#again the only reason to care for clarification is purely for clarification and just wanting to know yk. yeah we know. | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

emmathorne · 1 year

Text

Just a vent abt a bully

Hello, I’m going to complain!

My better judgement says sit on this quietly and smile the grumpiness away, but frankly I always feel better getting my fed up thoughts written out, and Tumblr is the quiet place we vent to, so here we are.

Anyone who cares enough to pay attention will know who I’m talking about, but for those who don’t (and for the sake of this being pure venting, not some kind of beef starting or mob building), I’m going to refer to the gentleman involved as “John” in lieu of his real name. If you don't know, it doesn't really matter because he is not the only person like this out there, and you may be able to relate.

This week, John, a big figure in the sceptic community, who commands a lot of respect and has a large following gathered over many years, was, in my opinion, quite rude to a friend of mine. He was rude, dismissive and pretty condescending, and this took place publicly. Said friend is also a creator- smaller than I am and much smaller (as we both are) than John. My friend reached out to John for clarification on something, and was overly polite with pleases and thank you’s and consideration. Whether they were just in a super nice mood or they chose to be careful because John has a reputation for getting angry over minor things, I don’t know. All I can say is they were very polite.

John is like a bear, we admire him and adore him for his incredible skill and power, and when he swipes one of us with his claws we all laugh or apologise and bow down to him because that’s “just how bears are”. What I've learnt is to accept that's how bears are, and that I feel happier and safer staying out of swiping distance, because I don't deserve to get clawed.

John was curt and rude and all the things I mention, and my friend clapped back (something I have always felt is perfectly reasonable. Someone is stinky to you, you shouldn’t be expected to be super kind in return). At this, John flew off the handle, called them several names and blocked them.

A lot of people saw this and had the same reaction I did: ‘wtf did I miss’, because it seemed quite an absurd overreaction. I added onto the conversation, because that’s my friend and I go into defensive mode when I see a bud treated unfairly. I make no apologies for this.

I too was overly polite (something I almost regret in hindsight because of John’s attitude throughout) when I suggested that this was a little over the top, that he was surely fair to be irritated at my friend’s sarcastic comment (again, as a retort to John’s attitude I think it’s fine, but it makes sense for John to be annoyed by it), that twitter often gets the worst of us, and an apology would surely be accepted. I also remarked that if he felt a comment was a waste of his time, it would probably be better to ignore it than fly off the handle.

I admit I’m often out of the loop on mainstream sceptic activists and creators, partly because my content is quite varied outside of that, so I didn’t realise how naive it was to think that polite compassion and understanding would reach John and that would be that. After the fact, I’ve been told by lots of folks: audience; creators and behind the scenes community members alike, that John has been this aggressive and reactive for a number of years now. If I’d known that, I perhaps would have just marked him down as someone I wasn’t interested in talking to and quietly removed him from my various feeds. Alas.

He responded to me in the thread, essentially telling me to go away, take my own advice and ignore him, he didn’t ask for a lecture. Surely yes, nobody asked for a lecture- but someone was stinky to my friend and that’s not the sort of thing I want to ignore. It didn’t completely make sense, it was very ‘heck off i can do what i want’, and I was pretty surprised.

I started to wonder if there was some context I was missing, that maybe something had happened between John and my friend before that made John particularly sensitive to their questions. A while ago, John added me on another social media app. So I reached out to John privately.

You fool. I know.

I sent John a message essentially (politely, I must add) asking if there was some context I didn’t know about, why he had behaved in such a bullying manner, and hoping that we could come to some more compassionate understanding.

His response was more or less: Wow!!! You’re going to say I DID A WRONG THING? Prove it!

The entire discussion went like that. It was cyclical and frustrating. There is a type of person (and I’ll say I’ve only experienced this from men, not that it’s a rule, but John fits a certain “type” of older, righteous white man that I find most frequently guilty of this tactic) that turns every conversation, especially if they are criticised, into a debate. Even a private chat about behaviour and feelings, in this case, became an intellectual debate.

I have experienced this many times, and I find it to be a method pseudo-intellectuals use to belittle and ‘win’ against people that aren’t able to articulate as well as they are. Every infraction was a point that had to be proven with evidence, and if he could counter it with his debate tactics, it meant he had ‘won’ and couldn’t have done anything wrong, ever.

This was a conversation about how he had been rude to someone on twitter. I explained what was rude, that I was not the only person who considered it rude, and his only retort was to continuously demand proof. John is an excellent debater. I am not, I don't debate, and while I know that there is some value to certain kinds of debate, I often question their value. Being good at debating and being right are entirely separate things, and so I don’t generally allow myself to be bullied by this tactic. I had told him what was rude, and that was that.

He demanded to know exactly who and where others had called this behaviour out, and I allowed a cheeky retort of my own! Of course in hindsight this is exactly what he needed to satisfy his status as the victim of my evil, deceptive tactics (all in the name of trying to understand why he was mean to my friend. What a sinister agenda I had!). I replied that I could easily ask him to ‘research’ for himself instead of ‘wasting my time’- because this was the complaint he directed at my friend who had asked him for clarification. It was a direct parallel of something he had said, with the intention of pointing out how absurd that was. I added that if he genuinely needed me to screenshot people calling out his behaviour, I would do so.

We went on for a bit in circles with this proof demanding, accusing me of dishonesty (I asked him outright what was dishonest about anything I said, and I still don’t fully understand. I believe it’s the fact that he kept hounding me for ‘proof’ that his behaviour was rude, which is a pretty weird stretch), and ‘name calling’. (The name calling is because I said his behaviour was bullying. I also later called him childish, which I hope you can understand given what i’ve explained so far. I maintain that to be true).

He continued getting angry and being aggressive about proof, including about me not being the only one to think he was out of order. I reminded him I'd offered him screenshots, and he basically said that I was clearly being sarcastic. I told him I wasn’t, that he’d assumed that out of nowhere- he was angry about that too. I had literally said “if you genuinely need me to-”. I included the word ‘genuinely’ and he still made it my fault that he thought I was being sarcastic. Except because John can’t be wrong, I had been sarcastic, and I guess just hadn’t realised it or was lying about it? Perhaps that’s where the ‘dishonesty’ thing came from. Who knows.

I shared some screenshots of people agreeing this was rude, which is pretty ridiculous I know. It’s bebo era schoolyard stuff. If he hadn’t demanded proof that he was rude and I wasn’t the only person in the world who thought so, I would never have thought to, but it seemed to be necessary. Of course, I was wrong about that too. It was only the case if they had MESSAGED him. That was all that counted. Of course he knew that I wasn’t going to be screenshotting his own inbox, so why he only told me this after the fact remains to be seen. He had demanded who and where, and then told me the who and where I presented didn’t count.

John was like this throughout. Incapable of being wrong in even the tiniest way, but treating me like I was a stupid, dishonest kid who was mistaken and crazy about every single thing I said. Even when it contradicted something he’d said earlier, it turned out I was wrong about that. I should have known psychically that tweets don’t count as people calling him out, that I was definitely being rude and sarcastic when I explained I was being genuine. I was wrong about every single thing.

Along the way, one of John’s gripes was that my friend, after the conclusion of the tweet thread, had joked about this being great publicity. I think it’s a funny way to try and make light of someone with a huge fan base being an ass to you. John decided that this meant my friend was only “in it” (conversation with him? Content creation in general? Unclear) for the publicity and he hates people like that. In my opinion, that’s a ridiculous stretch. To take someone’s jokey ‘getting a positive out of an awkward situation’ and make it into their entire driving force in all they do is absurd, and any reasonable person would see that. John is not reasonable.

In case you are one of the folks who, like John, thinks that joking about someone being mean being great publicity is actually terrible (as I saw some of his fans agreeing, in that slightly tragic bootlicking way where they agree with everything he says whether it makes sense or not), I’d like to remind you that everyone was fine with me making the same joke out of Kent Hovind giving me publicity. The only reason it’s suddenly bad when it happens as a result of John being an ass, is because they want to have some reason to vindicate him.

John used the publicity joke my friend made as an excuse as to why he didn’t need to apologise for anything. I considered that fallacious, not just because of the above where he’s viewing something silly in absolutely the most uncharitable way possible, but because that came after the fact anyway and had nothing to do with John’s initial rudeness. The idea that you can’t be cheeky or joke about someone who has already been a complete ass to you is tone policing, at least in my opinion. At the very least it doesn't change anything to do with John’s part in being rude as hell in the first place.

In our private conversation, I attempted to empathise with John- this was also wrong and got me chastised. Something I’ve seen him and his followers explain is that he gets tired of answering the same questions time and again- understandable after so many years of doing the exact same thing. I experience this too, and gosh I’m really grateful to have a varied range of content I engage in, even if it makes me a bit more niche. If I spent 20 years getting angry in debates over the same things, I'd probably go crazy too.

Anyway I attempted to empathise with John on this, telling him I understood how frustrating that could be and so on (again, I have experienced this myself, so I felt it was reasonable to empathise). Because it was a debate and he had to ‘win’ against everything I said, this was also terrible of me for ‘pretending to understand him’ or something, even though he also said that yes it was true. I guess his claim was that it wasn’t relevant to this, which doesn’t make sense and frankly I don’t believe. It doesn’t really matter, I could have said the sky was blue and I’d have gotten a lecture on how wrong I was.

I had mentioned creator size to John, because he was someone with a huge following publicly dissing someone with a relatively very small following. Something that I’ve adopted from a lot of the most conscientious creators I watch is the idea of not ‘punching down’. In general I do not think it’s responsible to do things that might mobilise a large audience to target someone at a much smaller level who doesn’t have the resources or experience to cope with a high level of abuse. The ‘punching down’ discussion has nuances that I’m not going to waste time on here, and it’s something people certainly disagree on, but my personal belief is that you should adopt a level of care when talking negatively about a much smaller creator. John disagreed with this. He called my consideration of creator size a "fallacy". I don’t know if that’s even vaguely correct, but I am not the intellectual that John is, so who knows. I think it’s relevant. He doesn’t.

This led to an awkward part of the conversation that I feel uncomfortable recalling even now. He subsequently asked me if I was a smaller creator. I told him that compared to him, yes certainly, but larger than my friend. He said that in that case, he would leave it there. While I am grateful he took my feelings on audience size into consideration despite disagreeing with it, I find the subtext really uncomfortable. The suggestion is that, if I hadn’t been a smaller creator, he would not have left “it” there. What is it? Putting me on public blast? I didn’t ask. Maybe it was an overreaction, but I found that a little threatening, so I ignored it and moved on. I don’t want to know what he might have said or done if I had identified as a large creator or someone at his level. Forever grateful to be niche, hah.

I was really ready to end this confrontation now, because it was more than clear that John was never going to accept being wrong about anything, that he was going to be as rude as he damn well wanted and if he was called out on it, he’d deny it righteously till he was blue in the face, and I either gave up, or admitted being a terrible person with a nefarious agenda.

I got through a last tirade about me being dishonest and fallacious and so on, all the same things I've mentioned. He concluded with a very brief nice comment about some of the content he’s seen from me. So I responded that it was interesting, because I thought some of his arguments were fallacious too. I said there were things we’d clearly never agree on, but I wished him the best with his work and hoped he continued to do good activism. I had a glimmer of hope that we were actually going to end on neutral, polite terms.

His response was to go back to demanding proof, in the same rude and combative way he had been all along. Eye roll.

At this point, I was 100% done and it is hopefully clear to anyone reading that I could not have done or said anything that would ever change his mind, so I said goodbye and blocked him. End of. Or not?

Cue a very “2010’s internet drama” maturity level post from John about an unnamed ‘dishonest, name-calling whiner’, aka me. I assume the ‘name-calling’ + ‘whiner’ thing was intended as irony? Or perhaps he’s just that lacking in self awareness. Either way, it’s a deeply frustrating and upsetting thing to read from someone you know is so respected in the community, who people idolise. I was sitting there wondering how many of my own followers were liking and retweeting that statement without knowing it was about me, and certainly not knowing how utterly ridiculous the entire interaction was. All of this because John was rude, and unable to acknowledge it. He’s got a critical debate-bro condition.

Despite his anger at this suggestion from me, I really think that John must have some serious sensitivity around being challenged, criticised or asked questions about his words. Many people that live in this angry, debate-centred world for so long do develop ptsd-like reactions, or genuine anger problems. I’m not in a position to diagnose anyone, these are just some of the thoughts I have trying to rationalise and understand John’s behaviour towards me, my friend and anyone who has dared criticise him or even ask him a question on the wrong day.

I heard in hindsight from many people who had been talked down to, belittled, blocked etc for minor things, and even similar cases of John going off the rails at something minor involving people far kinder and more intelligent than me- so at least I don’t feel this is a totally personal slight. I am bugged about it, clearly, but I feel fairly comfortable that I did the best I could to resolve things rationally and compassionately, and that the issues at the heart of this nonsense are problems with John and not me, nor my friend, nor any of the other people who have experienced this. John is a very "no, it's the kids who are wrong" type.

If I had to be in the room with John for a function or to engage with other people, I’d do so and be perfectly polite. But I do not want to work with him. I certainly do not want to speak with him. Right now I prefer not to see him on my timeline- I've hidden one channel that I like because seeing his face on my YouTube screen was making me uncomfortable (that I’m sure will pass quickly though, I just like to give myself comfort wherever I can, especially with what I do bringing confrontation and hate to my attention more than I’d like).

As much as this has sucked a fat one, I don’t regret anything. My friends come first, and I will always stick up for them. Maybe this loses me access to some of the ‘big names’ in our community. I hope not, but I consider it worth it either way. The ‘angry atheist douchebag’ phase is something that I think a lot of us go through, especially when young or deconverting, after some religious or family trauma etc. It can be a very natural part of the process. Should that be the face of the sceptic community? Hell no. We’re very fortunate to have a lot of smaller, developing channels with more diverse voices and a kinder attitude, alongside the playful snark and ribbing that we love. I’m curious as to how someone attains that kind of idolisation, where their fans can call him their favourite, despite having only had negative interactions with him (real comments I have read in response to this).

People can be kind of assholes and still do great work. Often, I think people like John miss out on important topics and ideas (I’ve certainly seen him do this on shows) because of their quick reactions and jumps to negativity and their swift putting down of anyone who might have a slightly different opinion that him, even if they didn’t know that before they, say, called him on a show. I do genuinely hope that he continues to do good work, and I respect what he’s built. I understand that people love watching him ‘throw down’ and that can often be satisfying. I enjoy seeing people who deserve it get a swift talking to. I don’t enjoy seeing people who are trying to learn, improve themselves or bring a different perspective being treated with equal meanness. I disagree with his methods and attitude, and I personally am not interested in watching him. I can’t imagine watching him on a show after the way he’s spoken to and about me, all because I dared to question his rudeness.

So that’s it. I’m a little hurt and quite frustrated, but I feel I’m frankly in good company with people who have faced the wrath of John. I’m trying not to feel too stupid in the wake of being belittled over all the ‘fallacies’ and general debate bro bollocks that were thrown at me. Emotional intelligence is also a real thing, and not everyone has it. Mine isn’t perfect, but it’s certainly better than John’s and I am grateful for that. I’d rather be willing to make mistakes and learn and treat people with compassion than be able to ‘win’ every argument. I’m also glad not to be the sort of person that gets outraged over minor things every day, continually alienating people in the process.

Long live the silly lil guys.

Thanks for listening to my vent. I feel better already.

#vent #cw vent #personal vent #personal thoughts #just rambling #sceptic community #atheist community

17 notes · View notes

eris-the-phantom-thief · 2 years

Note

♥ What's the WORST thing that has happened to you rp wise?

You want a list?

Okay first awful thing, there was an RPer I had been interested in, but their rules were SUPER vague on OC’s so I asked for clarification. They then called Hana a sue purely based on being her stories wildcard.

Knew nothing else about her, just instantly called her a sue. In hindsight I think I dodged a bullet.

Second awful experience, was with RPer who was super condecending and whenever I proposed anything they would be like “oh you don’t get it.” And would expect me to compromise for them, but would never do the same.

I’d post the passive aggressive comment in full, but I’d rather keep some degree of ambiguity on who it was. (That and I’d rather not start any shit.) the most I will say if they are the reason I made a post about why I don’t do persona three or persona four timelines for Hana.

The worst though was with a miraculous rper (Once again I will not mention names because while I have fallen out with them, I don’t want people to go harass them.) But where do I even begin with this one?

I’m not joking when I say, most of the experiences on my RP partner red flags can be attributed to them alone..

They would always talk about how stressed they were, and so I made little drawings to cheer them up and then they turned around and said “you only care about my muse!” Despite acting happy about them before.

They also tried to stealthily shove more muses on me. (For reff I do 10 ocs, and 9 canon p3 characters in crossover rps.)

The topic had come up of miraculous characters getting personas and They said “how about whoever comes up with personas first gets to do them.”

Guess who would be the most likely to come up with personas?

Me, as the token history, mythology, and literature buff.

It was especially egregious because I KNEW they had a blog where they rped as the characters in question that would get personas.

That leads to another thing, they would ask me for information about how personas worked and then would NEVER listen and blow me off. I had to say over and over again “steel spells aren’t a thing.” I explained how it worked pretty thoroughly, and even in regards to miraculous facts when I gently corrected her they would blow me off.

They’d ask me to do things and then get snippy when I did. (Ie I searched articles from the SMT wiki to explain certain concepts.)

They consistently SUPER accusatory and it was honestly exhausting to be around them OOC. For example they brought up the subject of their muse getting a Persona, and I gave her suggestions about what she could use and what kind of moves that she could use, and even made a chart for her to use if she wished and I did specify that she didn’t have to use it.

They accused me of, “just trying to fulfil a head canon “and I had to explain to them that I did this purely to help them, and that the subject of their muse getting a persona had genuinely never come up before she brought it up.

And I was being completely honest! The thought of their muse and the miraculous characters getting a Persona genuinely never crossed my mind.

They also accuse me of “never asking how they did “which was a complete lie because I’d ask them how they were doing every time we talked, and then they say, “oh, I don’t like venting. “And then would proceed to do literally nothing but that…

that’s why I started making the drawings for them. Because I knew I wasn’t good at talking to people through problems so I did something that I thought would help. Mainly because my art makes me happy and I wanted to use what makes me happy to try to help make them happy. To what they basically turned around and proceeded to spit in my face.

They are the reason I don’t do art on my blog anymore, except for very close friends.

#the chibi speaks #unhappy bean

1 note · View note

xiyao-feels · 3 years

Note

i've seen takes that jgy started playing turmoil before the staircase, aka wwx comments that it would take 3months for turmoil to kill nmj (ch64) so obviously jgy started playing it a long time ago, causing all of nmj's anger, all of that was his fault.

but also the novel says that jgy made a decision on the stairs or gave something up then a few days later played for nmj (ch 49) and like...idk what that could be except for killing nmj, is there something else this could be?

is wwx right? is mxtx bad at timelines? is nmj kick 3 months in the past, what is the time between 49 and 50 (when nmj dies in 2mo)

idk this whole thing is fuzzy and if you have any clarification or insight i'd like to hear it

-🦊

Fox anon! I'm glad to hear from you, and I hope you're doing well. I'm sorry I took so long to answer this—I was trying to be thorough, you all can judge whether I succeeded.

Now, I think the first thing to note here is that WWX actually and explicitly observes the Song of Clarity working when JGY is playing for NMJ before the stairs (ch 49):

Since then, Jin GuangYao would travel from Lanling to Qinghe every few days, playing Sound of Lucidity to help quell Nie MingJue rage. He tried his hardest, without speaking even a single word of complaint. Sound of Lucidity was indeed effective. Wei WuXian could clearly feel that the hostile energy within Nie MingJue was being suppressed. And, when playing the guqin, the way that the two conversed and got along even had a hint of the peace they had before they fell out. He began to think that maybe the so-called busy reestablishing the Cloud Recesses was just an excuse. Perhaps Lan XiChen simply wanted to give Nie MingJue and Jin GuangYao a chance to ease their tension.

(emphasis mine)

I think this is pretty conclusive. WWX's observations on the spot override his conclusions after a) being extensively soaked in NMJ's anger/resentment (ch 48-50) b) the entire drama afterwards at Jinlintai including being stabbed through by Jin Ling (ch 50) and c) resting and recovering for four days (ch 63).

Moreover, let's look at what WWX actually says in chapter 63:

Wei WuXian, “Jin GuangYao’s spiritual energy isn’t high. He wouldn’t have been able to take someone’s life with just seven notes. And killing him this way would’ve been too obvious. He definitely wouldn’t have chosen a song so powerful. But, if he could use the reason of playing the Song of Clarity for ChiFeng-Zun to calm his temper and continued to play it for three months, would the song be able to act as a slow poison and catalyse ChiFeng-Zun’s outburst?”

He's asking LXC questions about Turmoil, because it's new to him and he doesn't understand everything about it. I think it's pretty clear here that he's starting from how long he saw JGY play for NMJ, and asking if that would be long enough, rather than definitively stating that it would have to take three months; nor is there anything in LXC's response ("… Yes") that suggests three months is any kind of necessary minimum.

So those are the facts at hand. And imho if you look at the text in the later Empathy, there's a great deal of supporting evidence as well. There's the moment you mention, where JGY seems to be making a decision:

Nie MingJue, “Then why don’t you sacrifice yourself? Are you any nobler than them? Are you any different from them?”

Jin GuangYao stared at him. A moment later, as though he had finally either decided on something or given up on something, he replied calmly, “Yes.”

He looked up. In his expression were some of pride, some of calmness, and some of a faint insanity, “I and they, of course we are different!”

I agree with you, he's deciding to give up on NMJ—and if it's something else, what is it? If JGY isn't giving up on getting through to NMJ here, what function does this line serve in the text?

And I think it's worth noting here, as I've noted before—when JGY is talking about how different his and NMJ's positions are, he says "Your background is noble and your cultivation is high"; and the "Your background is noble" part is 你出身高贵, with the 高贵 being the "noble" part. When NMJ is asking him "Are you any nobler than them? Are you any different from them?" the "Are you any nobler than them?" is 你比他们高贵吗—so the "noble" part is, again, the same word, 高贵. Given that JGY has just spent a great deal of breath explaining that he is different from NMJ precisely because of his less-noble background, this is very much a pair of questions that might quite justifiably make JGY feel like NMJ is just completely not understanding anything he is saying here at all.

Besides that moment, there is the way he approaches or interacts with NMJ, which is quite noticeably different after the stairs. If you look at the beginning of the stairs, he's trying to convince NMJ to let the XY thing go: he says that if XY is locked up for life and can't hurt people, this isn't too different from him being executed, and then when NMJ does not accept this, points out that it's JGY's father's command and he cannot simply go against it as NMJ wishes. Once JGY loses his temper, he is still presenting arguments for his position—which granted is now approximately "you're being a hypocrite and you don't understand things", but he is still arguing for it—that is, he is still trying to reach NMJ; he is acting as though on some level he believes he can get through to him.

But in attempting to convince NMJ about XY, he is not acting like someone who expects that NMJ is right about to die; because if he were expecting that, he could simply say whatever he likes to put NMJ off, knowing that he won't actually have to pay up. Similarly, in attempting to get through to NMJ via argument, however angrily, he is not treating NMJ as purely an object to be manipulated; NMJ's beliefs matter to JGY separately (I am not saying /only/ separately) from what those beliefs lead NMJ to do. To put it another way: he cares about what NMJ thinks. This too is something that prevents JGY from simply telling NMJ whatever he wishes to hear, and this, too, is lost at the stairs.

For after the stairs, telling NMJ what he wants to hear, and just telling NMJ something that will put him off because he knows or hopes he won't have to pay up, are exactly what JGY does. When he shows up at the Unclean Realm a few days later, he tells NMJ he's here to acknowledge his mistakes and that he's realized NMJ is "doing this" for him; he promises to bring NMJ XY's head in two months, and tells NMJ he can do whatever he likes with him if JGY does not. This is a significant change in behaviour from before the stairs, and in consideration with all the other evidence it seems to me that this is because, post-stairs, he no longer values what NMJ thinks of him, and he is now gambling on his killing NMJ before NMJ kills him.

The only area where he does push back now is NMJ's treatment of NHS, I suspect because he worries about what NMJ might do or continue to do to NHS in his remaining two months of life.

So: I really do think the evidence is pretty clear that JGY starts with Turmoil after the stairs, in that it is directly signalled by the text and in that all the evidence around it backs this up.

That said, I have seen other objections raised by various anti-JGY folk, and while some of them have more merit than others I think it's worth taking the time to go over them.

-JGY couldn't possibly have prepared the Turmoil music in the few days between the stairs and him starting to play for NMJ after.

Yes, I agree; he must have had it prepared earlier. But that only means that he had it prepared, not that he was using it, and while there are certainly people who will only prepare a weapon if they are sure they will use it, I really don't think JGY is among them. He might also have prepared it as evidence for his father that he was working on solving the problem.

-WWX didn't notice a difference between the music JGY was playing before the stairs and the music he was playing after; therefore, it must be the same music.

Honestly, I think that WWX just didn't notice. It's explicitly described as very subtle, and indeed he can't tell the difference between the altered passage and the rest of the song (ch 63):

Wei WuXian withdrew the flute from his lips, “It really is this section? But I don’t find this section different at all.”

And he again observes how similar they are in chapter 64:

And he combined them so well. They sound as though there were the same. His musical talent is indeed excellent.

His repeated observation that they sound just the same suggests that he could very well have failed to notice, I think, and indeed he would have heard the altered version more often.

There is also another explanation, entirely compatible with JGY only using Turmoil after the stairs. WWX says of JGY playing Turmoil that he must have "used little spiritual power" during the Clarity sections, and "only exerted power" during the Turmoil section (ch 64). So if we think WWX would definitely have noticed the difference, there is an explanation for how he nevertheless very clearly observed NMJ's hostile energy suppressed by the music; JGY might have been using his power during the (much longer) Clarity part, and only used a very little during Turmoil. Personally, I think that it fits better with the overall emotional arc if JGY didn't change the music he was playing until after the stairs; but I accept this isn't ruled out as a possibility.

I feel obliged to note that at one point, after I was challenged on the issue of JGY changing the music after the stairs and pointed out WWX noticing NMJ's hostile energy being suppressed, as above, I was offered as an explanation for the passage that JGY couldn't possibly have abruptly switched to Turmoil right away when he started playing for NMJ, because NMJ would have noticed that he was suddenly feeling worse; and that therefore WWX clearly feeling NMJ's hostile energy being suppressed was not really evidence that JGY was playing Clarity and not Turmoil before the stairs. But I disagree with this, on two counts.

First, it is not clear to me that NMJ would in fact notice. He does not seem to be very self-aware about the effects of the sabre curse. He explicitly denies it at the stairs, for example: "I am not [in turmoil]. I know what I'm doing" (ch 49). After he burns NHS' things, when JGY asks him if he's told NHS about the sabre curse yet, NMJ asks "Why would I tell him so soon?" even though at this point he is quite clearly being affected (ch 50). And when he kicks open the door to kill JGY in chapter 50, he seems not to think about the curse at all. Of course this last is moments before he qi deviates and dies and is therefore perhaps not representative, but it fits with the general pattern; I don't believe we ever see him consider whether his anger might be because of the sabre curse, and indeed he is hardly given to questioning the righteousness of his anger in general.

Secondly, and more abstractly...WWX observing the hostile energy being suppressed—"clearly feel[ing]" it being suppressed (ch 49)—may not be /literally/ incompatible with the idea that JGY changed music after the stairs. But a story isn't just a collection of facts, and I think by far the most natural interpretation of this, in context, is that JGY is playing Clarity and not Turmoil. Which is not of course to say you can't have a resistant reading here, but I think it's generally good practice to acknowledge when your readings are resistant readings, and especially if you have a resistant reading not to say it is the only possible reading of the facts.

-JGY has no motive for playing for NMJ other than wanting him dead.

If we assume rather that he doesn't want him dead, he pretty clearly has a motive to help keep NMJ's temper under control, both on a personal level (so NMJ doesn't attack or embarrass him) and on a political level (so NMJ doesn't lose it and embarrass JGS). I would also like to note that although it was some time ago, and it seems likely that even before the stairs JGY's feelings about NMJ are not as positive as once they were, we have seen JGY go to quite heroic lengths to save NMJ's life before, when he saves him from Wen Ruohan by misdirection and assassination then drag/carries his unconscious body rather than leave him there and make good his own escape.

-The stairs and the fan burning both happen before JGY starts playing for NMJ after the stairs; NMJ wouldn't do either of those things in his right mind…

I agree; the Nie have to deal with the sabre curse. I think it's worth pointing out, too, that aside from Clarity we don't see NMJ take any measures to try to deal with the curse, either directly in addressing the curse itself, or by preventing himself from acting excessively under the influence of the curse; it shouldn't be surprising, then, that the curse can cause such drastic incidents.

-…and the sabre curse wouldn't be strong enough.

This one really confuses me as an objection, I'm going to be honest. We can be pretty sure NMJ would have qi deviated eventually, Turmoil or no. NHS says this in chapter 26:

"The sabers of our past sect leaders were all heavy with hostile energy and killing intent. Almost every single sect leader met a sudden death from a qi deviation explosion. Their irritable tempers also had a lot to do with this."

(As a side note: the missing paragraph in the ER translation right after this has I think occasionally led people to the conclusion that it is the qi deviation and such that WWX suggests is similar to demonic cultivation, as opposed to the sabres turning murderous after the deaths of their owners—you can see the Taming Wangxian and the MDZS Translation versions for the full context of the exchange.)

So NMJ was almost sure to qi deviate eventually! Moreover, he would have greatly strengthened the sabre spirit through his extensive use of Baxia during Sunshot, and after the war he continues to pursue cultivating with the sabre, without, I think, any sign of moderation. And it seems likely that he is already showing recognizable symptoms of the curse by the time JGY starts playing for him alone, as Clarity seems intended to slow the progression of the curse and also like something relatively newly introduced—they don't seem to have been doing this since Sunshot just in case, or anything. So how then could we be sure that the sabre curse on its own would be insufficient?

-NMJ wasn't at all violent before JGY started playing for him

This is simply not true. Unfortunately we don't see much of him outside of Empathy, but looking exclusively at things that happen before JGY starts playing for him:

His reputation in Sunshot is about his destroying the Wen, contrasted with LXC's which is about saving people (ch 48):

During the Sunshot Campaign, stories of praise were told about all three of the Venerated Triad. The ones of ChiFeng-Zun were about how he swept over all obstacles, leaving not even a trace of the Wen-dogs after he finished. ZeWu-Jun—Lan XiChen—however, was different from him. After the situation of the Gusu area had settled down, Lan QiRen was able to defend it with great tenacity. Thus, Lan XiChen often travelled to aid others, saving lives from danger. In all of the Sunshot Campaign, he had countless times recovered lost territory and assisted narrow escapes. This was why people were ecstatic whenever they heard his name, as though they gained a ray of hope, a powerful trump card.

The description of his reaction to seeing MY kill the Jin captain pretty strongly suggests his initial reaction was to attack MY on the spot (ch 48):

Nie MingJue saw all of the scene. Without saying a word, he unsheathed his saber by an inch. A sharp ring pierced through the air.

Hearing the familiar sound of unsheathing, Meng Yao immediately trembled. He spun around, his soul almost evaporating, “… Sect Leader Nie?”

Nie MingJue pulled all of his saber out of its sheath. The body of the sword glared brightly, yet the blade itself vaguely glinted in the red shade of blood. Wei WuXian could feel the billowing anger from him, along with emotions of disappointment and hatred.

Meng Yao knew Nie MingJue’s character more than anyone else. He dropped the sword with a clang, “Sect Leader Nie, Sect Leader Nie! Please wait, please wait! I can explain!”

Even after he's listening, he ends up grabbing MY by the collar and lifting him up (ch 48).

When he's explaining what happened with MY to LXC, he announces his intention to kill MY if he ever sees him again (ch 48), and after MY kills WRH, saving NMJ's life in doing so, and is carrying him out afterwards, he grabs his sabre from MY's hand and tries to kill MY again (ch 49). He only stops when LXC physically blocks him, and changes his mind after LXC explains that MY was in fact a spy, and I think it's worth noting that WWX believes that MY would probably have died under NMJ's attacks before LXC arrived if NMJ hadn't been heavily injured (ch 49). We're also told the brotherhood oath 3zun swear is unusually violent, in a way JGY suggests, and which LXC notably does not refute, was decided by NMJ (ch 50). Finally, while this summary of NMJ's interests is arguably from WWX's perspective, it is still notable that the only two things he's apparently interested in are "training his saberwork and killing Wen-dogs" (ch 49)—which is to say, the study of violence, and a particular and fatal application thereof.

(Totally unrelated fun fact: I was looking at the entrance to the Phoenix Mountain Hunt for this too and apparently NMJ is seventh on the young cultivators list (ch 69). The more you know!)

I want to be very clear that I am not saying that all of NMJ's violence is unreasonable or not understandable. But that it can be reasonable and understandable does not mean that it is not violent; and it is certainly not the only reaction a person could have to the events he's reacting to. Contrast LXC, as someone rather on the other end of the spectrum.

-If NMJ were violent, JGY wouldn't risk his life killing him via Turmoil (and therefore NMJ must not be violent)

Even aside from the extensive textual evidence for NMJ's violence, I don't think this holds together. As shown above, I think it's quite clear that NMJ was in fact always a violent man, but there is absolutely no question that he's violent to JGY in his last months of life, and if you think JGY started playing Turmoil for NMJ before the stairs, then it's really extremely clear that JGY was willing to risk NMJ's violence in killing him! I think the clash between JGY's desire to live and the evident risk to his life from killing NMJ with Turmoil actually supports the position I am arguing here. Assuming we are agreed that JGY is attached to his own life, and as it's clear that as NMJ approached his end he was a danger to JGY (regardless of how that end was induced!), why was JGY playing him Turmoil?

I think the stairs make it clear to JGY that his life is not safe while NMJ is still alive. Using Turmoil, therefore, becomes a gamble he is willing to take, though still an enormously risky one: on the one hand, it appeases his father and enables him to promise NMJ he can do whatever he likes with JGY if he doesn't kill XY in two months (ch 50), a promise he obviously and understandably has no intention of keeping. But on the other hand, if NMJ doesn't die within the two months, he probably will simply kill JGY—and more than that, given his focus on JGY, he may kill JGY anyway, for some much more trivial reason. Indeed, this is exactly what almost happens just before NMJ's death, when he kicks open a door and attempts to kill JGY on the spot because JGY was complaining to LXC about NMJ's treatment of him; if LXC hadn't blocked NMJ's sabre, JGY would almost certainly have died (ch 50). But as risky as this gamble is, it is still a better bet than waiting around and hoping LXC always saves him when NMJ tries to kill him—especially taking into account the risk from his father should he do so.

-The stairs incident was good for JGY and bad for NMJ, which is evidence that JGY arranged it on purpose

...I have a lot of things to say about this position. None of them are very nice. However, as I am in fact trying to argue in good faith, I will attempt to address it as an argument.

I think this comes from a confusion of the fandom reaction to the stairs with the in-universe reaction to it. To people now, yes, looking at this makes NMJ look bad, and inspires sympathy for JGY. In-universe, however—when NMJ publically assaults JGY and tries to kill him, when he calls him Meng Yao, when he shouts he's the son of a prostitute, it's not /NMJ/ who looks bad. NMJ of course is righteous in his anger; really he's only putting that boy in his place, don't you think? I knew Chifeng-zun didn't really accept him. Etcetera. It /weakens/ JGY's position, because the cultivation world does not have the same beliefs and priorities and value judgements that we do!

Certainly if he'd actually managed to kill JGY he would suddenly have found that he had killed JGS's beloved son, the only remaining son of the Jin, a war hero, his own sworn brother who had saved NMJ's life etc etc etc. But only because then there would have been political advantage in it for JGS, and quite substantial political advantage too, and he wouldn't have to deal with JGY being around anymore. As it stands, all NMJ's actions at the stairs do for JGY is tell the world that he is vulnerable and weak and disgusting. The only significant person in-world who would find JGY more sympathetic after this incident is LXC, and frankly a) he is already deeply in sympathy with JGY and b) we don't see JGY playing it up—after LXC's appearance at the stairs rather he minimizes and soothes things, and even when we overhear his complaints to LXC around two months later he is talking about what NMJ thinks of him, and not the physical danger NMJ poses.

I will also observe that while JGY does end up losing his temper, he starts off soothing even through NMJ's first attempted assault, and only loses it after NMJ calls him Meng Yao and says "your whole thing stopped working on me since a long time ago" in front of everyone; this attempted conciliation seems an odd thing to do were he in fact trying to manipulate NMJ into assaulting him, trying to kill him, embarrassing him and weakening his position in public. You could argue that NMJ would be more angered by JGY's attempts to be soothing than he would by JGY's directness, and thus the soothing could be read as provocative, but this simply isn't backed up by the text; while NMJ was obviously already angry before JGY lost his temper, he nevertheless escalates significantly after JGY talks back.

Moreover...I think what NMJ actually does and tries to do at the stairs, in terms of violence, is sometimes not fully grasped.

The first thing he does once they're properly outside is try to hit JGY, though fortunately JGY manages to dodge. When NMJ kicks him down the stairs, even aside from calling JGY the son of a prostitute, JGY ends up rolling down more than fifty steps and acquiring a head wound—/another/ head wound, because he already had one, apparently from the physical abuse he receives at Jinlintai from Madam Jin. And finally, NMJ actually /unsheathes his sabre/ and, after LXC approaches, announces his intention to kill JGY:

Lan XiChen, “Brother, sheath your saber first—your mind is in turmoil!”

Nie MingJue, “I am not. I know what I’m doing. He’s beyond hope. If these keeps on going, he’ll do the world harm for sure. The earlier he’s killed, the earlier we can relax!”

(ch 49)

When I say that NMJ almost killed JGY at the stairs, I am not just talking about kicking him down the stairs, although that certainly could have killed JGY. I am talking about drawing his sabre on JGY with the intention of killing him. JGY would very likely have died if LXC hadn't thought they were taking too long and come to see.

JGY can certainly take enormous risks when it's necessary—but for a risk like this he would have to be gaining something extremely significant, and I remain unconvinced he was gaining anything at all, let alone anything worth the cost.

-NMJ's actions at the stairs and his burning NHS' things are completely unrelated to any of his previous actions and motivations.

In fact, although they're certainly both significant escalations, I think that in both cases NMJ's motivations and actions draw extensively from preceding characterization.

Consider the stairs. The direct classism is certainly new, but there are several other elements that have already been established as part of NMJ's characterization: the tendency to violence, the investment in JGY behaving correctly even while ignoring incorrect behaviour around him, the approach to justice both in his particular and frequently-retributive idea of it and in his commitment to that idea, and a failure to understand the realities of JGY's position.

The violence I discussed above, and the failure to understand JGY's position has I think been discussed sufficiently elsewhere and besides would be a full post in its own right. As to NMJ's approach to justice, you can see both idea and commitment to it in his anger to the men speaking badly of MY (ch 48) and his appreciation and promotion of MY for his accomplishments (ch 48); his initial intention to kill MY after he catches him killing the Jin captain (ch 48), his subsequent insistence that MY turn himself in to the Jin (ch 48) and his intention to kill MY for his betrayal after MY tricks him and escapes (ch 48); his initial insistence that MY should pay for killing the Nie cultivators, even as he acknowledges that MY saved his life and says he will kill himself after he kills MY (ch 49); and of course in his insistence that WQ and WN should pay for their complicity with WRH, even in the face of LXC and JC's defense of them (ch 73). And in describing LWJ as "absolutely [unable to] stand wrongdoings, possibly even more than Nie HuaiSang’s brother" (ch 30), WWX implies a great deal about the extent of NMJ's inability to stand wrongdoings. Of course, not all of these instances involve NMJ seeking violent retribution as justice, but a significant portion do—about half—and it is certainly a recurring theme. This approach to justice, I should add, is certainly involved in attempting to punish JGY for his misdeeds by killing him, but it is also part of why he is so upset in the first place: in NMJ's view of things, holding XY in prison instead of executing him for his crimes is failing to see justice properly done.

The investment in JGY behaving correctly, even while caring less about the behaviour of other people around him doing the same, is likewise an established character note. WWX concludes that NMJ's desire to guide JGY is one of the main reasons he agrees to the brotherhood (ch 49); we see his disapproval of JGY associating with XY, who already has something of a bad reputation, at the Flower Banquet (ch 49); at the conference after WWX rescues the Wen, when JGY backs up his father's lie about what WWX said about JC, NMJ seems to mark it more heavily than JGS' initial lie (ch 73). And then, of course, there is this, from the scene just before JGY starts playing for NMJ (ch 49):

In reality, it wasn’t that Jin GuangYao could calm Nie MingJue’s anger, but that since Jin GuangYao came, all of Nie MingJue’s anger would be directed at him alone, having no time to scold others. Thus, there was nothing wrong with saying that he was Nie HuaiSang’s knight in shining armor.

While NMJ's actions at the stairs are certainly not something he'd have done without the sabre curse, and again the direct classism is new, it nevertheless very much ties in to his preexisting characterization.

What about the burning of NHS' things? Again, many elements of the situation derive from NMJ's preexisting characterization; in this case, his tendency to release his anger on physical objects, his desire for NHS to be a strong cultivator and his angry displeasure with NHS' actual interests and capabilities, and his threatening to burn NHS' things.

Although prior to the burning of NHS' things it seems to be usually a momentary lashing out, NMJ definitely has a history of releasing his anger on physical objects. When he is annoyed at the men speaking badly about MY, he knocks down (or carves up? the English is unclear) a boulder at the front of the cave (ch 48); when he decides not to kill MY after LXC explains MY was their spy, he carves a boulder in half (ch 49); and he cracks the top of a table by bringing his palm down on it in the scene just before JGY starts playing for him (ch 49).

As to NMJ's desire for his brother to focus on and do well at cultivation, and his displeasure at NHS' actual areas of focus, this is perhaps one of his most consistent beats of characterization. We see it in our introduction to NHS at the Cloud Recesses lectures (ch 13); in NHS' plea for WWX's help with the test (ch 14); in LXC's message to NHS from NMJ and NHS' reason for staying in CR instead of going to Caiyi Town (ch 16); in WWX's reminiscences about NHS after discussing the "Man-Eating Ridge" with the "know-it-all of Qinghe" (ch 21); in NMJ and LXC's discussion when NMJ brings LXC NHS' sabre during in Sunshot (ch 48); and of course in the scene just before JGY starts playing for NMJ, both in his initial anger at NHS' preoccupation with the fans and uncertainty about his sabre's location, and in his dismissal of NHS as a "good-for-nothing" even after his temper had faded (ch 49).

The threatening to burn NHS' things, on the other hand, I believe we only see once, and really in the form of "instructing NHS to burn certain specific things of his"; but it is in the very scene before JGY starts playing for NMJ, as NMJ tells NHS to burn the fans he has just been going over tenderly before JGY interrupts (ch 49).

Indeed, I think that scene in general is very much worth a look here, for what it has and for what it doesn't. On the one hand, we do see NHS' fear of NMJ—he literally falls to his knees in terror, and stutters even after getting up! But he also seems fairly comfortable after the worst of NMJ's anger passes, and when NMJ sends him off he goes not to his room as instructed, but to the living room for the gifts JGY has brought him. Yet many of the elements of NMJ's later destruction of NHS' things are present here, and to my mind one of the most important things about the scene is its illustration of what prevents NMJ from carrying out the threats he made in his anger. It's not that he's convinced he's being unreasonable—indeed, he doesn't seem to consciously change his mind at all. Instead it is simply that repeated interruptions and NHS's ridiculous appearance as he greets JGY end up draining his temper, and with his temper drained he no longer pursues punishing NHS. But this has obvious implications for what might happen if NMJ's anger did not diminish, and I think it's quite clear how the behaviour NMJ exhibits in this scene could lead to NMJ burning NHS' things simply by giving him a more sustained burst of temper, even as it is not something NHS ever expected to happen, or something that would happen had NMJ's temper not been worsened by the sabre curse.

To conclude this section—while NMJ's actions at the stairs and in burning NHS' things are certainly unprecedented in themselves, they are nevertheless solidly rooted in NMJ's preexisting characterization, and it's easy to see how the sabre curse could lead to these extreme escalations.

To conclude the post, I think the direct evidence is quite clear that JGY was playing Clarity before the stairs, and I think the indirect evidence also significantly supports it; nor am I convinced by various objections I have seen, for reasons I hope I have conveyed.

#more than one tag could contain #anger burned in his heart #we can't change places #long meta #and thank you very much to confusion-and-more for looking it over + their extremely helpful suggestions and revisions #this post would not be the same without them

134 notes · View notes

seriouslysnape · 3 years

Note

what about something where the reader’s cheating ex keeps trying to talk to her to convince her to take him back. she can of course deal with him herself but she wants absolutely nothing to do with him so protective, boyfriend snape steps up and scares the fuck out him basically, then it’s pure fluff between him and his lady by him assuring her he’d never hurt her, let alone in the way her ex did. sorry if this is too much. it came to me while watching love actually and Alan’s cheating character. lol and your account came to mind to request it to because I love you’re writing!

EEEEEEK I LOVE THAT.

Old Flames

Severus Snape x Fem. Reader

Warnings: Brief mentions of abuse.

Word Count: 1,375

“It was no one important.”

You felt like you had been looking over your shoulder constantly throughout the day. Maybe you were just being paranoid, but you felt like you had a pair of eyes on you at all times. You had a good reason to be so uptight, considering that a dark park of your past had recently resurfaced.

“You’re out of it again.” Severus’ voice pulled you from your trance.

You fluttered your head and blinked a few times to fully draw yourself back in. Your stance was rigid from where you stood over the stove in your quaint kitchen. The carrots and onions that were cooking inside the pot were well on their way to being burned at your loss of attention towards them. The patient Potions master had been attempting to carry on a conversation with you, but every few minutes or so you’d fall out of it.

“I’m sorry, Severus. What were you saying?” You asked with your eyes dead set on the pot in front of you. You managed to successfully save the beginnings of your stew from being ruined.

He showed a look of concern at your odd behavior. He had sensed your demeanor being off all day.

“What’s troubling you, my love?” He questioned.

You were gripping the wooden spoon in your hand so tightly that your knuckles were white from the lack of circulation. Severus approached you with quiet footfalls, but stepped back half a step when you jumped at the feeling of his hand on your lower back. You gave him an apologetic look, turning down the stove burner so the vegetables could be unoccupied for a moment.

“It’s nothing really...” You lied, hoping he’d drop the conversation.

Severus, though, wasn’t usually the type of person to allow an issue to go unsolved. Particularly when it came to you. He pressed on cautiously.

“It certainly cannot be nothing. You’ve been like this all day,” He pried; “I’m worried about you.”

You gave a heavy sigh. You never wanted him to worry himself on your account. It wasn’t something that you couldn’t handle.

“I ran into someone I used to know a few days ago.” You stated, beating around the bush entirely.

He raised a brow, watching your eyes fill with fear.

“Oh? Who was it?”

You took a breath, exhaling before answering.

“My former boyfriend.” You admitted.

Severus’ jaw set and his lips downturned into a frown the way they did when he was angry. His ears went red and hot at the thought of your ex-boyfriend coming back around. Severus knew you liked to fight your own battles. You were a strong, independent woman and were completely capable of fending off regretful former lovers. However, you were beginning to think you’d need backup on this one.

Your ex was a terrible guy. He was one of the only people on the planet that you truly felt a fiery, burning hate for. You had the hardest time understanding how you ever felt desire for him. He had cheated on you multiple times and had abused you every way to Sunday. Severus was a complete opposite of him, which was so refreshing and allowed you to open your heart up again.

“What could he possibly want?” Severus asked, careful to keep his tone from being angry.

While he was unbelievably angry, it wasn’t directed towards you. He knew how your ex-boyfriend was. He was manipulative, selfish, and a borderline stalker. It was no wonder you were so on edge.

“He asked me to take him back,” You explained. You continued when you saw Snape’s face go from beet red to ghostly white; “I obviously refused.”

Severus knew you’d never take him back. You could be beyond unhappy with Snape and you’d still never go back to the man that came before him. Severus was confident in that claim. You wanted absolutely nothing to do with any man that wasn’t Snape.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Severus prompted, disappointed that you didn’t come to him sooner.

“After I told him no, I assumed he’d let it go,” You replied; “But I’ve seen him a few times since then.”

Severus nodded with understanding. He knew this needed to be handled before it escalated out of their control. He just didn’t expect to get the opportunity so soon. A knock on the door froze you in place. It wasn’t too terribly late in the day, but neither of you were expecting a visitor.

Severus exited the kitchen to answer the door. His blood going icy cold at the sight of your former boyfriend standing there. Severus refused to let this interaction go farther than your doorstep. He didn’t want you to get upset.

“Is [Y/N] here?” The ex-boyfriend spat at Severus.

He hadn’t ever met Severus before, but he knew you had been seeing someone new for a while.

“Yes. She doesn’t want to see you.” Severus said as calmly as possible, despite the fury brewing in his chest.

“Well, then I want to hear that from her.”

He tried to push past Severus, but he denied him access inside. Snape gave him a firm shove back onto the porch, closing the door behind him.

“You should not be here. She doesn’t want to be involved with you.” Severus said again, hoping to get the point across.

“Oh, and she does want to be with you? I know what she wants.” He barked back.

Severus towered over him, so close that he could almost touch him.

“I don’t think you do. Don’t talk to her. Don’t touch her. Don’t even look at her again,” Snape growled; “If you do, I swear they’ll have to put you back together limb from limb.”

That seemed to put the fear into him. He could tell Severus was a fellow wizard and a skilled one at that. He didn’t even want to know what Snape could do to him. With a few more choice words, Severus ran him off from your house, likely never to be seen by you again. Severus re-entered the kitchen, your body thick with nervousness.

“Who was it?” You asked shakily.

Severus shrugged.

“No one.” He said casually.

You raised a puzzled brow.

“But you were gone for almost 10 minutes...” You bantered.

Severus plucked a cut, raw carrot from the counter and popped it in his mouth.

“It was no one important.” He responded.

“It was him, wasn’t it?”

Severus gave a low chuckle. He could never get anything past you. He nodded.

“It was,” He confirmed; “I handled it.”

You felt fuzzy in your feet, panicked at the thought of your ex-boyfriend.

“Handled it?” You asked for clarification.

“I told him he wasn’t welcome here. That’s all.” Severus half-lied.

You were doubtful that was all he said. Severus could be ruthless when he was jealous. In any event, you were relieved that he was gone for good. You allowed yourself to feel a rush of sweet comfort take back over you for the first time in days.

“Thank you.” You gratefully spoke.

Severus delicately stroked your cheek with the side of his index finger, admiring your eyes. He hummed in affirmation.

“Of course,” He said, pulling you into his chest; “I want you to know I’d never treat you the way he treated you.”

“I know.” You said truthfully.

He kissed the top of your head, the smell of the slow cooking carrots and onions had engulfed the kitchen fully now. He smiled warmly at the sense of you being in his arms and your frame returning to normal. He wanted you to feel safe with him. He’d never break your heart the way your heart had been broken before. You were his whole world.

“I would never hurt you, my darling. You are so special to me and I care about you endlessly,” He told you; “I love you.”

“I love you, S.”

He lifted your head so he could kiss you deeply. His kisses were heated, signaling you to stop before he got too worked up.

“Wait, Sev, I need to finish dinner.” You said, referring to the pot on the stove.

Severus swiftly turned off the stove and swept you away to the bedroom.

“Dinner can surely wait.”

#severus snape #severus #severus snape x reader #severus snape x you #severus snape x y/n #professor snape #professor snape x reader #professor snape x you #seriouslysnape

476 notes · View notes

yandere-daydreams · 3 years

Text

Title: Pendent.

Written for a very lovely, very patient anonymous commissioner.

Pairing: Yandere!Bokuto/Reader (Haikyuu!!).

Word Count: 3.0k.

TW: F. Reader, Toxic Relationships, Possessive/Protective Mindsets, Co-Dependency, Non-Consensual Touching, Threats of Violence, Slight Victim Blaming.

[Part One] / [Part Three]

Unfortunately, Bokuto wasn’t very good at his keeping promises.

He tried to, for your sake. He wanted to be a good boyfriend, but he wasn’t perfect, he had his flaws. He was sure you had yours, too, even if they were difficult to find from his perspective – straddling the seat in front of yours, his head on your desk, your fingers idly combing through his hair as you worked on something, an essay or a worksheet or another boring, complicated assignment he didn’t have a chance of helping you with, despite being a year ahead of you. If it was anyone else, he might’ve whined, pouted, gotten distracted and forgot why he bothered to visit you in the first place, but he restrained himself to toying with your sleeve, to listening to the soft, mumbled curses you let out whenever you stumbled onto something you didn’t understand. He liked watching you work. He liked watching you, in general. He liked you.

He was sure he’d like you even more, if you let him take you somewhere a little more private.

Bokuto opened his mouth, ready to buy for your attention, but he was interrupted by a group of boys jeering near the ground of the classroom, girls whispering in the furthest corner, your classmates, your peers, your friends that were forced to a distance by your gentle excuses and Bokuto’s poor reputation, outside of the sport’s sector. He’d promised he wouldn’t be jealous, swore up and down he wouldn’t act like some brooding, possessive jerk, but he could still be annoyed, he was still your boyfriend. He wasn’t jealous, he was just irritated. He wasn’t pestering you because he wanted to get you alone, no, he just wanted to let you focus. He just didn’t want anyone else distracting you, not while he was there.

“(Y/n),” He drawled, earning a hum in response. It was what he expected, your dedication was one of the many things he loved about you, but part of him hated how focused you could be. How hard it was to get your attention, despite your constant reassurance. “Can’t you do this in the courtyard? I’m dyin’, over here.”

“I just need a few more minutes.” That was what you’d said five minutes ago, and five minutes before that, and every five minutes since the first time he thought to ask. “If you’re bored, you could always…. I don’t know, try going to your own class?”

The jab was playful, but Bokuto still sulked, sitting up just enough to lean into your hand, letting you cup his cheek as finally, finally, your eyes shifted from the paper in front of you to him, an exasperated smile already tugging at the corners of your lips. “But then I wouldn’t be with you.” This time, he let himself be shameless about it, pressing a fleeting kiss into the heel of your palm as you flushed, averting your eyes with an unimpressed scoff. “This is your free hour, you can do anything you want! C’mon, there’s this really nice spot by the—”

This time, he was cut off entirely, but not by background noise or distant laughter or something as easily dismissed. No, it was worse than that, more unignorable – your name, shouted across the room from a boy with messy black hair, his smile a little too eager and his voice a little too grating as he called for you again, intent on getting your attention, one way or another. You didn’t seem to mind, popular enough to be used to this kind of thing, but Bokuto’s glare was reflexive, ingrained, as instinctual as he way he barred his teeth as he turned towards—

You caught him by the arm before he could stand up, before he could do anything messy and drastic, your smile never waver. That was why you were the better half. between the two of you. You were just too much of an angel to ever stand back and let someone get what they deserve. “He’s just a friend,” You explained, the clarification unnecessary, but still appreciated. “It’s not every day my boyfriend takes time out of his busy schedule to babysit me. He’s probably just trying to get under my skin.”

It was a conflicting feeling. His heart skipped a beat at the implication, at that soft, casual reminder that you were his and he was yours, but he still didn’t like the idea of someone teasing you, the idea of someone thinking they were good enough to get away with it. He scowled, but you didn’t give him the chance to complain, your fingers already digging into his bicep, urging him to listen. “Please?” You tried, your tone caught somewhere between hopeful and questioning. A queit, optimistic urging you already knew Bokuto couldn’t resist “I’ll make it up to you, but please, let it go.”

He wanted to keep his promise. He really, really wanted to be a good boyfriend.

If this meant he could be a little better, he was willing to give it a shot.

“I’ll try.”

He was telling the truth. He was going to try. He wanted to try.

He was just having a little trouble. It was hard to teach an old dog new tricks, even if Bokuto was desperate to learn. He just needed a little help, and luckily, Bokuto knew just who to go to when he needed help.

“It’s not like I’m tryin’ to hurt her feelings.” It was already late, the sun low in the sky and practice long-since over, but Bokuto’s pace was unhurried as he walked at Akaashi’s side, unrushed, too preoccupied with his own thoughts to care about getting home quickly. Unfortunately, Akaashi was too used to him to complain, only nodding along as Bokuto went on. “I just don’t want anyone else to hurt her feelings, either. If I back off, I gotta take that risk.”

Akaashi was quiet, for a moment, his eyes on the sidewalk. He’d known you longer than Bokuto, technically, been there for you longer than your boyfriend had, and Bokuto would’ve been lying if he said he didn’t feel a pang of resentment because of that. But, Akaashi wasn’t a threat, Akaashi wouldn’t hurt you. If Bokuto couldn’t put a little faith in him, he couldn’t put faith in anyone, and Bokuto wasn’t ready to admit that to himself, just yet. “(Y/n)’s smart,” He started, hesitantly. “If you give her room to breathe, she’ll take care of herself. She likes doing these kinds of things on her own.”

Bokuto knew that. You were shy, despite everything, too much of a sweetheart to ever burden anyone else. Somehow, the reminder did little to ease his nerves. “I can’t do that.” It just wasn’t an option. Akaashi might’ve known you longer, but Bokuto knew you better. It just wouldn’t be the same if he let something come between the two of you. It wouldn’t be good for your relationship, it wouldn’t be good for you. It wouldn’t be good for Bokuto, either, but this wasn’t about him. Or, he’d really like to convince himself it wasn’t, at least. “I mean, it took her months just to talk to me, and you should’ve seen had badly she was tremblin' when she confessed. She’s shy, like that. Poor thing couldn’t make it on her own, not without people like us.”

He glanced toward Akaashi, serving for a small smile, a confident nod, a sign of affirmation, but Akaashi wasn’t next to him, anymore. Glancing over his shoulder, Bokuto found Akaashi behind him, his neutral expression suddenly scrunched, concerned, worried. That was enough to make Bokuto stop, too, his heart tightening in his chest as he turned. “She… She’s just shy, right?” His voice came out uneven, uneasy. He trusted you, obviously. He knew you. He was just willing to admit Akaashi knew you differently. He might’ve known… different parts, things you were too timid to ever show your boyfriend. “I mean, I get that she’s popular, but… She’s gotta be shy, man. That’s why she needs me.”

It took Akaashi a second to respond – a long, painful, agonizing second. It was worse than any injury he’d ever gotten, any sprain or bruise or dislocation. It was pure, unadulterated agony, it was torture, and…

And, it was nothing compared to the way his heart broke, when Akaashi finally opened his mouth.

“There’s something you should know.”

Bokuto was trying. Bokuto was trying so, so, so hard.

He just didn’t know you were going to make it this difficult for him to improve.

Your parents weren’t home. They never seemed to be, not when you asked Bokuto to come over, and not when he showed up on your doorstep, less than an hour after his talk with Akaashi, his face pale and his hands shaking at his sides. Most days, it was a lucky coincidence, just another factor that proved you needed somebody like him to come along and support you, take care of you, love you. Tonight, though, it seemed like a godsend.

He didn’t bother knocking, just scrambling for the spare key you kept under the mat. In the back of his mind, he made a note to badger you about finding a better hiding spot, but that wasn’t important. If anything, your careless behavior served as an advantage, a reinforcement, another reason he was right and Akaashi wasn’t. You needed him. Both of you needed each other.

Your room was on the second floor. If you’d heard Bokuto let himself in, you didn’t bother coming to investigate, letting him drag himself up your staircase and down the hall without any unwanted attention, even if he did find himself lingering in your open doorway when he finally reached it, abruptly unable to make a sound as he took you in. You were beautiful, obviously, you always were, your uniform swapped out for an oversized hoodie, your legs folded and a laptop open on your bed, but he only got a minute to admire you before his shoulder knocked against the doorframe, drawing your attention. It was painful, having to watch you flinch back, your eyes going wide and your lips parting, but you didn’t sound afraid as you leaned towards him, moving to the edge of your bed. “Baby?” You started, startled, but not scared. Never scared. Not of your boyfriend, not of Bokuto. “I didn’t know you were coming over. Everything alright?”

He didn’t answer. His voice would’ve cracked if he tried, and it was easier to force himself to trudge forward, to trip over his own feet as he approached you, barely making it to the edge of the bed before collapsing into your arms, letting you catch him with an airy gasp. He didn’t bother trying to resist the urge to wrap his arms around your waist, to bury his face in the crook of your neck, to bring you closer and keep you closer, despite the feelings of your hands on his shoulders, feebly trying to nudge him away as your heart raced, the sound just a little too loud, just a little too telling. He tried to ignore it. He wanted to ignore it. He wasn’t sure what he’d do if he had to deal with that, too, on top of everything else.

“C’mon, big guy,” You tried, letting out a small, nervous laugh. “It won’t get better if you don’t talk about it. What’s wrong?”

Looking back, he should’ve been more gentle about it. He should’ve thought of a better way to ask. At the moment, though, it was all he could do to open his mouth and let the words fall out. “Do you love me?”

There was a pause, a hesitation. Suddenly, the sympathy in your voice felt false, too unfaltering to really be believable. “What’re you talking about, Kotaro?”

“Akaashi told me.” You shrunk underneath him, curling into yourself, but Bokuto didn’t let you go, he couldn’t let you go. There was still a chance that Akaashi could’ve been lying, that Bokuto was going to lose his best friend rather than his girlfriend. He’d still be distraught, obviously, but it wouldn’t destroy him, not like this would. Not like this was going to, by the time he was done. “But, he didn’t tell me everything, right? Like, I know my team put you up to it, asking me out and all, but that can’t be the only reason you’re still with me. I’m not in a rut anymore, right? If you didn’t really love me, you wouldn’t still be—” He cut himself off, inhaling sharply. “You love me, you have to love me. If you didn’t, you wouldn’t be doing this. You gotta love me, at least a little.”

“I don’t want to say this, Bokuto.” His surname. Something twisted in his chest, and for a second, he wondered if it’d be less painful to rip out his own heart and do the work for you. “You’re a really nice guy. You shouldn’t have to hear this from me, if you’re going to hear it from anyone.”

He could’ve laughed. He might’ve, but the noise came out cracked, jarringly stilted, too unintelligible to be recognized. Again, you moved to pull away, to shrug him off completely, but Bokuto didn’t let you. He didn’t want to. “It’s not---”

“It’s over.” You weren’t breaking up with him. You couldn’t be breaking up with him, but it sounded like you were, like you could’ve been trying to. Like you were about to do something shortsighted and cruel, and he wasn’t sure how to stop you. “Your friends noticed you couldn’t play, and they asked me to cheer you up. That’s all it was,” You explained, your tone now light, casual, borderline uncaring. Like you didn’t have a reason to be half as torn up as he was. “I wanted to help. I was going to let you down gently, but then you just got so… intense, I wasn’t sure how to get out.”

“Intense?” He pulled back willingly, if only to make his confusion obvious. “What do you mean, princess?”

A pang of discomfort flashed across your expression. Thankfully, you were kind enough not to correct him. “It’s just… You get so overbearing, sometimes. It was starting to get suffocating.” You sighed, letting yourself close your eyes. Bokuto might’ve winced, if he wasn’t already so spent. “I felt like I couldn’t breathe without having to see you take it out on someone else. It’s better, this way. We’re just not compatible.”

“You love me.” He might’ve been whispering. He might’ve been screaming. Bokuto couldn’t tell – blood was rushing past his ears, clouding his thoughts, making it impossible to hear on anything else. “You love me, just like I love you. You couldn’t have went through with this, if you didn’t. You can’t—” You winced, and Bokuto realized he was digging his nails into your sides, that he was holding you a little too tightly and you probably didn’t like that. Then again, he wasn’t sure what you liked, anymore. He couldn’t be sure you’d ever even liked him. “You need me. We need each other. You can’t just pretend you don’t because of some shitty deal.”

In your defense, you didn’t yell, you didn’t lose your temper. You just shook your head, dropping your gaze to the sheets. “Go home, Bokuto. This is better for both of us. You’ll see that, when you calm down.”

“No, no.” He wanted to kiss you. He wanted to, he needed to show you that the two of you were meant for each other, but you looked so serious, he was forced to shove the feeling down, to stave it off for another few minutes. You weren’t acting like yourself, right now. You thought you didn’t love him. “It’s fine, babe, we’ll talk it out. You just need some time to—”

You didn’t bother to soften the blow, this time. “There’s nothing to talk about. Go home.”

“No.” He was grabbing at your arms before he had a chance to hold himself back, taking you be the shoulders, trying to stop you from doing something reckless. That’s what this was — reckless. You weren’t thinking. You couldn’t be thinking, not if you were about to say something so heartless. “I just need to show you I’m—”

There was a blur of movement, a sharp crack. By the time Bokuto realized what happened, his head was turned to the side, his cheek burning where you palm collided with his skin. Reflexively, he let go of you, moving to nurse his bruised ego, and you didn’t waist time, standing and retreating to the opposite corner of your small bedroom. “Get out.” You were trying to growl. You were trying to intimidate him, you were trying to care your boyfriend. That hurt more than the slap ever could, honestly. “Get out now, before I call the fucking cops.”

It might’ve been the shock. You caught him off-guard, at his lowest, when his resolve was just thin enough to snap, and when you glared, when you looked at him like he would ever hurt you, he’d be lying if he said a part of him didn’t break, shattering and giving away like a thin layer of ice trying to hold something twice its weight. For whatever reason, he didn’t argue, he didn’t even look at you, keeping his eyes on the ground as he pushed himself to his feet. You were being irrational. You didn’t want him to stay, to comfort you, to help you be reasonable.

If he didn’t know better, he might’ve said you didn’t want him at all, anymore.

At least he made it outside before he collapsed, buckling under his own weight as soon as your front door shut behind him. In an instant, his vision blurred, the tightness in his chest turning into a throbbing ache, but he couldn’t seem to care. He couldn’t think. He didn’t want to, not if it meant admitting everything that’d just happened was real.

It was all Bokuto could do to fish his phone out of his pocket, scrolling through his contacts blindly until he found what he was looking for. He wasn’t even sure who he planned on calling, not until his phone was already ringing, a familiar, reliable voice immediately picking up, on the other end.

“Akaashi?” His voice cracked, and distantly, he realized he was starting to cry.

“Do you have a minute? I just… I gotta tell you about something.”

342 notes · View notes

zv5x · 3 years

Note

I'm curious, if Reader died or got knocked out in last fic with Poly!Spirit and Sen-

Reader is alive, just passed out from pain! The reason it happened so quick and without much effort from Spirit is cause, you know, demon powers. I know this isn't a request for a part two and was just a simple question buttttttt I'm extra as fuck and I wanted to do one anyways, so I'll just get it over with here! Hope you all enjoy!

Request status : open! 💕

tw !!! Be careful guys, Senpai goes a little crazy in this one lolz

( :̲̅:̲̅:̲̅[̲̅:♡:]̲̅:̲̅:̲̅:̲̅)

Spirit couldn't help but feel a great deal of pity as he glanced over at Senpai. The look of fear and uneasiness on his face was clear as day, and he nervously played with his loose-fitting tie as he stared at (Y/N) who was unconscious on the bed. Chains held their arms and legs to the bedposts, so there was no chance of escaping.

Spirit hummed, giving (Y/N) an empathetic pat on the leg, before choosing to address Senpai. "I know this isn't the sight you wanted to come home to, but-"

"W-what happened to them? D-did someone hurt them?!" Senpai managed to sputter out, despite the fear eating his body alive. Spirit sighed, as he couldn't help but become slightly irritated as soon as Senpai lost his cool like he was now. Nothing could get done when you're overrun by panic, but he was glad he was at least there to keep everything together. "Did they..." Senpai paused for a second, his past fear slowly draining from his face, replacing it was an expression that even Spirit couldn't fully read. "Did they try something funny again...?" Senpai asked in a low tone, and Spirit made a small noise as his response. The room was consumed by silence for a few moments, before Spirit decided to answer his question for real.

"I suppose you could say that." He said calmly and quietly, not really caring to expose the whole truth of what (Y/N) had done just yet. If Senpai asked for clarification or specification, then he would absolutely tell him, but he just didn't see it as needed at the moment. Senpai groaned in annoyance, stomping on the floor a single time. Spirit only rolled his eyes.

He didn't even bother to take his eyes off of (Y/N)'s "sleeping" form as Senpai made his way towards the two of them, stopping in front of the bed and crossing his arms. "What did they do?" Senpai asked quietly, almost in a whisper, in a tone that implied that maybe he didn't even want to know, but was just simply curious. Spirit shrugged.

"It was nothing too painful, just a punch to the nose. It didn't even hurt for a minute, really." Senpai looked at the entity standing next to him in a mixture of shock and disgust, absolutely baffled by the fact that their darling (Y/N) would ever do something like to that to either of them. He just didn't get it, and frankly, neither did Spirit. Really, they were just trying to help, but their (Y/N) just wasn't listening. It made things so much more tedious than they needed to be. Senpai growled to himself and made his way onto the bed. Spirit looked on in confusion, arching an eyebrow as he watched Senpai set himself down on (Y/N)'s chest, straddling it. He adjusted his position slightly, wriggling to make sure he was in the most comfortable position possible, before raising his hand to above the side of his head and bringing it down forcefully and quickly, slapping (Y/N) in the right cheek. Spirit even flinched himself, as the slap was hard enough to make a loud sound on impact.

However, Spirit couldn't feel too bad. He did try warning (Y/N). Senpai would be a lot harsher on them than he ever would be.

(Y/N) gasped as they woke up from their unconsciousness, Senpai glaring down at them as he watched them do so. It took them about a minute for their eyes to fully adjust to everything going on at the moment, especially since what caused them to wake up was so...violent...

"Well...good morning, honey." Senpai said through gritted teeth, and (Y/N) instinctively tried raising their arms, only for them to be held back by the chains. They swore at Senpai and demanded for either him or Spirit to release them, but that did nothing but anger Senpai further.

"You're lucky me and Spirit as so nice to you, if you were acting this bratty towards anyone else, your throat probably would've been sliced..." Senpai snicked sadistically, only for his slight amusement to completely vanish as (Y/N) leaned up towards him and spit in his face.

Senpai stumbled back, instinctively grabbing a tissue off the bedside table and wiping his face quickly and roughly while whining in disgust. Spirit bit his lip and took a step back, fully expecting Senpai to completely lose his shit within the next few seconds. Senpai began to hyperventilate, looking at the tissue with a look of pure distain. Senpai suddenly slammed the tissue to the side and pulled the table drawer open, his eyes set on a certain black rectangle. He pulled it out and held it up so (Y/N) could see it, and their eyes widened with fear and regret, instantly recognizing it as a taser.

"Do ANYTHING like that again, and this is going straight into your neck, understand?! God, how many times do we have to fucking TELL YOU, (Y/N)?!" Senpai screamed, punching the sides of the bed harshly. (Y/N)'s breathing was quick and heavy, the fear on their face as clear as day. Tears pricked at the corners of their eyes as they were reduced to the bearer of Senpai's rage, Spirit standing in calm silence as Senpai yelled on about what they had been trying to tell (Y/N) for almost a year now.

"You're so fucking GULLIBLE! Without us you'd probably be fucking dead on the side of the road! You think you can just go do whatever the fuck you want with whoever, and then treat us like we're fucking disposable trash?! You sick WORM." Senpai went on and on, even at one point grabbing (Y/N)'s shoulders and shaking them harshly. He was pissed, and Spirit saw his anger as justified. "We're doing this all for YOU! We love YOU! We NEED you, and you need US!" Tears began to fall from Senpai's eyes just as (Y/N) began fearfully sobbing as well, but Senpai's tears were more of frustration and anger than crippling fear. "We love you (Y/N), please, we just want to take care of you, you're our everything! Please!" Senpai choked back sobs as (Y/N) continued crying themselves. "Nobody else can love you like we do, they just can't keep you safe like we can, we'd do anything for you, we just want you to be happy..." Senpai sniffled, but (Y/N) didn't respond.

Spirit didn't feel bad for (Y/N). They wouldn't be here right now if (Y/N) would just learn how to listen. They were doing this for love, for repayment for all the effort (Y/N) put into making sure they were alive and well. (Y/N) saved them. Before Spirit knew it, Senpai seemed satisfied with the agressive lecture, and replaced his seething anger and flowing tears with a cutesy giggle and a wipe of the eyes. "You're just so hopeless, (Y/N)...but that's fine, some people just aren't meant to take care of themselves!"

It was almost scary how quickly Senpai could switch between moods, but who was Spirit to judge? Rejection was never in Sen's programming, and he was meant to be a hopeless romantic almost all of the time, so he really couldn't blame Senpai for having...less than stable moods.

"You're so lucky you have us dolly, where would you even be without us?" Senpai gushed, and Spirit couldn't help but agree. The two of them could tell (Y/N) clearly wanted to detest that, but they didn't care. Their input was irrelevant, since they didn't at all know what they wanted or needed.

Senpai hummed happily, curling (Y/N)'s lips upward in the shape of a smile with his finger. The skin of his digits were soaked at this point, as tears were pooling from (Y/N)'s eyes as they tried squirming away so desperately from his vice grip. Spirit cupped his one cheek with his hand and held (Y/N)'s trembling one in his other, smiling almost as brightly as Senpai.

They deserved this. They deserved something nice after that that bastard put them through. And, this was it. Their present, their compensation, their reward.

Their soulmate.

Senpai giggled, and Spirit followed soon after, the two of them looking at each other as if they were reading the others thoughts perfectly. Senpai turned to (Y/N), that smile still just as strong as it was before.

"Now, go on...tell us you love us~"

81 notes · View notes

hamphobicbasil · 3 years

Note

Could u elaborate about the dsmp story being bad? Not a rabid/brain dead fan, just genuinely curious and I enjoy reading people's rants lolol

oh you dont know the floodgates you just opened

a few things:

1. despite not liking the creators of the dsmp anymore, I don't actually hate most of them. [the ones that are particularly unsavory fall outside of this of course] so all that I'm saying i truly mean in a critical sense towards the story, its also just all purely my opinion as someone who enjoys fictional and fantasy stories and who like criticizing works to see what it does well and what it doesn't do well

2. for clarification I'm going to use the c![name] to indicate when I'm talking about the characters. Don't get me wrong, I think its annoying too but its the only way I'm gonna be able to write this thing without getting something across the wrong way yknow?

3. I stopped watching the streams after November 16th, [save for one Techno one but I closed out after a particularly bad story beat lol] and so all information coming afterward is all second hand from either me seeing people on twt talk abt it or people dming me. All i really know is up to dream's imprisonment and some stuff past that.

4. This is mostly aimed towards the "main" story, so stuff abt the badlands, eggpire, and whatnot are briefly mentioned.

anyways uh, i'll try to be brief but also include enough information to get why i feel the way i do on some stuff across

A. Performances Alright obviously these people are all streamers, so obviously they might not be the best actors, and hell no one is even asking that of them. However, when you're telling a story that's based on the audio with the visuals kinda coming to a second, it's gotta be pretty strong. I will say, some of the best actors in my opinion are Wilbur, Tommy, and Tubbo. I would include Ranboo but I never watched any of his story bits or story streams so I can't say much. Wilbur and Tommy are excellent in selling their character's emotions and feelings, when I watch the stream I don't feel like I'm watching an rp but an actual thought-out story yknow? And one of my favorite Tubbo examples was in the Hog Hunt video whenever Techno attacked him, he sounded genuinely afraid and I believed everything his character was feeling.

However, unfortunately, not everyone is gonna be that good. And I'm gonna say it; Dream and Techno have to be the worst out of the entire cast. I understand Techno's whole character is this monotoned badass, however, when really emotional moments hit I feel like he never lets that fall, and a lot of intense moments just ring hollow. And I'm sorry but Dream's attempts at being intimidating leave me laughing whenever I watch them. It feels like he watched that one scene from The Marriage with Adam Driver and Scarlett Johannson and said "Oh this is what good acting looks like! Just yelling." His whole "I don't give a FUCK about Spirit!" speech isn't as great as people keep making it out to be. And whenever he tries to act coy when being a villain it feels like a guy reading the script for the first time, a bit like he's trying too hard. I have more problems with his character but his portrayal certainly doesn't help.

Everyone else is fine, and I don't feel strongly either way about a lot of them.

B. The "Lore" Okay first off, I can't be the only one who thinks it's silly that people are calling the dsmp's story "lore" when it's not, it's the fucking story. Lore indicates backstory to either the world or the characters, which a lot of the streams don't really pertain to. This is a really petty section but god it's a weird pet peeve of mine.

Other than the misusage of "lore" vs "story", the actual lore and world-building of the world are so lackluster that new elements can be introduced whenever and it often feels cluttered or not well thought out at all. And here's the thing, I feel like if the writers sat down just for a few minutes to establish world rules and general history, a lot of this could be solved! but so much is made up on the spot that it starts to feel like they're grabbing at straws to keep people invested, trying to reach that next high and intense story beat without actually earning it.

C. The Egg / Eggpire This is a pretty minor note since I was only invested in the Egg storyline for a little bit, but god it's so underused that it's almost embarrassing. Bad has provided this super interesting antagonistic force that's infecting the SMP, can control people, and who one of our main character is immune to, and it's just never used or even talked about again? Now I understand if he wanted to keep it to a side storyline only, however, to introduce this borderline eldritch creature and force within the world and then never have it dealt with is so weird.

D. The Writing Oh boy this is. kinda a big one. Now I'm not gonna lie, it's pretty obvious I have a bias for the Wilbur writing over the current team [that consisting of Dream, Quackity, and Tommy mostly]. I don't this his writing is perfect by any means, the characters constantly bringing up traitors got obnoxious after a while, and writing Hamilton but in Minecraft really isn't the modern Shakespeare or anything. However, I think his exploration of characters and plot progression was a lot more thought out and well planned, like he actually had two brain cells behind the story yknow? The current team I think fails to be as emotional or even impactful, things happened too fast and my god was everything drowned in angst for so long.

Don't get me wrong, you gotta have your characters face hardships to make them reach their goal believable, but some of the shit they put the characters through just felt like too much. From c!Tubbo's constant comparison to c!Schlatt [who btw, fucking ordered his death and kept him from his friends in a nation he felt trapped in] and on a side note, i kinda really fucking dislike the "c!Schlatt dad!!" au's or the au's where c!Tubbo inherits some of Schlatt's features, it would be like c!Tommy getting a c!Dream mask after his exile, it's feels so weird yet people eat that shit up for some reason.

But god, did c!Tommy get the brunt of it all and in retrospect after his final death, it kinda feels really fucking gross. Now obviously, I'm not trusting any of these people to write decent mental health representation, but c!Tommy's PTSD and how it was explored was just degrading. [Specifically the scene in that one Techno stream where he saw the final control room from the first war, and had a flashback / panic attack where he started calling out for c!Dream. I understand this is an actual thing people with PTSD will experience, but it felt so fucking stereotypical it got on my nerves. I actually had to close out of the stream because it made me feel sick, fiction shouldn't leave you feeling that way.] And don't get me started on how they basically reused the formula from the previous arc. [Problem introduced -> Tensions rise as things start to fall apart -> Big confrontation -> Exile -> Return from Exile -> Blowing up L'Manberg, again.]

And speaking of characters-

E. Character Arcs, or the lack of them In my genuine opinion, some of these characters' arcs are so disappointing. Especially c!Tommy's. I'm not one to believe that he was a "selfish" character or anything, however, his goals were simply set on his discs and maybe c!Tubbo, he didn't have much outside that. However, L'Manberg gave him something to care about, he gave up his discs for it and he fought for it tooth and nail, I think it taught him to open up to others and trust more. It was a great character arc for him to have, seeing him still fight even after his first exile alongside c!Wilbur, to return safely to the nation that he and his found family had built.

But then his second exile happened, and I feel like all of that was undone.

c!Tommy's exile genuinely pisses me off for so many reasons. It's not that characters can't have their low points after reaching a major change or feeling like they've "completed" their arcs or anything, but it's more of the fact that it seems like he's never going to heal that feels like a spit in the face, especially to people who might have had setbacks like that before. Progress isn't linear, sometimes things happen and you get knocked back down, it can take a while to get back up, but I don't think c!Tommy's character is ever going to be allowed to get back up. From c!Dream, who pretty much was a constant abuser in his life, killing him then reviving him, and his still fractured relationship with c!Tubbo, which by the way I have a had time believing they would still be friends after all that happened, it feels like he can never get a win and it's generally kinda a shit way to treat your characters who have been abused. Of course, not all abused characters are going to get happy endings, I'm not trying to dictate that they all should, but c!Tommy deserves one and the fact that it's so obscure feels shitty.

Side note: we still don't have a canon reason to give a shit abt the discs. Like I'm sorry but without some sorta connection to the MacGuffin why should we give a shit about him getting them other than "he wants them lol". Like hell, I would even accept the classic "they were the last gifts from his parents" or something, but we still don't have a reason.

c!Tubbo also lacks a fulfilling arc as well, from someone who started out as a yes man, he has progressed a bit into having his own interests first, but besides that sometimes his character makes me so. depressed. He's easily one of the most pushed around and hated characters within the story, all for being a kid who didn't know what to do and he's in the same vein as c!Tommy; these kids can't get a break. Also, his anti-violence beliefs morphing into the "lets kill c!Techno lol!" bit was so out of place and without proper build-up it was like. what. And now he's building nukes?? god c!Tubbo makes me so sad because he's kicked around constantly and never given a chance to grow.

Another small note, I also don't really enjoy c!Techno at all. Besides the previously stated reasons of lack of emotions when they're really needed, I find his character to be weirdly pretentious. He talks as if he's constantly been betrayed and hurt but I personally, don't see it? Like, I think one of the main examples was the Pogtopia vs. Manberg war, yknow he wanted to end the government but they just reinstated it after they won = c!Techno upset. But this doesn't make sense to me because why did he think otherwise? The entire time c!Tommy had talked about taking back their nation and starting again, so the fact that c!Techno suddenly thought there would be a sudden change is, to put it bluntly, kinda fucking stupid. I don't want to say that he "plays the victim" or anything because that feels a bit harsh, but his character feels so far up his own ass that I can't enjoy him.

I have a major grip with c!Dream as well, but that's getting it's own fucking section.

F. L'Manberg This is a quick note before we get into the, forgive me for this, endgame, of this entire rant, since the next two sections are tied together. But god, L'Manberg makes me upset because it feels like they gave up on it.

Don't get me wrong, I understand that it is supposed to be c!Wilbur's "unfinished symphony", the thing that destroyed a once charismatic and widely loved man, his attempt at power that utterly ruined him. But the fact that it just got blown up in the end after everything and left to rot felt like such a waste of time. From the first war, to Pogtopia, to even c!Tommy's exile, it all felt fucking worthless in the end, and the story is actively closer to how it was when it started now more than ever. I wished it was actually allowed to exist and continue to be a peaceful place in what is a chaotic world, but no it was just snuffed out because why dedicate to this concept of finding others you can band together with and feel safe. fuck that noise apparently?

G. The Villains Now villain-wise, I'm only talking about c!Dream [during the first war], c!Schlatt, and c!Wilbur. And believe it or not, this is actually mostly positive.

Now I'm not gonna lie, c!Dream as a staring antagonist wasn't bad actually, he posed a genuine and threatening opposition to L'Manberg, even if we didn't know his real intentions or motivations as to why he was against it. He's lucky in this sense because he didn't have to be good, he had to be passable. If anything, he felt more like an anti-hero than a tyrant or traditional villain, and my god do I wish he kept this theme going forward.

Now quick disclaimer, I don't like JSchlatt as much as the next guy, he's an adult man who should know better than to joke about some sensitive topics and act the way that he does. But the one thing I'll ever give him is that damn, was he a good actor for his character.

Now here's the thing, c!Schlatt wasn't particularly deep at all. He had no real motivations behind his exile of c!Wilbur and c!Tommy other than getting competition out of the way, had no reason to act the way that he did and yknow? that's fine. The reason why he worked was from his performance alone, he was actually intimidating. When he came onto the stream and was doing his typical bad guy stuff, it was actually intense to see what he would do. Whenever he would almost catch c!Tommy back in Manberg, whenever he would begin to pressure c!Tubbo, it put you on the edge of your seat and it felt like everything would change at the drop of a pen. He's a villain to be a villain, and this works out because he's just charismatic and well put together enough to make it interesting, even without the backstory or motives.

c!Wilbur however, is much more tragic, and the best villain of the story. He essentially was the "mentor turned evil" trope and it felt terrible watching him descend into madness, unable to trust barely anyone except for c!Techno and c!Tommy. Hell, in the end I think he still cared about them both, despite losing everything. Sure, he blew up L'Manberg, but there was still a smidge of the old c!Wilbur in there made everything he did feel melancholic. His death at the hands of his father after achieving his final wish was chilling, and something I still think about.

Until yknow, Ghostbur came back way too soon to let people feel his loss as a character within that world. And then he got revived, pretty much-undoing everything that moment meant for his character lol.

And then there's the worst one:

H. Dream. I'm going to be completely honest, c!Dream is one of the main reasons why I dislike the current dsmp stuff so much. Outside of his actions as a person, the way Dream decided to write his character as this overpowered madman of the dsmp really just. destroyed any intrigue that he could've had. Perhaps this is from my growing dislike towards him, manifesting into a bias towards his character, but god I cannot fathom why people try to insist he's interesting when he has as much depth as a fucking puddle.

And here's the thing, I'm not even entirely against c!Dream being a villain, hell I think he would've been great as an anti-hero if anything. Make him sympathetic but not through c!George to get your precious "DNF" points or anything, but show him actually caring about the people within the dsmp, including c!Tommy and c!Tubbo. This would make his rival status with them just a bit more complicated, sure they're enemies, however, he doesn't want to hurt or kill them, and there's still a level of friendship there that keeps them bonded when things get super bad. This could've been super interesting to see, the first villain of the story receiving a sorta redemption arc then descending into madness as he started to fixate on being a god. This is all how I feel personally, but god do I feel like it would've been better than his current character, and hell would've worked with how he was during the Pogtopia arc, before the war that is. I'm not trying to tell Dream how to write his own character, but there are so many other ways he could've done the madman seeking to become god rather then. whatever the hell we got.

Because instead, we got this power-mad asshole who does things... because he can? And that's one of my major issues: he tries to surround his character in mystery to make him "intriguing" but it's kinda like c!Techno, it comes off as pretentious. Not only that, but you cannot keep waving around this mystery of a backstory without ever actually revealing it. I know the story isn't over, but c!Dream is effectively at his lowest point, now would be the time to reveal his backstory. But no just keep it in the dark and keep everyone guessing, that's totally fun and not at all tiring and annoying. (sarcasm, if anyone needs it)

And back to his performance, he doesn't sell this aloof, cynical and strategic warrior that has perfected the blade or some shit, he comes off as some angry guy yelling on reddit. which i don't need to tell you, isn't intimidating. It feels like he's trying to have c!Schlatt's intimidation combined with c!Wilbur's depth, but instead he's like a little brother who's trying to hard to mimic his older brother and is kinda embarrassing himself.

but other then that i dont feel too strongly abt the dsmp lol

but seriously, these are the main complaints I have abt the story tbh, I could probably talk about more but I wont because man. this is probably gonna get me in trouble if any of the hyper-dsmp fans actually read it.

#wow this is long #txt #anti dsmp #anti dream #dsmp crit #dsmp critical #yeah im tagging it i dont give a shit #dream crit #dream critical #the story is shit yo!

66 notes · View notes

cadiebug · 3 years

Text

A Ghost of Pain

“The syndrome is called phantom limb. It's as if the body can't accept that a terrible trauma has occurred. The mind is trying to make the body complete again."

You would think that Bucky's mind and body would accept the lost by now.

But despite the 70 years he spent without a flesh and bone arm he didn't really have time to process it. He was an assassin, his metal arm was a weapon. Not the main one. But it was one. When it wasn't a weapon it was a shield. HYDRA never had much interest in telling him what to do with the arm. Only to hurt the target. To get the mission done. By whatever means necessary.

He felt it sometimes. The pain that came when he was hit. When he shieded himself from bullets, or a knife to the arm. It was only after that he felt it, the adranile didn't let him feel it until later. He was never wired to care about himself. Why let a weapon have emotions?

It was different now. The new arm that Shuri made was different. The receptors were different, they didn't feel the pain. He didn't really feel much. He felt the heat and cold of things, but it was less than other people. If he dunked his hand into a pot of boiling water he wouldn't feel it, it would probably just feel like bath water to him. If someone pinched his hand he wouldn't be able to feel the pain, only that someone was pinching him. He would feel something happening, but not the pain of it.

It was great really, Shuri did an incredible job. Because of course she did. She's Shuri. But it had some disadvantages.

He couldn't feel nice things. Like the soft white fur that Alpine was coated with or the feeling of the paper of a book he was reading. It seemed simple, but he missed it.

He had his other hand though. When he shook peoples hands-which he didn't do much-he used his right hand, mostly just to feel their skin. He memorized how certain people's hands felt. Only certain people, the ones he cared about.

Sam for instance had rougher hands, calluses on his fingertips and the edge of his palms. But they had this comforting squeeze and heat to them.

Steve-the other one he memorized-had softer hands. For some reason. The guy must've used one hell of a moisturizer. He had a firm grip. One that just told you that you could trust him.

They were probably the only ones. He didn't really like or trust anyone else. Although he did have the vague memory of shaking the big boy's hand and just feeling the mixture of softness and roughness that probably came from several years spent working tech. Now that he thought about it Tony's hand probably felt the same, maybe rougher though, either from age or from the larger number of years spent working.

Now he was only thinking of this because he and Sam had just gotten back from a mission, where out of a pure amount of urgency Bucky had blocked Sam with his arm. The bullet that was aimed at Sam's head, had ricocheted back into the guy's-the one that shot the gun-foot.

Sam had given him a worried look, a nod, a quick thanks, then they were off again.

Now Sam was talking on the phone in their shared kitchen while Bucky contemplated life and being able to physically feel things on the couch in the living room. (They've lived together for a couple months at this point.)

Sam was probably just talking to Fury about the mission, sure he could read the report but it's Fury.

Bucky zoned out on what Sam was saying into his end of the phone. And instead focused on the ghost of the pain where the bullet hit. It didn't hurt, but he could feel it. Like someone had pinched his human arm. That pain went away eventually, but then the phantom pain started.

That's what doctors called it, something about nerves and brainstems. He never really paid attention to that part. He just paid attention to the pain that he felt. Like his arm was still there. Like his arm was bruised and broken and being ripped from the rest of his body. That hurt.

Bucky bit down hard on his lip, trying to find something else to distract him so he didn't hurt himself even more. It didn't stop, but it didn't get worse so that was a win. A grey win. But still a win.

But then it got worse, the point where the metal met the skin on his body itched. Like it was on fire, kind of itchy.

All together it was a kind of pain that made you want to curl into a ball and cry yourself to sleep.

He was so stuck in his head he didn't even notice the quiet steps of Sam coming into the room.

His voice was quiet, or maybe that was just Bucky blocking everything out. "Buck." Sam kneeled down in front of him. "Can I touch you?"

Bucky nodded.

Sam placed a gentle hand on his left arm. The metal one. Bucky grunted and scrunched his face up, sitting a little straighter. Sam backed up and held his hands in the air.

Bucky shook his head. "Sorry. You're fine, it's just." He took a breath. "It's just that I can't feel you. Your skin. With my left arm."

Sam let his hands fall and cocked his head. "What?"

Bucky reached out, taking the edge of Sam's hands and pulling him gently over to the couch to sit next to him. Sam went willingly, settling into the couch.

Bucky began again, trying to ignore the pain still coursing through the top of his left side. "I can't feel a lot of things with my left arm. Mostly nice things, like when I pet Alpine, I can't feel her fur. Or when I touch someone or they touch me, just the feel of their skin. I can sense that they're there but I don't know what it feels like."

"So when you touch me on the metal part, it feels like nothing is really happening, like you aren't even real. It's kind of scary, and painful." He finished, finally making eye contact with Sam. There wasn't pity, or sadness. Just Sam. Trying to contemplate what he heard.

He nodded. Reaching out to put a gentle hand on Bucky's right hand. Bucky let him unfold his fingers. Sam ran the pad of his fingers over Bucky's hands. It was like he was memorizing the lines on his fingers and palms. "I'm here." Sam murmured. Almost inaudibly, but Bucky has super hearing and Sam was only a good 6 inches away from him.

Then Sam seemed to notice something else.

The way Bucky had gone back to chewing on his lip or the way his shoulders tensed. They both knew it wasn't from Sam touching his hand like it was valuable treasure that needed to be protected. "And you're in pain." He met Bucky's eye.

Bucky shrugged. "It's just my arm. The metal one." He added for unneeded clarification. "Just itching and phantom pain, no biggie."

Sam raised his eyebrows and his eyes flashed. "Bucky, that's not a no biggie." He sighed heavily. "Did the bullet start it?"

Bucky shrugged again. "Maybe, I don't really know how it starts. But I don't know how to stop it."

"I'm sorry." Sam mumbled. "Have you tried taking a bath?"

Bucky nodded. "Yeah that's what the doctor said, but the heat bothers me. The itching already burns."

Sam nodded. "What if I like." He looks like he's thinking about his next words carefully. "Massaged it." Sam was still holding on to his hand.

Bucky nodded. "You can try."

Without moving Sam motioned his head towards Bucky's shirt. Bucky got the message and pulled it over his head. Fighting the desire to curl in and hide the ugly scarring.

Sam's voice startles him, pulling him out of his own head. "It's not as scary as you think it is. I wouldn't say it's beautiful. I don't think your trauma deserves that. But I think it shows you're human. You can scar just like the rest of us."

Bucky mumbles out a thank you.

Sam smiles and nods. "Do you want to face me or are you okay facing the other way?"

Bucky rocked slightly. "I can face the other way."

He turned, and once he was settled he could feel the gentle prodding of Sam's hands. Easing the pain away. Maybe they should have a talk later about whether friends aren't normally this intimate with each other. But that was for a later time in his life.

Maybe it was Sam's hands or just the fact that he had one hell of a day. But the last thing he remembers before letting himself settle on Sam's chest, his fingers intertwined with the other mans, was the general feeling of the lack of pain. And the vulnerable feeling of wanting nothing more than to stay in this perfect way forever.

But that wouldn't happen and that was okay. Because he didn't feel the need to ignore it anymore and hoped it just went away. He didn't need to ignore the painful reminder that he was once more than just someone's weapon. That he could be more than someone's weapon. That he was Bucky and he was observant enough to notice how different each person's hands felt under his own.

#sambucky #sambucky fic #sambucky headcanons #sam wilson #bucky barnes #winterfalcon

60 notes · View notes

trulymadlysydney · 3 years

Text

Somewhere In Time: Eleven

“...and when one of them meets the other half, the actual half of himself, whether he be a lover of youth or a lover of another sort, the pair are lost in an amazement of love and friendship and intimacy and one will not be out of the other's sight, as I may say, even for a moment...”

― Plato, The Symposium

tw: Death

Previous Chapters HERE

***Please Do Not Repost Without Permission***

April 25th, 2000, 12:06pm

It’s been a long, long few months for Roni.

Today is one of the first warm days New York has experienced in a while, and it’s one of the first times Roni has felt strong enough to actually leave her house without breaking down and sobbing.

Still, she’s aware she isn’t exactly at peak performance either.

Presently she finds herself at the supermarket, bare-faced and exhausted. She reaches up to rub at her eyes, which at this point burn permanently with how often she’s been crying over the past few months. She’s sure she must look a mess as she walks through the building, searching numbly for the few items her grandmother had sent her for.

Her grandmother, sweet and more than mildly concerned for Roni’s well being, had thought it would be wise for Roni to get out of the house for a bit. Over the past few months, Roni has gone on a few walks here and there, but each time she’d returned home looking more wilted and devastated than she had when she’d left. It was disconcerting, to put it lightly, but of course the older woman had comforted Roni through every minute of it.

That being said, however, she’d wanted to push Roni to make the effort to get out of this funk (or at least up and over the hump that stood before her), and although it makes Roni feel strange and disgustingly vulnerable to be out here among other people like this, she can’t say she blames her grandmother for trying.

Besides, there’s something that’s been on her mind for ages now, and she thinks today is the perfect day for it.

She has to keep reminding herself to focus on the task at hand first and foremost-- although she can’t for the life of her remember if her grandmother needs 2 percent milk or skim--, because God knows she wants this grocery store trip to be over as soon as possible.

She runs a hand through her hair, realizing dismissively that it’s a bit greasy and overdue for a wash. When was the last time she took a shower?

Ultimately, Roni decides on skim milk (she figures her grandmother will forgive her if she’s wrong) and plops it unenthusiastically into the shopping basket that hangs heavy on her arm. She scans the basket, mentally checking off everything she sees and searching her foggy brain to determine if she’s missed anything.

When she’s absolutely certain she’s gotten everything on her grandmother’s list, she takes in a deep breath, turning on her heel and walking--almost robotically-- to the next area of the store she needs to go to.

The little section of less-than-fresh flowers is located directly next to the produce section, right where it’s always been, and it’s a place that Roni has visited multiple times in her life since her mother’s passing. The task of picking out the prettiest flowers is one that Roni has never taken lightly, of course, and this time is no exception.

Because this time, she isn’t going to visit the grave of her mother. She’s going to find Harry’s.

There’s a pressure on her back mixed with a tinge of anxiety as she scans the colorful flowers in their colorful wrapping. It would be doing Harry a disservice to pick some that are anything less than perfect, but then none of these seem suitable at all.

Roses? No, too dark. Violets? Ironic, but still no.

Roni is startled out of her thoughts when she hears someone behind her clear their throat. Expecting to be asked to kindly move out of the way, she shifts quickly to the right, preparing to offer whoever this person is an apologetic smile.

But then she hears her name.

When she turns she is met by none other than Oliver and his sweet, smiling face. Her heart sinks impossibly deeper into her stomach at the sight.

“Hey!” he greets, as pleasantly as he can manage. “I thought that was you but I wasn’t sure!”

Oliver looks good, save perhaps for the dark circles under his eyes that mirror Roni’s own. He seems far more well put together than Roni for sure, and she’s almost embarrassed by her own appearance. His dark hair hangs limp on his head, and the scent of his aftershave tells Roni that he’s probably just taken a shower before heading over here. She wants to hug him, purely for selfish reasons, but she thinks maybe that isn’t the best idea right now given the circumstances.

He seems to feel the same way, because he holds his hands awkwardly at his side— as if wanting to go to her, but unsure of how to go about it.

So Roni simply smiles. “Oliver,” she greets. “It’s so good to see you!”

And she does mean that. His face is an oddly comforting sight at a time like this.

“It’s good to see you, too, Ron! How have you been?” He asks this question quietly, as if he already knows the answer, but there isn’t a single trace of judgement on his face. That was something Roni had always loved about him, in fact. He never judged. He was always a much better person than she felt she could ever hope to be.

Still, it feels like a loaded question. One that she doesn’t quite feel prepared to answer in the slightest. How does one explain to their ex boyfriend of several years that they’re doing absolutely terrible?

So she shrugs, offering him a half-hearted laugh. “I mean, I’m here.”

Oliver laughs, a sympathetic smile on his face that tells her he feels the exact same way. A wordless sentiment is shared between the two in their smiles, and he nods when she giggles. “Same,” he says. “I’ve been better but… ya know.”

And god, Roni does know.

She gestures at him. “You look great.”

“Thank you! Been working out a lot. Changed my diet a bit. Just trying to be like, you know, healthier and stuff.”

Roni nods. “That’s amazing, Oliver.”

She really does mean it. He does look great, especially compared to the last time she’d seen him. Fresh out of their breakup, running on a maximum of three hours of sleep per night, wordlessly helping Roni pack up her things into boxes and moving them, along with her grandfather, back into her grandparents house.

The first few days of the new year had been awful, to say the least. Roni had hardly spoken, hardly eaten, hardly done much at all except for cry; overwhelmed with sadness and a tinge of guilt— not only for leaving Harry, but for her sudden lack of feelings towards Oliver. And Oliver, the angel that he is, stood by her. Constantly worrying, making sure she was at least drinking enough water, and trying to coax her into telling him what was wrong.

The breakup had not gone at all the way Roni had expected. But then, when do breakups ever?

It was on the 6th day of January, when Roni found herself so completely buried in her grief that she couldn’t stop crying, even for five minutes, or bring herself to step foot out of her bed. Oliver had tried everything, and was obviously growing impatient himself. When he threw his hands up and exasperatedly told Roni he was taking her to the hospital, that’s when she’d done it. She’d blurted out that she couldn’t be with him anymore.

The look on his face was enough to shatter what little bit of her heart remained intact in her chest. He’d asked for clarification, then asked again, then again. When his tears started falling, that’s when the cycle of grief started for him. Denial, bargaining, anger.

Roni, of course, couldn’t tell him everything. She couldn’t tell him about the time travel, and about Harry. She couldn’t tell him anything, really. All she could do was cry.

And cry she did. She cried so hard she got sick, and poor Oliver, through his own tears, called Roni’s grandparents because he didn’t know what else to do. Even in the days that followed, where Roni stayed in the care of her grandparents, she couldn’t give him a straight answer. She wasn’t sure where she would even start, she only begged him to understand that this was the right answer for both of them.

And all the while, her heart had ached. It had ached for her mother, and for Harry. It flooded with overwhelming grief and guilt as Roni constantly wondered if she’d done the right thing leaving 1925.

It had taken a while, but it did get a bit easier after that. Two weeks later, Roni and Oliver ended things-- officially-- both with clearer minds and hearts. Oliver helped Roni’s grandfather move the rest of her things from her and Oliver’s shared apartment back into her grandparents’ home, and she and Oliver talked things through-- as best as they could.

The official reason Roni had given Oliver for their breakup was that she didn’t know who she was on her own and she needed to figure it out; which wasn’t a lie. She had told him, in more or less words, that she was feeling misunderstood and needed to really find out who Veronica Elliot was. After all, they’d been together for nearly ten years. Ten years of her adult life in which she’d done so much growing up, but with him. She needed to grow up on her own.

And Oliver had understood that as best he could. It didn’t make the breakup hurt less by any means, but it made enough sense. All he wanted was for her to be happy, which she appreciated more than she could express. So once she’d gotten settled in with her grandparents, she and Oliver hadn’t spoken again.

Until now.

Oliver nods his head in Roni’s general direction, bringing her from her thoughts. “What’s the occasion?” he asks.

“Hm?”

“You’re shopping for flowers,” Oliver explains with a laugh. “For something good I hope!”

“Oh.” It dawns on Roni that Oliver may actually be able to help her, or at least somewhat understand her current situation. “Yeah. Kind of.” She shifts her weight to her other foot. “Actually… Oliver, do you remember Mr. Styles?”

Oliver furrows his eyebrows. “Who?”

“Mr. Styles. You were assigned to spend time with him in high school. Right before you graduated.” None of this seems to ring a bell to Oliver, so Roni sighs. “You knoooow,” she tries again. “He gave you the advice? About asking me out? You brought me to meet him?”

Oliver’s confusion only seems to deepen. He shakes his head. “No, I don’t think--”

“He died like, shortly after I met him,” Roni says, growing a bit more impatient. “You went to his funeral!”

“Roni,” Oliver says slowly, “I think you’re confused. I was assigned to Mrs. Brown. Mildred Brown. You met her, but there was no one named Mr. Styles.”

Roni shakes her head. “No,” she says. “No, that’s not true.”

“Yes it is,” Oliver insists, then chuckles. “I would’ve remembered someone with a name that cool.”

“But Harry-- Mr. Styles… he--”

“I knew pretty much every resident in that place,” Oliver says. “There was no one named Mr. Styles. At all.”

Roni lets out a breath, blinking as she tries to process exactly what Oliver is telling her. Of course there was a Mr. Styles. She remembers him vividly, both in his youth and in old age. “No…” she says slowly. “No, there definitely was.”

Oliver shakes his head. “Roni, I’m not lying to you. I knew everybody there. There was nobody with that name.”

Roni is only halfway listening to him as her thoughts run a million miles a minute. “He… no, because...” She trails off, finally blinking confusedly up at Oliver. “Are you sure?”

“Positive.” Oliver watches her for a moment, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. After a beat, he speaks again. “You okay?”

“Yeah it’s just… I could’ve sworn--”

“Is that who you were planning on getting the flowers for?” Oliver’s confusion continues to show on his face. “Why?”

“I just--” Roni isn’t even sure where to begin. She sighs. “I just thought… he really meant a lot to you. I wasn’t at the funeral.”

“You’re thinking of Mrs. Brown,” Oliver insists. “I loved that woman. But I haven’t thought of her in years. I’m shocked you even remember her.”

“Apparently I don’t,” Roni jokes half-heartedly. Oliver laughs.

“Where did you come up with that name anyway? It doesn’t even sound remotely familiar.”

Roni, still confused, shakes her head. “I don’t know. I must have heard it in passing or… something.”

“Yeah probably.” Oliver nods towards the flowers. “Anyways. If you’re wanting to get some flowers for Mrs. Brown, she loved lilies.”

Roni glances back towards the cheap bouquets. Lilies. Those might be good.

Her confusion only fogs up her brain more than it already is, and try as she might to hide it, it projects very easily onto her face. Oliver eyes her, as if wanting to touch her but unsure of whether or not he should.

“Are you sure you’re okay, Ron?”

“Yeah,” Roni says quickly, realizing she must look strange. “No, yeah, I’m good. Sorry. Just… brain fart I guess.”

Oliver chuckles. “I know how that goes. Had a ton of those the past couple months. Things have just been like, weird? I guess? That’s the only way I can describe it.”

“I know,” Roni agrees, a tinge of guilt striking her chest. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be!” Oliver says quickly. “Seriously. I didn’t say that to like, make you feel bad or anything. I’m just saying.”

The air is thick with tension all of a sudden, and Roni clears her throat, trying desperately to will it away. Oliver laughs awkwardly.

“Well I don’t want to keep you or anything. I’ll let you get back to your shopping. But it was really good to see you.”

The way he’s smiling at her makes Roni instantly relax, and any awkward vibes in the air fizzle away. She smiles. “It was good to see you, too. Seriously.”

There’s a brief moment of charged energy between the two, before Oliver decides to just bite the bullet and move. He reaches forward before Roni can really even process it and he wraps her up in a hug.

It feels ridiculously comforting in a way that Roni would have never expected, and she surprises herself when she feels her eyes grow misty. She hadn’t realized how badly she’d needed a hug just in general, and she definitely hadn’t thought the most comforting one would come from Oliver himself. She relaxes into him, wrapping her arms around his torso and giving him a gentle squeeze in return.

They stay like this for a while, and Roni realizes that Oliver probably needs this just as badly as she does. She feels him take a deep breath in through his nose, burying it in her hairline and sighing quietly under his breath. He’s missed her. And Roni can’t lie and she hasn’t missed him, it’s just different.

She can’t go back to him. She absolutely cannot.

“Please take care of yourself,” Oliver mumbles, before finally pulling out of the hug.

“Hm?”

“Take care of yourself, Ron. Go easy on yourself. Please.”

His words touch Roni’s heart, and she smiles. “Oh. You too.”

He smiles right back at her, and there’s a long moment where she feels like he might say something else. Ultimately he decides against it, and he nods in finality. “Right,” he says. “See ya.”

He’s gone before Roni has even finished saying her goodbye, and she’s left feeling empty and somewhat melancholy. How is it possible to feel so simultaneously relieved, as if some unexpected closure has occurred between the two, and yet so hollow, as if far too many words were left unspoken?

Roni’s stomach churns and she clears her throat, trying to re-center herself.

Flowers. Harry’s grave. Right.

She knows what Oliver just said, and it confuses her to no end, but she isn’t going to give up that easily. She’s certainly not just going to take his word for it; she has to see for herself. She believes the finality of seeing Harry’s grave-- if there even is one-- will grant her the strength to push forward. To know in her heart that what she had with him is long gone. Otherwise, she fears she’ll never be able to shake the feeling that there is lingering unfinished business between them, and it will continue to haunt her until she knows for certain.

Even if Oliver insists Mr. Styles never existed. She has to try.

So Roni sighs, reaching for a bouquet of white lilies that seem to be the least wilted out of all of their counterparts, before making her way to the checkout line.

———————-

The cemetery is somber, but it brings a peaceful sense of calm over Roni as she steps through the gates. It’s colder and cloudier than it was this morning, and Roni finds herself wishing she’d brought a jacket. She takes a deep breath, feeling overwhelmed as she scans the many headstones before her. Finding Mr. Styles’ grave is going to be far more difficult than she’d anticipated.

She takes a step forward along the gravel road that winds through the expansive cemetery. She hadn’t realized it was going to be such a large place, with headstones covering the hills everywhere she turns. It’s only the slightest bit disheartening, but Roni is no quitter. If she can’t find his headstone today, she’ll return tomorrow; and if necessary, every day after that until she finds it.

Oliver’s words echo in Roni’s mind as she walks, scanning each headstone for the name she wants so desperately to see. Why didn’t he remember Harry? Surely she hadn’t dreamt that entire day in which she met the elderly gentleman; she has vivid memories of Oliver calling her cousin’s house where she was staying the day of the funeral and telling her how upset he was. That was real. The books on his nightstand were real.

Harry was real.

In the distance, someone sits on the balcony of their apartment and plays guitar. It’s a melancholy song, and although Roni knows they’re just practicing and this has nothing to do with her, it feels strangely fitting. Roni smiles to herself, enjoying the music, as she continues her way down the path.

It feels silly in a way, to be here without any knowledge of the location of Harry’s gravesite or if it’s even in this cemetery at all. In hindsight, she feels, she could have done just a bit more research. She could have called around, done some inquiring about Harry. To be fair, though, she had called his old retirement home only to find that it was no longer a retirement home, but a preschool; a fact that she found quite odd. The circle of life, so to speak.

As she scans the headstones, she reads each name quietly to herself. She figures it may be best to take the cemetery in sections; a section or two today, another tomorrow. It makes the task feel far less daunting and besides, she could use some more peaceful walks like this in her daily life.

She runs her fingertips along the rough top of a headstone, soberly realizing that there are caskets beneath her very feet at this exact moment. Realizing that everyone ends up here in their lives, and that one day she too will end up here. The thought of Harry being somewhere beneath this grass, however, makes her stomach churn. She hates that she’s here, and she knows it’s too late, but she’s hoping it will give her some type of the closure that she’s aching for.

Roni sighs, muttering a gentle “where are you?” under her breath as she scans the headstones.

She continues along the dirt path, shyly chuckling to herself at some of the names (and immediately feeling guilty for it). She switches the bouquet of flowers from her right hand to her left and wipes her sweaty palm along the thigh of her jeans.

As Roni continues her walk, she grows a bit colder than before. She wraps her free hand around her stomach, as if it’s going to help, and sniffles when the wind tickles her hair across her nose. Today had started out so misleading with such beautiful weather, and now she’s shivering against the chilly wind.

It’s about thirty minutes later when Roni happens upon a headstone bearing a name that draws her attention. The name isn’t exactly the one she’s been searching so desperately for, but it does interest her. She goes to it. turning off the gravel path and walking along the moist grass. As she approaches, she reads aloud from it.

“Mrs. Mildred Brown. Beloved wife and mother. Born October 12th, 1899. Died June 6th, 1990.” Roni sighs as she continues, reading the passage from the Bible written in script along the bottom. “‘Well done thou good and faithful servant.’ Matthew 25:21.”

She shakes her head. “I don’t understand,” she mumbles, squatting down beside the headstone to get a better look.

It all checks out, as far as Oliver’s story goes. She regrets not asking him for more information while she had the chance, however. How did Mrs. Brown die? What was it like the day Roni supposedly met her? Had Mrs. Brown been interested in time travel? Why is none of this making sense in Roni’s brain?

As Roni processes all of this, she suddenly gets the unmistakable feeling that she’s being watched. It isn’t a threatening feeling by any means, but she can practically feel a pair of eyes on her out of nowhere, and it is somewhat unsettling.

Of course, her logical brain thinks, she is at a cemetery. There are other people here, no doubt, visiting loved ones. She tries to brush off the feeling, running her thumb over the carved indentations spelling out Mrs. Brown’s name.

Roni notices a rock atop the headstone, indicating that someone has been here to visit Mrs Brown’s grave recently. She feels it would be disrespectful to touch the stone, so she refrains. Instead, she just looks at it, wondering who could’ve left it-- someone in Mrs. Brown’s family?-- and why she can’t, for the life of her, remember this woman.

She can’t shake the feeling that she’s being watched, however, and she glances over her shoulder subtly to see if she can see anyone. She waits a moment, and just as she turns back to observe the headstone once more, she swears she hears her own name.

“Roni.”

The voice is feminine and foreign yet so familiar all at once, and Roni isn’t even sure she’s

actually heard it when she stands up. She turns to her right slowly on her heel, expecting to see someone and feeling slightly disturbed when she doesn’t. She licks her lips, feeling her heart rate increase.

“Who--”

She hears it again, closer now and coming from the other direction, and she turns to her left. Instantly, she is relieved when she realizes who the voice belongs to.

There, standing against a tree with that beautiful, all-knowing smile, stands Violet. Dressed as if she’s just walked straight out of the 1920s.

Perhaps she has.

A million thoughts run through Roni’s head; how did Violet get here? How did Violet know she’d be here? Violet nods, as if reading Roni’s mind.

“Hello, dear.”

Realizing she hasn’t said a word, Roni laughs lightly. “Violet!” She walks over to the mysterious girl, smiling wide. “God, it’s so good to see you.”

As she approaches, she wonders if it would be polite to give Violet a hug. Are they at that level of friendship? Do they know each other that well? Is it weird?

Violet doesn’t allow any more time for Roni to overthink, instead taking charge and pulling her into her arms for a warm embrace.

It’s so ridiculously comforting, and Roni hadn’t even realized just how badly she needed this. When Violet pulls away, she continues to hold Roni at arm’s length, scanning her face. “How have you been?”

“Well…” Roni trails off, then shrugs. “I mean. Not great.” She laughs. “And you?”

“I’ve been well,” Violet replies, voice calming and warm. “My, but it’s good to see you.”

“It’s so good to see you too, Violet. What are you doing here?”

Violet smiles, something subconsciously shifting in her tone, though not in a bad way. “I had a feeling I would find you here,” she explains.

“But how?” Roni asks. “Why today? Why right now?” She leans in. “Why me?”

Violet doesn’t directly answer Roni’s question. “I’ve come to bring you something,” she says, reaching into a satchel that rests on her hip. “Something that might be of great value to you.”

Roni doesn’t want to get her hopes up that this gift has anything to do with Harry, but it’s too late. “Something of great value?”

“Sentimental, if anything.”

Roni can’t help but to deflate. “Oh.”

Violet finds whatever it is that she was looking for and retrieves it from the satchel. It seems to be a folded piece of paper, and she holds it out for Roni to take. Roni hesitates, eyeing the paper cautiously, before taking it from Violet’s hands.

“Read it,” Violet prompts. “It might make you smile.”

Slowly, carefully, Roni unfolds the paper. Her heart starts pounding as her mind runs through all the possibilities of what this could be. Before the note is even fully opened, she stops when she recognizes her own handwriting.

“I know what this is,” she says, looking up at Violet slowly.

“You do,” Violet says, nodding. “Read it.”

Roni swallows down the lump in her throat, casting her eyes back to the paper and reading silently to herself.

Harry-

If you’re reading this, it means that I left. I am safely back where I came from, proving you wrong-- just like I knew I would. However, it seemed rude to leave without a proper goodbye. So here it is. I know I only stayed one night with you, but you’ve been really great. I hope your new year is “swell” or whatever it is you’d say, and that all your hopes and dreams come true. Thanks for letting me stay with you. Sorry about the black eye. Take care.

-Roni

Roni looks back up at Violet, swallowing down the lump in her throat. “I wrote this the day after I got there,” she says, as if Violet didn’t know.

Violet nods again. “You did.”

Roni shakes her head, feeling tears prickle at her eyes. “I don’t understand,” she admits, shrugging in submission, as if Violet is about to play some trick on her.

“Harry’s kept it,” Violet explains, and the way she speaks of Harry in the present tense makes Roni’s heart pound.

“He’s…?”

“Kept it,” Violet repeats. “Yes. He found it under his bed a few days after you left.”

“Is he…” Roni doesn’t want to get her hopes up, so she hesitates to ask. “I mean, are you... have you—“

“I have seen him since you left,” Violet answers, smiling knowingly. “Yes.”

Roni swallows the lump rising her throat as the wind whips her hair lightly against her cheeks. “Is he alright?” The question comes out in a whisper.

“He is alright.” Violet nods. “He misses you.”

For some reason, Violet’s words completely overwhelm Roni. She can’t stop her eyes from welling over with tears immediately , and she lets out a little choking laugh. “God,” she says, reaching up to wipe at her eyes. “Does he?”

“Yes, darling.”

“I miss him so much,” Roni says, only half-heartedly attempting to stop her crying. “Can you tell him that?”

“I can.”

Roni laughs again through her tears and steps closer to Violet. “God, I’m sorry. I probably look like a mess. I just can’t believe you’re here, and I…” She trails off, looking down at the paper in her trembling hands. “It’s real,” she says, almost as if reassuring herself. “He was real. This is real.”

“It is real,” Violet says. “You didn’t imagine him.”

“I’ve felt so…” Roni gestures vaguely as she searches for her words. “So stupid, I guess. I don’t know. I haven’t been able to tell anyone the truth. I’ve started doubting myself. I-- I mean it all just seems so crazy, doesn’t it?”

“It doesn’t.” Violet shakes her head. “Not to me. Though I can understand the hesitation to share your experience with others.”

“And I broke up with Oliver, you know,” Roni continues. “Oliver, my boyfriend. We were together for so long and I… I didn’t love him. I mean I did, but not the way I love Harry. Or… loved Harry. I guess. But I--” she laughs. “God, I’ve never felt more alone in my life than I have in the past like, four months, and I-- I can’t even begin to tell you how good it is to see you. To see… this.” She gestures at the letter, then speaks again; quieter this time, as if to herself. “Fuck, I miss him.”

“Your feelings are completely understandable, Veronica. And justified. You have been through so much. It’s only natural to feel confused. And the connection you have with Harry transcends time itself. But these are odd circumstances, and certainly not a situation that anyone should be expected to know how to navigate. You are not stupid for feeling this way.”

“No,” Roni laughs, almost bitterly. “No, I am. I know I am. It’s just… god, you’re helping me so much just by being here but I--” she sniffs, wiping her nose on the sleeve of her shirt, “I don’t know. I know I need to move on. I know I can’t go back to him but I want to. More than anything else in the world.”

“What would you tell him if you could?” Violet asks, cocking her head to the side.

“Oh god,” Roni says, dabbing at her teary eyes. “I would say…” she trails off, really considering what it is exactly that she would say to Harry if given the chance. She sighs shakily. “I would tell him he’s the love of my life. I would tell him he is the greatest thing that has ever and will ever happen to me in this lifetime. In any lifetime. That I regret leaving him more than anything I’ve ever done. That I miss him. That I love him.”

Roni doesn’t notice the way Violet’s eyes flicker behind her, because she’s still going. “And it’s silly,” she continues, “but I have never stopped hoping he’ll come. I cant…” she sniffs again, “Can’t bring myself to stop. Even though I know he isn’t coming, I’ve never stopped looking for him. I don’t know if I ever will, you know?”

Violet smiles like she knows something that Roni doesn’t, but before Roni can even question it, a voice comes from behind her.

“Well,” it says, slow and deep. “The funny thing about that is, he’s never stopped looking for you either.”

It takes Roni a full ten seconds to even process what she’s hearing, and Violet’s all knowing smile only deepens. Roni whirls around on her heels slowly, her feet still feel frozen into the muddy, damp ground.

And there’s Harry, as young and as handsome as ever, if not a little bit older than the last time she’s seen him.

He smiles, tears welling in his own eyes as he takes a step towards her. “In every timeline,” he says, and takes another step, “in every lifetime. He’s never stopped looking.” He stands only a few mere feet away now, and Roni notes the single tear rolling down his cheek, contrasting his unwavering smile.

“I’ve kept my promise, bunny.”

In a whirlwind, Roni is rushing to him. She trips and stumbles a bit on the mud, falling directly into his arms. She doesn’t even bother standing upright, melting instead into his embrace and wrapping her own arms around him. He does his best to straighten her on her own feet, his arms wrapping tightly around her back, but he loses his own footing and falls ungracefully onto his back.

Neither seem to care about their tumble, and Roni crawls up his body— kissing every possible inch of visible skin she can get her lips onto. Her tears blend into Harry’s own, and he laughs joyfully against her lips as he wraps a supportive arm around her back.

“My god,” Roni sobs into his neck. “My god, my god, what are you doing here?”

“I told you,” Harry says, not even worried about the way his voice cracks. “I never stopped looking. And I found you.”

Roni giggles a wet, teary giggle, squishing his face in her hands and fastening their lips together in a clumsy kiss. He willingly kisses her back, stabilizing her with his hands and squeezing her as if he can’t hold her tight enough.

“Harry,” she sobs, “I missed you so much.”

“Me too, sweetheart.” He kisses her teary cheek. “So fucking much.”

Roni presses a few more haphazard kisses to his lips, as if terrified that she’ll lose him the second she stops. She pulls away after a moment, scanning his face through her own blurry eyes.

“I don’t understand,” she says, “how did you get here?”

Harry beams. “Some people have the gift. Some do not.”

“And you have it?!” Roni asks. “You had it this whole time?!”

Harry laughs at the urgency in Roni’s voice, reaching up to wipe the tears out of his eyes. “I don’t know. I guess so. Violet helped me.”

“Violet!” Roni says, suddenly remembering the witchy girl’s presence. She turns to where Violet had just been standing minutes before, and is surprised to see that she is no longer there. Harry and Roni both scan the graveyard, but Violet is in fact nowhere to be found. Roni furrows her brows. “Where did she go?”

Harry doesn’t reply, instead he tilts Roni’s face towards him for another smiley kiss. Roni needs absolutely no persuasion, melting right into him and sighing contentedly.

“I’m so happy,” she cries against his mouth. “So fucking happy.”

“Yeah?” Harry pulls away, tears still streaming freely down his smiling cheeks. “Me too.”

“This feels like a dream,” Roni giggles. “Genuinely. And if it is, I hope I never wake up.”

Harry giggles. “It’s not a dream, sweet girl. I’m here. And I’m staying.”

Roni scans his face for any sign of sarcasm, taken aback by his words. “You’re… staying?” She asks. She doesn’t want to get her hopes up, but God the thought of Harry being hers forever makes her heart pound in her own ears. “Are you serious?”

Harry beams brilliantly at her, letting go of her back to shrug. “Better be prepared to teach me a thing or two about the future, angel. I’m not letting you out of my sight ever again.”

“Oh my god.” Roni slams her lips into Harry’s, so much so that their teeth clank together, and he chuckles lightly into her mouth.

“I love you,” he says, lips hardly moving from hers. “I love you so fucking much.”

“I don’t understand,” Roni says, pulling back but still holding Harry in her arms. “How did you figure it out? I mean like, the fact that you can time travel. How did you--”

“Trial and error,” Harry explains. “Violet wanted me to wait a while. She said that it would be difficult to learn if I tried right after you left. The broken heart would make it more devastating if we failed.” Harry smiles. “Smart girl, Violet is. But I couldn’t wait very long. About a week later, we started working together to get this all sorted out. We worked on exercises. We worked on visualization. We did everything.”

“And then?”

“It took some time. Obviously. Went to a few different places.” He grins. “The 18th century was a lot of fun.”’

“You went that far back?”

“Sure did. Almost didn’t want to leave.” A playful twinkle glistens in Harry’s eye. “Some old Victorian broad showed me her ankle and I was ready to propose marriage.”

Roni slaps his arm lightly. “Shut up.”

Harry laughs, finding himself so hilarious. “M’joking,” he says. “Of course that didn’t happen.”

“Where else did you go?” Roni asks, then softens. “What took you so long to find me?”

“Wanted to make sure I had the technique perfected,” Harry explains. “Wanted to be sure I knew how to control where I was going. The first time I traveled was only to 1899, and it was quite unintentional. The second time, I was experimenting a bit. That’s how I ended up in 1778. But there was a catch.”

“Which was?”

“It was a different 1778. Not one that you’ve heard of.”

Roni looks confused. “But… how--”

Harry grins like he knows something Roni doesn’t. “Ever heard of parallel universes?”

Roni can’t help the laugh that escapes her lips. “Well holy shit.”

“I take it you’re familiar with the concept?”

“I am,” Roni says. “You were the one who told me about it.”

Harry raises his eyebrows, then immediately furrows them in confusion. “I did? I don’t remember—“

“As an old man,” Roni explains. “I met you when you were like… 90 something.”

“Oh.” Harry’s confusion softens. “No kidding. That’s neat.”

“No but… that would mean...” Roni trails off, confusion etched into her features, as she processes everything that’s going on. “I saw you… you were old…. you died. And Oliver said you… you always talked about this girl from your past... That would have been me, wouldn’t it?”

“I tapped into something even you couldn’t tap into.” Harry seems proud of himself, and he flashes Roni that smug grin she’s missed so much.

“What do you mean?”

“Alternate realities,” Harry explains. “Shifting into another dimension.”

“But how does that--”

“In another universe, yes. Somewhere in time, your memories are true. I was old. I was unsuccessful in finding you. In that universe--” he gestures vaguely around the graveyard, “--I’m six feet under somewhere around here.”

Even he seems to be hit with the somberness of his words. He takes a moment to let that sink in, and then he’s right back to his normal, cheery self. “But!” he says. “I shifted. Into this reality. With the help of Violet, I created a separate timeline.”

“At the cost of--?”

Harry sighs. “I mean. At the cost of some of the people I loved most back home.” He shrugs. “But that’s what alternate universes are for, I suppose.”

“Why couldn’t I have just… created my own alternate universe then? In which I could have kept my mom alive AND stayed with you? Why didn’t Violet give me that option?”

“You could have,” Harry explains. “But there wasn’t a guarantee you could have both. Plus, once you leave one, it is extremely difficult, if not entirely impossible, to get back. You weren’t willing or ready to make that sacrifice. I was.”

“So we’re in a parallel universe?”

“I am. You’re not. You’re in your regular timeline.”

“And you--”

“Shifted into it. Changed the fate’s design, so to speak. It did shift your timeline a bit, as far as my own existence goes. You remember me being old. You remember Oliver attending my funeral. But Oliver doesn’t. No one has any memory of me, in fact.”

“So who are you to everyone then?”

“That’s the beauty of it.” Harry grins. “I’m whoever I want to be. For all they know, I’m a famous singer from the UK who moved here for work.”

“Oh my god,” Roni giggles, leaning in to kiss all over his sweet, teary face once again.

Harry smiles that dimpled smile, obviously over the moon and basking in the way she’s loving on him.

“My sweet boy,” Roni says, lips smushed just below his ear. “My sweet, sweet boy.”

“Missed you,” Harry says quietly. “Couldn’t go on in a world without you.”

Roni bumps her nose tenderly along Harry’s. “I missed you so much.”

Harry laughs quietly to himself. “Can’t even begin to tell you how excited I was when I ended up here. Cried with happiness.”

“How long have you been here?”

Harry’s eyes dart up to the sky as he thinks, doing a bit of mental math in his head. “Two days. Give or take.”

Roni feigns offense. “And you didn’t come find me right away?!”

“Tried. Couldn’t. Didn’t know where you’d be.”

“But how did Violet know?”

Harry smirks. “I don’t know. I don’t know how she knows anything. But it seems she knows everything.”

Roni chuckles. “Apparently so. God.”

Harry hums, brushing Roni’s hair behind her ear and leaning in to kiss her nose. “God, I love you,” he says.

“I love you, too, Harry. Thank you for finding me.”

“Promised you I would,” he says, punctuating his sentence with a kiss to the corner of her mouth. “Was so hoping more than anything that you’d be waiting for me.”

Now Roni frowns. “You had doubts?”

Harry shrugs. “No. I mean…” he trails off, eyes scanning the sweeping hills of the cemetery as he considers his words. “No. I don’t know. I was hopeful.”

“But…?” Roni presses, leaning into him.

“But you lived in the future. You had--” he trails off, eyeing Roni carefully. “--have…. A boyfriend?” His statement turns into a question, and the look on his face makes Roni giggle.

“Had,” she answers. “We broke up. Very shortly after I came back.”

Harry frowns. “M’sorry to hear that. Was it… you know...?”

Roni shrugs. “I was hopeful, too,” is the only answer she offers him.

“Hopeful for me?”

“Yeah.”

“You knew I’d find you.”

Roni kisses Harry’s cheek. “I hoped you would.”

“Poor bloke though. I know how hard it is to live in a world without you.”

“Somehow I think he’ll manage.” Roni giggles. “No, actually, I saw him this morning. When I was—“ She trails off, suddenly remembering the bouquet of flowers she’d bought that now lays forgotten a few feet away. Harry seems to notice them at the same time she does, and he turns back to her. He doesn’t push for her to finish her thought, he instead strokes her hair and admires the way it looks in the wind.

“I was going to put flowers on your grave,” Roni explains, sheepishly. “I don’t know what I was thinking was going to happen. Maybe… like, closure or something. I don’t know.”

“Closure,” Harry repeats, smiling. “Wanted rid of the haunting memories of me then?”

Roni rolls her eyes but she giggles that giggle that Harry has dreamt about every night since she’d left. “No, god, of course not,” she laughs. “It’s just that living with the weight of how much I missed you…” She trails off again, and Harry can see the gears turning in her head as she immediately processes another thought. “I still don’t understand,” she says. “I never believed you when you told me. You as an old man, I mean. I’d brushed it off. I hadn’t thought it was realistic.”

Now it’s Harry’s turn to feign offense. “As realistic as time travel.”

“I know,” Roni giggles again. “It’s just that you were old when you told me. I didn’t know you.”

Harry grins now. “Was I a handsome old bastard?”

Roni’s giggles turn into full belly laughs. “I mean, I was like, sixteen. So I didn’t think so, no.”

“Bollocks,” Harry curses, and Roni snorts.

“This is insane,” she says, shaking her head. “I’m talking to you about… well, you… but as an old man. Memories I have of you, that you didn’t even exist for. But you did. I don’t know.”

Harry nods. “It’s an odd thing,” he agrees. “An odd situation we find ourselves in for sure.”

Roni hums in agreement, and a moment of comfortable silence falls between the two. She giggles after a moment, squishing Harry’s cheeks between her fingers and kissing his lips again, slow and smiley.

“God,” she says, when she finally pulls away. “I still feel like I’m dreaming.”

Harry pulls that cheeky look of his that Roni’s missed so much, wiggling his eyebrows. “You want me to pinch you, honey?” He squeezes lightly at her sides and she squeals, wiggling out of his grasp. He beams at the sound, wrapping an arm around her quickly and pulling her right back into him before smooching all over her cheeks and her nose. “C’mere,” he growls playfully. “Not getting away from me that easily. Never again.”

She continues to giggle, submitting completely to him as he tilts her head and kisses her. They laugh into one another’s mouths, their giggles dying down as their kisses increase in intensity. His tongue trails along her bottom lip, and it’s almost embarrassing how quickly Roni grants him access to her own tongue. She’s missed his taste more than she’d ever thought it possible, and she can’t help but to moan when her tongue slides along his.

“Fuck,” she whispers, completely unaware of the fact that she’s crying again.

“Hey,” Harry coos, pulling away and cupping her face with his hands. “Stop that. No more of that. No more crying.” He swipes at the tears under her eyes, stroking her cheek bones as lovingly as he can. There is no way to convey exactly how he’s feeling right now; he’s just so in love with her and so relieved to be holding her again. Seeing her cry, indicative that she feels the exact same way, makes his heart both sink and soar, and his eyes well up with tears all over again.

They both realize he’s crying too at the exact same time, and they laugh at how silly they’re both being. Harry, still holding Roni’s face in his hands, continues to wipe at her tears while she reaches up to wipe at his. They continue to laugh and cry and kiss, holding one another as close as they possibly can and forgetting about the entire world around them.

After a little while, Harry pushes himself to his feet with a little grunt. Roni immediately misses his warmth, which is pathetic, she knows. She can’t help the little whine that escapes past her lips as she reaches for him, and he chuckles as he takes her hand in his. “I’ll be right back, honey, I promise.” He gives her hand a quick squeeze before turning on his heel to go retrieve her discarded bouquet of flowers.

Roni watches him, so completely enamored and in love with him as he walks. He’s dressed sort of funky, not quite in his 1920s style but definitely outdated by today’s standards. He isn’t wearing his cap that she’s missed so much, but his curls are styled messily-- which isn’t helped at all by the wind. He looks so handsome. So soft. So him.

Her Harry.

She still feels like she’s dreaming in all honesty, and as she keeps her eyes glued to him she revels in the fact that he’s here. This person that she’s quite literally ached for for months now, the person she didn’t think she could possibly live without, the person she never thought she’d see again— he’s here. He found his way back to her because he loves her. It simply doesn’t feel real.

Harry picks up the bouquet and buries his nose in them, taking a big inhale and smiling to himself with the cutest dimpled smile. He looks back to see Roni— his sweet Veronica sitting there on the grass, wind whipping her hair and a silly, sweet smile on her face. He’s overwhelmed, really, and he walks quickly to close the space between him and his girl.

When Harry arrives by Roni’s side he plops right back down beside her, kissing both cheeks and the tip of her nose. When he pulls away, he’s smiling softly, and he nods down to the bouquet in his hands. “These were for me?”

“Yeah,” Roni says, somewhat bashfully. “I mean… for your grave. So. Yeah, for you but like… not? I don’t know.”

Harry chuckles, humming as he nods. “Mm.” He reaches into the cheap paper that holds the bouquet together and fingers lightly at a petal. “These are lilies.”

Roni, impressed by his knowledge of botany, smiles. “They are, yeah! How’d you know?”

Harry laughs. “Wasn’t born yesterday, Veronica, for heaven’s sake,” he teases. “In fact, I was born….” Harry scrunches his face, doing a bit of mental math in his head. “About a hundred and one years ago I think!”

“Holy shit,” Roni says, doing the math in her own head. “So you’re… old.”

“Technically, I suppose,” Harry chuckles. “But also, not actually.” He kisses her temple, then reaches into the paper bouquet. Roni wonders briefly what he’s doing, until she sees him snap a lily off of its stem. It looks so delicate between his fingers it makes her shiver, and she hardly has time to register what he’s doing before he’s tucking it gently behind her ear. He moves slowly, his thick fingers brushing lovingly against her skin.

Harry’s eyes scan her face, and in this moment Roni has never felt more loved. He cups her jaw and runs his thumb along her cheek, his green eyes still wet with tears. He hums, his mouth looking so irresistibly delicious, and Roni holds his eye contact with bated breath, waiting for him to do something.

“You are so beautiful,” he says softly, almost more to himself than to her. “My beautiful girl.”

“Your beautiful girl,” Roni repeats, leaning into his touch. “Thank you for finding me.”

“I’ll always find you, Veronica.” Harry drops his hand from her jaw and wraps it around her smaller hand that’s placed in her lap. “In every timeline,” he leans in and kisses her forehead, “in every lifetime,” he kisses her nose, “I will find you,” her lips, “and I will love you with everything I have to give until my heart stops beating.” He kisses her lips again, slower this time, before resting his forehead to hers and allowing his eyes to close.

They sit like this, silently drinking in one another’s presence, and when a tear slips down Roni’s cheek neither of them mention it. Harry presses velvety kisses to Roni’s lips every few seconds or so, and even he’s crying after a bit.

No words are spoken, but no words are necessary. In fact, it doesn’t feel like there would be any words to even begin to describe the happiness in both of their hearts presently. Roni swallows down a lump in her throat and giggles, sniffling a bit.

“God,” she says, “I think I’ve cried more in the past few months than I have in my entire life.”

“Well we’re fixing that,” Harry says, pulling away and wiping at her tears. “Effective immediately. No more tears. From here on out.”

“You promise?”

“Only happy ones. I promise.”

Roni licks her lips, then leans back in to kiss him again. “I like the sound of that.”

They stay like this for a while, disregarding the way it’s getting colder by the minute and the way that the tiny bit of sun that’s peeking through the clouds is beginning to dip behind the treetops. Roni catches him up one everything that’s happened in her life since she’d left him, and Harry tells her all about all the adventures he’s had while trying to find her. They laugh, and they continue to cry on and off (which makes them laugh harder) until Harry finally notices Roni shiver subconsciously at a gust of wind.

“Getting colder,” he observes, then adds “perhaps we should get out of here.”

Roni hums in agreement. “We should. You’ve got to meet my grandparents.”

Harry’s face changes into somewhat amused confusion. “Already?”

“What?” Roni says, rising to her feet and brushing the dirt off of her jeans. “If you’re going to be staying with us you’re going to have to meet them eventually.”

“Yes, but….” Harry rises to his feet as well. “Don’t you think we ought to do this right? I mean, they don’t know me, you’ve just broken up with your long term boyfriend, they’re going to think I’m a creep.”

Roni giggles. “They won’t. I promise. I’ll say you’re a friend from college who’s recently moved to town. We caught up today and you needed a place to stay for a bit. They won’t care.”

“They won’t think it’s… I don’t know, improper?”

“You’ve never met my grandparents,” Roni says. “They’re like the chillest people ever.”

When she’s met with only a look of pure confusion on Harry’s face, she laughs again. “You’re in the twenty-first century now, Harry. It’s your turn to adapt.” She lightly pinches his side, causing him to laugh.

“Suppose so,” Harry giggles, taking her hand in his and interlacing their fingers. “Lots to learn. I have a feeling you’re an excellent teacher, though.”

Roni smiles, swinging their hands as they fall into step, walking along the gravel road winding through the cemetery. “Well, I’ll do my best,” she says. “It’s the least I can do for you after you bent the laws of time itself to come and find me and all that.”

“Exactly,” Harry says, nodding. “Although I won’t lie to you, Veronica, I’m a bit nervous to get it all sorted out.”

Roni gives Harry’s hand a reassuring squeeze. “Don’t be,” she replies. “We don’t have to have it all sorted out. When have we ever had anything sorted out?” She laughs quietly to herself. “I’ve come to find that life is much better unplanned.”

“Yeah?” Harry squints, eyes scanning the vast hills as the wind whips his curls messily. “Well, I’ve come to find that you’re right about most things.”

The silence that follows is comforting and soft, but both are thinking the exact same thing. Sure, it is a bit terrifying to start a life together--properly--like this. Harry is here to stay, and as wonderful and exciting as that is, they both know it’s going to be hard work. He’s going to have to adapt, and it isn’t going to be easy. He’s starting from scratch. No job, no house, nothing.

But he does have his honey by his side. And somehow that’s enough.

They exit the cemetery, hand in hand, and Harry tries his best not to look so clueless as he observes the world around him. Roni is patient and gentle with him, answering any questions he has and giggling when he makes jokes. They’ve fallen into their comfortable swing of things that they’ve both missed so deeply, and Harry reckons that with his Veronica holding his hand, he can conquer anything.

As they approach Roni’s grandparents’ house, however, the butterflies in Harry’s stomach begin to act up. His hands grow sweaty and he hopes Roni doesn’t notice. (She does.) He wipes his free hand on the thigh of his trousers and swallows, slowing the pace of his walking until he stops altogether.

He looks up at the big house, daunting but quaint and surrounded by a completely innocent looking white picket fence, and he can feel Roni watching him. She’s nervous, too, he knows it. She gives his hand a squeeze before letting go, and his hand falls dully to his side.

“You sure you’re ready for this?” Roni asks quietly. “I mean, are you sure this is what you want? To be here, in a different time, re-learning the world and the people in it?”

Harry turns to her now. “Of course this is what I want,” he insists, almost defensively. “I just… it’s a bit more scary close up, isn’t it?”

Roni knows he isn’t talking about the house.

“It is,” she says slowly, after a beat. “But, if I know anything for sure, it’s that you and I make an excellent team. Whatever the circumstance, we can navigate it together, even if we haven’t got a clue what the right answer is. Somehow I know we’re always going to figure it out.” She lowers her voice, stepping in closer to Harry. “You’re the bravest, most wonderful man I know, Harry. You’re going to be fine.”

He turns to her, smiling as he swallows down the nauseous feeling in his throat. She beams. “You’re going to be just fine,” she repeats.

Harry reaches forward, taking her hand in his and bringing it up to his lips, pressing a tender kiss to each of her knuckles. “Alright,” he says quietly. “I’m ready.”

Roni smiles, squeezing his hand again and taking a deep breath in through her nose. “To our new life,” she says.

“To our future,” Harry adds. “To… forever.”

Roni nods. “Forever. Yeah.”

With deep breaths and trembling fingers, Harry and Roni step though the little gate surrounding the yard of the house and make their way onward. Into their future. Into the intimidating uncertainty of navigating a life brought on by such unique and odd circumstances. Two souls, interwoven and transcending time and space itself for the chance to be together, taking on the new set of challenges that await them because they have each other.

No matter where they end up in any lifetime, together or apart, they will always find one another somewhere in time.

#Harry Styles #Harry #One Direction #Harry Styles fanfiction #Harry fanfiction #One Direction fanfiction #fanfiction #Harry Styles AU #Harry AU #One Direction AU #AU #Harry Styles angst #Harry angst #One Direction angst #angst #Harry Styles fluff #Harry fluff #One Direction fluff #fluff

130 notes · View notes

reinerispretty · 4 years

Text

reminiscence (? x f!reader) pt2

thank you so much for all of the positive feedback on the last chapter!! i’m super happy you guys enjoyed it :) just for some clarification, the reason i made who the reader will end up with a mystery is bc since she has amnesia, i thought it would be fun if we all found out together hehe :) enjoy this next chapter!!

pt1

pt3

“Thank you,” The woman said, hunched over as she caught her breath. When she stood, Bolin got a good look at her face. She wasn’t a woman at all: she was a girl, probably the same age as him. “I thought I had an agreement with the Triads to leave me alone, but that guy must not have gotten the memo.”

Bolin let out a laugh. “You have an agreement with the Triads?” The girl furrowed her brows and pouted.

“Gotta keep myself safe somehow.”

“Who was that?” (Y/N) asked as Kya and Korra rifled through dressers and chests to find Air Nomad clothes that would fit her. Kya gave Korra a sharp look before the girl could answer.

“That was Bolin,” Korra replied cautiously. “He’s Mako’s brother.”

“Oh,” (Y/N) said. “He looked really nice. Did he know me too?”

“Um, yeah, I think so,” Korra said and Kya glared at her. “What? Am I just supposed to lie to her if she asks?”

“I appreciate the honesty,” (Y/N) admitted. “I would really rather no one tiptoe around the past.”

“If you receive too much information at once, or someone tells you something too painful, it could harm your chances of ever getting your memory back,” Kya said as she handed (Y/N) an Air Nomad dress.

“So everyone is just supposed to pretend that they’re fine with me? That hardly seems fair.” (Y/N) gave Korra a pointed look. “I know you know something that I don’t and that’s why you’re a little stand-offish toward me.”

“You’re not wrong.”

“Tell me, please? I’ll be okay. I need to know what kind of person I was.”

“Not today,” Kya interrupted. “You need rest. Lots of it. You’ve been going since you woke up.”

Now that she mentioned it, (Y/N) did feel rather exhausted. She stifled a yawn. “I’ll lead you to your room,” Kya said. “Since Korra can’t be trusted to not tell you everything.”

(Y/N) stood as Kya grabbed her by the arm again. “It was nice meeting you, Korra, even if it wasn’t nice meeting me.” Korra didn’t reply. She just watched as the girl padded down the hall.

The room (Y/N) was given was bare. It held a desk, a dresser, and a bed. The window looked out onto the courtyard below. She could see the people down there, undoubtedly talking about her, and she reached her fingers up to open the window. She paused, thinking on Kya’s words. If she found out too much about herself too soon, she would risk the chance of losing her memories forever. She let her hand fall to her side.

Everyone down there knew who she was. Maybe they knew her likes, her dislikes, or even her birthday. She wondered if at one point they had been friends.

Her experience with Mako had definitely put a sour taste in her mouth. He had said she wasn’t a good person. Was she mean? Evil, even? What made her that way? What did she do to him that was so awful?

And then there was Bolin. Mako had mentioned his name earlier, when she had arrived on his doorstep. “Bolin’s not here,” He had said. Why would it matter whether or not Bolin was there? She sighed as she looked down at the boy dressed in green. What did he know about her?

(Y/N) felt the familiar stinging at the backs of her eyes that alerted her to tears. Since she was alone, she let them fall freely. She moved away from the window and to the bed, her body shaking as she cried. She felt so alone. How was she supposed to cope with something like this? She was completely lost on the inside and it seemed like the only people who knew her didn’t want her around.

She didn’t bother wiping her tears away. They fell too quickly for her to catch them all. She wondered if she had ever had someone that would wipe her tears away. She got under the covers and prayed that sleep would come to her soon.

---

Two years ago, Bolin had been walking down the streets of Republic City. It was a warm night, signaling the start of summer, so he wore his jacket slung over his shoulder. The streetlights shone against the puddles on the asphalt. It had rained earlier that day.

He and Mako had gotten in a fight over money again. It was stupid, really, but sometimes Bolin was just so sick of Mako treating him like he was incapable. He had slammed the door as he left their shared apartment and marched into the street, walking with no destination. He was far away from home now. He could tell he had been walking for a while because the neon lights of the shops had already shut off. Republic City was beginning to quiet.

He made a right onto a dimly lit street and noticed a female figure walking ahead of him. Bolin decided to stop. He knew sometimes it freaked women out if men walked behind them, even if there was no ill-intent behind it, so he leaned his back against the cool brick of the building and waited until she had rounded the corner to start walking again. That was when he heard the scream.

Out of pure instinct, Bolin started running toward the sound, his jacket billowing behind him. He skidded around the corner, watching as the woman he had seen struggled against a member of the Triple Threat Triad. He and Mako had done some work for them in the past, but he didn’t recognize the man. He was large, towering over the woman and probably Bolin too. He had his hands around the woman’s wrists and was trying to lead her into the dark alley beside them. “Hey!” Bolin called out. “Let her go!”

The man stopped, a sinister smile creeping its way onto his features. “This doesn’t concern you, kid.”

Bolin wracked his brain for a clever reply, but when he couldn’t find one, he resorted to his next best option. He stomped against the ground, causing small boulders to pummel the man. He let go of the woman’s wrists and she ran over to Bolin.

The man let out a roar, jumping into the air and sending a slice of firebending at the two of them. They screamed and Bolin grabbed her hand, running back down the street and taking the back alley ways he knew so well.

“My place is the other way!” She shouted at him.

“I don’t think you wanna take him to where you live!” Bolin shouted back. They made a sharp right turn onto one of the busier streets in Republic City. Bolin stopped, using his head start to earthbend the ground up, completely blocking the man from following them. They dashed into the crowd then, Bolin’s grip still tight on the woman’s hand, until he was sure they were safe to stop.

Bolin let out a laugh. “You have an agreement with the Triads?” The girl furrowed her brows and pouted.

“Gotta keep myself safe somehow,” She said. She looked down at her hands and sighed sadly. “When he grabbed me, he made me drop my dinner.”

“Oh no!” Bolin exclaimed. “Come with me, I know a place!”

“Thanks,” She said, “But I don’t have any money on me.”

“Let me buy you dinner!” The words came out before he could stop them, and he knew Mako would be so mad if he found out, but he couldn’t help himself. The girl raised an eyebrow.

“I don’t think it’s fair to make you pay for my dinner after you just saved my life,” She said with a laugh. Bolin smiled at the sound.

“How about this: you can repay me for saving your life by accompanying me to dinner. And if I—hypothetically—ordered too much food and couldn’t possibly let it go to waste so you’d have to eat it…then I think that’s fair!”

The girl smiled up at him. “Then I guess, hypothetically, I’d have to say yes.”

Bolin grinned and began walking in the direction of the restaurant, then paused. “Just to be clear, you are coming to dinner with me, right?” The girl laughed again and nodded.

They slid into the booth of Bolin’s favorite twenty-four-hour noodle shop. “They’ve got everything,” Bolin explained as they poured over the menu together. “Ramen, pho, pad thai…you name it, they have it.”

The girl hummed. “Think they have sea prunes?” Bolin’s face contorted into disgust. “I’m kidding! I hate sea prunes.” She picked up her menu, biting her lip as she looked at its contents. “Do you like soup dumplings?”

“Like soup dumplings?” Bolin asked. “I love them! They’re my favorite!”

“Mine too!”

“We’ll get a double order then,” Bolin decided. He went up to the counter and ordered their food. When he returned, he leaned his elbows onto the table. “So, what should I call you?”

“You mean besides the girl you just rescued? (Y/N) will do.”

“(Y/N),” Bolin repeated. He liked how it felt in his mouth. “Nice to meet you, (Y/N). I’m Bolin.”

---

“Bolin.” The boy snapped out of his thoughts, looking up at his older brother. They had returned home only a few hours ago and the sun was starting to come up. He could feel its warm rays cascading through his windows and onto his skin. “You need to go to bed,” Mako ordered.

“How can I possibly go to bed?” Bolin groaned, flopping sideways onto the couch. Pabu hopped up and curled himself into Bolin’s side.

“Easy,” Mako said. “You close your eyes and then you’re asleep.”

“Every time I try to close my eyes, I think of how (Y/N’s) on Air Temple Island and she has no idea who she is or who we are.”

“Try not to care about it, alright?” Mako poured himself a cup of tea. He had work in just a few hours. His under eyes were dark with exhaustion but as long as Bolin was awake, he’d remain awake. “We’ll figure it out and get her memories back and then she’ll go back to whatever she was doing when she left Republic City.”

Bolin chewed on his bottom lip. He had a feeling there was more to the story. The cogs in his head were turning tirelessly. He sat up, disturbing Pabu, and turned to Mako. “What if-“

“No, Bolin, you’re not gonna do that.”

“Do what?”

“Try to make excuses for everything that happened because she has amnesia.”

“But what if there’s something bigger?” Bolin asked. “She’s been gone for months and says she woke up a week ago without her memory. What happened in that time?”

“We’ll find out soon enough. They’re gonna have her do some meditating tomorrow to try to bring some of her memories back.” Mako sat beside Bolin on the couch.

“I should go back,” Bolin started to stand up. “I need to talk to her.”

“Bolin, no.” His brother pulled him back down. “You heard Kya. She can’t find out too much or she risks losing everything. While she’s focusing on getting her memories back, you need to focus on what you know: she broke your heart, little bro. She definitely didn’t have amnesia then.”

Bolin’s eager appearance deflated completely. He knew his brother was right but there was still a part of him that wanted to go see her. Maybe if Bolin told her about her past, then it would be okay. They’d had the strongest connection out of all of them.

---

That morning, (Y/N) sat between Korra and Tenzin in a gazebo. Her legs were crossed, her arms were loose in her lap, and she inhaled deep breaths to try to connect to any of her lost memories. All that she got was a whole lot of nothing. She peeked her eye open to look at Korra, who was blatantly staring at her.

“Keep your eyes closed!” Korra snapped.

“Your eyes were open!” (Y/N) argued.

“No one’s eyes should be open!” Tenzin grumbled decisively. The two girls sighed and returned to their previous states. (Y/N) inhaled another deep breath and tried to do what Tenzin had told her. She recounted the first memory she had: waking up and gasping for air, the night sky high above her. She could feel the grass that surrounded her. Once she had gained her bearings, she took in her surroundings. A small fishing village sat at the bottom of the mountain she had laid on. She got to her feet, legs wobbling, and looked at herself. Her coat was covered in spots of dirt. She reached into its pockets and pulled out a crumpled piece of paper. The writing on it was scribbled and quick, written with haste, and was obviously an address.

(Y/N’s) eyes popped back open. She didn’t notice anything different this time around. There hadn’t been anyone at her side. The first people she had interacted with had been the people in the village. They had asked her name and (Y/N) had started panicking when she couldn’t remember it. She didn’t want to delve too deep into that memory. She could still feel the pain and anxiety in it.

She buried her face in her hands. “I can’t remember anything! I’ve been trying for the past two hours and all I can see is the same memory I’ve been going over for the past week.” She felt the stinging behind her ears again, but took a breath to halt it. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to get so frustrated. I just don’t know anything and I know you guys do and trust me, I understand why you don’t want to tell me, but it stinks not knowing anything other than my name and that I’m a bad person.”

Korra frowned sadly at the girl. She knew what it was like, to be judged before she got the chance to redeem herself. While she had heard some pretty bad stories about (Y/N) from Mako, she also recognized that he was biased. Especially when it came to Bolin.

“How about we go into the city and get some lunch?” Korra asked. (Y/N) looked up at her gratefully.

“I don’t know if that’s the wisest idea,” Tenzin’s deep voice rumbled.

“Relax, Tenzin. We won’t talk about her life. She needs something normal right now.” Reluctantly, the man conceded.

Korra helped (Y/N) to her feet and whistled for Naga. The polar bear dog bounded toward them, her tail wagging excitedly. “(Y/N),” Korra said. “Meet Naga.”

The polar bear dog gave (Y/N) a huge lick on the side of her face. She giggled, rubbing behind Naga’s ears. “It’s so nice to meet you!” (Y/N) squealed. “I wish I had a pet just like you!”

“She’s kind of the best,” Korra admitted as she hopped onto Naga’s back. She pulled (Y/N) up to sit behind her.

“I don’t doubt it!” With a whip of her reigns, they burst into a run toward Republic City. (Y/N) couldn’t contain her laughter as they sped toward the water. She didn’t realize that they’d be traveling by sea until Naga dove headfirst into the icy water. (Y/N) closed her eyes tightly, gripping onto Korra’s back. The Avatar laughed.

“You can open your eyes now,” She called back to her. Slowly, (Y/N) relaxed and looked around. They traveled under the water in a giant bubble. Korra’s arms moved in flowing movements in front of her.

“You’re waterbending!” (Y/N) exclaimed.

“The Avatar is the master of the four elements,” Korra explained. “I’ve been training my whole life.”

“All four?” (Y/N) let out a gasp. “That’s so cool! I wonder if I was ever a bender.” Korra looked back at (Y/N) for a moment.

“You weren’t,” She said, her eyes kind as she stared at (Y/N). Although a little disappointed that she couldn’t bend, (Y/N) was grateful for Korra’s honesty.

“Thank you,” She said, a soft smile on her lips.

---

Tag List!

@beifongsss , @realimbo , @lavendercrystals , @tomshollandz , @zukosvice , @itsivyberry , @awesomelupe , @musicalkeys , @aroyaldarknessblr , @ilovespideyyy , @zukostan221 , @nataliahaslosthershit , @dailytrashypanda , @marvel-ing-at-it-all , @astralsaf , @ryleyrooroo , @yuhaino , @hotgirlazula , @thefandomimagines ,

#lok #legend of korra #korra x reader #asami x reader #mako x reader #bolin x reader #bolin #korra #mako #asami #writing #fanfiction

463 notes · View notes

ansxit · 3 years

Text

Vive La Revolution

"ɪɴᴅᴇᴘᴇɴᴅᴇɴᴄᴇ, ᴏʀ ᴅᴇᴀᴛʜ. ɪf ᴡᴇ ɢᴇᴛ ɴᴏ ʀᴇᴠᴏʟᴜᴛɪᴏɴ, ᴛʜᴇɴ ᴡᴇ ᴡᴀɴᴛ ɴᴏᴛʜɪɴɢ. ᴡᴇ ᴡᴏᴜʟᴅ ʀᴀᴛʜᴇʀ ᴅɪᴇ ᴛʜᴀɴ ɢɪᴠᴇ ɪɴᴛᴏ ᴀɴᴅ ᴊᴏɪɴ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴋɪɴɢᴅᴏᴍ."

(Y/n) was always loyal to Essemp. For clarification, She is the cousin to the young ruler of their nation, Clay. He wasn't the fairest ruler, but he still cherished his land and his friends. (Y/n) would always stand by her cousin's side whenever skirmishes and war broke throughout the kingdom.

Until she happened to fall for the leader of a revolution.

—

01 - Skirmish

"Flank left!" The smoke from TNT drifted through the air. Explosions rang through the valleys and you felt confident that you were winning. You and your battalion were sent out on the terms of a small uprising in the south. You've noticed for the past few months, more and more uprisings had been spotted in random villages of Essemp.

"Not right!" You screamed into the grey void, seeing the shadows of your troops running about. "Left! Flank left!" A cry to your right caught your attention but you had to keep going. The injured would care for themselves, and you hoped the rebellion knew it was cruel to harm an unarmed man.

Through the dust you could see the outline of a waving flag. The familiar green seemed welcoming in the colorless abyss. You dismounted your trusted steed and dove into the trenches below.

A body was pressed right up against yours and had it not been for the breathing in your ear you would've thought they were dead. You still rolled to your left off of the person and they let out a heaving sigh. Familiar brown hair and eyes was enough to have you recognize who you crash-landed on.

"How are we looking out there," Wilbur groaned, rubbing his rib cage where you possibly elbowed him.

"Not good no thanks to you," You glared and smacked his chest. The young man gave a look of pure shock and sat up.

"What do you mean 'no thanks to me'!" He whined, "I recall being absolutely amazing out there and saving your ass from being shot!"

"You're the reason we are here in this situation!" You reached for a chest sunken into the dirt and pulled out a new crossbow. "Had it not been for your quick draw of a sword and temper, we could be riding back to the palace before dinner."

An explosion in the distance caused you to cease your movements and drop the arrows out of your grasp. You fumbled around for them as a blond soldier next to the two of you laughed.

"She have a point there, Wilbur!"

"Oh shut it, Grayson!" Wilbur snapped at the man before grabbing his own bow and arrow. "Don't pretend you didn't reach for your crossbow when their scum of a leader refused to meet with us."

"And You need to watch your temper," You scolded while loading your quiver with more arrows. "A good General keeps their head cool and doesn't let small comments get the better of them."

"Oh, like how your pride doesn't take a swan dive off a cliff every time someone insults your family?"

"There's a difference between plain insulting and insulting my heritage." You stood up quickly, checking to see if you could spot any enemy advancement through the smoke, before ducking back down as an arrow flew over your head. "When someone runs their mouth, not even directed at you, might I add, you light up faster than a bundle of TNT."

Wilbur snorted at Your comment but made no further argument. He jumped up as well to check and quickly flattened back to the ground.

"Once I retire and you take my place," You continued on, knocking an arrow and firing blindly out into the field. "You need to be the best leader there is in Essemp." You looked over at Wilbur with a slight smile. "That is of course, if you don't lose your head before then."

"Wow, you really think the way I'd go out would be decapitation?" Wilbur questioned in mock-pain. "You wound me, Y/n, at least hold me to a higher standard." He started firing arrows as well. following suit of blind aim. There was only a short pause before He mumbled, "Actually decapitation would be better than getting blown up."

You gave a hearty chuckle and looked over at the soldiers around the two of you. They were still firing away from their positions. Some were recovering from injuries they had sustained with medical supplies scattered in the dirt.

"You would prefer decapitation than to be blown up?" Y/n inquired as you fumbled for some flint and steel. "Decapitation just seems like too much work, you have to pull out the guillotine and there is even a chance the blade doesn't cut all the way through" You finally struck a flame and grabbed for your arrows. Wilbur seemed to understand the idea you were getting at, and lit his own arrows aflame as well.

"Oh of course you don't want the harder option," he grumbled and fired the flame arrows out of the ditch. "You are the type to talk about an explosion-filled death during a battle involving explosives."

"I don't joke about death, I merely discuss the topic with added laughter." You were both firing in unison now, and the soldiers around you copied the strategy.

"You might be on a higher status than me, but Clay would have my head on a nice pedestal if he figured out you died on my watch."

"What if you died as well?"

"He'd kill me once over again."

You went silent for a second. "Well, at least you'd have a nice pedestal." You joked. "And that's King Clay to a soldier like yourself, Wilbur."

"You don't ever see me calling you 'Princess Y/n' now do you?" He responded with his famous cheeky grin.

"No, but now that you bring it up..." You smiled back as Wilbur rolled his eyes. Through the fire arrows lighting the smoke-ridden sky full of color, someone from behind the two of you, out of the ditch, yelled for your name. Alastair, a well known Lieutenant around the palace, was laying down on the ground above you guys.

"Princess Y/n and General Wilbur." Alastair greeted you two. "The opposing forces have reached the main circlet, the cavalry has arrived and are ready to surround them on your command."

"Alright, thank you Eret. Go back and join the others until everyone here is ready to move out. Once I give the signal, only then will you charge out." He nodded his head and started running back where the tree line was. You smirked over at Wilbur, "See, I think 'Princess Y/n' has a nice ring to it." He replied with a middle finger pointed at your face.

You barked a laugh and got into a kneeling position. You called attention to the surrounding soldiers and informed them of the plan that was about to go down. Once you were certain that the uninjured men were ready to go, you looked to Wilbur for confirmation. He stared at you for just a second longer before nodding.

The second you started raising your hand the soldiers around you rushed out of the ditch. Once the majority were out, You and Wilbur hopped out as well; swords drawn and all.

You could spot bright red coats through the haze, and as the smoke lifted from the battle ground you could see the green uniforms of Essemp's soldiers rounding up members of the rebellion. You and Wilbur both ran towards anyone that was trying to escape from the ambush and herded them back towards the main group.

"I've got to say, using the old sheepdog tactic is... beneficial." Wilbur laughed from a few feet away. You looked over at him with a smile. Even though dust and gunpowder dirtied his hair, and save for some tears in his uniform, he still held his glowing aura in the midst of a battle. Seeing his grin gave you the sense of comfort that everything would be okay.

No matter how many times you bickered and teased, as long as you two had each other you were happy.

The soldiers on their horses and the ones in the trees all aimed crossbows and bows towards the rebels, waiting for your next command. You and Wilbur walked over; you had both sheathed your weapons and examined the kneeling soldiers. To the far left, Alastair motioned for You with a tilt of his head.

"What's up?" Wilbur asked once Eret was within earshot.

"We singled out the lieutenants you guys spoke to earlier." He gestured to two kneeling soldiers that were glaring at You and Wilbur. "They still refuse to leak their leader's identity."

"Well alright then," Wilbur glared right back at the two rebels. "I'd say it's about time the bastard showed his face."

"Will you need any uh," Eret glanced from the unarmed soldiers to Wilbur's bow then back to you, "assistance?"

"We'll handle it from here Alastair, thank you." You sighed and nodded at Grayson and Luke. Both of them hoisted up the rebels and you all made your way to the front of the rebellion.

Once infront of everyone, you squared your shoulders. After looking back at the two lieutenants, your eyes darted over to Wilbur who nodded at you. In a blink of an eye, you both had drawn your swords to the soldier's necks.

"Direct us to the leader of this regiment." You commanded. Wilbur pressed the blade closer to their neck and fear shown through their eyes. When neither of them responded, You grabbed one of them by their arm and kept the blade close enough so that a small drop of blood trickled down their neck. Wilbur followed suit and you swept your cold gaze across the field.

You hated violence, but sometimes it was the only answer.

The rebel in your grasp whimpered as you held him in a death-grip. All the soldiers in the field, rebel and your own, looked over to you. The soldiers closest to you all held apprehension in their eyes. You didn't get the title you had now from just being the King's cousin, but from being intimidating, strategic, and all-around terrifying.

"I wish to know the person in charge of these men." You moved your sword across your line of sight before bringing it back to the man's neck. "If they do not step forward you will be comforted to know the King has special spikes for all of your heads." You tilted your blade to catch the falling sun to enunciate your point. "Your leader is a coward," You called out to the men after no response. "He kneels with you, taking no blame and responsibility for any deaths on this battlefield tonight."

"Hypocrisy!" A voice cried far out in the circle. You looked over at where the voice came from. Wilbur quietly gasped behind you as a man rose from the kneeling soldiers. "You admit yourself that a leader takes blame and remorse for casualties amongst men."

You took a step forward and released the man you previously held. He sputtered and coughed, but you ignored him and walked closer towards the standing individual.

"I speak for the men kneeling here before you." His voice rang through the quiet, only disrupted by your footsteps. "We and many more have seen the tyrant's ways. We know who's on the wrong side of history."

He wore no different clothing than the rest of the men. There where no patches nor pins to differentiate his leadership. Instead, he had a single necklace with ram horns on it. You instantly knew this was the man in charge of the uprisings around Essemp.

"What's your name," You asked. Only seven feet separated the two of you, the kneeling men had cleared a path as you walked closer.

"His name is Jay Schlatt." Wilbur spoke behind you. You turned your head to the side in acknowledgement. Only three feet now. "He used to dream of working as a knight in the kingdom." Everyone was staring at Wilbur as he talked. "He trained everyday until one day he just, disappeared."

"I learned the truth." Jay spat; you turned back to him with narrowed eyes. "I learned," he spread his arms out wide, "That the King and his incompetent friends never cared about us!

"Not a single one of these men around us were shown compassion and fairness like he claims. He left us to rot in poverty while he lays in a kingdom of gold!"

Wilbur walked forward, and you saw that his expression was full of hurt. You moved out of the way as he got closer.

"Schlatt you know this isn't true-" Jay grabbed him by the shoulders and instantaneously you whipped out your sword, poised at the man's collarbone. The field once again went silent, not even the birds interrupted with their calls. The two men seemed to hold a conversation with just their eyes, Schlatt's changing from pleading to subtle despair.

After a long, silent minute Jay released Wilbur and slowly knelt back down to the ground. You sheathed your sword once again, only for Wilbur to bring out his own.

"He is an unfair ruler, and is nothing short of cruel." Jay said. The soldiers around him solemnly nodded in agreement. "Surely you've seen the King's ways." Wilbur looked down at the Leader in front of him, and couldn't dare look away. Jay pleaded once again as he stared at Wilbur. "He doesn't care about his subjects, he just wants power."

You looked at all the kneeling rebellions in the field. Wilbur was still holding his sword at Jay's neck, his hands trembling a bit. The convicted leader finally bowed his head and stared at the soot ridden ground beneath them.

"Jay Schlatt, you will be locked up for treason against the King," you stated and motioned for your troops to grab the prisoners. Jay refused to look up as Grayson walked over and hoisted him; tying his hands behind his back. As they both passed you, Jay finally looked up to meet your hardened gaze.

"Down with the tyrant king." He spat as Grayson shoved him forward. The rest of your battalion started escorting the rebels off the field. You let out a long-awaited sigh and looked over to your right-hand man.

"Wilbur?" He still held his sword in his hand, although it was lowered now. "Wilbur?" You asked again. He seemed to snap out of it and moved to sheathe his weapon.

"I'm alright, I just.. wasn't expecting to see an old face today." He quickly turned around and started to walk with the rest of the soldiers. You chased after him, trying to stay in step with his longer strides. When you called for his name again, he just walked faster. In the end, you gave up on trying to follow him.

You and your battalion had won the skirmish. But as you watched Wilbur walk away; you couldn't help but have a feeling that you'd lost something else...

#dream smp #wilbur soot #wilbur soot x reader #lmanburg #fanfiction #fantasy au #revolution

13 notes · View notes

lonestarbabe · 3 years

Text

Abandoned Chances

TK talks to his parents about Gwyn’s pregnancy. (AO3)

The words are ringing through T.K.’s head, ripping through him like a bullet, a feeling he knows all too well. “You’re going to be a brother,” his mother had said, and then when T.K. hadn’t been able to process the words, “I’m pregnant, T.K.” He’s not sure what to make of the words. He’s convinced that this is some strange joke. It has to be a joke. He’ll laugh in relief if it is a joke because his parents can’t seriously believe that they’re fit to be parents again.

“You can’t be.” He shakes his head in disbelief because “How is that even possible?” T.K. once wanted a sibling. He’d dreamed of having someone to talk with during the darkest moments of his parent’s marriage, but he realized that wanting a sibling was selfish. It wouldn’t be fair to his brother or sister to bring them into such an unstable situation. He worried that they would be just as unhappy as he was. He wouldn’t wish that on anyone. He’d made peace with the fact that his parents were something he’d have to handle alone. It has always felt like his burden alone to carry— the price he has to pay for existing.

“It’s something of a miracle,” Owen says with a grin. It’s a miracle in the way that a heart finally becoming available after months of waiting on the transplant list is a miracle; one family has their prayers answered while another has their nightmares come true.

T.K. watches his dad take his mom’s hand, and it might’ve been a cute gesture if tender moments like that weren’t a countdown to the inevitable disaster that would follow as soon as the excitement turned into the hard reality. Gwyn squeezes Owen’s hand, and T.K. realizes that he is an intruder in their joyous moment. He can’t find it in himself to smile and congratulate them. He wants to. He doesn’t want to make a fuss, but he’s got no control over the surge of emotions that consumes him.

“Did you even think this through?” His parents’ hands disconnect, and they go rigid at T.K.’s tone. “What the hell were you thinking?” He’s never sounded more like a parent.

“T.K., we thought you’d be happy,” his mom tries. “We’re going to try to make things work.” She points between her and Owen. “We’re happy.”

“I don’t know why you thought I’d be happy about this.” T.K. stands up from the chair, unable to stay still. He feels himself start to pace. He’s trying to control his temper, but he’s frenzied and the crazed emotions won’t abate. “Trying isn’t good enough when you have a kid. You have to do more than try.” T.K.’s parents had tried a lot of things. They’d tried to care for T.K. They’d tried to work out their issues. They’d tried to stay afloat. But for all their trying, there wasn’t a lot of action. They wanted to change, but they didn’t put in the work. Owen especially. He wanted a fairytale ending while avoiding the difficult fairytale beginning. He’s always had a way of swooping Gwyn up and pulling her into his fantasy— T.K. too.

Owen has a way of making people believe in him, even when he repeatedly doesn’t follow through. When T.K. was eight, he starred in his school play, and for the whole weekend of the show, T.K. kept thinking that Owen would show up. Even halfway through the Sunday matinee, T.K. was certain his dad would come just as he had promised. Owen had never shown, but T.K. never let go of that small kernel of hope. Even when he should have known better.

“You always wanted a sibling.” He doesn’t even know which one of them said it, but words are throwing themselves off his tongue before he can even try to control them.

“I wanted a sibling because I hated being alone.” He’s never told them how lonely he felt as a kid. He’s not sure if that’s because he didn’t want to hurt their feelings— because he knows they love him— or because he didn’t want them to list a bunch of reasons why he shouldn’t have felt that way.

“Alone? You act as if we left you to fend for yourself without food or care for hours at a time. We always took care of you as well as we could. Just because you didn’t confide—”

“Don’t even finish that sentence, Dad. The only time you paid attention to me was when you wanted me to declare a winner in your arguments or when I was so fucked up that you had to pay attention.” T.K. doesn’t stop there. “You’re going to fuck up another kid, and I don’t want to watch that happen.” It’s too painful. Owen and Gwyn are already fighting like they used to, and a baby isn’t going to change that. A baby is just another tool they’ll use in their war to best one another. Fighting is like a sport to T.K.’s parents, and they are well suited for those kinds of battles, but that’s not enough for a healthy relationship. The thrill they get from challenging one another doesn’t create intimacy. It doesn’t stop them from destroying the people closest to them as they wrestle to come out on top.

“That’s not fair, son,” Owen says. Son sounds like a slap in the face. Owen’s voice makes T.K. feel like a silly little kid who doesn’t understand how the world works. “Things are different now.” T.K. wonders for a moment if he’s actually the selfish one here. What if he’s deluding himself into thinking his parents are the problem? Maybe they’re right. Maybe he is being unfair. Maybe the real reason he doesn’t want them to have this baby is that he hates the idea that they might not be so bad with this baby. He’s jealous that they’ll love their second chance more than their messed up first. Because how can he ever compete with a baby, pure and unbroken? He wonders if he’s that messed up that he would begrudge his sibling for getting the effort that T.K. never got.

But, then, T.K. remembers all the fighting his parents have been doing since they’ve been in Austin. They haven’t changed. They haven’t even defined what they are. There’s no way that they should have a newborn. “I’m not being unreasonable.”

“Honey, we know this is a lot to process,” his mom says, and T.K. has always liked when she calls him honey. It makes him feel like he matters, but sweet words can’t take away years of hurt he’s tried not to have. He feels guilty for the way he feels because his parents had a lot of issues, but they weren’t monsters. It would be a lot easier to know where he stood if they were villains rather than normal people who do incredible things.

“I don’t think this is a good idea,” T.K. insists.

“I know this is a shock, but it’s our second chance to be a real family, T.K.. Your dad and I want to give this a shot.”

“A second chance? Not everyone deserves a second chance.” He takes a breath. “You only get a second chance when you’ve already given up on your first chance.”

“We never gave up on you.”

“You can’t even admit that you screwed up your first chance. ‘We made mistakes,’ that’s what you always say, and yeah, that’s true. You made a lot of mistakes, but the thing that drives me crazy. You blame those mistakes on circumstances. It always goes back to 9/11, but that doesn’t excuse away all the wrong choices you made. 9/11 was one day. What’s your excuse for all the other days?”

“Do you know how many—" and T.K. can’t let Owen finish that sentence. He’ll explode if he tries to push all the feelings that he has back into himself yet again. The stakes have never been higher, so if he’s going to lose his cool, it might as well be now.

“Would you listen to me for once?” T.K. asks, the weight of years of unsaid words pushing down on his chest.

“Fine,” Owen says. His voice is terse, but at least he’s allowing a conversation.

“I’m angry at you,” T.K.’s directing his words mostly toward Owen. He’d always gone easier on his dad than he did his mom. When he was a teenager, he’d blamed his mom for everything. He got angry at her when his dad wasn’t there than to question why T.K.’s hero kept letting him down.

“I always wanted to be just like you, Dad. You know that. From the time I was old enough to say what I wanted to be, I wanted to be a firefighter.” T.K. sat back down on the chair. “Then, 9/11 happened, and I was scared of losing you. I couldn’t sleep. I couldn’t focus. Whenever you were gone, all I could think about was you not coming back, so when I most needed you to be there. You weren’t.”

“I couldn’t help that. They needed me.”

“I needed you, but you always put the firehouse first, and you’d do it again in a heartbeat because that’s how you are. You can’t let go of what you lost, so what you already have always takes the back burner.” His mom had always been busy, but he always knew that she would take care of him. Half the time, he didn’t know if his dad would even show up. It’s not like Owen was absent from his life, but even when he was with T.K., he wasn’t emotionally present.

“When I was a kid, of course, I wanted to be a firefighter because I wanted to be like you. You were what I thought every man should be, but as I got older, being a firefighter wasn’t about being like you. All I wanted was to be a part of your life. I knew I’d never be what you put first, but I figured that if I could be part of that thing that it would be close enough.”

“T.K.,” Owen’s voice cracks, “You’ve always been the most important part of my life.”

“I know you love me,” T.K. says, even though that love doesn’t always feel unconditional, “but words don’t cost anything, Dad. You can say them all you want, but until you stand behind those words while fire blazes and the world goes to hell, they don’t mean anything. You can’t bring someone into this world, telling them that they mean the world to you, and then put the whole world above them.”

“What are you trying to say?” Gwyn asks for clarification.

“I’m saying that it’s selfish to have a baby because you miss the good times. When you’re making this decision, don’t think about the joyful moments. Think of when things become a challenge. You’ve got to be ready to not just put their needs before you when things are going well, but you’ve got to make that commitment when times are hard because it’s that shit that separates loving parents from good parents.”

“Were we really that bad?” Owen asks.

“The problem is that you haven’t changed.”

“Your dad and I can be in the same room without murdering each other,” Gwyn tries at humor.

“That isn’t funny,” T.K. says, feeling exhausted. If he’s being honest, he might as well get it all off his chest at once before they go back to pretending that they’re all fine— just a happy but unconventional family. “You still put me in the middle of your fights, wanting me to take a side. I don’t want to choose a side. I love you both, and it’s not fair to make me choose when you two are arguing just for the sport of it. What makes you think that your relationship will survive more than a few months? You’ve ignored all the reasons you got a divorce in the first place.”

“We can work on that.”

“If you couldn’t work out your issues for me, what makes you think this new child will be any different?” T.K. knew that sometimes it was better for couples to call it quits than to prolong the uncertain inevitable. He felt relief when his parents had finally made it official. He’d always secretly wanted them to get back together, but the logical part of him knew that they were better apart. “You don’t even live in the same half of the country. If things go wrong, we’re not just talking about living a few blocks apart. We’re talking hundreds of miles.”

Gwyn sighs. She reaches her hand out, “You seem so sure that things aren’t going to work.”

“I had a front-row seat the first time your relationship broke down. How is it different now?” Owen and Gwyn look between each other, searching for an answer. “See? I’m not trying to tell you what to do.”

“It sounds like you are.”

“No,” T.K. corrects, “All I’m doing is telling you what you need to hear before you commit to this because children deserve to feel safe and loved.” He looks up at his parents. “And it’s not right to bring a child into this world to recreate moments you feel like you’ve lost.” T.K. knows that he can’t force their hand. He can’t tell them what they should do, but it wouldn’t feel right to let them have a baby on a whim.

The smiles have fallen off his parents’ faces, and T.K. can’t help the guilt that worms its way into his body. He feels like a jerk. “I wasn’t trying to make you feel bad,” he says, still trying to temper their feelings. He worries that he was too honest. He almost regrets having opened his mouth. This is why it’s easier to keep his mouth shut, make jokes, and stew in his anger.

His mom gets up, stoops to his level, and puts her arm around him. “You’ll always be my baby.” Her embrace is warm, but the anxiety doesn’t lift from T.K.’s stomach. “We both love you so much. That’s one thing we’ve never disagreed on.”

Owen agrees, “You’re the best thing we’ve ever done together.” T.K. can’t help but think that’s a lie because he’ll always be the chance they abandoned.

#text #911 lone star #911 lone star fic #My writing #Elise Writes #My Fics #1000 - 3000 words

32 notes · View notes