on a motor and I can’t stop myself. I haven’t slept and I have no choice in the matter.”

“(Y/N)-”

“Look, just, take away my free-will if you have to. Knock me out, magic or otherwise, I just want five seconds where I’m not on hyperdrive,” you were standing on your own now, though Douxie’s arms were still wrapped around you and you hadn’t let go of his hoodie, “Please.”

The bathroom was silent for a minute. It took that long for Douxie to process what you’d just said. You feared, for that moment, that you’d said too much. You hadn't. Not to him, anyway.

“Come on.”

“What?”

“Come on,” he said, picking you up, effortlessly sweeping you off your feet.

“Wait, what!?” your voice was slightly more frantic, surprise lacing through your words.

“There’s more than one way to get a person to sleep.”

“Oh-?”

He didn’t respond to your question, instead, he carried you out the door and into what you could only assume was his room. You had no choice but to wrap your arms around his neck and cling to him for dear life until he set you down on the bed.

“Stay here, okay? I’m going to make you some tea-”

“Wait!” you stopped him, grabbing his wrist as he turned to leave, “I’m… I’m sorry.”

“You don’t need to be sorry, my darling,” he sat in front of you on the bed, “You just need to get some sleep, okay?”

“But what about-”

“I’ll cover your shift, you don’t need to worry.”

“I-”

“Just rest, for now, love. Please.”

“Ok,” your words were a whisper, something that Douxie could only just hear. The next thing though, he didn’t have to strain to hear at all, “Yeah. I meant what I said earlier, by the way. You’re so pretty, it isn’t fair.”

He laughed at this, at you, finally seeing some humour in your shenanigans. He relaxed now knowing that you may actually get some much-needed rest. He stood, kissing your forehead and tracing the side of your face with a hand, rough from guitar strings and 900 years of sweeping.

“Worry not, love, you’re pretty too.”

“Hey, wait-”

“Don’t ‘hey, wait,’ me. You are. Now lie down, I’ll be back in a second.”

A smile crept onto your face as you followed orders. Your emo wizard man thought you were pretty. And he cared enough about you to let you sleep during work hours, in his home, no less. You let yourself relax into the bed, grinning once again. It smelled like him, like thyme and peppermint, lemongrass and sleep. It was nice, comforting. You could only vaguely think of Douxie as your brain finally took a fuckin breather. It was everything you needed, honestly.

By the time Douxie came back, you were long gone, lost to your dreams and finally asleep. He sighed a smile that matched yours on his face. He placed the cup of tea on the bedside table before grabbing a blanket out of his closet and draping it over you. You looked so peaceful. Good. You deserved some peace every now and then.

He took the cup and left you, brushing a strand of hair out of your eyes as he did. After making his exit, he placed the still-hot tea on the counter, disregarding it for now before returning to the bookshop.

“How are they?” his familiar asked, tail twisting in concern.

He gave a final fond look at the door before returning to business, “They’re just resting.” And for once, you were.

#hisirdoux x reader #hisirdoux casperan x reader #douxie x reader #douxie imagine #hisirdoux imagine #angst #fluff #hisirdoux #hisirdoux casperan #douxie #toa douxie #toa hisirdoux #tw sleep deprivation

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foilfreak · 3 years

Text

BEAUTY AND HER BEAST: Chapter 8

WARNING PLZ READ BEFORE CONTINUING: This fic is rated NSFW and contains graphic depictions of things some people may find disturbing or alarming, including, but not limited to: violence, gore, unhealthy family relationships, Oedipus complexes, gratuitous amount of pornographic literature, ableist language, physical, mental, and emotional abuse, etc. If you are someone who does not enjoy fiction with these elements in them, then I suggest you refrain from reading this, because this fic will have all that, and probably a lot more. So, this is your first and final warning to turn around and go somewhere else if stuff like this just isn't your vibe, because from this point forward, your emotional wellbeing is in your own hands, and I will not be accepting blame if you disregarded my warnings and ended up reading something you didn't like. Idk why I feel compelled to write one of these despite this being Resident Evil fanfic, but I figured I'd cover my ass just in case.

(AO3 Link Below:)

Several days had passed since Salvatore had sought out both his younger sisters, requesting items like jewelry or clothing they’d be willing to part with that Salvatore could gift to Nadine, as a sort of soft and informal introduction to ease the young woman’s mind and prove he meant her no harm.

The plan seems to be going rather well, as far as Salvatore can tell. Nadine found the gifts he’d laid out for her rather easily, and even correctly wondered if the person who lived here had left them for her purposefully. She seemed wary of the items for a time, though she seemed pretty wary of everything in the reservoir at the moment, but eventually she deemed them safe enough to accept, throwing the long white nightgown Salvatore had procured from Donna over her petit azure frame, and strapping the delicate golden locket Alcina had graciously donated around her neck.

Salvatore practically drooled when he first saw Nadine, slightly sheer satin nightgown flowing elegantly in the gentle afternoon breeze and golden chain glittering beautifully against her white speckled, ocean blue skin. She looked like a goddess, a true figure of pure ethereal power and beauty. Even the biting cold of winter wasn’t enough to touch the young woman, shielded and protected by her own glowing radiance.

Despite looking every bit like an other-worldly deity worthy of unending human devotion and worship, Nadine’s face held nothing but fear, anxiety, and loneliness as she aimlessly wandered the seemingly empty docks and windmills surrounding the reservior’s watery interior. An occasional dejected “hello?” still echoes out throughout the reservoir every few hours, growing less and less hopeful with each passing round of silence Salvatore spends hiding away from view.

The disfigured man’s heart twists and stabs in pain every time he cowers away from Nadine’s soft, anxious calls, desperately wanting to comfort the young woman in her moment of confusion and fear, but still so terrified of her inevitable reaction to his appearance that he finds himself unable to do anything but skitter shamefully to his room beneath the surface and try to drown her out with one of his old romance films.

How pitiful.

Salvatore spends much of his time lamenting and pitying himself over his soul crushing loneliness and his intense desire for a love of his own, and yet here he is, taking refuge in an old romance film while he hides himself away from the real woman he could be making his own romance film with, were he not a massive coward and a horrific freak of nature unworthy of anyone’s love and affection, of course. What a cruel irony it is, to have the one thing you want, more than anything else in the world, dangled just inches in front of your face, and yet knowing, before you’ve even tried, that it’ll never be yours.

Salvatore knows that no matter how much of a romance story this whole situation might seem like, Nadine will never be able to love him in the way the gorgeous women in the movies love their tall, dashing, dark-haired lover men. Not only was Salvatore the exact opposite of tall and dashing by literally everyone’s standards, but his patches of dry, greasy dark-hair did little to salvage the violent wreckage that was Salvatore’s whole appearance.

There was absolutely no way Nadine would ever be able to love someone as hideous as Salvatore, so perhaps the best thing to do would be to contact Miranda and inform her that, while he greatly enjoyed his gift, Salvatore didn’t feel he would be able to appreciate her in the way she deserved to be appreciated in all her beauty and wonder, and that perhaps it would be better for Mother Miranda to find better arrangements for her elsewhere.

“I-it’s for the b-best… i-i think… a-after all… Nadine… d-doesn’t want t-to live i-in a d-dingy place… l-like this for… for the r-rest of h-her… l-life… m-much less with… w-with someone l-like me… s-she’d hate th-that… im c-certain” Salvatore laments aloud, dipping his head downward as tears of painful realization and sorrowful acceptance pour down his face like waterfalls of lonely depression, already fully set on contacting Mother Miranda as soon as morning came.

“While it's very kind of you to keep my best interest in mind, I do think I am more than capable of making my own decisions regarding what’s the best place for me, thank you very much” a soft voice responded suddenly, causing Salvatore’s head to whip in the direction the sound was coming from in startled shock. “This place is a little rundown, sure, but the windmills still stand tall and the water is always just the right temperature, so I don’t think this would be the worst place to live, if I had to… so long as I wasn’t alone, at least.”

Even in the dimly lit area located at the end of the hallway, Nadine still looked so gorgeously stunning and elegant. It was incredible how she managed to sound so casual and yet look so ethereal.

In the brief moment before his panic set in, Salvatore couldn’t help but pause and marvel at the spot down the hall where the young woman stood, her gaze locked directly onto him and yet she showed no signs of having seen him. She even went as far as to begin moving about behind the large boards that blocked her from entering the room, clearly trying to get a better look at the room and, more importantly, the person she suspects is in it.

After a surprisingly large jump that launched Nadine all the way up to the ceiling, just narrowly avoiding hitting her head, Salvatore’s eyes grew wide and his mouth hung open in stupefied shock as the sight of Nadine, moving the way she was at the end of the hallway, brought to Salvatore’s mind a scene from one of his favorite romance films. In the particular scene Salvatore is thinking of, the actress’ character is an aspiring prima ballerina, and she’s having a brief moment of bonding with her fellow ballerina’s after a long, but successful performance. Dressed in a nightgown not too unlike the one Nadine is currently wearing, the ballerina is showing the others how to do other kinds of dance, like polka or Irish step dancing, but by the end of the scene the group of ballerinas are all merely jumping about the room excitedly, laughing and cheering while carelessly throwing themselves into the air, only to land gracefully back on their feet.

While not exactly the same obviously, the resemblance between Nadine and the absolutely stunning ballerina in the movie, in both silhouette and style of movement, was almost uncanny.

Stretched out as high as her short legs would allow, strong and gorgeously defined muscles flexed almost instinctually with every rapid twist, curl, bend, and jump of the young woman’s tiny body. Her lucious silhouette was only aided by the feminine aura of the long, sheer nightgown as it trailed after her with every movement. The delicate satin material caresses the sharp ridges of her muscular back and shoulders with the same tenderness and love as it does the weight of her breasts or the pillowy layer of protection atop her midsection. The lower half of the nightgown, cinched just below the breasts, twisted and jerked in whatever direction was necessary to keep up with the speed at which Nadine was fluttering and jumping about upon the tips of her toes. Her legs were hidden by the ferocious speed of her movements, but Salvatore did not need to see her legs to have some idea of what they were, or perhaps merely could be, capable of.

Whether or not Nadine was actually a ballerina herself, or if Salvatore’s delusions were merely that realistic now, the young woman appeared to move with nothing but effortless grace that hides the raw power and physical strength it takes to float as carelessly and as quickly as the young woman was, clearly growing more and more frustrated the longer her search failed to reveal what she was looking for.

Still paralyzed by the sudden presence of Nadine in his personal space, Salvatore could do nothing but hold his breath and hope that the light at the end of the hall didn’t reach far enough to reveal his presence in the room. The TV was still on, but the movie playing on it had finished running long ago, meaning the only thing being displayed now was a static filled screen that proved someone had been here at some point in time, but thankfully wasn’t a dead giveaway from the start.

“Helloooooooo… I heard someone talking on my way in, so I know that someone is down here. Please… just come out, ok… I won’t hurt you… honestly” the raven haired woman begs softly, her movements slowing a bit to allow more of her air to be used for speaking rather than jumping to look over beams over and over again.

Salvatore’s heart ached at Nadine’s desperate tone, knowing all too well what the mutant woman is going through right now, but trying his best to remain strong, since giving in means dooming this perfect young specimen to a life of bitter misery and unending terror, regardless of the best effort he’d try to put in. Whatever short term gain Nadine could get from being with him would only come back to bleed her dry once Salvatore was sufficiently attached, and therefore unable to allow her to leave once she inevitably decides that she’s had enough of pretending to love a disgusting freak of nature.

Salvatore had never been very good at accurately predicting the outcomes of situations, but he knew for certain that Nadine was in no way deserving of the hellish punishment that living in the reservoir with him would undoubtedly become, if it didn’t start out that way from the beginning, that is. Perhaps the young woman could convince herself to accept her situation and play into his affections as a means of survival for a short time, but based on what he’s heard of Nadine thus far, Salvatore doubts such a strongwilled and dangerous woman would allow herself to play wife and sex slave to anyone for very long. If she didn’t somehow successfully murder him in his sleep within the first 48 hours of her “slavery”, it would only be a matter of time before she finally ran out of patience and unleashed... whatever the hell it was she did back in the labs, upon him.

For a brief moment, Salvatore entertains the question of whether Nadine could potentially be strong enough to take him out with a single hit, as well as whether that thought should be something he finds arousing or not. His thoughts are quickly interrupted however, by the sound of shuffling and grunting, and upon turning his head toward the sudden racket, Salvatore is horrified to see Nadine, just small enough to fit her tiny body between the thin cracks of the boarded up wall, attempting to climb through the barrier, and enter the TV room.

Body shaking and voice beginning to tremble slightly, alongside his already labored breathing, Salvatore unsteadily backed his way further into the room, putting his hands out in front of him as if to try and stop Nadine from entering, though he makes no move to physically eject the invading woman himself, oddly enough.

“N-nooo… p-please… don’t come i-in...” Salvatore stutters helplessly, shrinking further in on himself in fear as the young woman effortlessly slips through the wooden boards like a slippery eel, quickly and easily landing on her feet before turning back to the mostly darkened room.

“H-Hello?” Nadine calls out again nervously, taking a tentative step forward, both hands extended outward beside her until her left hand made contact with the wall. Gaining some purchase on the vertical slabs of wood, Nadine slowly turns her head to look about the room, carefully inspecting everything from atop the surface of Salvatore’s messy desk, to the very dark corner in the back right of the room that Salvatore himself was currently shoved as far into as physically possible.

Nadine stuck her arm out in front of her and began slowly walking toward the opposite wall, eyes open, but unfocused, and right hand waving aimlessly in the air for a brief moment, as though trying to feel around for the other wall despite it clearly being right in front of her. The hooded man had no idea how she hadn’t seen him yet, he could practically feel how absolutely ridiculous he looked, his bony, weathered, turtle-esque body hunched as low to the ground as possible with his chin tucked between his knees and hands covering the rest of his face, leaving only the smallest bit of space through which he could observe Nadine’s inevitable reaction to him. And yet, despite the amount of time the young woman spent glancing over Salvatore, back and forth across the room, her bright golden eyes resembling that of a ravenous alligator in their intensity and ferociousness, no scream left her plush lips nor did fear and horror suddenly mar her supple face. In fact, not only had the mutant woman not seen him yet, but it was in that exact moment that the reason why Nadine couldn’t see Salvatore, obviously shoved into the corner, just to her bottom left, became immediately clear to him.

“Y-You’re blind...”

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scientificphilosopher · 4 years

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I’m still learning how to be an effective ally in the pursuit of social justice. Part of this, for me, comes through figuring out how to best support other allies, how to effectively engage with them, even when they’re not as well-versed in the issues as I’ve become through many years of education. I often ask myself this: How can I balance meeting people where they’re at while also holding people responsible for their ignorant and harmful actions and beliefs? Is there a place for compassion and patience toward well-meaning allies, even when they unintentionally harm others?

What I want to focus on for this blog post is the phenomenon of what I’m calling “anxious allyship” — what it is, how it manifests in certain spaces, and what I do to prevent myself from both being an anxious ally and driving others into anxious ally behaviors via things like gatekeeping.

Anxious allyship, in short, is the tendency for well-intentioned allies to shut down and fail to meaningfully engage with social justice work — be it online or in person — out of fear of saying something wrong or appearing ignorant or racist. Now, it’s important to keep in mind that there are MANY reasons why an ally might fail to show up. There are various elements at play that lead to white people’s fear of appearing ignorant or racist in the first place. For the sake of this blog, I want to focus on how this crops up in online spaces full of predominantly white, left-leaning allies and the tendency for these spaces to partake in gatekeeping (though much of what I’m talking about can extend beyond just conversations with allies — that is simply what I’m focusing on for now). By gatekeeping, I mean for members of these spaces to be overly hostile toward people who are presumably not as knowledgeable in the topic or who say problematic things. In some cases, this type of gatekeeping results in driving people out of the spaces or even harassing them. This type of gatekeeping can be seen as self-righteous bullying, both deliberate and unintentional. At its core, it’s shaming people for not knowing what you know and using that to drive people out of an online space. Again, this can be done with the best intentions. Sometimes gatekeeping occurs out of righteous indignation, to really show that problematic fool how wrong and ignorant their views truly are. More often than not, though, it’s done for the sake of showing off; it’s done to signal to others just how knowledgable and committed of an ally you truly are. To be clear, I am not speaking about justified criticism or the moderation of certain spaces in the service of keeping discussions civil. There are often good reasons to call people out; there are good reasons to react with anger or exasperation; there are good reasons to ban people from certain online forums or refuse to take the time and effort to have a fruitful discussion with them. Just because an ally has good intentions doesn’t mean they are immune to criticism. The road to hell is paved with good intentions, as William James said. No, what I’m talking about is white folks lording their knowledge over fledgling allies for reasons like sanctimony and virtue signaling.

Just to be clear as possible, I want to emphasize what I am not saying throughout this post. I am not saying that there is no room for anger (there is). I am not saying that I shouldn’t call people out — allies or otherwise — for their harmful ignorance (I should). I am not saying that patience and effectiveness should always be the primary focus when engaging with allies. I am not saying that there is a singular way of doing any of this. The last thing I am interested in is tone policing. I am, instead, advocating for a pluralistic approach, and that means leaving space for people to be angry, enraged, unresponsive, disengaged, or any other manner of reaction. It is not my place to say that one should not react in anger or ridicule to a well-intentioned but harmful comment simply because it might not be the most effective way to engage with that person, to get them to understand or change their mind. Express your anger if you're angry. Be angry. There is a whole helluva lot to be angry about.

Instead, I am arguing that overprivileged people such as myself should, perhaps, harbor some sense of responsibility in thinking about how to respond in ways that are more inviting to allies based on where they’re at in their educational journey, especially since it has increased potential for maximizing effectiveness and minimizing anxious ally behaviors. I am coming at these issues from a very different place than a lot of marginalized folks. It does not require as much emotional labor for me — an overprivileged white male — to discuss race with people as it might for many people of color. As Audre Lorde — a queer black woman — put it, “Frequently, when speaking with men and white women, I am reminded of how difficult and time-consuming it is to have to reinvent the pencil every time you want to send a message.” White men should, I think, be more willing to sometimes take on the time and effort to reinvent that pencil, especially since other white men are more willing to see us as “objective” and authoritative merely by merit of our maleness and whiteness. In a clear case of cosmic irony, white men will listen to other white men, even in regard to realities like racism, about which we tend to be utterly inexperienced and grievously ignorant. And to further the injustice of that irony, those very white men are the ones who are more likely to harbor power and social capital, thus the ones who can leverage our platforms in ways to most swiftly bring about systemic change. That is why I think those of us in privileged positions have a moral responsibility to learn to engage effectively on these issues.

Still, I’ve certainly found myself attacking people on social media, sometimes looking for that mic drop moment, and in hindsight, I realize I was doing it simply out of self-righteousness or to look smart to my virtual onlookers. If I had taken time to step back and evaluate what was motivating me to say what I was saying, I would’ve recognized that unproductive performative allyship showing its face. I don’t want to lend my energies to creating spaces that are needlessly hostile to people, including other allies. Spaces that are highly judgmental of their participants will engender performative behaviors precisely because people become anxious that they will mess up and get shamed for it. Not a feedback loop I want to amplify.

So, what can I do? Well, I don’t know, exactly. Probably a lot of things. One thing I try to do when interacting with other people who might be in the early stages of exploring their privilege or learning about race, gender, oppression, etc., is that I remind myself of my own journey. As an exercise in perspective and compassion, I reflect on the fact that education is largely a privilege. I have been absurdly lucky to learn the things I’ve learned, to have the resources and support in my life, the patient and empathic teachers. I remind myself of all these privileges, privileges that are not present for many people. Next, I meditate on the many ignorant, problematic beliefs and behaviors of my younger self. I was still me, just a version of me who was oblivious to the fact that a world existed outside the scope of my perspective. I harbored deeply racist, sexist, homophobic, and self-serving beliefs — because I was raised in a deeply racist, sexist, homophobic, self-serving culture. We all are. And I still grapple with these things today, and I imagine I always will. Of course, it is emblematic of privilege that some of us learn about oppression in more academic, impersonal ways, rather than having to confront its realities on a day to day basis. For overprivileged folks such as myself (and, really everyone to some extent), learning about the experiences of marginalized identities is an ongoing journey. None of us comes fully equipped. I remind myself of these things in order to temper my criticism with kindness and compassion. It is an exercise in humility and empathy.

I’ve also alluded to “effectiveness” throughout this post. How can I most effectively engage with other allies? Exercises in compassion and humility are good for me for a variety of reasons. They are humanizing. They are perspective-giving. They are, also, practical. I care deeply about social justice and I want to do what I can to keep privileged eyes and hearts on progressive change. One strategy that I find particularly effective is to meet people where they’re at, ask questions, and engage with them as if they were sitting in the room next to me. I try to remember that this computer screen acts as a veil of anonymity, which gives me a felt sense of licensing in treating people more coldly or harshly than I otherwise would.

So, in discussions with fellow allies, I try to exercise compassion and humility, while still keeping an eye on effectiveness. But this post isn’t solely about what I personally do to prevent others from becoming anxious allies. It’s also about how I try to recognize and combat the anxious ally in myself. Personally, I try to steel myself against some of these more toxic tendencies by practicing these things:

Being Okay With Mistakes. In fact, I have to work to get to a place where I embrace my mistakes. I have to be ok with being dumb and ignorant much of the time. I have to embrace the fact that I will mess up plenty. I have a wrinkly monkey brain and I know somewhere in the vicinity of none percent about the world. I am human, I am fallible, I am ignorant, and my understanding of reality is inherently limited by insulating and unequal social systems. One of the most insidious symptoms of privilege is how its benefits tend to be concealed from those who reap them. White people don’t need to think about racism; men don’t need to think about sexism; able-bodied people don’t need to think about accessibility, etc. This is all expected and understandable; it’s how we respond when our privilege is challenged that matters.

Staying Open and Receptive to Criticism. Ok, so making mistakes is inevitable. What do I do once I realize I’ve made one? How am I responding? An unfortunate reality for marginalized identities is that they too often have to undertake the emotional labor of teaching privileged identities all about these issues. This is not fair. It shouldn’t be this way. This makes it all the more meaningful when I get called out for saying something offensive, ignorant, racist, sexist, or bigoted. My initial response might be embarrassment or shame, and I might take refuge in my intentions: “That’s not how I meant it!” But this is defensiveness. This is symptomatic of what Robin DiAngelo calls “white fragility.” More to the point, it’s a bad interpersonal habit. As Cori Wong points out in her TEDtalk on feminist friendship, you would not react with hostility if a friend lets you know you had a big ol’ booger hanging out your nose in public. You might be embarrassed at first, but you’d ultimately thank your friend for speaking up so that you could take care of it (by wiping it inside your shirt like every warm-blooded American would). The same goes for people pointing out my mistakes in regards to social justice. My ultimate response, regardless of my intentions or initial emotional reactions, should be to listen and to give thanks. I have, after all, been presented with an opportunity to learn more.

Engaging With the Literature. Okay, so I’m willing to make mistakes and I’m willing to listen when people say I’ve messed up (at least some of the time). Is that enough? No. There’s still plenty left to do — and I cannot simply count on the emotional labor of oppressed peoples to figure out what to do next. Thankfully, I have incredible resources at my fingertips. I have YouTube channels, I have article after article after article, Instagram feeds, Facebook pages, books, books, books. There’s so much to learn and it can feel overwhelming to get started, but it’s never too late. There’s no better time than now. (I will also be making a blog post that provides a more extensive list of resources.)

What we have now, as mentioned by activist Maya Rupert, is a climate where the only people who are readily talking about race are those who know the least (vis-à-vis Dunning-Kruger effect) and those who engage with it regularly or professionally. The center has collapsed, with too many well-meaning white people sitting in anxious silence, thus reinforcing the very status quo they’re concerned with challenging. This is not an atmosphere conducive to collaboration, democratic and egalitarian participation, and effective mobilization. As an ally, I hope to do what little I can to correct this. I want to encourage other allies to take the leap of getting engaged. Advocating for spaces that are less hostile to newcomers is only a tiny piece of the puzzle, of course. But I think it’s a good step toward combating white fragility, white inaction, and anxious allyship — though white folks must recognize that it is our ultimate responsibility to undertake this.

In short, I want to be mindful of my impact, whether I’m criticizing people for virtue signaling and engaging in counterproductive ways, or I’m the person being accused of that very thing. I strive to foster allyship environments that are more welcoming and more willing to meet people where they’re at, while also fostering a willingness on my end to make mistakes while remaining open to feedback and staying committed to learning and changing. That’s just me though. In the end, a pluralistic approach to effective social engagement is likely what’s needed. It’s not realistic or productive to prescribe a one-size-fits-all approach to such dynamic and prismatic realities. On top of that, it’s clear that what I’ve talked about so far is just the beginning. A single angry Facebook post does not an activist make. Activism is more than simply learning about a topic; it’s getting involved in ways that lead to direct social and political shifts. It’s taking concrete steps. This requires more than reading a book or posting a hashtag (though these are not necessarily meaningless steps either). Remember: this is just the beginning.

Are you an ally of these movements? Are you nervous about engaging with folks, looking stupid or making mistakes? All understandable. The key? Make mistakes! Look stupid! Wade into the muck of it. Get messy. But just be sure to LISTEN and LEARN while doing so. Put down those defenses. Own your ignorance. Don’t center discussions on your own emotional well-being, but don’t render yourself paralyzed to the point of doing nothing either. Engage. Speak up, speak out. Explore ways to be an effective activist. Understand that social justice work is ongoing. You do not arrive into a state of enlightenment. You have to keep fucking up and keep learning. The reward? A better planet. Keep up the momentum, you messy, ignorant ally, you.

#long post #blog #the scientific philosopher #antiracism #anticapitalism #social justice #nich

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burnedastra · 3 years

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Forever N’Ever

Summary : The hard and brutal realization that a relationship is coming to an end, no matter how much they love each other

Category : Angst

Content Warnings : None really

Word Count : 2 K

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Inspired by this song but I also would recommend to listen to this one

They say it’s all about the timing. That no matter how dearly you care about someone, sometimes the stars just refuse to align. Maybe that’s what it was. The Universe telling them that it wasn’t their time. That they weren’t meant to be. Maybe if they had met later – or sooner – whatever this was would not feel so doomed. Maybe in another lifetime they would have had a chance. But right now, it just felt like they were dancing around each other, chasing a feeling of bliss that would only be partially satisfied.

With those feeling weighting on her, Talia woke up and turned her head to the girl sleeping next to her, black curls falling on her cinnamon face. She looked peaceful in that state, a thousand miles away from day-to-day problems. A small but sad smile played on the auburn hair woman’s lips as she stood up slowly, trying not to awake her lover and put on a big shirt to fight the cold November air. She silently made her way to the living room, walking towards the small open kitchen to brew some coffee. She embraced the calm atmosphere of the lazy Saturday morning. There, she could almost forget about everything else, pushing away the heaviness of her heart. She reached out to the cupboard and took a black mug, pouring a full cup of the dark liquid, to which she added a splash of coconut milk. She sat on the counter, holding the drink in her hands for warmth, letting it settle in her chest, soothing her into a serenity state.

Her thoughts wonder to the night they met; it was simple but Talia knew in the moment she would remember it forever. It was hard to believe she didn’t even want to go in the first place. But this is how life goes isn’t it? You’ll never truly know how significant an event is going to be until it passed.

She was tired from the day she had at work, everything suddenly deciding to go against her. Barely after getting in the office, she fell and spilled her coffee on herself, then her computer refused to open any of her graphics software and of course that was the day the big boss just so happened to be around. So, when she arrived at her place and dropped down on her couch, emotionally exhausted, she really didn’t feel like going to that party. And she tried to tell Cameron, but they were not having it. And if there was anything no one could take away from them, it was their persuasive talent. So obviously – and after barely ten minutes on the phone with the red head – Talia got up and changed into a mint green jumpsuit before heading out into the busy streets of New York City. When she arrived at the building, she took the time to lit up a cigarette, in an attempt to recharge her social batteries and prepare herself for the surely crowded apartment. After throwing her smoke, she finally went in. Cameron was being their ecstatic self, as usual and eventually Talia loosened up, not without the help of a few drinks. That’s when she caught her eye. Alyssa was standing on the small balcony, laughing at something a non-important-enough-to-recall person said. She was stunning in her black jeans and baby pink crop top. The dark skin woman looked through the window to her and wave with a little smile in her direction.

“Someone’s gotta crush” said Cameron in a seductive voice.

“You’re annoying Cam, you know that, right?” Talia responded playfully, turning around to face her friend.

“Ow, I love you too sweetie pie. Now, this gorgeous woman over there is Alyssa, she’s from the communication department at my work. Honestly, I know you two would be perfect together”

“Please don’t tell me you dragged me out of my apartment just because you think I need to get laid.”

“Well, am I wrong?” They laughed before Talia punched him in the arm. “Ouch! No, but seriously, go talk to her”

And with that they pushed her further and disappeared. Taking a deep breath, she took the last steps that separated her from Alyssa.

And of course, Cameron was right, they knew her better than anyone after all. Things went smoothly between the two women and they clicked instantly, alternating between dumb jokes and cultural niché facts. They fell in love so easily and so quickly; it was almost scary how well they fitted together. The first months were blissful, romantic and passionate. They spent most of their free time together, hanging out around the city or at Talia’s apartment – being the most obvious option, since Alyssa had three, loud and very nosy roommates. But nothing this great could last forever, and Alyssa became a little more distant a few weeks after their first “I love you”. But it didn’t really make sense to Talia, since her lover was the one who said it first. Reflecting on it now, she realized it was probably because of a stupid comment Cameron said about them being soulmates. And she had been warned about Aly’s fear of commitment, even tho she chose to brush it off. They fell out of sync, arguing about Talia’s clinginess and Alyssa’s distant behavior. The two women were trying their best to make it work nonetheless, but it felt like they were both losing a part of themselves in the process. They were left to wonder if it was really the relationship they were struggling to salvage or the fantasy of it they both created since the night they met.

Maybe that’s all it had become. Preserving a fairy tale that was only ever just make-believe. But that didn’t sit right with Talia. Not with everything she felt every single time her eyes landed on Alyssa. So no, it could not be like that. Well, not to Talia at least. Maybe they weren’t ready yet for a love quite like this one. Maybe it was just because Alyssa was still too attached to a form of freedom she felt like Talia would take away from her, even without actively doing so. Or maybe it was Talia’s lack of confidence showing, making her reach out to her partner all the time, asking for constant validation. Maybe, even with everything they had in common, they were too different in their core for it to work. Maybe they needed to grow a little bit on their own before giving it a try. But Talia was not fooling herself. She knew that if they did say goodbye, it had to be forever. That if they did break up, they couldn’t count on a possible future, waiting for each other, because that wouldn’t do them any good. And if she was being honest, she even knew that she could wait but that Alyssa wouldn’t. And that idea alone had the force to tear her apart.

Eventually, she finished her coffee and hopped down the counter before putting the mug in the sink and making her way to the small couch in the living room. She curled up against one of the armrests, trying to bring herself some comfort as she came to the awful awareness of her denials. She knew, deep down, that she should just rip the bandage, be done with it once and for all. She knew that she needed to respect herself enough to do so, no matter how painful it would be for the both of them. But between what you know when you rationalize everything and what you acknowledge in your heart, there could be an entire galaxy. Her fingers played with her lips, pulling unconsciously on the skin. She felt the irony taste of blood on the tip of her tong as she poked a little too hard on her cupid arc. She winced a bit and forced her hands on her lap, registering just how anxious she was. She heard in the background the small squeaking of the bedroom door, followed by Alyssa’s soft footstep making their way to the bathroom. Talia ran a hand through her wavy hair, in an attempt to recompose herself. Her girlfriend finally walked into the living room, in all her casual glory. She smiled softly and joined Talia on the couch, wrapping loosely an arm around her shoulder. The light skin woman leaned into her embraced, closing her eyes to take in the peace of the moment as she rested her head on Aly’s shoulder.

The sun was high in the sky that day, warming their skins as the laid on the grass of Central Park. They had found a small corner near the lake where there weren’t too much people, for a change. The couple was alone for now, but some friends were supposed to meet them up here. The previous day had marked the official three years together and they went all in to celebrate it. Alyssa had taken her to see a show on Broadway that Talia had been talking non-stop for ages, but never got around to actually buy some tickets. They went on after the show to a small restaurant nearby were they had one of their first dates. It was light and breezy and everything they needed to forget about their past troubles. They decided to run of that blessed feeling by taking that day out.

Talia had her head on Alyssa’s lap, humming in content when her lover started to pass a hand in her hair. Their free hands found each other, interlocking before Aly brought them to her lips. Talia opened her eyes to look at the scene and smiled.

“You’re touchy today” she pointed, a spark in her eye. Alyssa shrugged, smiling down to her, a glimpse of a blush warming her cheeks. “It’s nice, I like it” Talia added, squeezing gently her hand.

They stayed like that all afternoon, barely moving when their friend arrived. And it was still going really well, until of course it wasn’t. Until someone made one small comment about how it’s been three years and they should move in together already. Alyssa instantly froze and tear herself away from Talia, hardly looking or speaking to her until they went back to the apartment. And that peaceful week-end ended like everything ended those days, with yells and tears. The two women stood their ground, like they always did in their stubbornness. And they kept arguing until all strength was gone and they almost passed out on the bed, one last time.

Talia was looking straight toward her, lost in the space when she finally found the courage to speak. The events of the previous day were playing in her head. The end of that week-end made her felt sick in her stomach, the memory forever ruined by those lasts few hours.

“This is it huh?” she said in a soft voice

“Yeah, I guess it is.”

A tear fell down her cheek as she felt Alyssa bringing her tighter in her embrace, not quite ready to let go just yet. After a moment that seem to last both an eternity and a nano-second, they pulled away. Every movement was heavy and they both did their best to move around the apartment without showing how affected they truly were. Keep the façade one last time, a few more minutes before finally being able to crumble. Alyssa gathered her things and made her way to the front door, each step louder than the one before. She looked at the door a few seconds before finding the courage to turn to Talia, who barely manage to keep the tears from falling. They looked at each other, with the kind of gaze that said a thousand words in a split second. I love you. I’ll never forget you. I’m sorry. I sincerely wish you the best.

And that was it. This was goodbye. The only way it could be. Forever.

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komahinasecretexchange · 4 years

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Title: Between the Sky’s Grasp

Author: @magioftheseas

For: @kokikomachi

Rating/Warnings: T (darker themes such as abuse and violence are mentioned in a story within the story but in the main plot, there’s just the underlying toxicity of idol culture, permeating the atmosphere with a off-putting stink)

Prompt: Idol Izuru goes on a date with a Fan Komaeda (with an additional reference to the Sweets Paradise DR X Illustrator Cafe Collab Designs because I have no self-control)

Author’s notes: You probably wanted something fluffier and I’m deeply sorry if that was the case. I spend more of my time thinking about Perfect Blue than I should but while the story isn’t nearly that dark, I did still aim for the more darker elements since I’m pretty invested in them. I also feel bad because I feel like I could’ve worked in all three prompts and ultimately left one out, but hopefully this is still good! Dark fairytales are a bit of a guilty pleasure of mine and yeah, I could talk all day about idol culture, so hopefully this fic has appeal on those grounds if nothing else. I hope it has a more general appeal, too, aha. I kinda dig how the characterization turned out. I feel like this fic could easily be expanded, but for now, it’s a modest 5K. Please enjoy. <3

The song playing is one of his own. Someone hums along as they shift through CDs. With a restrained squeal, that person finds what they are looking for—and Kamukura recognizes the cover immediately. It’s his latest single.

“They have it after all!” is exclaimed. “How lucky!”

“So, you are a fan?” Kamukura asks softly and coolly. The other jumps, cheeks pinking as they twirl on their heel to face him. With that pallor and snow-white hair, the red of their blush stood out significantly. “I could not help but overhear.”

“I-I, um—yes!” They seem to be having trouble meeting his gaze. If Kamukura Izuru wasn’t already confident in his disguise masking his features, any remaining concerns would have been waived from just how uncomfortable and anxious the other was when being addressed. “I’m sorry, was I being too loud? When I get excited—I hear I can go a bit overboard, aha.”

“It is alright,” he said simply. “I spoke up due to being curious about you.”

“Are you a fan of Kamukura Izuru, too?” There’s a flicker within that gaze, though the fan’s eyes remain modestly diverted. “I collected everything of his—even the stage musicals. Even now hearing his voice puts my heart at ease.”

He’s infatuated. How boring. Kamukura clicked his tongue, remembering his manager’s words. I should still press further.

“There are other rising stars growing considerably in popularity.” Because they are more human. Because they put forth more emotion. Emotion which makes up for the lack of talent. “Kamukura Izuru being overthrown may be inevitable.”

“I-I definitely don’t believe that! Kamukura-kun’s incredibly talented and his voice is indescribably striking!” the other protested. “There’s no one else like that!”

Talented. All I really have is talent. This fan has provided me with nothing else. How boring.

“True. I suppose he is one of a kind. Just like anyone else.”

“You’re quite rude, you know,” the other pointed out irritably. “And I thought my social skills were poor. What bad luck. But I suppose I should’ve expected it.” With a pause, he gives the CD a fond smile before pushing past Kamukura. “Excuse me.”

“What is your name?”

“My name?” They paused, lips pursing. “Komaeda Nagito. What of it? I’d rather not continue to associate with you.”

Kamukura’s lips twisted at the irony.

How interesting. How will you react, then?

“That is a shame. I would prefer to continue our interactions, then, even if you already detest me.”

“Haaah? Why? Are you a masochist?” Komaeda’s head tilted. “What’s your name?”

“Hinata Hajime.” The lie slips off his tongue with ease. “Allow me to treat you to dinner. As an apology for my…poor social skills, I suppose.”

Komaeda blinks at him, eyes wide for a moment. The invitation left him baffled and mulling over it, and Kamukura could tell he was too taken aback to immediately say no.

“I insist,” he pressed. “I really would like to apologize.”

Even if I truly do not care.

Komaeda finally shrugged.

“If this ends with you stabbing me in an alleyway, I would still turn out alright. So why not? Oh, but, if this is an elaborate ploy to mug me, I’ll give you money here and now if you want. Um.” He waved the CD. “After I buy this. May I at least keep this?”

Huh.

“I have no plans to steal from you. Or to stab you.”

“If you say so…if you lied, that’ll reflect worse on you than on me.”

This fanatic—is actually peculiar as a person.

Interest flared in Kamukura’s gut, his heart picking up at the realization. It was an odd, almost overblown reaction—but it was one that drove him forward in a way he’d never experienced before.

Is this love at first sight? Or mere excitement?

His manager would be so shocked to hear of this, and that did bring a smile to Kamukura Izuru’s face.

“I’m not lying. Purchase your find and we shall leave together.”

Komaeda nodded.

“Okay, Hinata-kun.”

I can’t help but hope this feeling will fester.

–

“Tell me about yourself, Komaeda Nagito.”

“So demanding off the bat. How comforting,” Komaeda remarked with wry sarcasm as he sipped at his soda. “Um. I guess I’m a college drop out. I’m looking to get back into class but there have been—difficulties. I don’t have a job but I get by on inheritance. I have no outstanding features or abilities. Except I guess I’m good at cleaning. Maybe I should get a custodial job, then?” He begins to more muse to himself. “I have no need for money, though. I’m utterly aimless.”

“Interesting,” Kamukura replied. “You contribute nothing to society.”

“Yep!” Komaeda chirped. “I’m a total waste of space! I do try to help out other people who are much more worthwhile and capable but I tend to mess that up a lot, too. I really have nothing going for me except ridiculous luck, probably. The fact that I’m alive in spite of my many shortcomings and flaws must count for something. Haha.” A pause. “Although maybe a custodial job would be good for me after all…but I worry about making a bigger mess than I can clean up…”

Someone this useless should definitely evoke a number of emotions. Exasperation. Frustration. Disgust. Contempt. Pity. Such emotions could be applied to a song. I doubt this is what the manager had intended, however.

“You’re just listening to me ramble,” Komaeda observed, head tilted. “Don’t you have anything better to do, Hinata-kun?”

“No, I do not.”

“Oh. Okay.” He sips more of his water, quiet and contemplative. Likely still confused by this turn of events. Kamukura considered, for a moment, about informing him of the truth—but to shift that look of pondering curiosity into fervent fanaticism had little appeal. Especially when Komaeda met his stare, and those wide gray-greens narrowed. “So, what about Hinata-kun?”

“You want to know about myself?” Quirking an eyebrow, Kamukura pressed his elbow against the table as he leaned into his hand. A gesture made only because of the seeming appropriateness of it. “I am much like yourself. Directionless. Aimless. There is little to discuss.”

“Oh. I see.” Komaeda frowned. “Is this a social experiment?”

“Yes, it is. Quite perspective, aren’t you.”

“Ah, my luck would put me in this kind of situation, wouldn’t it,” Komaeda murmured. “Now is this good luck or bad luck? I wonder what to expect.”

Expect?

Kamukura did straighten at that.

“Komaeda Nagito. What do you mean by that?”

“Nothing, nothing.” Komaeda cheerfully brushed him off. “It doesn’t concern you, Hinata-kun, if you really are just some nobody experimenting.”

Kamukura frowned. He couldn’t help but feel—frustrated at such a response, but he said nothing more as no response felt appropriate.

Their food was set out by the friendly waitress, who predictably smiled when Komaeda cheerfully thanked her. With a nod and the typical boring platitudes, she was off. Kamukura paid her no further mind. Instead he focused on Komaeda, humming as he bit into a slice of toast.

“It is unusual that you ordered breakfast food for lunch,” Kamukura remarked. “Perhaps that is a mere preference.”

“It’s not that strange,” Komaeda said through a mouthful of toast. “Quite a few people are like that.”

“I suppose.” He began to cut his meal into perfect pieces, each the same size. When he brought one to his mouth, it was with elegance. Not a drop out of place.

“The way you eat is much more unusual,” Komaeda pointed out. “But, I guess it’s endearing.” He softly chuckles into his hand. “Is this your first time on a date?”

“Could you tell?” Kamukura asked dryly. Komaeda laughs again.

“I-I’ve never been on a date before either and yet somehow I could still tell, haha!” Komaeda Nagito ends up coughing a few times, having to down more of his drink so that he could breathe. His cheeks are flushed from the exertion, and he clears his throat while avoiding the other’s gaze. Despite that, his lips are still curved upwards and it’s—certainly a sight.

“How would you say this is going?” Kamukura asked, less dry than before. “Would you care for a revisit?”

“What kind of wording is that?” Komaeda snorted, covering his mouth. Another muffled string of giggles. “I-I’m sorry, I-I don’t mean to laugh so much, it’s just…it’s just…!”

People laugh for all kinds of reasons. Mirth. Humor. Embarrassment. Disbelief. Misery. Although I have never laughed at all. Another aspect that others find unnerving. Inhuman.

“Another date,” he found himself saying. “After this one.”

“M-Mmm…” Finishing the rest of his drink, Komaeda’s eyes were wide and inquisitive. “Okay. If you’re going to demand with such a scary face.”

Kamukura nods, eyes intent and intense and yet Komaeda smiles without a care.

Oh.

Komaeda’s smile is bright.

–

“Yooo, Kamukuraaaa! Heeeey!”

Kamukura pointedly ignores the calls in lieu of staring out a window, out at the clouds.

“Hey, heeeeeey!!”

Rather obnoxiously, he can see the caller reflected in the window glass. A wide smile—but not like Komaeda Nagito’s. Not like his at all. Komaeda wasn’t so outstanding with his appearance and force of personality. Kamukura stares at his own reflection, at his own features that have been called striking many a times.

“Enoshima-san!” someone else calls, firm yet friendly. “Kamukura-san seems busy. How about I show you around elsewhere?”

“Urgh, laaaaame! But would you really do that, Maizono-san? Aww, such a doll!”

That Enoshima is finally led away, and Kamukura lets his eyes flutter. He can’t see Maizono’s expression in the window, but he has observed her enough times.

“You do seem pretty deep in thought, Izuru-kun,” is remarked by another presence. The more mild-mannered man who likely kept his head down when entering rooms, although he too, had a particular smile. One that was likely as weathered into his face as the early wrinkles despite an arguable youth. “Have you been thinking about what I suggested?”

“Go out more, have more experiences, you may find the world more beautiful,” Kamukura droned, ever unimpressed. “Truth be told, those suggestions were too vague to be helpful.”

“Ah, sorry about that,” the other apologizes, smile apologetic. Again, Kamukura thinks of Komaeda. “But, for what it’s worth—you do seem to be in a better mood than usual. Has something happened after all?”

“You could say that,” Kamukura spoke more to the window, eyes more entranced by the overcast clouds floating above, blanketing the blue sky. “Kirigiri-san, your only desire is for efficiency. The details do not matter.”

Kirigiri’s face surely twisted a bit, but that smile would still remain.

“I do worry about you as a person, Izuru-kun, not just as your manager,” he goes on to say. Kind and gentle, like any well-meaning adult. “So, when you suffer a slump, it concerns me deeper than you may think.”

He assumes I think so shallowly of him. Even though he is, indeed, a shallow person.

“Perhaps,” Kamukura says. “The next song should be based on the sky.”

“Ah.” There’s a soft laugh from his manager. “That’s a surprisingly quaint subject for you, Izuru-kun. Head in the clouds, huh?”

He’s a shallow, shallow man.

“Something like that, I suppose.”

The perfect manager for an even more shallow individual such as myself.

–

He does not always write his own songs, because he finds he has too much and too little to say at the same time. And yet, when he finds a topic to focus on, it’s with perfect precision. Like a surgeon with a scalpel, he cuts through the ideas and meanings to delves into the core. Kirigiri had once compared his lyrics to a scholarly paper with one of those not-quite laughs. Despite the dryness of such a comparison, he had still been entranced by the song when recorded.

And yet, Kamukura Izuru could not say he felt much. Once he poured out everything, he was nothing more than a husk to be detached and left to rot. And yet, he was expected to continue. To write another song. And another.

Eventually, he is given the option to have a different songwriter—but he is told the results are less effective. Less interesting. More boring. And the brightness of the spotlights—both literal and metaphorical—are headache-inducing.

Truth be told, he’s not sure what the point of it all is. He simply remains because he has no direction.

No direction except for Komaeda Nagito, waiting by a sculpture of birds, with a couple pigeons even flocking by his feet. No aim towards anything except Komaeda meeting his stare and waving him over with a grin.

“Hinata-kun! It’s a special exhibit today!” he exclaims. “It’s the Underworld! One of the pieces is a re-imagining of Orpheus and Eurydice! There’s also paintings of spirits related to Taiwanese folklore…”

“Death is our certain, its hour uncertain,” Kamukura replied, cryptic and lyrical and Komaeda’s eyes sparkled.

“I recognize the reference! Hinata-kun’s actually quite well-read! How impressive!” Komaeda gives a round of applause. “You might have well seduced me then and there! Aha, kidding, kidding!”

With a twirl on his heel, Komaeda beamed up at him.

“Come on, Hinata-kun! Let’s hurry up and go inside!”

Kamukura is well-used to simply falling in line. To being manipulated and pulled along without complaint. He follows Komaeda ever compliantly here as well—and yet.

There is something else. Something that pulls him in rather than along. Even though Komaeda is lost within the museum booklet, still rambling about the various displays and exhibits. There is a minimal amount of space between them; it is all that could be considered necessary. And yet, Kamukura contemplates being closer. Pressing his shoulder to Komaeda’s. Allowing for the tickle of those wild white curls against his cheek.

It’s different. It’s odd.

“The map says this way, Hinata-kun!”

Kamukura follows. Ever compliant.

–

“Y’know, one of my favorite songs from Kamukura Izuru is about death,” was said at one point. Komaeda is looking upon a depiction of the Underworld, ever taken in. “It’s a natural human curiosity—and yet, it made me feel like no other. In that moment, Kamukura Izuru could’ve had his hands around my neck with how taken I was.”

“I see.”

“Such an impassive response!” Komaeda did pout but it was good-naturedly. “Hinata-kun, you strike me as hard to please. Except you’re here with me so I wonder how true that is.”

Komaeda skipped ahead to look at more art pieces. Kamukura followed after him. It’s largely quiet, despite the humble crowd gathered and scattered about. There are some couples, but mostly it’s groups college students, taking notes and talking amongst each other about their assignments. Komaeda does glance at them as he passes by but he’s careful not to linger. He doesn’t even make a remark.

There’s laughter from the group, and Komaeda nearly trips. Kamukura catches him swiftly, and takes note of how Komaeda’s face is flushed.

“I’m sorry,” is said as his date almost slumps into his arm. “Um. I feel like—I’m suffocating, Hinata-kun. Can we go outside for a bit?”

“Mm.”

–

There was a song I heard once—about a pair of children trapped in a museum. I listened to it, listened to the supposed heart in the song, and I still felt impassive. However—

Komaeda had clung to him as they made their way outside. Komaeda was slight and frail, as if simply dropping him to the ground could shatter him. Even through his coat sleeves, he felt the chill of Komaeda’s grip sink into his skin.

He remembers his song about death. The one Komaeda had mentioned. It is then and there, he realized how shallow and vapid it was.

“Sorry, Hinata-kun,” Komaeda murmurs to him in a soft voice, one that could so easily be crumbled by the wind. “I don’t know what came over me.”

Kamukura presses him close, embraces more of that chill and softness. Komaeda stiffens but he relaxes despite his clinging grip remaining ever tight.

How shallow and vapid have I always been?

–

The words come to mind, but never with emotions behind them. There is an art, of course, to pace and cadence. To beats and melodies.

“You really are talented, Izuru-kun.”

He thinks of wrapping his fingers around Komaeda Nagito’s neck. The image is quick to morph, with his hands moving upwards to instead cup Komaeda Nagito’s jaw. Brushing his thumbs over Komaeda Nagito’s cheeks and lips. Komaeda Nagito’s smile without a care.

“While you’re brilliant, you’re just—missing something.”

Komaeda Nagito sighing, pressing into his touch. Relaxing. Smiling.

“Why don’t you go out and just—experience the world a bit? You’ll find what you’re missing sure enough.”

It had been a ridiculous suggestion, because he knew what his manager wanted was undefined and vague. It was ridiculous, because to ask an idol to open up more to the world was dangerous. Treacherous. One might as well welcome contempt.

Kamukura Izuru knows that idols are expected to exist within a constrained paradox. Open to everyone, available to no one. Sincere while obscuring most of their true selves. Expected to act human while seated atop an inhuman pedestal. The perfect person in turns of looks, charm, and personality—a façade that was never to be shattered lest the pieces cripple the person.

It was—boring. Uninteresting. Egregious and yet expected.

Even Kamukura Izuru, who never really saw himself as a person, recognized the folly and impossibility. Really, approaching someone in spite of the dangers was an inevitability. Fixating on them for a change of pace was expected. Logistically speaking, it could have been anyone. It didn’t have to be Komaeda Nagito.

“Whenever you’re all deep in thought like that, I can’t help but worry, Hinata-kun.”

“About what?”

“About whether or not you’ve decided to kill me!” Komaeda exclaims with such wide-eyed seriousness, Kamukura notes birds scattering from the sound.

“If you truly held such concerns, you should worry more about your instincts of self-preservation,” Kamukura pointed out, settling on the bench, listening to the leaves rustle below and above. “You’re quite the peculiar person, Komaeda Nagito, not rejecting someone you distrust.”

“I haven’t seen a reason to reject you quite yet,” was Komaeda’s simple response. “And it’d be boring to avoid every bit of potential danger. Besides, I’m curious about you, too.”

Curious, he says. Thus, anyone else could be in my position. In this situation. Sitting with Komaeda Nagito in the park, staring at nothing in particular.

Kamukura tugs idly at his hat, conscious now of his wig and color contacts. The disguise he wore that reflected in Komaeda’s innocent stare.

“Do you wish to know more about me?”

In that moment, the rest of the world felt disconnected. Komaeda hummed thoughtfully, and he shrugged.

“Maybe? I wouldn’t know if I’m that curious about you.”

“Have you ever been that curious about anyone?” Kamukura finds himself asking. “Your beloved idol, perhaps?”

“No way! That’s way too presumptuous! Besides.” Komaeda laughs. “We’re not on the same level at all.”

“I suppose.”

“You only suppose! So naïve, Hinata-kun!” Another laugh. “Why do I get the feeling you don’t understand at all?”

“I cannot read your mind, Komaeda Nagito.”

“No.” Komaeda pauses briefly, rubbing his lower lip with a perplexed furrow of his brows. “Ah. Maybe it’s—you don’t understand why I love Kamukura Izuru as an idol?”

“It’s because of his talent,” was the obvious answer.

“Maizono Sayaka-san is also a very talented idol and I don’t love her nearly as much,” Komaeda corrected, shaking his head. “It’s more because of his presence. Even when in the same vicinity, Kamukura Izuru feels so distant.”

Distance is both a strength and a weakness for an idol.

“Come to think of it, Hinata-kun gives off that feeling too,” Komaeda went on. “Even when right beside you, you feel unreachable.” He leans against him. “It’s not as comforting as it is with Kamukura Izuru. If anything, I get incredibly anxious.”

Komaeda presses against him, rubbing his face into his shoulder.

“Mm… Kamukura-kun.”

His fingers trail down his arm, tugging gently at his sleeve.

“Even like this, I’m rather anxious. Shouldn’t you reassure me?”

Kamukura patted his head. Komaeda clung to him.

“Better than that.”

Kamukura kissed his forehead. Komaeda flinched, flushing quite darkly.

“W-Worse than that! Too much! Too much!” He rubs where Kamukura’s lips had been. “U-Urgh! I-I might faint, Hinata-kun…!”

Kamukura snorted softly.

“Ah!” Komaeda covers his eyes next. “Way too much! Now you’re smiling, Hinata-kun! It’s creepy!”

Smiling?

Kamukura stilled, impulsively wanting to feel it with his hands. He doesn’t. At least, not when Komaeda is still close to him like this. It would be—inappropriate.

“A-Ah, Hinata-kun!” Komaeda lets out a squeal when Kamukura presses him even closer, presses him into his shoulder so that it is physically impossible for Komaeda to see the expression on his face. That expression which no one else has ever seen.

“Hinata-kun,” Komaeda whined. “P-People are going to stare.”

“We can go somewhere more private, then,” is the obvious remark.

“E-Eh?!”

“Somewhere like your home, Komaeda Nagito,” Kamukura says then. “Shall we go?”

“What a thing to ask… Hinata-kun, you’re so dangerous.” Komaeda laughs. “And I’ve always lived so recklessly.”

He has no idea how this goes both ways, Kamukura thinks and it’s the first time it truly occurs to him. If anyone were to know—if even Komaeda Nagito were to know… I could be destroyed so easily.

The idea was beyond exhilarating.

–

Komaeda lived modestly but also sparsely. While it was a comfortably-sized home, it also was minimally furnished save for shelves of books and CDs. There were a couple of trinkets, but little else décor. Kamukura slipped off his shoes, and he breathed in the smell of bleach.

“I just cleaned earlier,” Komaeda explains about seeing his nose wrinkle. “I enjoy cleaning. I might even be good at it, ehe.”

“If you cleaned any further, I wonder what would remain of this place,” Kamukura replied, shuffling after him. “Goodness, your kitchen looks completely unused.”

“I don’t use it,” Komaeda said, just a little flustered. “I don’t know how to cook. My fridge isn’t really stocked either. I typically eat out. It’s not the healthiest way to live but—it is what it is.”

“Convenience is a virtue in these bustling times.”

He runs his fingers along the various spines of books. He pauses when he notes that there’s a journal on the table. He politely ignores it as he sits.

“Sorry, I don’t have a television,” Komaeda apologizes almost meekly. “I also still need to buy a new tea kettle. Actually, all I really do when I’m hope is read, write, and sleep.” He gives an almost careless shrug. “Maybe stare out the window for hours if that’s the mood.”

I’m the same way. I know how empty such a pattern is.

“I like writing stories and song lyrics!” Komaeda exclaimed next, lighting up as he indicated the journal finally. “This is full of ideas. They’re all awful, but not having anyone to share them with is boring so feel free to read through.”

With a huff, Kamukura flipped through. Indeed, there were meager attempts at poetry, even a few mindless scribbled sketches with the skill of a toddler. One in particular, caught his eye.

“The Rotten Wolf?”

“Ah, that one’s embarrassing,” Komaeda laughed, cupping his cheek. “But what do you think of it?”

Kamukura squinted, trying to decipher the truly abysmal writing before skimming through.

There was once a boy lost and starving in the forest. As he sulked, he was found by what seemed to be a friendly wolf. The wolf led him to his owner’s house, which was made of candy among other confectionery treats. Happy, the boy gorged himself to his heart’s content. When the witch returned however, shrouded in shadow and insulted by the insolence, that witch imprisoned the boy and snapped at the wolf.

The boy was terrified as the wolf was ridiculed. Eventually, however, the witch had the wolf bring the boy meals meant to fatten him up. Realizing that he was going to be eaten afterwards, the boy refused to eat anything. The wolf tried to cajole him, but it was to no avail.

The boy would then begin to cry, to the wolf’s dismay. Any attempts at comfort were ignored, even the wolf apologized frantically for putting him in this situation. After days past, the wolf was further scorned, punished, and even starved for the boy’s disobedience. The boy saw how cruel the witch was, how the witch sneered at what a pitiful monster the wolf was.

The witch finally grew fed up with waiting and decided to throw the boy into the oven then and there. However, while preparing the oven, the wolf snapped and shoved the witch inside, shutting it and trapping the witch to their death. The boy, dazed and dizzy from his self-induced starvation, could only watch as the wolf retrieved the keys to his cage and trotted over.

Mustering up the last bit of strength he had, the boy not only freed himself but sank to his knees in gratitude before the wolf.

“The witch was wrong,” the boy said, running his fingers over and over through the wolf’s coarse fur. “You are not a monster, wolf.”

For a while, the wolf enjoyed the affection he had never known before. His tag began to wag furiously, thumping like a racing heart against the ground.

“No,” the wolf said, for he too, was delirious and giddy and salivating. “I am a monster. But I will keep your kindness within me always. I’m sorry.”

And with that admission, the wolf gobbled the boy up, laughing and sobbing all the while.

Kamukura blinked once at the ending, he blinked again at the crude scribbles of what was to be assumed was a wolf tearing a boy limb from limb.

“It’s a miserable story, Komaeda Nagito.”

“I thought so, too!” Komaeda exclaimed, as if affronted. “It’s so depressing! Not hopeful at all! And, yet.” He frowned. “When I thought about the wolf taking the boy home, it didn’t sit well with me.”

“Perhaps this is a reflection, then, of a deeply held belief,” Kamukura said. “One so unpleasant that even you do not like to acknowledge it, and yet, it still resurfaces. Time. And time again.”

That of an abused monster who takes further destruction over compassion and forgiveness. I wonder—if Komaeda Nagito learned the truth about me, what would he think? Immediate love? Reverence? Or would he be wary and afraid the way that boy should have been?

“Aha, you sound so contemplative, Hinata-kun,” Komaeda hummed then, a smile tugging at his lips. “Did something strike you?”

Komaeda’s gaze briefly flickers between him and the open notebook. That smile waned. His lips pursed.

“What I would give to know the thoughts swimming behind that dense gaze of yours.”

You would surely drown if you knew.

“Y’know, Kamukura Izuru’s voice is also so densely packed with meaning, regardless of the words being said,” Komaeda went on. “It was overwhelming. Suffocating. And yet, I found myself enraptured. Hinata-kun is—different from that, of course. You’re tangible for one thing.”

An idol should not be tangible.

And yet, all the same, he took Komaeda Nagito’s frail, pale hand and held it within his own.

“So much of you is vague and indecipherable,” Komaeda went on, ducking his head with pinking cheeks. “However, you are still tangible, Hinata-kun.”

He squeezed Komaeda’s hand. It’s cold.

“I…think this is enough.” Finally, finally, he releases and pulls back, putting the appropriate distance between them. “I apologize. I may have pushed boundaries if not outright crossed them.”

“Eh?” Komaeda’s expression remains innocent if inquisitive. “Why does that matter to you now, Hinata-kun?”

What kind of question is that? Shouldn’t the answer be obvious? Then again, Komaeda Nagito really has no self-preservation at all, does he. He allowed it to escalate to this extent, and was clearly prepared to matters to go even further. Even deeper.

“I apologize,” he found himself saying in lieu of anything else. Explanations. Confessions. He felt deeply in the wrong. How bizarre. The sudden wave of guilt was—painful. “I truly apologize.”

Komaeda frowns.

“Goodness. I really don’t understand you at all. But I guess I forgive you.”

“I used you,” he burst out with. “Are you that detached?”

“I let you use me because I didn’t care, yes,” Komaeda admits it so easily. Kamukura sees himself and it’s startling. “I thought it would be interesting, after all.”

Despite that, despite everything, Kamukura takes Komaeda’s hand and squeezes.

“I’m sorry,” he repeats. “I’m sorry. I didn’t care either at first—and that was wrong of me.”

How treacherous this is, not just for an idol but for a person.

“You’re upset, Hinata-kun.” Komaeda’s frown deepens. “I really—don’t understand.”

“One day I hope you do,” Kamukura whispered, running his thumb over Komaeda’s bony knuckles. “For now, it’s best we part. Thank you for indulging a stranger—but please, for your own sake, be more careful.”

“Aha! What are you, a parent?” Komaeda laughed without a hint of mirth. “I’m not a fan of that, even if I’m definitely going to feel a little lonelier after you leave. Please don’t forget about me when you go, Hinata-kun?”

“I won’t.”

“Oh, but if you’re going to use me to tell embarrassing stories, I’d rather you didn’t,” Komaeda went on, waving his free hand. “I’d rather just remain in your thoughts if that’s okay.”

“Very well. I—do not think I can share you with the rest of the world either way.” Kamukura inhaled. “Because, I would like to keep you safe, I’ve realized. Which is why—it is best that we part.”

“Mmm, still don’t understand but I’ll accept it all the same, I guess.” Komaeda smiled brightly. “Hinata-kun, it was nice meeting you. Oh! Should I give you a farewell present for putting up with me this long?”

Kamukura is quiet for a moment before he reaches out and ruffles Komaeda’s hair. Komaeda giggles at the gesture.

“Just your regards are enough, Nagito. Thank you. I apologize. Please—take care.”

With that, he stands. Komaeda skips after him, following him to the door.

“If I ever see you again, can you tell me more about yourself?” Komaeda asks as he retrieves his shoes. “Like, maybe your actual name, perhaps?”

Ah. What a selfish desire on both our parts.

“Kidding!” Komaeda chirped. “I’m not nearly as indulgent as you are!”

Kamukura hummed, not responding as he slips on his shoes and opens the door.

“Take care, Kamukura-kun.”

He immediately froze, but by the time he spun on his heel, Komaeda had already shut the door between them. And there was nothing more to it.

Nothing but to duck his head in further apology before finally going on his way.

–

“Ah, good morning, Kamukura-kun.”

“Good morning.” He nods politely, playing with the petals of the various flowers set in a vase. “Early as usual, Maizono Sayaka-san.”

“Haha, yes, and that’s not the only thing we have in common either,” Maizono chirps, holding up her own bouquet of lilies. “How have you been? How are things going with Kirigiri-san?”

Always so quaint. Always with ease.

“I arrived early to give myself time to think about what to tell him, actually,” he said. “I would not be surprised if a certain someone caught wind of the ridiculous assignment that he gave me.”

“Enoshima-san might have mentioned something like that,” Maizono admitted rather sheepishly. “If you’re insecure about it, you shouldn’t worry, Kamukura-kun. Kirigiri-san’s not really expecting anything grand, I don’t think. Of course.” Brushing past him. “You’re not the type to admit to insecurity, even as part of the performance.”

“No, I am not. But. I did realize the folly of Kirigiri-san’s demands.” A pause, in both his words and Maizono’s steps. “He asked for something impossible. And something I ended up unwilling to share, anyway.”

“Ooh, how scandalous,” Maizono joked ever good-naturedly, such a practiced actress that the edge was near perfectly obfuscated by her sweet laugh and smile. “But it’s good to have some privacy from the public eye. Just be careful.” She does hesitate for a moment before smiling again. “You know how Enoshima-san is about gossip. And even Kirigiri-san can be stern. Not like his daughter, though.”

It’s similar. The way Nagito smiles compared to this.

“It’s selfish, but I hope I see that person again,” he whispered.

“I hope so too,” Maizono said honestly. “I can already tell you’re much brighter, Kamukura-kun. Just try not to be blinding! I can’t lose to you, after all!”

With a cheerful wave and skip, Maizono fled that scene. Idly, Kamukura wondered about her, but inevitably, his mind went back to Komaeda Nagito. It’s painstakingly simple for that image to warp in various ways. From twisted and troubling—to soft and sublime.

There was a note attached to the letter he got. The handwriting is neat and fancy, nothing like Komaeda Nagito’s shaky penmanship.

Too dizzying. Too distracting. Too blinding.

And despite that, a smile pulls at his lips despite the fact that he is still utter devoid of joy.

There is no scientific explanation for him and what he evokes the way there is for the sky and its sensations. And even though that is absolutely illogical, Komaeda Nagito is both as consuming and as distant as that same sky. How difficult for an idol. How difficult for me.

All the same time, he thinks he would have remained in blissful yet wretched emptiness if not for him and that counts for something.

I do want—to see his face in a crowd one day, but I’m not that selfish.

“Ah, Kamukura-kun!” Kirigiri lights up easily upon seeing him. “Ready for today already?”

“Yes,” Kamukura says, turning away even as everything about it lingered. “Of course.”

I’m happy to have just been heard by you. I do pray I can meet you properly one day. Perhaps at the end of all of this where the sky ends and the world begins.

#kamukoma #fanfiction #komahina secret exchange

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okimargarvez · 4 years

Text

SUBMISSION - 1

Original title: Submission.

Prompt: alternative for S12, Luke wants the tech girl and he gets her.

Warning: really smut; Luke OOC.

Genre: angst, romantic, erotic.

Characters: Penelope Garcia, Luke Alvez, Roxy, BAU team.

Pairings: Garvez.

Note: long (6 chapters).

Song mentioned: none.

Legend: 👨‍❤️‍👨 💏 😈👻.

Submission masterlist

Note: I don't know who would like to read this kind of story. It will not be only about sex; I can't imagine a world where Pen and Luke aren't in love. It will not be just a story about female submission and male domination despite the title. It's deeper and more complicated. If you need to blame someone, or better, something, it was the fault of the movies inspired by Psycho. One of my last exams was about this topic (with a lot of sexual content 🙄) and I had to put a bit of that somewhere. Please, be kind and tell me if you want to be tagged.

GARVEZ STORIES

Chapter 1 - Inappropriate

Certainly she doesn't imagine seeing him appear there, in that bar that she attends from many years. It is one of her safe areas, a place where she feels she can be herself, she can forget for a moment that she is a federal. He is alone, no attractive brunette with a model physique beside him. He has changed his clothes, he wears no more the black suit, but lighter jeans and a blue jacket. She hopes still not noticed.

Hope destined to die soon. -Hola, chica.- she feels the shadow of the man at her shoulders, the light covers her. The male tone, strongly sarcastic, makes her stretch all the muscles. He is too pleased. She turns slowly.

-You didn't have to relax with your girlfriend...- she pretends to not remember that name. -Roxy?- she looks at him without the shadow of a smile, puts her arms folded and waits his reply.

-And you weren't supposed to hang out with your Canadian boyfriend? Where is he, in the bathroom?- the woman rolls her eyes, raising them to the sky. Here we go again, same as a few hours ago, same speech and same irony. His goal is clearly to annoy her.

-No! He's not in the bathroom, and he's not Canadian. Why do you insist about this?- she snorts, turning around and turning her back on him again. She too has changed her clothes: he cannot avoid observing the dark suit, a part of her back left uncovered on which a cascade of blonde hair falls, no longer wavy, but straight.

-I don't know.- he shrugs, standing next to her chair. -You are so blonde and there, your skin is so pale...- his tone is no longer amused, instead it is hoarse, low, guttural. Even if she wants to remain impassive, she swallows. -Swedish, right?- here, he returns to the attack.

-No. My family has Norwegian origins, if you really care- she decides to focus on her cocktail, but suddenly the thought that he can watch her while she drinks, makes her blush. Damn! The man doesn't seem to have realized, because now his eyes are too busy getting lost in the neckline, very generous; too generous.

-Mhm.- he nods, not very attentive to her words. -They are the ones who have invented the sauna?- he finally shoots out, just to continue that conversation. She tries to notbget irritated; the newcomer just wants to be nice, he wants to know better all his colleagues...

-No, those are the Swedish.- she corrects him, feeling a little like Reid. -Norway is famous for the fjords, the north pole and...- she realizes she has almost smiled at him. -But why am I telling you this stuff?- she severely interrupts eye contact and makes another attempt with the glass resting in front of her.

The man laughs. -Is this place free?- he asks placing a hand on the back of her chair and the other on the one next to her. The blonde doesn't answer, taking a sip of her drink. The evening promises to be very long. He admires in an almost obsessive way a droplet that lingers on the red lips and then comes down from the chin until it ends up in that inlet. Sooo long, he corrects himself.

-What if it isn't?- she challenges him openly, deciding she can't allow this almost stranger to upset her at this point. Just because he took Derek's place… she doesn't have to think about her chocolate thunder. He is now with his wife and his son. He's happy, that's the only thing that matters. Or not? He seems to appreciate her choice, he still smiles and shit, he is exaggeratedly beautiful when he does, but even when he's serious. She can't flirt with another special agent, it would be like betraying Morgan. And then it's not the same thing, it's not enough to look... like this, for turn on the magic.

-Be honest, Garcia.- being called by him annoys her, like any other thing he does. -Your boyfriend, Canadian or not, doesn't exist. Am I right?- he doesn't seem to want to make fun of her, but now she has activated the protection program and has no intention of unlocking it.

She doesn't look at him. -Do you think it's any of your business?- he moves away her glass, almost empty and intercepts her hand.

-They could be.- he smiles, this time in a satisfied, provocative way, but then he changes expression. He looks almost sweet, the curves of his face softer and eyes with a strange light, but it can't be.

-No, there is no boyfriend anymore.- she admits, feeling defeated. She could have keep to play the cold or say nothing, but she is not like that; one thing is pretending and acting rude for those three minutes of calling, one minute to discuss cases or five (even!) on the elevator. But now they are alone, in a club and he seems to be flirting... even if it's not possible. She lows her head, bending her neck down. She doesn't miss Sam at all, she didn't love him anymore when they decided to break up. She misses having a man next to her, to find someone when she slips under the covers. To receive calls that don't start with "Garcia, could you look for the address of...".

He notices the change. He recognizes all the signs, sadness and bitterness. -Why did you lie?- he asks in a low voice, as if he doesn't want to be heard by others, placing his amber hand on the white of the woman, who strangely doesn't reject him. Maybe it's because she completely surrendered to this situation that she is unable to handle, although she has pretended otherwise.

Before answering him, she observes their close fingers for a few seconds, she wonders on the sensations that such contact causes to her. -Because you ask too many questions, Alvez.- the first bullshit that came to her mind.

She stands up, leaving $5 bill on the counter and starts to walk towards the exit. He, who hasn't ordered anything since he set foot on this place, replaces the piece of green paper with another one, extracted from his wallet. With two steps he reaches her just as she is about to leave, in time to open her the door, as a gentleman. But she ignores him and certainly not thank him.

-These are yours.- the money waives in front of her nose, but the woman doesn't seem to want to take it back. She shakes her head, walking in the direction of subway. He doesn't give up, keeping follow her. If he weren't a federal agent, she would probably get anxious. But then she remembers that the only guy who shot her was a highly decorated deputy sheriff and she starts to breathe in a different way. -Hey, wait. I have a car parked nearby. I can give you a ride.- she would never accept. If she did, she would have found herself again in a situation like this night, a moment ago; they would challenge each other and she would lost, because she was not meant for this kind of thing. No, no way.

Penelope hates feeling so vulnerable, despite having told Morgan something different, some time ago, just about her ex, Sam... -Nope, thanks. I will take the subway.- she walks quickly on her high heels and the man remains a step back, only to admire her body almost dancing and the movement of her hips.

-I insist.- his tone is peremptory, he will not accept a refusal. -It is dangerous to go around the city all alone at certain hours. Aren't you afraid?- she bursts out laughing before his face, something which he certainly doesn't expect. They get stuck almost in the middle of the road, it seems that there is no living soul here, apart from them.

-Afraid?- she echoes him. -The only man who shot me was someone who asked me a date. Why should I be afraid? If something has to happen, it will happen.- she turns her back on him, but she doesn't move. He absorbs the newly acquired information, without wondering if it's another lie. Nothing would be done to make him believe a thing like that. -Don't ask me anything.- she anticipates him before he can open his mouth. -Is your car so far?- she lowers his shoulders. In spite of what she has said, she is very scared of this. Even of him. But it may not be the bad thing. She can't imagine him as an unsub, but neither Colby seemed that and instead...

-No, it's less than a block from here.- they walk in silence for a long stretch, before he starts again to talk. -You really were a rocket with that list of sex shop stores...- it wanted to sound like a compliment, but to since he has mentioned just that kind of business triggers her as the first time she had heard his request.

-Well, I'm a rocket in everything I do!- then she really understands that this sentence sounds ambiguous and reminds when Morgan had told her that time something like that and she believed they slept together after arguing with Kevin and drinking far more than a few too many glasses of wine. She blushes. -I mean... it's mine work. I know what I do.- she prays to all the saints that he has not noticed her embarrassment.

-I don't doubt it.- but judging by the m1ischievous smile, not even this time she was luck. -You are a demure person and you don't like to deal with certain topics or you get upset just with me about it?- while he asks the question, they reach the car. Once again he manages to anticipate her to open the door for her. This mix of old-style romance and red light insinuations is driving her crazy. She sits and bucklesvup. He does the same, but doesn't leave. -I noticed the long pause you did after my request...- the woman curses herself again. She lowers her head for the umpteenth time during this evening. -What's the problem?- he doesn't going to quit until he gets an answer.

-Have you ever heard of Agent Morgan? Derek Morgan.- she points out, feeling a pang in the heart. -He was the one which you took the place.- a flash seems illuminate his face.

-Was he your ex-boyfriend, were you two together?- for the first time she smiles, but it's a bitter smile.

-No, he's my best friend. They shot his wife while she was pregnant...bAfter the baby born, he decided he could no longer endanger his family.- but why is she telling him? She has just known him for few days. She shouldn't even be in the car with him.

-Understandable.- he lifts her chin and she discovers she doesn't have the strength to fight. -But there is more. I read it in your eyes. I don't need to be a profiler forvguess that for you he wasn't just a friend.- he lets her go. -I'm sorry, I know what it means losing someone you loved... but I haven't joined the team for replace your Morgan.- he smiles, sadly. -I'm here to catch the fugitives criminals, like Cullen.- pronouncing that name hurts. The sense of guilt intensifies. She doesn't realize it.

-I know. Now could you accompany me home? Tomorrow we must be ready for everything. The unsubs never rest.- he nods and starts the engine.

When they arrive in front of the apartment building where she lives, Penelope certainly doesn't expect that he comes down in turn to accompany her. Her are worthless protests, is useless that she repeats that she can now get by on her own. But it's all too weird. When he joins her, she waits for him to pull out his weapon and shooting, but it doesn't happen.

She turns to him, who is a few inches behind. -Thanks, Alvez. See you tomorrow. Good night.- her heart stops when she sees the flicker in the so dark eyes of the man and he comes closer, gets closer and closer, up to place his hand on the wall with all the interphones, on which the woman has leaned unknowingly. He is really too close.

-You're welcome.- he whispers and his words are lost in the night. He leans toward her. He wants to kiss her and he will do it, he doesn't care that he knows very little. He is attracted by her like the light of a chandelier attracts a moth (with the same fatal result, probably), he has to have her. He will. He sees her pupils getting more and more large, dilated. Clear sign of excitement. Because she wants him too. He doesn't prolong the agony, bends a little more and makes crash his own lips on her fleshy ones; he doesn't ask for permission but sneaks his tongue into her mouth and immediately they begin to weave wild dances. She moans inside his throat, fortunately, since they are almost outdoors and they risk waking up the whole neighborhood.

-This attitude is truly...- the woman manages to say breathlessly -...inappropriate.- before he catches her again, smearing his body on the soft shapes of his colleague. Something quite soft attracts instead her attention. She realizes that she is terribly attracted to this man almost unknown, of not being able to stop herse or him and that she likes the whole situation. I would like a man who could make decisions, make choices... in short, that did not always make me feel the one who makes choices. It is stressful. With years of delay, her wish had been fulfilled.

They don't known how they manage to open the door and get into the elevator. Here he drops the straps of her dress, getting a better view of her breast. -We shouldn't do it... it's against...- she barely holds back a scream when the man takes one of the nipples between his fingers. -...the protocol.- she concludes with a sigh. A sound warns them that they have arrived at the requested floor. He settles her just for safety and quickly pushes her towards her apartment, even if he hasn't already been there.

While she turns the key in the lock she can't pretend not to feel something solidly brush her legs. She can still prevent that from happening, she just has to avoid kissing him again. How much he must have drunk to want someone like her? Yet he doesn't seem drunk. On the contrary, he looks as clear as a bell. Almost… ruthless.

-Strip for me, Penelope.- is the first time he calls her by name, one thing to which she is not accustomed in general, and that is Luke doing this upsets her even more. His tone is low but firm, peremptory. So... authoritarian. Exciting. But still a part of her wants to rebel. After all, this is her home, she should command him. This guy may be nice to see, but he's the newest, he has taken Derek's place, he has... her thoughts are abruptly interrupted by a rip, precisely that of the fabric of her dress. She lowers her eyes to check the extent of the damage, then she raises them back to him, looking for some guilt. She doesn't find the slightest trace of it. -These are the consequences when you don't obey.- he clarifies, while with his hands he is widening the gash so much that now the dress covers only the lower half of her body. It was a beautiful dress, bought with JJ and Emily the time they went to London to visit the latter when she was working for INTERPOL. £ 150. But above, all it was a memory of happy moment. And he destroyed it in less than a second. She should hate him for it. Why can't she do it? Why instead her legs are trembling and she is feeling something vibrating in depth that she thought were lost forever? -I am waiting.- he reiterates, arms folded, in the position of the observer, the voyeur.

Looking into those really too dark (almost obscure) eyes she also loses this battle. She lets the dress fall to the ground, remaining in underwear and with heels. She would like to have something to cover herself with, she doesn't feel like a prostitute or a porn star, just a simple idiot. Embarrassment makes her blush. If she had a different kind of physique, maybe she wouldn't be so upset. She waits to hear a wicked laughter at any moment, any testimony of the disgusting that he feels when he sees her almost naked. But is not so. He gestures for her to continue and she reluctantly performs, but he stops her before she can also remove her shoes. -No, you can keep them on. I like how they slim your figure.- and yet he doesn't seem to be lying. He really seems to appreciate what he sees. He takes her by the hand and makes her turn around. Naturally, he is still fully clothed. -You feel beautiful, Penelope?- just like she didn't expect to see him appear at the O'Keefe, or that he accompanied her up to here, she certainly didn't imagine he can ask such a question. She keeps silent, she can't answer him. It would be worse than this sort of striptease. It would be truly naked before his eyes. Like she would prostitute her own soul.

He takes her by her chin, almost hurting her. She understands that he will not stop it until she will respond. -No.- she admits, tightening the eyelids. -I don't feel beautiful at all. Can you leave me, now?- he increases his hold and forces the woman's mouth to collimate with his own. At the same time he spreads her body between his own and a wall, to make her feel his concrete excitement. -This is not fake, babe.- the woman moans. -And now, take off my clothes, but started from the bottom.- he pushes her head to make her get down on her knees. By now she is no longer able to rebel, now she has to find out what it's like to have him inside her (what is the need to do false moralism when it is so obvious?). She starts from shoes, skillfully work with her hands on the strings, then pull down his trousers, but when she raises her head without thinking, she is abruptly brought back to the ground. -You will watch when I tell you.- a bandage or a handkerchief appears in his hands and with it he deprives her of the sense of sight. He makes her rise; she almost laugh to the thought of being covered only in that area. She finds the jacket groping, then the zipper and she slides it slowly down. She can't help but place her hands on his chest, sensing the shapes of his muscles. Then she starts again, opening every button and finally freeing the underlying skin. She would like to lean her head and feeling tight squeezed from those strong and powerful arms, like in the movies. She will always be a perenneer dreamer, despite all the disillusions that life slams in her face.

Yet he seems to read her mind. He hugs her for a few minutes. She should feel cold, she has not turned on the heat, but that thought doesn't brush her minimally. Her heart begins to pump more blood, her head is spinning. Then he whispers to her something that seems to have nothing to do with the context. -You're safe, baby.- and she believes him. Then he loosens the grip, making her again bend down. Except for the socks, even he is almost naked now. Just his boxers separate their bodies. She swallows. He pushes her head against his lower abdomen. -Do you consider yourself a good girl, Penelope?- his questions embarrass her more than what he forces her to do. She knows exactly what he wants now from her. He takes her hands and guides her in the right direction. He helps her lift the fabric. Then he caresses her cheeks, lips and opens her mouth. -Choose to answer me or to show me.- he adds only. The decision is just too easy.

It is more than inappropriate, this is a totally wrong, incorrect and rash action; she is not at all a good girl. She never thought she can become one of those women who lend themselves to such things. Yet it is not was she asked? She wanted a self-confident man; here he is and he is algo good to see. She tries to shut down her brain, to just act, to don't think, returning to her "animal", natural or "primitive" state. His flavor is strange, but pleasant. Her knees hurt; he urges her to continue, giving her light pushes on the nape. Those fingers in her hair for absurd excite her more than what she is doing. She feels the rhythm increase, she understands that he is close and if there is a taboo that she has never broken, it is just that. But in the moment she welcomed him inside her, she knew she couldn't anymore rebel. The man holds her head steady as he empties himself in her oral cavity. And he keeps her until she swallows.

The shame and the sense of vomiting are now as one, but she expects that at least now it's time for the funny part, the more "normal" moment. She hasn't endured all of this for nothing. Instead the man rearranges himself, she senses it by the noises she hears (the belt, the zipper teeth, the jeans cloth) and then he takes off the bandage. -I'm sorry for your dress.- but he's not really sorry, it's a catchphrase. -Maybe next time you'll do better.- he pats her on the cheek, as she would be a child, then grabs her to give her one last kiss, savoring his own taste. Then he leaves her there, in the middle of the room, naked, except for shoes.

Naked both inside and outside.

#Garvez #criminal minds #cm #penelope garcia #luke alvez #bau team #penelope x luke #luke x penelope #garcia x alvez #alvez x garcia #luke ooc #smut

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turquoisephoenix · 4 years

Text

What's A Little Galaxy-Wide Destruction Between Friends?

A Ratchet and Clank One-Shot

Five days after saving the galaxy from the Deplanetizer, Elaris is greeted by an old friend, who wishes to talk to her, vent a little, and give her life advice. Unfortunately for her, her old friend also happens to be a freshly transformed robot version of a dangerous criminal madman that everyone believed was dead. Elaris & Dr. Nefarious friendship Characters: Elaris, Dr. Nefarious, Lawrence, Qwark (mentioned) ————————————————-

Author's Notes: I saw the movie and immediately made the connection between Elaris and Nefarious, and by god, I was going to get this down. I realize this isn't the first "Nefarious talks to Elaris about her job" fic out there, but I kinda wanted to write a version where Nefarious and Elaris were friends before the whole evil thing kinda split them apart and, despite everything, they still have positive feelings about each other. It was a challenge writing Nefarious as a mixture of absolutely terrifying and also completely vulnerable and a bit in a fragile state. It's been a bad last couple of days for Nefarious. Also I was going to explain where Lawrence came from but it also came off as more "fitting" that he just *has* Lawrence.

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"Yep, this sure is Umbris alright."

Elaris, technical support of the Galactic Rangers and one of the saviors of the galaxy a mere five days ago, was doing a menial patrol shift above the atmosphere of Umbris with no one to keep her company.

Despite not being in her expertise and despite this being a rather boring shift, Elaris had asked to be on Galactic Ranger patrol today. She got a few questions from her coworkers - after all, today was double XP weekend and a holiday event in League of Legendaries and they expected her to be holed up in her lab for days - but she won out in the end. She took the same spaceship she normally did, a beaten up little thing that could be best described as "dependable" and "cozy" and nothing more.

She didn't want to admit it out loud, but she was getting cabin fever from being in her in the lab, just a glorified broom closet, all day. She was kinda hoping that, by helping with the Deplanetizer and helping to save the galaxy, she would at least get a bit of a laboratory upgrade as a reward. Instead, with the media breathing down their necks and Qwark doing his big apology tour, her tiny comments of "can I please get a proper laboratory?" were written down as "things to do later" as they asked the new rookie Ratchet question after question of his upbringing and his mysterious past.

And she couldn't help but feel that she was going to be in that broom closet for quite a while now.

Sitting alone in a spaceship - with no sound to greet her but the steady hum of all the ship's computers - while keeping an eye on the airspace of a muddy, near uninhabited planet was at least brightening her mood a bit and allowing her to clear her head.

Anything to get her mind off the fact that the weapons technician before her died in the process.

That was the biggest bummer of the whole Deplanetizer ordeal in her eyes. At the end of the day, Dr. Nefarious was dead. He fell from a space station onto the surface of planet Umbris and that was that. Elaris was hoping that they'd be able to arrest him and that she'd get a chance to talk to him somehow, but instead they found a barely identifiable pile of flesh that had his DNA.

She couldn't help herself. She felt sad that he had to die like that.

Her other coworkers in the Galactic Rangers thought that she was being too idealistic about her old science partner and friend, that Dr. Nefarious was too far gone even before he tried to blow up the entire galaxy with a giant laser. But she wasn't asking for any miracles. She just wanted to ask him why.

And if he was thrown into a maximum security cell for the rest of his life after she asked him what was going on in his giant skull of his, that would be enough for her. They haven't spoken in two years and it'd be nice to hear his voice again, even if his voice could not be described as pleasing to the ear.

But now she couldn't, because he was nothing but a pile of squishy goo on planet Umbris.

Fitting to her mood, as she contemplated her now dead friend, the lights in her spaceship began to flicker ominously. "No, no, no, no-" she pleaded with the ship's computer before the lighting system went dead.

"Oh come on!" she shouted to the spaceship as she was enveloped in darkness. The universe sure knew how to tell sick jokes sometimes. Muttering about budget cuts, she got up from her seat and walked towards the back where she could probably whack the power supply with a wrench until it began working again.

She didn't get that far. She entered the hallway connecting the cockpit to the other small quarters of her spaceship while complaining about how she should've checked the fuses before she left headquarters when a shape with glowing eyes detached itself from the shadows, skittered over to her position, and then suddenly pressed her against the wall in the span of two seconds.

"Don't. Sound. The Alarm."

Elaris stood paralyzed, a cold metallic claw wrapped around her face. The main source of illumination in the dark hallway came from piercing red eyes set in black, empty eye sockets of the most terrifying robot she's ever seen. It was a bony creature with sharp metal claws and fearsome wings, looming over her even in its hunched over position, smelling of the same harsh cleaning chemicals used to remove blood stains off of metallic surfaces. Acid green lighting came from the creature's skull, transparent and revealing the many horrible devices whirring within.

Her immediate thought was that some horrible zombie robot had risen from the grave and came to wreak vengeance for his fallen crew as she stared at the skeletal features. Her mind racing, she wondered just what ancient pirate curse was roaming around this sector as the creature watched her squirm.

"Elaris, it's me." the horrific creature said in a electronic voice that sounded oddly familiar. The voice was high and gravelly and grating to her ears, but it unlocked memories of several years ago when her fellow Galactic Ranger Dr. Nefarious was yelling at Qwark from another room that yes, he was still working on the Combusters, Qwark, and that if he continued rushing him he was going to shove them right up his-

"Nefarious!?" Elaris shouted, which sounded like "Mmmarmemous?" through the hand placed on her mouth.

"I am going to let you go now, and when I do, I want you do not run away or to scream or anything like that! I just want to talk!" Dr. Nefarious continued. "Got it?"

She nodded, her brain immediately noting the cosmic irony in this situation. Gently, he removed his hand from her face and quietly backed up a step, watching her as she shrank against the wall. Immediately he cackled in the kind of laughter that sounded more anxious than joyful.

"Good! Good! You're not calling the Rangers or trying to pull a weapon on me! You're actually going to listen to me that's-" he quickly broke out in a giggle that sounded both nervous and utterly deranged. "You know honestly I didn't expect to get this far!"

As the panic melted away to be replaced with a more cautious fear, Elaris could examine him more closely. She worked with sentient and non-sentient robots on a daily basis - hell, one of her coworkers was one - but he looked...uncanny.

He was breathing for one, something even the most realistic robots never did. His movements were too lifelike, from the way he could set his jaw to the movements of his eyes. He was very twitchy, his parts fidgeting in a way that was normal with organic lifeforms but looked neurotic on robots. This was not a simple consciousness transfer into a robot double as a back-up in case his organic body was destroyed; this robot clearly worked from the same blueprint as his original body.

Or was his original body, just horrifically modified.

Mentally she placed her memory of Nefarious over this creature and could pick out places where things were missing. He was skinnier, his facial features gone as if forcefully removed. If Nefarious had built himself a robot double, he would've remembered his ears and nose. Something about this robot creature seemed...wrong.

'He didn't plan this,' Elaris thought. 'Something else did this to him.'

"What....happened to you with the Deplanetizer?" Elaris asked. 'I thought you were dead' remained unspoken but very much implied. She reached out to touch him and he flinched away from her hand with a tiny yelp, a very fresh and vivid memory of pain flashing through his databanks. She withdrew her hand and he exhaled - there he was doing more things that was really creepy for robots to do - and ran a hand up his glass dome of a head.

"I survived the fall from the space station to the planet's surface. Thankfully my prototype armor suit was able to keep me from not dying, falling from a great height like that, but I was badly injured, and I was swarmed by a bunch of repair droids. They're programmed to help with situations like a rescue but they were confused. They mistook my armor's energy frequencies as a part of me so they..." a tiny sob got caught in his throat from the memory as his shoulders sagged and he looked down at his hands. "-ha...thought I was a robot..."

He paused and looked up at her and a heavy silence fell between them. The very implications of what he said hung in the air. She said nothing but judging by his changed expression, which looked absolutely wounded, her face was betraying just how horrific she found this. Another not-quite-a-robot sigh.

"...I kept telling them to stop. I would black out at times, so I don't even remember how long I was being operated on. Even when my vocal cords weren't online yet, I was pleading for them to stop. They...left a big SQUISHY pile of my removed organs and skin and bone in a corner and still I was screaming at them to reverse it!"

Suddenly he slammed the palms of his hands into the wall and his voice turned into a harsh, metallic yell.

"AT ONE POINT THEY PULLED MY BRAIN OUT OF MY SKULL WHILE I WAS STILL CONSCIOUS!"

"Oh..." She wasn't sure what else to say beyond that. Sorry? Ouch? She wasn't sure if a friendly assuring pat on the back would do it in this situation either since he seemed very adverse to touch right now.

"I needed to talk to someone - besides Lawrence -and well, I knew what your spaceship looked like, figured, oh hey, might as well talk to an old friend!"

And climb into the spaceship uninvited through an airlock and mess with the programming for the lights so that he could surprise her in the cloak of darkness without the risk of her shooting him first (because who can blame her?) but he didn't mention that.

"That's why I'm here. To vent a little and finally tell you stuff I've been meaning to tell you! You know, before my mind snaps and I become a mindless creature of destruction with my new robot body."

Elaris stared at him, trying to decipher if that last part was a joke or an actual worry of his. Nefarious always did have a dry sense of humor. It didn't help like his smile looked absolutely terrifying.

"Like...?"

Another deep robotic breath. Did he have lungs? Did the repair bots keep some of his organ systems intact?

"I want you to quit the Galactic Rangers." he said, pressing the tips of his fingers together.

"Wait, what." was her immediate reply. The gruesome metal skeleton of her former science partner was going to give her career advice?

"Hear me out! I've been meaning to have this conversation with you for a while now after I left but, wouldn't you know it, I was tied up with work." The word "work" was doing a lot of heavy lifting in this conversation. He said it real casually, like the prison escape and the faking of his own death in order to join up with a criminal and start blowing up planets was just another blip on his resume.

"Elaris, I know how they're treating you. They gave you my old office after all. You know, the one that's just a glorified converted broom closet!" She winced, his words cutting deep. "I know exactly how they behave and I know for a fact that they just treat you like a doormat and like an automatic weapon dispenser! They call you a Galactic Ranger but you're not a part of their little friend group! They see you as a nerd, a passive little thing they can push around! You're not one of them!"

"I'm a little confused..." she started, saying the understatement of the century. She didn't get this patrol shift to get a pep talk from an undead robot after all. "You come onto my spaceship, back from the dead, all the flesh torn from your bones, but...instead of asking me to join you, get the recognition you truly deserve and have all your dreams come true by storming the galaxy side by side, yadda yadda, you...just want me to hand them a pink slip and leave?"

"Elaris, despite what it looks like, I'm not trying to sound like a lunatic here." he said, dragging his hand across his face.

"I just want you to get a better job than the one you have now! I don't want you to continue to be abused by those people - by QWARK - until the bitterness inside of you grows and grows until you snap and become just. Like. Me!"

"And I'll be honest - I don't want what happened to me to happen to you! LOOK AT ME!" he said, gesturing at himself.

She was about to respond with a retort that she was positive she wasn't going to land on a planet full of repair droids while wearing highly experimental armor that confuses them and they turn her into a robot in an incredibly gruesome and long surgical procedure, but Nefarious could see she was thinking just that and held up a hand, silencing her.

"Please....just get a desk job or a job working at a computer repair store. Anything where you don't have to work with Captain Qwark. He's using you the way he did me! And trust me, he's never going to stop! He's never going to change! He'll abuse you and think nothing of it because no one cares about people like us!"

"But I won't end up like you!" Elaris shouted back, their faces so close that they were nearly touching.

Nefarious's voice suddenly dropped to a normal speaking volume.

"How can you be so sure?"

Silence fell. She opened her mouth and then closed it again, withering under his gaze as he folded his hands underneath his chin and examined her. The worst part about it was that he didn't look smug or mocking. He just looked tired.

"Why do you even care?" she asked, dodging the question.

"Because I like you, Elaris. All the other losers in the Galactic Rangers can go end up in a black hole for all I care but I don't want you getting hurt!"

Elaris had to admit, she was a little stunned hearing that come out of his mouth. 'Well, chalk that up as one positive trait for Dr. Nefarious, he actually has the capacity to care about other people while he's going about trying to blow up other planets.' she thought to herself as she tried to decipher his concern as genuine or just an insane whim.

"That's all?" Elaris asked.

"That's all." he replied. Elaris couldn't help but make a little snort of disbelief in response, causing the robot to instantly be defensive. "What?"

"Oh nothing. Just a little amused that you look like the specter of death and climb into my spaceship after returning from the dead, emerging like a horrendous butterfly out of a fleshy mound of rotting flesh, one of the most wanted criminals in the entire galaxy, but you came into my spaceship to admit you still have feelings for me."

She immediately regretted saying that for two reasons. The first reason was that she realized that she shouldn't be making fun of the madman who had just been turned into a robot. The second reason was that caused Dr. Nefarious to start ranting very loudly, and that made Elaris realize that one of the side-effects of being turned into a robot was the loss of the ability to have an indoor voice.

"Yes, YES, it sounds crazy!" he screamed. "I sound crazy right now! That's the problem with this new robot body! Instead of being emotionless, like what you'd expect when you're transformed into a robot, it's like the exact opposite happened! All of my emotions have been intensified a thousand degrees! This worry became a paranoia! My hatred is now burning with an intensity of a thousand angry suns! My bitterness is like raging venom in my heart!"

"You have a heart still?"

"I DON'T KNOW!!! See? SEE? I'm SHOUTING! I'm MONOLOGUING! I don't MEAN to shout but then it just comes out ALL LOUD AND INTENSE AND GOES ON FOREVER aaaaaand oh GOD I am losing my mind aren't I?" His last vestiges of sanity - tiny and rapidly going extinct, but still there and doing a valiant effort to keep him from being totally lost to reason - suddenly halted his rant in mid-sentence, causing him to drag his hands across his face. It's been a week for Dr. Nefarious, where being hit in the face with a wrench by a Lombax was the least of his worries.

"-please tell me I don't look like a complete nutcase right now."

Elaris sucked in air through her teeth and looked away from him in embarrassment. "Uh...do you want the truth or a little white lie?" she asked.

"I don't know! Give me whatever makes me feel better!"

"You don't look like complete nutcase."

Nefarious narrowed his eyes at her as she smiled innocently back and he looked ready to say something when suddenly a very crusty, digitized version of the pop song "Your Eyes Are Like Quazars" started playing.

"Hang on." He pulled out a cell phone out of his belt - flip phone model - and held it to the closest thing on his metallic skull that could be called "an ear". He shot her a "I'm sorry I know this looks rude but this could be important" look at her as a very dignified voice rang out from the other line.

"I do hate to bother you, sir, but you might want to wrap up whatever it is you're doing to that Galactic Ranger-"

"We're just TALKING, Lawrence!"

"-right. Anyhoo, there is another patrol ship heading your way and I'd hate for your current plans of lying low for a couple months to plot out your next scheme of horrible vengeance to be ruined because you wanted to talk to your old girlfriend."

"SHE'S NOT-ugh, fine. FINE, I'm GOING!" he said, and hung the phone up with an undignified clack of the flip phone closing in-between two metal claws.

"Just think about what I said, Elaris!" he yelled dramatically while pointing at her as he shoved his phone away in his back pocket. She wasn't going to question why he had pockets as a robot. There were a lot of things about this situation she was just not going to question.

"I wouldn't do this if I didn't have this fear that you're going to walk the same path that I did! Call it weakness or the last remaining thread of my former organic self! ...or craziness. I dunno. I'm kinda playing it by ear at this point." he said, twirling a finger in the air, as he started to move his way towards the airlock.

"Wait, before you go-"

She reached out and grabbed his hand, and when he turned to glare at her, eyes filling the hallway with a harsh red light, Elaris briefly wondered if she made a horrible mistake and that this was going to be the moment where he snaps and uses his cold metal claws to claim his first victim in a gruesome robotic rampage. But then his expression softened and he just looked grumpy, the killer robot expression fading away.

"I know you're planning something! Just promise me that your next mad scientist-"

"-Vengeful-" he corrected.

"-Vengeful scientist scheme doesn't involve the mass murder of millions of innocent people like last time. Do something, I don't know," she gestured in the empty air as she looked for the right word, "-nonlethal this time? I'm asking for the bare minimum from you. Please?"

"Why Elaris, I'm shocked." he said, placing his one free hand on his chest. "I'm surprised you didn't aim for something higher like 'quit being evil' or 'turn yourself in'. You could be saving the whole galaxy right now by stopping me!"

"You asked for something smaller, so I'm asking for something smaller. I'll keep what you said in mind. At the very least, I'm going to ask for an actual office rather than the broom closet the next time I come into work. I'll quit if they-" The 'they' meaning 'Qwark' in this case, "-start pushing me around again, I promise."

"If they push you around, push back. Push back until they bleed." he hissed.

There was something in that statement that reminded her of a day that happened at Galactic Rangers Headquarters two years ago. Dr. Nefarious - the Nefarious that still had flesh and skin - was busy stirring his coffee and talking to his trainee Elaris about the new episode of Annihilation Nation when Captain Qwark 'accidentally' bumped him while walking past, spilling it on his shirt. This caused Nefarious to throw down his coffee mug down on the ground and yell "It's a good thing we're on the same side or else you'd be DEAD, Qwark! DEAD!"

He quit several days later to start plotting an evil scheme that involved atomizing all of Aleero City.

"I will." she said with that comforting memory still hanging about in her brain. "Thanks for still looking out for me." And with those words, she let go of his arm and let the supervillain go.

He stood there, looking like he had something more to say, but then he decided to turn around and skitter into the shadows, disappearing from her sight. There was the sound of an airlock opening in the distance and then he was gone, disappearing like a bad nightmare.

Two minutes later, Elaris was able to get the lights working again in her little spaceship just as Cora radioed in and asked if everything was alright. Elaris cheerfully lied and said "sure, everything's fine, nothing's happened since you last checked in, lighting's a bit funky but otherwise nothing new!" and then she was alone again, still staring at Umbris.

As she sat back in the driver's seat and stared out at the endless sea of stars and planets stretching out in front of her, the rest of her patrol shift weighing down on her shoulders, she had to give voice to a lingering thought in her head.

"If this is just a really weird dream I'm going to be so mad."

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

Back in the current makeshift lair of Dr. Nefarious (a repurposed garage situated on the surface of planet Umbris littered with the broken corpses of several dozen repair droids), the vengeful scientist-turned-robot was brooding dramatically in a chair as his butler Lawrence polished him. He sat there, hand propping up his skeletal chin, and sighed. Giving an old friend some helpful life advice never turned out the way you wanted it to.

"So how did it go, Sir?" Lawrence asked in a tone of voice that implied that he really couldn't care less.

"I asked her to quit the Galactic Rangers, and in return, she asked me to not kill anyone in my next evil scheme." he said nonchalantly as his butler sprayed him with cleanser and started wiping his glass dome of a head. "I think she's worried about me, Lawrence!"

He didn't say it out loud, but he was worried for Elaris too. Maybe he should've asked her to join him after all. He saw the news articles coming out involving the Deplanetizer incident. All the praise was aimed at Ratchet and Qwark with nothing mentioning Elaris. He was certain that she had a hand in moving the entire space station. At least if she was working by his side, two vengeful scientists, both outcasts from the Galactic Rangers, she'd get the recognition she'd truly deserve!

The irony of him plotting out her delightfully evil future after warning her not to become evil like him didn't even cross his mind.

"Did you tell her 'why don't fret, my dear, my next evil scheme merely involves turning all organic lifeforms into robots with a giant non-planet destroying laser'?"

Dr. Nefarious laughed maniacally.

"Of course not!" he yelled, springing from his chair and knocking Lawrence aside. He was practically strutting like a peacock, his feet crunching as he stepped on discarded robot parts, as he marched his way towards a wall, where a giant red button just waited for him to slam his fist into.

He cackled in glee as the room was suddenly illuminated with the hologram of a massive, planet-sized device, the latest of evil concoctions pulled from his brain, now converted into wires and chips by the cruel hand of fate.

He called it the Biobliterator.

"I want that part to be a surprise!"

---

END

#ratchet and clank #elaris #Dr Nefarious #Ratchet and Clank Movie #turquoisephoenix tells a story #Dr. Nefarious #Fanfic #Lawrence #this takes place in the reboot universe #Implied gore #some headcanoning going on here in regards to how Nefarious got turned into a robot

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loptgangandi · 4 years

Text

OH BOY GUYS HAVE I GOT A MUN-DAY STORY FOR YOU

( tl;dr I was refused entry into my mom’s home country, spent the night in an airport terminal during a pandemic, made friends with the son of one of my mom’s colleagues who just so happened to be in the exact same situation because the universe has a sense of humor, and was eventually allowed into the country because I had understood the regulations properly and the border guards had not.)

So it all started on Thursday, when my mom -- an epidemiologist working on COVID -- told me to come home ASAP because Switzerland (where she lives) was about to close its borders and had already restricted entry to anyone from neighboring states: first Italy, then Austria, Germany, and France as well.

I had already booked tickets for early April, so I called the airline, and they helped me rebook for the end of March -- the earliest I could come without paying huge fees.

Cut to Friday. I wake up to 4 missed calls and a zillion texts from my mom informing me that she had booked me on a flight for the following day -- Saturday.

With a layover in Germany.

As I had spent a good 40 minutes the previous day on the phone trying to avoid layovers in France and Germany, I was a little miffed. And worried. But the airline had assured my mother that: a) the new restrictions on Germany wouldn’t go into effect until Sunday, and b) since airport terminals are international territory, I technically would not have actually been in Germany. After some deliberation, I agreed to come home immediately. As in, Saturday. As in, the next day. The 21st. A day before Switzerland’s travel restrictions on Germany were supposed to go into effect (according to the airline, and I’m not sure what their source was).

You might already see where this is going.

I arrived at Frankfurt airport after a frankly very surreal trip -- both the flight and the original airport, which was a ghost town -- and was told by the gate agents that I couldn’t board the plane because Swiss border control would refuse me. After a bit of back and forth -- during which I switched from English to German, which got them to be a bit more helpful -- they realized that yes, indeed, citizens and residents of Schengen countries (excluding Germany, France, Italy, and Austria) were exempted from the border restrictions. This included me, as I’m a resident of Sweden.

They let me on the plane, but I was seriously worried -- because given the general environment of confusion, I had no faith that Swiss border control would know more than the Frankfurt gate agents. You’d assume they’d be informed on some things, but lets face it -- uniformed and armed people tend not to be very good at subtlety and legal minutiae, so who could know.

The one thing that can be said for the overwhelming, anxious rage I felt when the Swiss border control told me I couldn’t enter the country was that it absolutely K.O’d the part of my brain that tends to overthink my language skills and inhibit my ability to speak languages I’m not fluent in -- and I made my case in very good French. I have never spoken French so well as when I was talking to the cop I’d been palmed off to and explaining to him why I was right and they were all wrong. My mom also insisted on talking to him, and after some hesitation -- which probably had less to do with touching my potentially virus-infested phone and more to do with being on the receiving end of a middle-aged mom’s wrath -- he took the call. I offered to put it on speaker and hold it so he wouldn’t have to, but he took the phone, and argued with my mom all the way through the airport.

He seemed basically sympathetic and like he wanted to help, but his mantra was always the same: “I have my orders, I don’t know anything beyond what I’ve been told and I can’t disobey my orders.” He told mom the name of the organization to call to help out with this, but didn’t have a number for them, and couldn’t provide any other support. He was polite enough, but “polite” wasn’t going to get me home.

Where it got me was locked down tight in the airport international terminal with 10 other people who have also been turned away.

Luckily, the terminal is massive, so there was plenty of room to maintain distance.

The cops assured me that they would handle my suitcase and took my documents -- passport, Swedish residency card, and boarding passes from my trip (so they could make my flight reservations, they said, but there was probably more to it) -- and left me there.

An international airport at midnight during a pandemic is pretty much the definition of a liminal space. Every other seat in the gate waiting areas had a strip of red and white police tape running over it, back to front, and tied off at the top of the seat back to ensure that people would maintain proper distance and not sit next to each other. The music was on at a volume that, during the day, was probably appropriate to be unobtrusive over the ambient sounds of a living airport, but which in a locked-down terminal was unbelievably annoying. The lights were dim enough that there were still dark corners, and you could look around without your eyeballs melting out of your face. The only sounds (apart from the music) were the hum of the vending machines (our only food and drink options until the cafe opened at 5:30 the next morning) and the soft shuffling of people trying to get comfortable and get some sleep on the rock-hard, probably COVID-contaminated seat rows.

We were given nothing. No hand sanitizer, no water (apart from what you could buy from the vending machines), no blankets or pillows. Nothing. We had access to bathrooms with hand soap, but you had to touch the dispensers with the heel of your hand. The paper towel dispensers also weren’t automatic, so you had to touch them to get the paper towels out. There was one janitor who came in around 1 AM to clean the whole terminal, which obviously wasn’t sufficient.

I’m tough. I’ve been in some incredibly crappy situations, and at least we were warm and safe inside, and I wasn’t physically uncomfortable. I had some money to buy water, food, and later in the morning, coffee, and I figured out how to wash my hands without touching anything. But the fact that we were left in an almost certainly contaminated public space with no precautionary measures and no support for an extended amount of time -- 9 hours in my case -- was absolutely infuriating. And dangerous. And I am almost definitely going to get sick, probably because of that.

Which only made me more determined to get home. If I was going to get sick, I was going to do it in a place where I could be taken care of and nursed back to health, instead of someone else’s apartment where I just rent a room and would have had a much larger radius of contamination (my landlady/flatmate has kids and grandkids and is still going to work).

The issue, as the immigration cop had told me, came down to the fact that I had flown in from Germany.

Even though I hadn’t set foot on German soil, I had been in a German airport, and that was apparently enough. If I had flown in from any other Schengen country (apart from France, Austria, or Italy), I could have entered with no problem, since I have Swedish residency.

There was an obvious loophole there: while Sweden had no flights to that city for the following day (Sunday), Netherlands did. Brussels and Czechia did.

So while my mom contacted the immigration authority in Bern, I booked a refundable flight for 9 PM Sunday evening from Amsterdam to my mom’s city, and would request that they send me to Amsterdam instead of Stockholm. The plan was basically to make a big loop and enter through a country they deemed acceptable. The irony wasn’t lost on me -- that I would risk further contamination by city-hopping in order to loop around and end up back where I started -- but the police had prevented me from just getting into my mom’s car and self-quarantining at her apartment, which had been the original plan, so I didn’t have much of a choice.

All that was left now was to wait -- in a non-sterile, contaminated airport terminal playing the most mediocre pop album-filler of the ‘70s and ‘80s.

The only thing that made it bearable was that I made a friend.

Around 1 AM, a 20-something Japanese dude in dress pants and a polo shirt shows up on our side of the terminal from the opposite end, wanting to know if we were also bothered by the music and if he should call someone about shutting it off. He wouldn’t bother if it was just him, so he wanted to see if it was collective. I agreed, and after a few failed attempts, we miraculously managed to reach someone who said they would do what they could to turn off the music.

We got talking (and moved away from the people trying to sleep), and it turns out that it’s a small world and we were in an even smaller city, because our mothers work in the same department, were extremely close colleagues about 10 years ago, and still work together occasionally. I immediately recognized her name.

Turns out, this dude and I had both gone to school and done the IB in the same city. We both have moms working on COVID, dads living in our countries of origin (Japan for him, US for me), and younger sisters. He had also been turned away, despite having documentation that should have given him leave to enter. So there we were, stuck in that situation together, waiting to be deported and with our passports held hostage by the authorities.

We talked for six straight hours about every topic we could think of. Travel, food, relationships, siblings and family in general, COVID, electric cars, how our respective countries are reacting to COVID, racism and xenophobia (worsened by COVID -- he had an example from that same day), bosses and managers and how our offices are (and, in my case, had been) run, the pros and cons of wearing medical masks if you’re not showing symptoms of COVID, dry hands from all of the washing to avoid COVID, politics, our respective cultures and business cultures, depression and mental illness, natural disasters we had lived through, etc. “Ah fuck I’ve got COVID in my eye” became a bit of a running joke throughout the morning, as we became increasingly tired and our eyes increasingly dry, prompting runs to the bathroom to clear them out and wash our hands. We had both basically resigned ourselves to catching it -- it was just a matter of trying to pass it on to as few people as possible, preferably 0.

Around 7 AM, my new friend -- let’s call him Mike -- points out that a guard is making a beeline towards us, and he’s not holding his passport. I look, and it’s mine, and I prepare myself to argue for them to send me to Amsterdam instead of Sweden. He tells me he had just come over to see me and make sure that I was still there (??? he had my passport where was I going to go??), and he would be back in 15 minutes to let me know whether or not I could enter Switzerland.

I was completely baffled, because that option hadn’t even crossed my mind. I had been operating 100% on the assumption that I was going to be put on a plane. And Mike was happy for me, but also pretty miffed, because they had already booked a flight for him but our circumstances were pretty much identical. He had documentation proving extenuating circumstances, and I have Swedish residency and never set foot on German soil. The only difference between us is that he’s Japanese, and I’m white. I agreed that it was almost definitely a xenophobia thing, and told him that if I got in, I’d vouch for him.

15 minutes later the cop (this one was very compassionate and borderline sweet compared to the ones we’d dealt with the previous night) comes back and tells me I could go through. I gather my stuff, and explain to him about Mike. The cop looks puzzled, but promises that he’ll make some calls and try to sort it out, and I should come with him. He takes me through to get my suitcase and escorts me to the exit, where he welcomes me to Switzerland with a big smile.

I called my mom and settled in to wait for her to pick me up. Ten minutes later, Mike tells he’s also been allowed through. My mom (who had literally rolled out of bed in her pajamas, thrown on a coat and shoes, and jumped in the car) and I offered him a ride, but he had called his mom immediately and she was coming to get him. I didn’t see him again -- my mom arrived before he came through -- but we’ve been in touch, and both of us got home safe.

Now my mom and I are completely self-quarantined with the cats, and honestly, it’s wonderful. We’re not leaving the house except for the occasional walk. I slept 12 hours last night. My mom is plying me with tea to make sure I’m hydrated as we wait for me to get sick, and I spent the 6 hours recording this whole nonsense saga for posterity.

tl;dr I was refused entry into my mom’s home country, spent the night in an airport terminal during a pandemic, and made friends with the son of one of my mom’s colleagues who just so happened to be in the exact same situation

#ooc tag #| cryptid spotting || (mun-day)

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andsoshespins · 4 years

Text

Pandemic Pondering: Amplifying Anxiety and Scouring Sanity

About five months have passed since sheltering at home became my norm as well as the norm for so many others. While various locales nearby are entering different phases of reopening, to say that I am still so nervous about all that surrounds this pandemic and its effects would probably be an understatement.

One day in April I half-jokingly said to my friend something along the lines of, “Being an anxious person for most of my life has prepared me for a pandemic like this.” There is such dark, comical irony in the way this is true while it ignores the exacerbation of anxiety over the last few months.

Now, I am not one prone to panic attacks or any very seriously debilitating bouts (I think I may have had a version of a panic attack once but did not realize it until a friend put this name to my description the next day.). I know that many people have much more severe experiences with anxiety, which, like most everything else, is a spectrum.

In the past, I have acknowledged some of the bizarre benefits of living on the edge of anxiety: I do feel prepared for many situations with supplies or mental rehearsals. There are certain rituals I will do whose practices give me the sense of control over a situation. For all of these things, however, I always knew in the back of my mind, even if I was unprepared or surprised by a change in the program, I would most definitely be able to weather it. These actions I take are small and often help my mind more than my body.

But now, that has all changed. Now, a lapse in my hyper-vigilance can lead to infection, sickness, spreading the virus, or even potentially death. It sounds dramatic, but is it? Letting down my guard to “just relax for a minute” or out of caution exhaustion (Let’s make this rhyming term a thing?!) could actually be dangerous to myself and others.

When I was in 2nd grade, I had gotten sick with a cough so bad that I think I missed nearly a week of school (which, for me, was a huge deal because I hated missing school; I’ve always been a nerd maybe.). I became an obsessive hand-washer and fearful of touching shared things. My teacher actually told me that I did not have to ask to use the bathroom at lunch to wash my hands; I could just go. (I think for a while I still asked and probably annoyed her with my diligence even though she loved me.). My hands were raw from excessive hand-washing for a few years, and my mom told me recently she had worried about me during that time and actually briefly considered seeking professional help.

It took me a long time to balance healthy hygiene with extreme habits. I am still that person grossed out even by menus and will always use the bathroom after ordering my meal and before it is served (Well, when restaurants were a thing.). I still use my elbows for turning on and off every faucet, pumping soap or sanitizer, unrolling paper towels, and the like, even if in other people’s homes. I have still never really touched subway poles unless there is a jacket or sweater sleeve between me and the metal, and the last time I touched a door handle that was not attached to my house or my family’s house, it was certainly an accident. And all of these are just regular pre-pandemic practices.

Now that the stakes are higher than just a bad cold, my nervous system feels like it cannot possibly be even more cautious than it normally operates. It has felt like an overwhelmingly tall order these last few months, and most of it was fortunately spent at home. I fear for a return to schools because even February and the start of March were nerve-wracking before the severity of the pandemic really set in for most people.

Having even some anxiety I know has its benefits. I did not change most of my cleanliness habits, so for me, this was not a total overhaul of a lifestyle. Being anxious and constantly thinking about what might happen next has its merits in times like these because I have been able to plan out a trip to a populated place with a plan (and backup) for every phase. Most people without anxious thoughts have had to radically shift their frames of thinking and daily routines dramatically.

But every week that passes with more news of sickness and death can feel debilitating. All of these reports and conversations (because this is the only thing people can seem to talk about) amplify the anxiety I already have in generous doses. I am not sure what the answer is. The thought of “relaxing” my measures just catapults me further into anxiety as I remind myself that letting down the guard could be so detrimental.

In some ways, there is an almost-perverse comfort in living in this anxious bubble. I don’t know if it is because it is familiar, and I can exert a measure of control over it. I don’t know if it is because I have already spent so much of my life playing the “worst-case scenario” game for nearly every decision in my life, and now the stakes match my heightened “normal.” I don’t know if it because a lot of people around me have been relaxing certain standards so I feel I must take up that mantle (the sometimes dangerous “If I don’t do it, no one else will, and someone must” mentality). Maybe it is because I feel like I can eventually undo the mental and emotional damage of this period as long as the physical remains safe right now. Or perhaps it is because I know I already have a tolerance for heightened measures thanks to my anxiety, and I will likely still be taking preventative actions long after threats are reduced or even eliminated “just in case” because this pandemic is ever-evolving and ever-changing.

But some days it is difficult to manage in a healthy way. I just want to survive this with the ones I love intact.

#anxiety #pandemic ponderings #what will happen?#germs #sigh #sanity #cleanliness

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dabble-writes · 5 years

Text

Death’s Bride--(7)

| Prologue | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 |

Pairing:

Namjoon/Reader

Summary:

You are a Seer. What is a Seer? A Seer is someone whose sixth sense is stronger than most people’s and can see Death. You did not want to be one, you just want to be normal—yet what happens when Death comes for you? No, not for you to die—for you to be his bride.

*Based on a novel I wrote before in Wattpad by the same title*

Tags:

Romance, Fantasy, Angst

Warnings:

Violence

CHAPTER 6: LIFE AND DEATH

NAMJOON’S P.O.V

“Oi! Do you have to be so rough?”, Jin growled at Namjoon.

“Stop being such a cry baby.” Namjoon snapped at him.

Jin glared, “Ever had a sword run through you? It hurts.”

“I can already tell, you don’t have to say it.” Namjoon replied dryly and finished dressing Jin’s wound, “Keep this on until it heals.”

Jin rolled his eyes, “Like I don’t heal fast. This should be out by tomorrow then.” He sat up and winced,

“You okay?”, Namjoon asked awkwardly, not used to being in this kind of situation.

Jin seemed to sense the irony as well because he snickered, “Priceless, having Death ask you if you’re okay.”

Namjoon gave him a withering look, “If you value your existence, you’ll keep your mouth shut.”

“Oh please, you need me. How else can you manage all those billion souls out there?”

Namjoon just scowled as he got up to his feet, “The Grim Reapers do a better job at helping me than you.”

“Take that back!” Jin exclaimed, offended, “Still, but seriously, I would have never thought that Y/N would do...this.”

“Yeah, she’s a wildcat.” Namjoon said and smiled.

“Wait, did you just smiled? Am I sensing love here?” Jin laughed and Namjoon scowled at him again.

“You know I can’t love.”

He snorted, “Only because you don’t want to. Just move on already.” Jin said the last part softly and reached for his shoulder.

Namjoon pushed away, “I already moved on from Hani, I don’t give a damn about her. I just don’t care for Y/N.”

“Death, don’t lie; I’ve seen the way you’ve looked at Y/N. Don’t tell me that’s just platonic.”

“That--”

“And what about when you went absolutely insane when you found out that some rando was making unwanted advances to her? When you came back, you nearly destroyed your office from all your anger.”

Namjoon winced as he remembered his lapse of sanity and control.

“Don’t remind me.” He muttered.

“Death, it’s okay. She’s not Hani, she’s not going to cringe from you and think you’re a monster.”

I should have never told him about Hani, Namjoon thought bitterly.

“Jin, as much as I enjoy talking about my relationship with Y/N to you, I’m afraid that it’s none of your business.”

He scoffed, “Please, I’m the only one who you tell anything to.”

Jin then gave Namjoon a somber look, “But still, it seems very unlike Y/N. She’s feisty, but not bloodthirsty; she looked really scary.”

“Scary? Were you actually afraid of her?” Namjoon asked, surprised.

“Yes, it was strange...it was almost like she was possessed.”

They both looked at each other in realization.

“Lucifer.” They both said.

Namjoon cursed as he went to her room.

“Wait, Death,” Jin struggled to keep up with him, “you probably shouldn’t jump to conclusions.”

Bullshit, you jumped to that conclusion too, Namjoon thought.

“Which is why I’m checking on her now.” He replied.

“God did warn you about Lucifer--”

“Shut up, I didn’t think he’ll get so powerful so quickly.” Namjoon couldn’t help but be upset at himself for not seeing this sooner.

Please let her be okay.

Oh a prayer from you, Namjoon? I feel honored.

Namjoon scowled.

Get out of my head, Old Man.

To his annoyance, He just chuckled.

They reached her room and to Namjoon’s dismay, Y/N was not in her room.

“She’s not here.” Jin stated the obvious and Namjoon felt a growing panic inside of him.

I swear she better not be running around the place, playing the explorer, or I’ll end her life right then and there.

Jin looked around and stopped by her bed.

“Y/N was sleeping, look at her sheets.”

Namjoon went next to him and, sure enough, he was right.

Jin pressed his hands on the covers, “It’s cold, though.”

“That means she’s been away some time now.”

“Do you think...?”

“Probably,” Namjoon answered and felt very anxious.

“Wait, there’s something here.” Jin reached in the sheets and brought out an envelope that was addressed to Namjoon.

Namjoon took it and opened it; he was desperate yet dreaded to read the words.

Hello Death,

As you can see, your precious bride is gone; I took her. The longer you wait, the greater the possibility that I already killed her soul. Yes, soul. As you suspected, I do have the Holy Dagger in my possession so it is imperative that you come as soon as possible if you want a chance to save her. We are at the dungeons of Lucifer’s Castle. Don’t make us wait; you know Lucifer is not patient.

Jisoo

Namjoon cursed, it’s the maid, Jisoo. I had my suspicions about her and this just confirms it.

“What does it say?”, Jin asked and he looked at Namjoon’s thunderous expression, “Oh, that bad.”

He simply handed Jin the letter and he read it.

How could I have been so stupid? I left her alone when I know that she’s in danger; I’m a terrible fiance.

“Well good news is that it’s not technically Lucifer---”

“Bad news is that she is being influenced by Lucifer.” Namjoon spit out bitterly, “And she has the Holy Dagger.”

Jin gave him a curious glance,” You’re worried about Y/N, are you? You actually care for her after all.”

“I’m not worried,” Namjoon lied, “She’s just my bride and my responsibility. Plus, Jisoo does intend to end my existence.”

Jin scoffed, “You may fool anyone else, but I’ve known you for several decades and know that you are panicking right now.”

Namjoon had to admit that he’s been recently concerned about your well-being and may actually care about you...but his kingdom will freeze over before he’d admit that to Jin.

“Jin, for once in your existence just shut your trap.”

“Alright, but you should be going now, if what the letter says is true I do fear for Y/N’s safety.”

“What about you?” Namjoon asked.

“As much as I would love to try and save the day, I can’t save anyone being injured. Plus, this is sort of one thing you have to do by yourself.”

Namjoon had to admit that Jin had a point.

“Farewell then, my friend.”

“Be safe and kick some ass.”

“I will.”

This place always made me uneasy, Namjoon thought as he walked through Lucifer’s Castle. It’s in ruins now, but it just served to make it, if possible, even creepier.

Focus, Namjoon, he told himself, Y/N is in this dump.

He reached the dungeons and assessed the situation.

The maid had Y/N in a tight grip and held the cursed Dagger against her neck. Y/N struggled to get out of her hold without success. They both looked like they just came from a fight and Namjoon felt his blood boil as he saw all the bruises and scratched on Y/N.

How dare she touch my Y/N?

“This is the end. Well, at least for you.” He heard Jisoo said and he knew that he needed to stop this right now.

“Jisoo, please let go of my bride.” Namjoon said with forced politeness, even though all he wanted to do was rip her head open.

Remember, she’s being influenced by Lucifer.

Y/N looked relieved and opened her eyes to look at Namjoon. Jisoo turned to him and gave him an amused smile.

“Ah, so the groom finally shows up; it’s about time.”

“Let. Her Go. Lucifer doesn’t have business with her, only with me.” He was quickly losing his patience.

Jisoo just giggled, “Oh, you don’t know the whole truth about your bride? How embarrassing.” She brought Y/N closer to her and started to stroke her hair; Y/N flinched in disgust, “Lucifer is actually very interested in your little bride.”

That made Namjoon worry even more; if Lucifer is interested in someone that is never a good sign.

“Why would he be interested in her? She is of no importance.” Namjoon said coldly.

No importance for Lucifer, that is.

Y/N looked hurt, but Namjoon didn’t have the time to reassure her.

Jisoo laughed, “So you still don’t know the truth on why you have to find a bride? The real reason?”

“It’s just some dumb prophecy.” Namjoon snapped, tired of Jisoo’s insinuations, “Now let go of Y/N, don’t make me say it again.”

Hopefully we can end this soon.

“Tsk, tsk, ‘just some dumb prophecy’. I know better. He knows better. Y/N isn’t just any human. Well, she is now but won’t be the moment you kill her body. She’ll become a Being like you; she’ll be Life.”

“What?” Namjoon was stunned.

Not human? A Being like me? Life?

Y/N just scoffed, “Don’t start with that again, Jisoo; I have enough of your bullshit.”

Jisoo pulled Y/N’s hair and said, “It’s not bullshit! Lucifer told me so! God wants to bring balance to the universe or some crap like that so he was to unite Life and Death. But we cannot let that happen. Say goodbye to your precious fiancee, Death.”

Namjoon quickly made eye contact with Y/N and tried to convey to her to wait for my signal. She seemed to get the message because she gave him the slightest nod.

He then stepped closer to them, “Jisoo, I know you will regret doing this. We are not your true enemy here, Lucifer is.”

“Don’t step any closer or she will cease to exist.” Jisoo said, but he could see the conflict in her eyes.

“Jisoo, you can overcome this. Lucifer is just using you. Don’t let him tempt you so.”

“He’s not using me!” Jisoo cried out, but he can see she was really conflicted now and was fighting an inner battle with herself, “He understands me. God must pay for what he’s done to us.”

While she was disbalanced, Namjoon looked at Y/N and nodded. She stomped her foot unto Jisoo’s and then quickly stepped to the side to avoid the blade. Namjoon quickly went up to Jisoo, grabbed her wrist, and pulled her against her in an arm lock.

“Let me go!” Jisoo struggled to break free from his hold.

Namjoon was much stronger than her though, so he kept a strong grip as he snatched the Dagger from her. As he raised his hand to stab Jisoo with the Holy Dagger, an annoying voice stopped him.

Namjoon, she’s an innocent.

Innocent, my ass. She tried to destroy Y/N.

You know better than this. You know how hard it is to resist Lucifer’s influence.

You’re a big softie. You do know that, right?

He chuckled, That I am.

Namjoon sighed and waved his hand in front of Jisoo so the she will be unconscious; then he let the Dagger drop from his hand.

“Did you kill her?” Y/N asked and he raised an eyebrow at her. She gave him a look, “I meant her soul; I know she’s dead already.”

“No, I just put her to sleep for now. She wasn’t being herself; Lucifer was basically controlling her. It’ll be unfair to punish her for something she didn’t quite choose.”

Y/N frowned, “Isn’t she at least a bit responsible for her actions?”

“Of course; her sentence has increased tremendously, but I can sense regret in her soul.”

Y/N still looked quite shaken and, without realizing it, Namjoon made his way towards her and scooped her into his arms to comfort her.

“You were brave.” He murmured against her hair.

“You were about to kill her though.”

Namjoon paused, “Yes, you’re right.”

“What made you stop?”, she asked this very softly.

“God.” He answered.

“You mean God speaks to you?

“Of course, why do---”

Y/N suddenly cried out in pain; that was the worst sound Namjoon ever heard in his life. He pulled her away from him and saw her hand was pressed against her neck.

“Y/N, let me see.” He said and gently pulled her hand out of the way to that he can see the damage.

“Namjoon...”, She cried as he saw the tiniest of cuts on the neck.

In that tiniest cut, a trail of blood was running down her neck and the cut was surrounded by black.

Oh no.

In just a few moments, Namjoon saw her lose all color in her face as he laid her down gently unto the ground. Pathetic desperation started to consume him as he realized that she has been cut by that blasted dagger.

“Hang in there, Y/N.” He said and started

You laugh weakly, “You broke your promise.”

“What?”

“You said...I will die a fast and painless death...”

Namjoon quickly snaps his fingers and you felt the pain was gone.

“Is that better?”

You nod your head, too weak to talk.

Namjoon felt water fall from his eyes, but he paid that no mind. He felt the overwhelming need to throw up, even though he cannot get sick.

What if she’s not the One, like the other brides? What if she isn’t really Life? I can’t stand to lose her too. Especially her.

He brought you closer against his chest, stroking your cheek; he was still crying.

“Please....” you heard him murmur, “don’t leave me too....I love you.”

You smiled, despite you dying you felt extremely happy. He loves me.

“I love you.” You mouth, not able to actually make the sound. But Namjoon saw the words you meant to say and he cried harder, his shoulders shaking.

And you died.

Namjoon felt a horrible stabbing pain in his chest, but there was no wound. He felt as if he couldn’t breathe as he stared at your lifeless body. He resignedly went to take your soul, but panicked when he couldn’t find it.

Then, all of sudden, your body had a...glow. Namjoon stared in awe as it grew brighter and swirls and ancient symbols light up throughout your body, almost like veins.

To Namjoon’s relief, you open your eyes; he let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. You slowly brought a hand up and stared at your hand in confusion.

“Um...am I glowing or am I on crack?”

She always has the weirdest expressions.

“...you’re glowing.”

“...am I going to glow forever?” You turned to Namjoon, not sure if you liked the idea of being a walking disco ball.

Your question was answered as the light began to dim until you were normal again. The only evidence of this whole phenomenon was that there were white scars where all the swirls and symbols on your body were.

Is she...?

Yes, Namjoon, Y/N is the one in the prophecy. She is Life.

Namjoon was relived that his fears were assuaged by the Old Man himself. He quickly embraced you, reveling how warm and soft you were.

You then pulled away from him and looked into his eyes, “Namjoon, is what you said true? That you love me?”

Namjoon realized that those words, said out of grief and panic, were true and he smiled.

He pressed his lips against yours as his answer. Your lips were soft and he knew he was instantly addicted to kissing you. You both finally broke away to breathe and Namjoon rested his forehead against yours, not wanting to lose contact with you.

You stared at each other, breaths heavy, and a thought occurred to you.

“So...what does it mean to be Life?”

“Apparently that’s the reason this prophecy was made--to find Life.”

You wondered if there was an error in the system, there is nothing special about you, but you looked at your arms. These scars/tattoos (you didn’t exactly know what they were) proved that you were chosen as Life.

Namjoon sensed that you were doubting yourself and quickly brings you to a tight embrace again.

“You are my other half--never doubt that. God chose you for a reason, and he’s never been wrong.”

“So do I have any powers?” You asked in bubbling excitement.

“I am as clueless as you about all this, so you’ll just have to find out in your own.”

You pouted, “You’re no help.”

He pecked your pouted lips with a smile, “Does that help?”

You brought him down for a nice, proper kiss and smiled as you saw his dazed face as you broke the kiss.

“Now it did.”

#namjoon fanfic #rm fanfic #namjoon x reader #rm x reader #bts fanfic #bts x reader #death's bride #Death AU #death!namjoon

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softperson · 6 years

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Lost In Japan

Summary: Yuta had always been the spontaneous one in your relationship, he loved surprising you, and even when you’re in another country that doesn’t stop him.

Pairing: Yuta x Female!Reader {Foreign Exchange!AU}

Genre: fluffy goodness

Warnings: smut (mxf)

Word Count: 3.7K

Note: Edited (20.06.18) Inspired by the Shawn Mendes song. The bath bomb I referred to is the ‘sex bomb’ from Lush.

Traveling is an amazing experience, it broadens your horizons and feeds your soul, which is precisely why you jumped at the opportunity of a semester abroad.

The past few months you spent in Japan were some of the most fulfilling in your life, you absolutely adored the place and all the different things you were exposed to. You had a blast exploring a new culture, taking tours around various cities and towns, eating local food and making new friends, going to theme parks, and just trying to absorb as much as you could during your stay.

Your boyfriend always talked so animatedly, gushing about his home country, and now you could finally see why. The only problem was that…he wasn’t there with you. Yuta had remained at your university in Seoul, no less excited for you though, as you embarked on your new adventure. You both kept in contact as often as you could, calling, texting, even sending mail, but sometimes it just wasn’t enough…like tonight.

The university that you were doing your semester abroad at was based in Tokyo but you liked to take weekend trips to other parts of Japan, trying to make the most out of your time there. This was one of those weekends, your first weekend in Osaka. You spent the entire day exploring the city and doing some light shopping. The day was finally winding down a bit, and after dropping your shopping off at the hotel you came back out for an evening walk.

The beautiful city was given a new light with the setting sun, it left you feeling melancholic. Your mind strayed to Yuta far more than you would like to admit as you walked through the city this evening. He always indulged you when you asked about his hometown, answering all your questions and telling you whatever you wanted to know. You thought the first time you experienced it would have been with him.

Long distance relationships were hard and less than ideal but you two made it work. Being with Yuta was easy, not in the boring way, not at all. Nothing about him was boring, your relationship was full of adventure, and excitement, and understanding on a level that you hadn’t found in any other person. Despite what others saw or thought of him, with you he was caring, thoughtful, loving and supportive. The problem with having something so precious is that you were always terrified of losing it, and being abroad sometimes magnified that fear.

Your pace was slow, leisurely, as you walked past the Osaka Castle, its main tower lit up in kaleidoscopic colour as the evening grew darker. As you stopped and looked up in awe at it, you heard Yuta’s familiar voice in your head telling you about the times he spent there as a child with his family. The sigh that escaped you couldn’t be helped. You took a selfie in front of it and sent it to him, telling him that you wished he was here with you.

You were both messaging back and forth sporadically throughout the course of the day and you hadn’t heard from him in a few hours since he went to soccer practice.

Within a minute your phone screen lit up, alerting you of a new message.

[Yuta] (7:30pm): It’s been too long since I last saw that beautiful face.

He wasn’t even there and he had you blushing with just a few simple words. You were completely smitten with this cheeky boy.

[You] (7:31pm): Yuta, I send you pictures every single day.

[Yuta] (7:32pm): I meant in person. I miss you.

[You] (7:32pm): I miss you too, I really wish you were here.

The streets, alleyways, and landmarks of the historic city were bathed in phosphorescent light, creating a remarkable, shimmering cityscape. It was all so beautiful, yet you felt an emptiness gnawing away at your insides. You were surrounded by people but felt completely alone. You missed him so much. Your phone lit up in your hand again and you looked down at the message, a small smile on your face.

[Yuta] (7:36pm): Do you have plans tonight?

[You] (7:37pm): Just going to go back to the hotel and take a bath then nap probably.

[Yuta] (7:37pm): Wait for me.

[You] (7:38pm): Yuta, what?

There was no response after that and you frowned looking down at your phone. You sent him another message and still nothing, you started to feel a bit anxious at his lack of replies, usually he would never stop replying without saying something first. Yuta was a very unpredictable person sometimes and surprised you a lot, it always kept your relationship fresh and interesting, but you knew he would never willingly do something to make you upset or scared. The vague message was very unlike him and left you feeling slightly uneasy.

In an attempt at calming your own thoughts, you continued walking around looking for something to eat for dinner. The streets were lively and littered with various food stalls and eateries selling all of Osaka’s famed cuisine. There was okonomiyaki, negiyaki, and of course… takoyaki. You laughed a little to yourself at the irony of where your feet led you, always to him. He had asked if you would call him your “Takoyaki Prince” and you rolled your eyes so hard and left him pouting, though you did end up doing it sometimes anyway.

After checking your phone again and not seeing any response, you end up texting Yuta’s roommate Taeil, asking if he knew where Yuta was. He responded about a minute later telling you that Yuta fell asleep and there was nothing to be worried about. You sighed a little both in relief and disappointment, glad that he was okay, but disappointed that you wouldn’t be able to speak to him for the rest of the night. There really was no choice left but to suck it up and try to enjoy the rest of your night, despite feeling glum.

The atmosphere around you was lively and filled with the sounds of upbeat J-Pop music, chattering and laughter. Vibrant neon lights dazzled you from every direction you looked, and the electric night air made you feel a little more alive. A couple around your age passed by you, holding hands and looking so utterly adorable that you didn’t have the heart to feel any malice towards them. You spent a couple more hours strolling around, basking in the energy of the city, before heading back to your hotel. That bath was calling your name.

The big, empty bed looked so inviting as you walked into the room, you peeled off your jacket and took your shoes off before flopping right onto it. You plugged your phone in to charge and scrolled through your social media accounts for a few minutes. You would be lying if you said you weren’t hoping that Yuta woke up so you could at least facetime him.

After several minutes of lying motionless on the bed you decided to get up and finally get that bath running. You were restless and feeling quite miserable now that you were back at the hotel, alone. The hotel bathroom was spacious, and quite luxurious, you had lucked out with this room as it wasn’t peak season and the rate was relatively cheap. It had been quite a while since you soaked in a bath, university dorms only offered the bare minimum after all. You put the water on to fill the tub and stripped out of the rest of your clothes, slipping on one of the fluffy, white bathrobes provided.

The signature ‘ping!’ of an incoming message had you practically running back to your phone in the room. You couldn’t help the face-splitting grin that spread across your face when you saw Yuta’s name on your phone.

[Yuta] (11:20pm): Are you awake?

[You] (11:20pm): Yes I am, did you have a good nap?

A sudden knock on the door made you jump. Immediately, several reasons why someone would be knocking on your door at this hour flew through your mind, and none of them were good. You clutched your phone tighter in your hand, at the same time a few more knocks on the door were heard. Another message came through and you opened it quickly, still glancing at the door.

[Yuta] (11:23pm): I did, now open the door.

Your eyes widened at the message before you made the connection and dove off the bed, yanking the door open without any hesitation. Your breath caught in your throat when you saw him standing there. It was surreal. The rate at which your heart sped up you were pretty sure he could hear it from where he was and he looked just as starstruck as you felt.

“Y/N…” he breathed your name in an almost whisper.

You threw yourself at him, nearly taking you both to the floor but his reflexes worked faster, and he held you against him tightly. You could barely breathe and your ribs hurt but you didn’t want him to let go. He kissed the top of your head running his fingers soothingly through your hair and you didn’t even realize when you started crying, but you were.

“Shh, don’t cry,” he whispered against your hair. “I’m here now.”

Dramatic as it might sound, that ache of loneliness that you felt earlier suddenly vanished as he held you. He released his arms from around you after a few moments and held you gently by your shoulders less than an arm’s length away, just so he could see your face properly. He shook his head and one of his hands came up wiping away your tears, the gesture was so sweet it only made you cry more.

“I-I don’t even know why I’m crying,” you sniffled, looking up at him with watery eyes. “I missed you so much,” you whispered, afraid that if you spoke any louder you would end up crying harder, it was an emotional overload.

“Come on,” Yuta said leaning down and picking up his backpack from where he dropped it on the floor. He took your hand and led you back into the room, closing the door behind you both.

“Were you about to shower?” he asked noticing your clothes, or lack thereof.

“Hold that thought!” you gasped remembering that the tub was still filling. You ran back into the bathroom and turned the faucet off, breathing a sigh of relief that the tub didn’t overflow. You had to let some of the water down the drain though or else it certainly would when you got in.

Yuta had followed you into the bathroom and you laughed sheepishly when he rose an eyebrow at you. “I got distracted,” you said nodding towards him to let him know that he was the reason. “I don’t blame you,” he smirked and laughed at you, and God, you missed that laugh, and that smile. He didn’t even look surprised when you walked right up to him and kissed him, he just wrapped his arms around you and deepened the kiss.

“I don’t know how I managed to go this long without that,” you murmured, a bit out of breath when you broke the kiss.

Yuta laughed and kissed your nose making you giggle.

“How did you even get here?” you asked him, still standing in his embrace.

“By plane, obviously,” he answered, rolling his eyes playfully.

“No shit,” you mock glared at him.

“It doesn’t take long to get here y/n, and I couldn’t get you off my mind, I needed to see you, to hold you, to be with you,” he said straightforwardly, placing a kiss gently on your forehead.

“I’m so glad you’re here, I love you,” you replied, tiptoeing to peck his lips.

“I love you too angel,” he smiled. “If we stand here any longer your bath is going to get cold though.”

“Oh, yeah, about that…” you eyed the tub, then turned your gaze back on him, a blush rising on your cheeks, “Join me?”

“If you wanted me without my clothes on, all you had to do was say,” he grinned, making a show of pulling his shirt off.

“Stop teasing me!” you pouted, the colour deepening on your cheeks. You walked back into the room and rummaged through one of your shopping bags bringing something back with you into the bathroom.

“What’s that?” he asked, leisurely stripping off the rest of his clothes and following you as you made your way towards the tub.

“A bath bomb,” you answered, dropping the ball into the water, watching it fizz and colour the water a pretty pink. A mixture of calming aromas drifted out of the tub, the strongest scent being jasmine blanketed the room.

Just then you felt Yuta’s hands at the closure of your robe and his lips on your neck, “Can I take it off?” he whispered against your skin.

You swallowed and nodded. This was by no means the first time he would see you without clothes, but it had been awhile, and you couldn’t help the nerves. He seemed to notice your nervousness and was extra careful, taking his time with his movements. Your heart soared, just when you thought you couldn’t fall any harder for him he goes and does things like this.

Yuta wrapped his arms around you as you both sunk into the warm water. You leaned back against his chest and sighed in bliss, the warm water was heaven to your sore muscles, and his arms around you was heaven altogether. You turned your head a little and pressed a kiss to his jawline, marvelling for a few seconds at his perfectly sculpted face.

The conversation after came easily to the both of you, like it always did, and you were grateful for the distraction. He told you all about what was happening back in Seoul and you told him about your adventures and school in Tokyo. You were pretty sure you had told each other all of this before but it didn’t even matter.

Being so close to him after so long made you aware of how much you missed him and craved his presence. You had showered together several times, but this was the first time you’d ever taken a bath with each other and it felt so much more intimate, it almost scared you when you realized just how deeply you felt for him. In all fairness, the feeling had been there all day, it was just more prominent now and you weren’t sure if that was a good or bad thing.

“What’s on your mind?” he asked quietly, resting his chin on your shoulder.

“I don’t know…it’s…different,” you responded, not sure how to put it into words. “This feels different, in a good way, but it scares me,” you confessed.

He took your hands in his, entangling your fingers. “That’s good, because I thought I was the only one feeling this way,” he said kissing the spot on your shoulder that his chin was just on.

Relief flooded your chest at his words and you relaxed a little easier now. You twisted your entire body so that your lips could meet his properly. The kiss was slow and languid, you could never get enough of his kisses, they were addictive. He indulged you of course, because he couldn’t get enough of you either. You felt his hands caressing your sides, raising a wave of goose bumps over your skin, and you couldn’t help the moan that escaped your mouth.

His hands came to a stop on your waist and he broke the kiss, pulling you up higher on top of him, his lips descended on your neck and continued their assault. You closed your eyes, arching your neck so he had better access to it. He bit and sucked at the tender flesh, leaving a trail of marks down your neck and across your collarbones. The seductive aroma from the bath coupled with the dizzying effect of his hands and mouth on your skin, was overkill for your senses, you couldn’t even think straight. All you knew was that you needed more.

“Yuta,” you moaned.

“Hmm?”

“More,” you whispered, tangling your fingers in his hair when he complied, one of his hands moving down and pressing a finger into you.

He took you over the edge twice, in the span of less than five minutes with just his fingers, leaving you breathless and shaking on his chest. One of his hands travelled down your back soothingly, while the other held you firmly against him as you regained your composure. You could feel him pressing kisses into your hair as your body trembled from the aftershocks of your orgasm.

“I want you,” you told him when you looked up, and you saw the switch flip in an instant in his eyes, they went from soft to sharp in record time, darkening to almost black.

He stood up, bringing you up carefully with him, and pulled the plug letting the water in the tub go down the drain. He lifted you up and set you atop the bathroom counter looking at you with something akin to danger glinting in his dark eyes. You smirked and pulled him into the space between your legs, so you could wrap them around him. He grinned, kissing you a few times playfully before his hands clamped down on your thighs and pulled you hard against him.

It didn’t take long for you to be ready for him after the mind-blowing orgasms he gave you already, a few pumps of his fingers were all it took. He slid into you slowly at first, letting you take all of him until both of your thighs were flush against each other’s. He stilled and gave you a few moments to adjust before moving, his hands drew lazy patterns against the skin of your back, and his mouth left soft kisses down your neck and breasts. It had been way too long. You bit down on your lip and closed your eyes, hands gripping onto his shoulders for leverage. “I want to hear you,” he whispered and kissed you again on the lips. You did as he said, it was too hard to restrain yourself anyway.

Your hands went from his shoulders to his back when his pace quickened, his thrusts were hard and precise, hitting just the right spot every time. If you had any shame you’d think about the people in the room next door who you were sure could hear the noises you were making, but that was the least of your concern right now.

You were close, so close, you felt the coil in your lower stomach tighten almost painfully, then explode. You came crying out his name, your thighs tightening around him even more. With a few more thrusts he came undone as well, his hands grasping onto your hips in a bruising hold as he rode out his high. His head slumped onto your shoulder when you were finished, and you held him against you, placing gentle kisses on his shoulder and neck.

“Stop, unless you want round two,” he mumbled into the crook of your neck.

You giggled, kissing his neck one last time, “Maybe in a bit.”

Yuta looked up at you and grinned mischievously, but you could see the tiredness on his face.

“Let’s take a shower, I want cuddles after,” you told him, he nodded and helped you down from the counter.

Your legs felt like jelly when you stood, you groaned grabbing onto him quickly making him laugh.

“Shut up,” you glared at him.

“Sorry,” he said but didn’t stop laughing as he wrapped an arm around your middle, supporting most of your weight and led you into the shower. You flicked water at him, leading to the both of you having a miniature water fight in the shower, which really made no sense since you were both already wet. The realization of that had you both in a fit of laughter. It was the best feeling in the world, to be there with him, in this space that was just the both of yours, even if it was just for tonight.

He gathered you up in his arms after you dried off and carried you back to the sinfully comfortable bed, pulling you close to him and holding you. The closeness was all you craved for so long, being in his arms again was the only comfort you needed.

“Yuta?”

“Yeah?”

“How long are you staying?” you asked.

“Till tomorrow when you leave, I have a flight back as well,” he replied, absentmindedly running his fingers through your tresses.

“Okay.”

You looked up at him, one of your hands coming up to touch the side of his face gently, the soft nightlight on his features enhanced them even more. The light caught on the glittering earrings in his ears, and you smiled noting that he was wearing the ones you got him for his birthday. The rose gold colour was a stark contrast from the silver of the others he wore, and it suited him so well.

“What’s wrong?” he asked catching your eye.

“Nothing. You wore the earrings,” you said matter-of-factly, touching one of them ever so slightly.

“Of course I did,” he responded, looking a bit confused as to why you would mention it.

“I just thought…nothing, nevermind,” you shook your head brushing it off.

“I haven’t taken them off since you sent them,” he ruffled your hair, flashing you one of those dazzling smiles.

Idly, you wondered if he knew how that one smile held your entire heart. So many of your hopes and dreams were built on it, and that might be a reckless thing, but sometimes it’s worth the risk. He was your safe place, your rock, your comfort, and your constant, and just looking at the way he gazed at you like you put the stars in the sky, you knew you made the right choice.

“Thank you for coming, I really really missed you,” you told him, cuddling closer.

“No need to thank me, I missed you just as much,” Yuta said peppering kisses all over your face making you laugh.

You rolled over so that you were on top of him trying to escape. Yuta rose an eyebrow looking up at you, the cheeky smirk already back on his face, “Ready for round two then?”

“You’re the worst.”

“You love me.”

“I do.”

“I love you too.”

#nct scenarios #yuta scenarios #nct imagines #nct fanfic #yuta fanfic #yuta imagines #nct yuta #nakamoto yuta #yuta #yuta fluff #yuta smut #nct fluff #nct smut

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friendlyneighborhoodborg · 5 years

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Marc Appreciation Week 2019| Day 6: Collab| “Working Together”

Okay, this is actually late. It is past midnight, technically Day 7.

I am actually posting Day 7 later today, hopefully before the week is out.

Anyway here’s the 6th day, and the only chapter in the dumpster fire to actually follow the prompt given.

Disclaimers were in Day 1.

Chapters:

1 2 3 4 5 6 7

AO3 Link

(~3200 biddling words. Why do I do this to myself?)

Marc didn’t know what he was. Today was weird: he didn’t feel girly anymore after last night, but at the same time he didn’t think the “he” suited him today. He realized this must have been what Alix was talking about before, about non-binary gender.

Being something that wasn’t a boy or a girl was trippy. Marc had felt it before, probably, but knowing what it was (which felt obvious now, considering… well, everything he was currently feeling) made it… something. For all the words he knew, he couldn’t peg one for the experience.

It occurred that he ought to have been surprised by how quickly he had taken to reconsidering his pronouns. But then, that’s what his gender did, didn’t it? Didn’t he always know that his gender did that? Hadn’t that been such a large source of his anxiety for years?

And now he was just rolling with it.

That morning, he had glanced at himself in a mirror, per his usual routine. His old adjectives, “Not him again” and “Could be worse” were absent this time. Instead, he had felt heavy. Overdressed, perhaps, only in his own skin.

But he could live with that.

It still stank, because French didn’t have a third-gender pronoun. That meant that, regardless of his actual self, he had to use male pronouns.

So, he comfortably got dressed, did up his face in a way he thought would suit him, and left for school.

Something was different that afternoon. Alix wasn’t in for some reason, which automatically meant the art teacher (he still kept forgetting his name) was more relaxed. Juleka and Rose were separated, for once. Rose was sitting in a corner, feverishly scribbling down notes in her pad. Juleka was in the opposite corner, reading a horror novel, and her ankle was shackled to a protruding pipe.

He approached Juleka cautiously, eyeing her restraints warily. “Did, uh…” He glanced up at the teacher, making sure he wasn’t listening. “Did Alix tell you?”

“Yeah, she got your text.” Juleka glanced up meaningfully at her girlfriend, by herself in the corner. “Lucky someone in this club has their head on straight.”

Marc chuckled. “I don’t know if we can say that, there’s like one straight person in this club.”

Juleka smiled for a second, then went back to reading her book. “And where was she, huh? Crazy overworked, fixing up stuff our last class rep neglected. Notice she couldn’t drop by all week?” She calmly flipped the page she was on. “Once again, Chloé got us into another fine mess that Marinette’s gotta pull us out of. Again.”

“What?” said Marc. “No, I meant… wait, Marinette’s straight?”

The musician shrugged. “So she claims. It is impolite to assume.” As normal, her expression and tone betrayed little.

“Biggest shock of my week,” was Marc’s jested reply. “But I was talking about Nathaniel.”

“Hm? Oh yeah.” She pulled up one hand to do finger-quotes. “‘Straight.’ That’s definitely an adjective that can describe him. Marc, have you seen the way he draws Chat Noir?”

“Of course, what about it?”

“Well, maybe you’re both blinded by the superhero’s skintight leather, but the boy is not that ripped.”

Rose hummed loudly. Juleka glanced up at her.

“I’m not trying to push anything, unlike some people,” she protested. “I’m merely pointing out that he should have already noticed by now, in a manner he will not pick up on for purposes of dramatic irony.”

“What’s going on?” he asked. “And what’s with you two?” He looked at the chain. “And… that?”

“She’s on probation,” explained Juleka. “Until she realizes what she did was wrong.”

“Probation of what?”

“Getting to run my hands through that soft, dark hair,” Rose replied for her, rubbing her fingers over the pages of her lyrics. “Holding her close to me, closing my eyes and breathing in her clove-scented perfume. Feeling the warmth of a heart matched beat-for-beat with mine.”

Marc looked back at Juleka. She was nose-deep in her book, but her forehead was sweating, her knuckles were white, and she refused to look anywhere near where Rose was sitting.

“Is that why you’ve chained yourself to this pipe?”

Juleka whimpered a little before answering. “It’s funny, in a tragic sort of way.”

“So, what’s holding Rose back?”

“Pity, mostly.”

“This isn’t about the makeup thing, is it?” questioned the writer. “I don’t blame Rose for anything that happened. I mean, it worked out, sort of.”

“Yeah, no thanks to me,” sniffed the poet. “If I’d have known…”

“Hey.” He approached her and offered his hand. “Hindsight is 20/20.”

“Still.” She rubbed the brimming tears from her eyes. “I was such an idiot, and you had to go through all of that because of me.”

“You’re still the first one who listened. Let’s be honest, that could have gone a lot worse.”

“I overreacted.” She looked down and continued to write, though it was mostly an excuse to avoid Marc’s eyes. “I thought I knew what was happening, and I thought I could help. I was wrong to try and do it by myself without seeing a second opinion.” Sniffing, she closed the notebook. “I’m sorry.”

“Oh…” groaned Juleka. “So close, Rose. Come on, I know you can do it.”

“Do what?”

“We aren’t be allowed to touch each other until she figures out exactly where she went wrong. She’s got most of it, but I’m not allowed to tell her the last one.”

“Okay, but why are you doing,” he gestured wildly at both girls, “this?”

“Because I don’t have the key and Rose is really trying, bless her.”

He looked between the two of them a few times, both of them equally miserable. “I get the feeling this wasn’t your guys’ arrangement.”

“It was Alix’s,” admitted Juleka. “We both went along with it. The chain was my idea, though. It’s the cruelest and most elaborate punishment ever devised, who do you think dreamt it up?”

“I mean,” Marc disputed, “I wouldn’t have pegged her specifically.” Particularly not after their little heart-to-heart yesterday.

“Never tick off someone with a small body-mass-to-temper ratio,” Rose advised. “Especially if everyone in her family is an ancient history buff.”

“What’s that got to—”

“Look, she knows a little something about torture.”

“Ah,” Marc commented, thoroughly confused and only pretending to understand. “You two look like you’re busy, I’ll leave you to it.”

He quietly took his seat at the back of the room, leaving the two to sort out their issues in peace.

All things considered, life was pretty good.

So why was Marc still feeling so anxious?

Nathaniel crept in through the door with his head down, answering the question.

“Nathaniel,” Juleka said. “Unlock me. I need to go use the bathroom.”

“Sure thing.” Nath approached her, holding something else up. “Brought your headphones, too, you left them in class.”

“It won’t work. She’s stuck in my head.”

Rose cast a saddened, dramatic gaze towards the writer in the back. “Pray you don’t become like us, Marc.”

Marc blushed. Of course Rose figured it out. She probably told Juleka, too.

Yet another thing to watch out for.

‘Wait, so is Nathaniel straight or not?’

Nathaniel joined him at their usual table once Juleka had been freed. “Hey.”

“You know,” Marc bet, “one has to wonder if that’s some sort of metaphor for something.”

The artist burst out laughing, but quickly shut himself up when he realized he was making noise. “Yeah,” he confessed. “Probably. But they’re good for each other. Rose helps Juleka’s self-esteem, Juleka keeps Rose grounded.”

“Yeah. They really are kinda fun to write. Speaking of…”

“Right! Back to work.”

“If we end off our comic there, Rose is never going to forgive us.”

“I know,” expressed Nathaniel, glancing over at the person in question. She was the only other student who hadn’t gone home yet. Volume up high in her earbuds, she wasn’t even looking at them. “But this story is way too interesting for one issue. With a cliffhanger like that, she’ll keep breathing down our necks to make more.” He blushed, realizing he had gotten ahead of himself. “I mean, if you’re okay with… I’ve really liked working with you and I want to—”

“Yes!” Marc blurted with a blush of his own. “I mean, um, yes. I would… I would love to keep working with you.”

“Okay.” He turned his attention back to the work. “So, if we end the issue with Princess Fragrance’s reveal, then that’s going to take a full-page panel.” He drew a border inside another blank page. “Right, so we’ve got that planned out. Now to just get cracking on those last few pages.” He surveyed the pages of blank boxes in front of him, each with a little note of what went in each. “And we know what has to be said at each bit, so if you want to edit specific dialogue, now’s the time to do that.”

“Cool. I’ll get on top of that.”

Marc’s brain suddenly took a dive, and he hastily tried to delete the previous sentence from his brain.

Each of them had the plans for everything, so they didn’t see a reason to talk much, a silence Marc respected even if he himself wasn’t comfortable with it. If it made Nathaniel more comfortable, he could swing that.

His brain needed to stop it immediately with the double-entendres.

The two of them worked for another few minutes, with only the sound of their pens scratching their paper.

Nathan, surprisingly, was the one who broke the silence. “So… last night you were a girl.”

Marc exhaled nervously. He wasn’t wrong, but it still felt weird to acknowledge the elephant in the room. “Uh, yeah.”

“Earlier yesterday you were a boy.”

“Yep.”

“So…” Nath bit his lip, which Marc had to avert his gaze from. “I don’t want to just assume, in case I get it wrong. What are you now?”

Marc had been stewing this over while he worked. Truth be told, he found he didn’t actually care as much today. He knew he wasn’t a boy, and he wasn’t a girl, but… he wasn’t really much of anything else either.

“I don’t think I’m anything right now.”

“Really?”

“Nothing, right now.” He shrugged. “I’m just… nothing.”

“How does that work?”

“Search me.” He shrugged once again. “I don’t have much of a gender today, I guess.”

“So…” Nathaniel paused. “It’s like there’s no… asterisks.”

“Asterisks?”

Nath winced. “Sorry. I was trying to be poetic, y’know, like you? You have this great, flowing… your words are just, they click. Does that make sense? It probably doesn’t make sense, forget I said anything.”

Marc smiled at the compliment, going back to his journal. “They’re just words.”

“They’re not, though, alright?” he declared. “They’re not just words, they’re you! The way you get words to line up, only you can do it that way. You’re so… smart, and creative, and… your writing style is just great.”

“Th-thanks.”

“I mean that.” Nathan looked away, holding his arm sheepishly. “You’re great, you’re really…” He shut his eyes. “Forget it.”

Marc blinked. “What was that?”

“Never mind. Where you at? Panel 9-g, the security guard is revealed to be possessed, Ghostlight comes out, and we need a good, punchy line to start the fight with.”

“No…” Marc closed his journal. “This can wait. What were you going to say?”

“Nothing important.”

“I doubt that.” He reached over the table and took his hand. “Nath, whatever it is, it’s important. You want to say it, say it.”

Nathaniel blushed. His mouth opened and closed, flopping like a fish, and he started to sweat.

Marc looked down and realized oh wait, he was actually holding Nath’s hand. He instantly let go, which seemed to shock Nath back into coherency.

“I can’t,” he told him.

“You can’t?”

“No,” he restated. “I’ll just mess it up, just forget it.”

“I’ll listen.” This gave the author pause. “I’ve been keeping up with you for the last week. I’ll understand what you’re trying to say.”

His face had determination etched into it. He opened his mouth and began.

“Oh!” Rose said suddenly, breaking his momentum. “Look at the time, I have to… go make an excuse.” She scooched off of her seat and sashayed out the door. “I’ll leave you two alone,” she called back, leaving the door ajar.

Both collaborators stared after her. The art teacher glanced in her direction, then he, too, left the room.

Nathaniel and Marc were alone. Nathan, only a little deterred, summoned back what little courage he had left.

“You…” He stopped. “You’re my friend, right Marc?”

“Yeah,” was the immediate, nodding answer. “I hope so, anyway.”

“And… I’m your friend, right?”

“Of course.”

“You… you’re so much of a better person than I am.” The boy gulped. “No matter… who you are. And today, it’s like… I’m so glad I get to see you happy.”

“Uh…” Marc nodded again in appreciation. “Thanks.”

“I mean, look at you, you’re happier, even if you’re still the same person who’s come in to help me with this stupid thing—”

“Nathan, it’s not stupid—”

“It is, though, and sometimes it feels like we’re the only people here who care about it. Only now you’ve changed, and you’re so much more relaxed now, and… And it’s good for you, right? You get to be so much more confident. Like just now, when you said you had no gender, you said it and you were sure.”

“I’m still not really sure.”

“You sounded sure, and that’s better than I can do. With pretty much anything. I’m not strong or witty, but you are. There’s just so many little things, here and there, and I can’t concentrate right. There’s just so many things about—”

The sudden halt from the speed at which Nathaniel had been talking gave Marc whiplash.

Marc looked at him, expecting him to finish what he was saying.

“I can’t…” he mumbled. “Just… that’s it, then. I don’t know how I was going to end that.”

“You feeling okay, Nathan?” queried Marc. “I don’t think I’ve heard you talk so much in one go.”

“It’s…nothing.” Nath took a deep breath. “I’ve been trying to… think of things I wanted to say—” He got out of his seat, turning away. “Never mind, it’s stupid.”

“No,” Marc stated, standing up behind him. “You’re not. If you need to say something, just say it.”

“I think—”

“Go on.”

“I think you’re—” Nathaniel swallowed his tongue and hunched over, covering his mouth.

“Nath!” Marc rushed to his aid. “Breathe slowly, okay? Are you alright? You look like you’re going to puke.”

“I didn’t say anything, just…” Nath’s voice broke. “Please, just drop it, I don’t wanna…”

Marc couldn’t believe it. Nathaniel, whose creativity knew no bounds, was censoring himself.

That could not happen.

And Marc needed to know.

“What if I don’t want to drop it?”

“Marc, please…”

“What if I don’t want you to be afraid to talk to me? What would you say if you could talk to me?” He looked into his icy-blue eyes, piercing through with his warmth. “What if you were about to say what I thought you were going to say? What if it’s that important that I hear how that sentence was going to end?” He snatched Nath’s hands from where they had covered his mouth and cradled them in his own. “And what if, by some miracle, I cared about how you felt and what you thought?”

Nath stared back at him, and both of them reeled from the shock of Marc’s outburst.

Then Nathaniel slowly started shaking his head.

“Don’t do this… don’t do that to me,” he murmured. “Stop doing that, you’re going to just regret it.”

Marc tightened his grip. “Just say what you wanted to. Stop putting up all these filters in your head.” He grasped at something. “Do the thing about the asterisks. What did you mean by that?”

Nath took a deep breath and tried. “Well… right now, you’re… no gender. No asterisks. No added stress. You’re just… Marc. Pure Marc.” He scowled. “I mean… that’s not good, is it, that’s not clever. Cause you’re not just genderless, are you?” He wrenched his hands from Marc’s ironclad grip. “Look, you could be a girl and I’d… you’d still be you. Same for if you end up a boy. You just get to be you. And… I like it when you’re you.” He stopped, looking to Marc for criticism.

After a moment, Marc smiled warmly. “That was pretty poetic.”

“Y-you do it so much better than me.”

They both smiled.

“C-can I—” Nath gulped, shutting himself down.

“What?”

“N-nothing.” He shook where he stood. “Forget it.”

“No chance.” Marc wasn’t sure where this courage was coming from, but he didn’t shake it away. “You don’t have to filter yourself. I won’t judge anything you say from here on out, you hear me? It’s the least I can do for what you and Alix have done for me.”

Nathaniel drew closer suddenly, his hand touched Marc’s cheek, and their lips barely touched. For a single half-second, their lips brushed against one another, and then Nathan drew back like Marc was a burning stove.

Both creators were left in a state of shock.

“Oh… my… God.” Marc gaped. “You…”

“Cute,” Nathaniel muttered. “I was gonna say cute. Before.” He looked down. “I’m… sorry, I’ll just…” He made his way to his bag, tripped on a chair, and started to bolt for the door.

Seeing Nathan start to panic and run away triggered something in him. He suddenly found a good reason to raise his voice.

Nathaniel had given him strength. Now he had to return the favor.

“Hey, get back here!” Marc called out, and the artist stopped. “I’ve had a crush on you for over a full month now. You get a do-over.” Marc surged forward, turned him back around, and kissed him again, this time much more solidly.

A few seconds passed and they separated. “You have a crush on me?” Nath said, confused.

Marc laughed a little at his expense. “There were times, even just this week, where something you did just completely killed me, stone dead.”

Nath blinked. “Do you want to go out sometime?”

“You see, this is what I’m talking about.” He pulled him close and hugged him tightly. “Son of a gun, yes, but don’t give me heart attacks like that.”

Nath’s arms awkwardly returned the embrace. “I, uh… I’ve never had a… an actual date before. What’s the, uhm… protocol, here?”

“Are you serious?”

“Half-serious.”

“Well don’t worry. It’ll be a learning experience for the both of us.”

We have always belonged together!

Nathaniel tore away from the embrace, turning sharply towards the door. “Rose, what the hell!?”

The little pink devil held the phone up high, volume turned all the way up. We will always belong together! Just keep moving on!

“Sorry,” Rose giggled. “My hand slipped.”

The collaborators looked at each other. Nodding a silent agreement, they chased after Rose together.

Okay. I don’t have much else to say right now, so... *shuffles away*.

#Marc Appreciation Week #marc anciel #nathaniel kurtzberg #juleka couffaine #rose lavillant #nathmarc #julerose #fanfic

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carterwardell1-blog · 5 years

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Misunderstood “Flaws” in the MCU

10 years and counting, 20 films, and one of the most loyal and anxious fan communities. Marvel is undoubtedly one of the most beloved franchises in the history of cinema. Since the release of their first movie, Iron Man, back in 2008, the love for the Marvel Cinematic Universe (MCU) has only grown. Marvel has done something that almost no other movie franchise has been able to do and that is having a successful Cinematic Universe. This is just one of the reasons that fans of the movies have come to love, not only the movies as a whole, but the characters and heroes as well. With all the love and support that Marvel has gained over these 10 years of production, it is hard to believe that anyone would have anything to complain about. When you ask a member of the fan community their opinion on how Marvel has gone about things, they almost never have anything to complain about, but there are those outside of the community that have negative things to say about the franchise.

Every movie, TV show, novel, or any other form of entertainment will have individuals complain or criticize something that they disliked about the performance or work. The Marvel Cinematic Universe is no exception. With that being said, I believe that everything Marvel does is for a very specific reason and that they are doing an outstanding job when it comes to taking risks and raising the stakes to the point that their movies are only getting better.

Since the MCU is arguably the most popular franchise in cinema history, that means they are going to have a big population of those who criticize or disagree with the ideas that they present in their movies. One thing that main of these critics have a strong opinion toward is the idea that Marvel is unwilling to kill it’s main superheroes and other characters. James Luxford of Metro voiced his opinion by writing, “Saying goodbye to one of the Marvel’s ‘big names’ would be the best thing for the world of the Avengers moving forward.” Similarly, another critic from Screen Rant wrote, “Quicksilver is the only major character to have stayed dead through all this, and the MCU has to follow through with a bigger name if we’re going to start taking things seriously.” Critics of Marvel such as these ones believe that in order to get a dramatic reaction from an audience you need to kill those who the audience cares about. This may be true for other movies but not the MCU. 10 years is a long time to get to know a character and develop a relationship with them just to have them killed in the end. If Marvel were to do this, the very future for the franchise may be at stake of losing fans. Along with thinking that Marvel needs to kill more of it’s characters, these critics believe that Marvel needs to raise the stakes and take risks to increase suspense in their films.

Raising the stakes in a movie such as one in the MCU, means adding parts to film to make it seem harder for the protagonist to beat the antagonist. One individual on Bloody Disgusting talked about movie announcement issues by claiming, “The problem with pre-planning your franchise is the distinct removal of any sort of long standing danger for your characters.” People that believe Marvel needs to raise the stakes think that the films are too predictable and they think they already know what is going to happen before the next movie even comes out. Though this idea may be true, the producers and directors of these films do this on purpose. By allowing the audience to kind of foreshadow what is going to happen next in the coming films by announcing sequels and new films, they introduce the idea of dramatic irony. Dramatic Irony is when the audience watching the film knows what is going on but the actual characters on screen do not. A great example of this would be Infinity War. We know certain characters who perished in this film already have sequels announced, meaning that the characters are going to come back somehow. Although we know this, the superheroes in the film do not which is Marvel’s way of really raising the stakes to the point where though we know something big is going to happen, we don’t know what that big thing is. If you put yourself in one of the characters shoes you would realize that they actually have no idea what is going to happen next. It is MCU’s own unique way of raising the stakes and taking risks, without completely taking out some of the characters that their fans have come to know and love.

When it comes to my own personal ideas, I am sitting right in the middle of all of those people who fell in love with the first MCU movie and have continued to love every film that followed. There are so many people just like me who just cannot wait to see what Marvel has in store for it’s audience next. When I hear of a problem that someone has with the MCU films I always have something to say that opposes their beliefs. When it comes to the problem that Marvel is unwilling to kill its main superheroes/characters I completely understand Marvel’s reasoning not to. To start off, Marvel is the biggest franchise, when it comes to amount of movies, that there has ever been. The great thing about these films is that they have successfully achieve the goal of creating a cinematic universe that people actually love. One thing that a cinematic universe allows you to do is connect films with one another, which is one thing that Marvel is probably best known for. Now, what would happen if you all the sudden they were to kill one or multiple of these famous superheroes. Chances of continuing films or appearances in combining films go out the window. By killing off a main character you no longer can produce films that focus in on that character or even feature them at all. This not only destroys that chances of making more hit solo films but it could hurt the fan community as a whole.

One thing that Marvel has done better than any other series is it allows the fans to develop a relationship with certain characters, typically the most popular ones. If you were to take out even one of these characters, this may easily anger the MCU fan community. It could get to the point that many fans lose interest in this franchise because the fan favorite characters that most people come to see on the big screen, are gone. For other films that are not as popular as the MCU movies, this is a great way of providing suspense and sadness, but for a series that has been going as long as Marvel has, it is best to keep the fans happy.

When I heard that some people believe that the Marvel Cinematic Universe doesn’t raise the stakes high enough, I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. With the recent release of Marvel’s biggest film yet, Avengers Infinity War, I don’t think that any other movie series has raised the stakes as much as Marvel just did. Now, I can see where people may think that Marvel isn’t raising the stakes because we know somehow all these characters, or at least some of them are going to come back. As I mentioned earlier though, that is exactly the way that Marvel raises the stakes. Going back to the idea of dramatic irony, when the audience knows what is going on but the characters don’t, that is Marvel’s unique and specific way of seriously raising the stakes. When talking about examples of dramatic irony in films, YourDictionary explains, “the words and actions of the characters take on a different meaning. This can create intense suspense or humor. Tension develops between what the audience and characters know is happening.” Dramatic irony allows a great deal of suspense to emerge because if we put ourselves in the characters situation we would realize just how little they actually know compared to the audience.

Along with that, just because we know something is going to happen in upcoming films, does not mean that we know how it is going to happen. This is another unique way of raising the stakes because it allows the audience to make thousands of predictions as to how things are going to go down in the next films but the truth is, we have no idea which direction it is going to go. It allows the fan community to talk amongst themselves, making predictions and asking questions.

Marvel raises the stakes in a way, in my opinion, that no other movie has been able to do as well. They took what we usually associate with raising the stakes and did something completely different. This is why so many people believe that the MCU has done a poor job of raising the stakes because they do not actually understand what the directors and producers are trying to do. They don’t want you thinking that the villain is going to actually win or that your favorite characters are going to die. They want you to realize that there is some hope but not give you the answers as to what will happen next.

Another comment about the MCU that I find extremely surprising is some people believe that Marvel has not taken any risks when making their movies. Taking a risk in a movie is basically going out of your comfort zone and doing something that no one expected you to do. Marvel has completed and released a total of 20 movies in the MCU now and each one is different from the next. When most people think of a superhero they think of someone with extreme powers such as super strength or invisibility; something along those lines. Marvel on the other hand has taken risks when it comes to developing new superheroes that are not like your typical superman. They have introduced characters such as Black Widow and Hawkeye who have no superhero powers at all but are still able to hold their own because of the skills that they have. Marvel has also introduced characters like Doctor Strange, Peter Parker, Steve Rogers and Bruce Banner who were all regular people until something extraordinary happened and they gained powers that are right up their with any other hero. These are all example of taking risks when it comes to their characters and how they chose to fit them into the story.

Along with taking risks having to do with specific characters, Marvel has taken risks when it comes to their films as a whole as well. Doctor Strange was a completely different superhero film than any of us had ever seen before but it produced a great response because many people loved the new idea. Another great example of a movie type that none of us had really seen before was Captain America: Civil War. When we think of superheroes we typically think of them fighting side by side to defeat a villain who is posing a threat to society. Almost never do we think of superheroes, with the same main goal, fighting against each other. The introduction of Civil War was a huge risk by the MCU but it has become one of the fan favorites within the entire movie franchise. In my opinion, almost every single thing that Marvel has done has been outstanding. Everything that they do has a reason for being done, which is all basically to produce movies that keep the audience entertained and satisfied.

Now, with everything that I have said regarding my opinions, I know that many people may still disagree with my ideology revolving around the MCU. Like I said before though, there is almost always a reason behind why Marvel does the things that they do. After reading my ideas and opinions, one thing that many people may still say is “Other movies kill off big main characters and people still watch them.” As mentioned a little bit before, this may work for other films but not the MCU. Most films that do kill big main characters are typically stand alone films with almost no background for the audience. The thing about the MCU is, there are 20 movies along with multiple television shows, comic books, video games, etc. all which provide the audience with the love that they feel toward these characters. It is crucial that other movies make big statements and decisions around killing main characters because that is what makes people love them. Marvel on the other hand gets people to love their films through different ways.

Along with comparing other movies to the way that the MCU has gone about making their movies, many individuals may still have problems with the idea of dramatic irony. One complaint that critics may still have is “Dramatic Irony isn’t the same as raising the stakes.” People who say this is either dislike dramatic irony or they don’t understand it. Dramatic irony is a very interesting way of raising the stakes while still giving the viewers a sliver of hope.

People who believe that dramatic irony is not the same as raising the stakes is because they don’t understand the point of view of the characters. They see raising the stakes as a way of making the audience believe something horrible happened and there is no way to fix it. Dramatic irony provides that same feeling for just the actual characters on screen, rather than us as well. Instead, we know just enough about coming films that we know something has to happen we just don’t know what.

After reading my ideas about taking risks and how Marvel has done so throughout their 10 years of producing films, many people may still have some claims of their own. One of these claims may be, “All Marvel movies are the same, they just introduce new characters in each new film.” Though this may have some truth in it regarding the idea that a hero is introduced and they are up against a villain, this formula is the what the fans of superhero movies have come to love so much. It is one of the main reasons that people have developed a serious passion toward superhero movies. They love the idea of a new character being introduced into the story line and having a new power. Though the overall idea may be the same, each superhero that is introduced has something new to offer. This is the change that the fans love to see. They enjoy getting to know a new character and figuring out for themselves, whether this hero is going to fit into the storyline.

Proof of this love by the fans is within the movie ratings themselves. In an article written by David Bell on Cracked he walked us through how Marvel movies have been getting better by stating, “As you can see, Marvel has consistently had hits since they started making movies, but as time passed, their lower-ranked films slowly caught up with their higher-ranked ones.” As time has gone on, Marvel movies have received more consistently high scores compared to the franchise a few years ago. This is proof of the idea that though Marvel movies may have similar plot lines, each one is unique enough to keep the fans significantly entertained.

When Iron Man came out in 2008, many people could see that this genre on movie was only going to get bigger. 10 years later, we see exactly that, has happened. We have noticed that life long fans have stuck around and continued to watch every single new movie. New fans who have more recently gained a love and passion for the Marvel Cinematic Universe have been increasing by the day. Along with new fans though, more and more critics come about as well. Although there will always be people who have something to criticize about the MCU, there will always be those who have something to say in response. As I have mentioned before, everything that the producers and creators of the Marvel films have done, they have done for a specific reason. The proof of this lies within the fans. Marvel has obviously been doing a lot of things right if they are still making blockbuster films that annihilate the box office, 10 years after their beginning.

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