#and then we encountered a slight issue so I established a thing | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

krismasarson · 1 year

Text

Part 2 ot my collection of DnD characters! Today we get a lesbian trauma baby!

Tw! Child abandonment, child neglect, ptsd, trauma, slight gore(?), gruesome depictions, imprisonment

Picrew : Baby carrot character maker

Legia Hardweaver

(I have a typical medieval setting campaign that she is in but i also have one thats modern so ill just use the medieval for now)

- a cold and closed off Goliath with more than enough trauMA OH GOD PLEASE NO! SHE HAS ENOUGH ALREADY STOP-

-a draconic bloodline Sorcerer (Silver dragon) who was forced to multiclass into a path of storm Barbarian during her years of "Training"

-She is a selective Mute who only really communicates through sign language, morse, or writing. The people that have heard her voice have known her for 5+ years. And even after that she still doesn’t do it much unless absolutely necessary.

-her face is very rarely uncovered. Her right eye and mouth are practically never visible. Though there are times where she will take off the eye patch around certain people.

- Her size and strength are her key attributes. Being able to dig a tunnel through a mountain with your bare hands in under an hour is no easy feat and her party doesn't plan to forget that seeing as she had to make it big enough for herself as well. Though her party ain't complaining. They get scary dog privileges in the form of a 9'11 (kinda thinking about changing that-) Ripped Female Goliath following them around.

- But her reason and need to be so big and scary is a bit less of a fun story. Legia is a very private person due to trust issues and past traumas. Her largest scars left over are her explosion burn scars that are very close to covering the whole right side of her body. Poor girl has been injured so many times from her time as a military weapon, that she has frozen like a deer in headlights at the sound of sparks.

-She was abandoned at an extremely young age and forced to navigate the mountain tundra that her tribe resided after waking up on the forest floor. She would have not survived if not for the silver dragons that randomly found her curled up under a tree. After the first encounter, around 8 years later she was found by the militia and taken in.

-her time in the milita is very fuzzy, atleast thats what she tells people. She remembers the more gruesome bits of time. Her training regimen, her testing process, the smells and sounds of the lab, the overwhelming smells of gunpowder as well as the unnerving quiet after a battle, the sights of victory in the form of bloody corpses and broken skulls, and things of that nature.

- her time there led her to meet her first love, A young woman named Evangelica, whom was the daughter of a very prominent aristocrat in the city. Having to keep their relationship secret both for Evangelicas sake as well as Legias. They were together for around 8 years when Evangelica proposed they run away together. Legia agreed. Though that little fantasy would come to an end quickly as Evangelicas father had found out of her little escapades and lectured her. Only 12 minutes of yelling and screaming were needed before Evangelica was finally convinced that Her father's words of Legia were true. Through this experience, Legia learned trust and loyalty is never guaranteed and that years of love and admiration mean nothing in the eyes of the wealthy.

-After this she swiftly escaped the confines of her "Instructor" and ran off into the world where She was able to quickly establish herself as a mercenary. She wanders with no real purpose other than to forget.

-Her current group consists of a orc boy who has fire magic but is deathly afraid of fire, a Larping Monk who is excessively exroverted, the Larping Monks emotionally tired Paladin sidekick, and an Old War veteran Elf Fighter who was exiled from his home town.

- Her relationship with the Monk never was great. When she first saw him in a town yelling about his faith, she immediately despised him. He had then noticed her looking, approached, greeted her respectfully, tried to shake her hand, and then woke up in an infirmary with 8 broken bones , a severe concussion, and the strong will to find her again.

-The Paladin and her get along fine. They both are pretty quiet so they prefer to just talk about the little things and then get on with their day.

-The Elf however... they are actually fairly close. They met while they both were just wandering and came across each other in the woods. Upon the sight of someone dressed a kin to that of the milita, legia immediately began swinging. When he had finally got her to stop and listen, they just kinda stood there staring at each other and then as she turned around, about to walk away, he noticed her limp and offered help which she hesitantly took as she was low on supplies.

-In the beginning of their partnership, legia was doing what she normally does which is practically NEVER communicate. Alexander (the elf) was not too shaken by this as his first encounter with her told him a bit on her stance with him. Over time, they developed a very tight knit father-daughter relationship. Around the 3 year mark was when he had first heard her voice, 2 years before he saw under the eyepatch, and 5 years before he first saw under her mask. All in all, it's a very good relationship between the 2.

- The Orc, Bastion, they found when clearing out an old iron mill. He was chained to a work station and in horrible condition. Legia was the first to find him, the room was full of loose coal, lit ovens, and random fires. When she first walked in he was paniced and uneasy. While trying to conversate with him a fire burst out beside her, her reflective response was her ice magic which completely killed the flame almost instantly. This caught Bastions attention very quickly and made him feel a lot safer with the large fire killing lady.

-He was so shaken up by everything so after they had completed their mission and got him out of there, he became completely inseparable from legia. If he had lost sight of her, he would go into a panic induced rage trying to find her. Legia sees him as a baby duck that just follows her around but she doesn't mind at all. If she can be the person she always wished to have while in the milita to this young orc, then she would be happy to help him.

11 notes · View notes

deviantartdramahub · 1 year

Note

DeviantArtDramaNow: "He throws abuse at people. He don't care what his actions are doing to us!" <- This was about me. NO EVIDENCE of it being true. But what about the user who goes by the name Kiyo? I mean for a group supposedly "keeping an eye" on people who they deem a "threat" to others, they sure did miss out on a golden nugget.

This kinda shit drives me up the fucking wall. As well as the fact that people seem to just accept that kind of behavour DESPITE the fact there is NO FUCKING NEED FOR IT!... But, DeviantArtDramaNow don't seem to be bothered about it, and yet, at the same time claim that this blog is fake? At least this blog unlike the fake one they run ACTUALLY HELP PEOPLE AND SHARE AWRENESS NOT BULLSHIT!

Whoever you are, I see you are a member of one of the servers as well that these screenshots were shared in. While I don't like making this Tumblr group about myself, it's technically about drama in general, and even though I am judge here, I am a human too, and I've established my role here today because this is a mess which affects others by its nature. I've had a mess of a month with people outright identifying as people sent out for me to blatant slanderers to some very elaborate slanderers who have taken things out of context to admitted homophobia towards me and friends by the friends of the person of the previous link to other things, though this does hurt. In my experience, it's always the British or Japanese cultures for some reason.

Because I'm about to explain my side of the story, I am obliged (unless they bring their hate speech here) to say so can the people I'm about to mention (and this might serve as a good protocol exercise for other attendees here anyways).

So... Kiyo is an acquaintance of ours. They (that's their pronoun, they're either transgender or non-binary and they have DID) have me and another friend, my friend Max, in the server. They (Kiyo), who identifies as a Japanese-American citizen of Utah, teaches Japanese language lessons to the two of us through video chat, though I have not shown up for all of them (I showed up for a maximum of five) because of my time zone and because I have some bad indoor circumstances for realtime chatting (among other reasons).

They have a triggers channel in their server. This is a channel where people can come to list the topics they try to stay away from. Some weeks ago as I'm typing this message, they mentioned their triggers, which nobody at all costs is allowed to condone in their server. One of these was ableism, a trigger choice I can't say I disagree with. At the time these events took place, their list of triggers did not include racism, nor was racism defined well in the server. Also not in the triggers was a habit they had of judging people for being acquaintances with people they didn't like, e.g. if they didn't like X person but I was an acquaintance of them, they (Kiyo) would threaten to burn the bridge between themself and me. This influenced what would come next.

They are very passionate about their views. If there is even a civil disagreement about something they're passionate enough about, they might gang up on someone with their most trusted server members. This happened to me once because I opposed capital punishment for crimes other than murder. We got into such an argument because Kiyo, in a personality who had never encountered me before (or so they say), brought up that one issue again (I no longer suspect though this is a partial reason they want me to die now, and they almost got their wish before despite me encouraging them in their time of need) as well as blasted me for my supposed anonymity, even though my pictures are everywhere there.

Taking issue with this, since I had been timed out for five minutes, once the dust seemed to settle, I took the opportunity to go to the triggers channel, which I had never posted on before, and listed five slight triggers for me... In a nutshell, honor/shame environments, ungratefulness (for things I and others help with, like helping them), unforgiveness (like with a certain someone's verbal clumsiness), a fourth thing that wasn't very specific because it was in her own trigger list, and fifth, a relatively minor one, those who mis-accent my name (the N is supposed to be squiggly like in piñata, though I forgive this infinitely).

By honor/shame, I meant things like putting someone in another's shadow and punishing people based on association, and I spent a single sentence mentioning how Japan's honor/shame culture, which is tied to ableism of all things (and yes I do have a medical condition, it's MS), made me a little uncomfortable immersing myself in the culture in a gung-ho way, with absolutely nothing against its people. It was in a way that, to me, was no different from remarking that Canadians are over-the-top polite or Americans are overbearing or how talking about soccer in Brazil is like starting a conversation by bringing up the weather. I also mentioned the Shinto legend of Hiruko in my explanation to give an idea of its depth, but who on Earth hasn't said something like "if I were God I would've done X differently?"

Kiyo took such offense to this they deleted my message about triggers, in a kind of "I don't care about them" way, barraged me for five minutes with slurs about Caucasians (assuming I'm Caucasian, which the last time I checked I'm not), and then timed me out for a week counting down. I then sent the first private message in the screenshot where they then insults my true ethnicity as well as my disability and depression, and then they blocked me.

Our friend Max, who usually does act like a friend, sympathized with them and got their permission to ask me to give him an apology to give to them (Kiyo) via screenshot. I took issue because, one, they couldn't retrieve the apology themself, two, they were the one who brought it to that, three, I had no way of knowing that in particular would cause that reaction, four, the message they implied in the process about my triggers begged second thoughts, and five, I'm unfortunate enough that I can mention I don't have the best faith/relationship with apologies (this just reflects my previous generosity with them... now I advocate not doing it in vain). I say these all because these were all past topics.

The message sent to me via Max was to apologize or I'd be banned instead of just timed out, but as I was typing an apology, as if to prove my point, I noticed as I was sending the apology that they banned me anyways. Thus I edited and backspaced my apology and went on Google to verify the Japanese word for "no comment", which was mokusatsu, which I sent as the response.

After briefly being away, I came back to find, after they (Kiyo) received a screenshot of what I responded, they responded by attempting to accuse me of manipulating Max (why me) and told me it could be all over if I apologized. If there was a part of my mind that urged me to respond "uhm, no, how about I suspend you instead", I quashed it, but truth be told, by the time you reach the end of this message, that's probably what will have happened, if you know what I mean.

0 notes

passingnotions · 3 years

Text

Catharsis | Dahyun

smut, some hints of fluff

A/N: Thanks to @worldsover for helping out with editing. Overall, the sentences should read a little better and are more consistent. Make sure to check out their work!

The group’s speech is met with applause and cheer. After such a long night, the energy they give off passes on to the rest of the crowd. The party of executives, assistants, coordinators, and other staff goes on with nothing to note, the celebration only extending the night a few hours longer. After yet another award show, all you want is to go home and relax, to enjoy the next few days of vacation before it all picks up again. For the moment, though, you have to endure the night surrounded by powerful individuals and beautiful idols. It isn’t all bad, you could say.

After some time, you walk over to the refreshments to keep your hands and mind occupied, exchanging pleasantries with coworkers along the way. Breaking off from the main crowd, you find yourself looking over the city below, the bright lights from the high-rise's meeting room contrasting with the dark and neon hues outside. Minutes pass, your mind drifting on what the plan was for when you got home, but a reflection on the glass pane catches your eye. It approached, and as you turn, Dahyun greets you with a smile.

“Hey!” she says as she embraces you with a hug. “What’s with the mood? You know I can tell from a mile away.”

“Oh, I’m alright, it’s just been a long day.” Gesturing towards the crowd, you add, “I had to coordinate this one too, you know.”

“During award night? Do I have to pull some strings to get you some deserved time off again?” she teases, tilting her head as she worded the question.

Out of all the members, you have connected with Dahyun the most during the handful of times working with the group directly. You both seem to have a similar sense of humor, understand each other’s workflow, and just get along well.

Last time was different, however. Some months back, you went from acquaintance to developing what seemed to be a friendship. From emailing her representatives you moved on to texting her personal number. After on-site practice, you would be the one she walked over to while winding down and to have a chat before being driven off. The subtleties of these interactions were not lost on either of you, and that feeling of “something more” lured with every moment that passed. Although apparent, none made a move that pushed the boundaries. A hurried glance, a good-bye hug, or a mid-conversation touch all kept the unspoken at bay and maintained the link professional.

“We are getting some time off before the next project, but I’ll remember the offer.” You tease back with a raised eyebrow.

A brief pause, and Dahyun’s demeanor changes. She takes a look at the crowd before stepping closer to you, turning her back to them. You match her stance, now with the city once again in front of you both.

“The next promo shoot is abroad...” She speaks in a guarded tone.

“Yeah, I was notified last week. All of you fly out tomorrow, right?” You reply, puzzled and with equal tone. “What’s the matter, Dahyun?”

“It’ll be weeks before we- tsk.” she cut herself off, the glass pane revealing her gaze aimed at the ground.

Looking over, her gaze was more of a frown, and before you could restate your question:

“I missed you; I’m tired of missing this. You-”

The rest of the words barely register as your mind races through thought after thought. This acknowledgement is the first time you address the subject face-to-face. She confessed.

Knowing who you are and where you stand are the first things on your mind. Your position within the company isn’t one of power nor authority, and this is enough reason to keep your feelings and desires in check. When you warmed up to each other, however, you toyed with ideas that would never see the light of day otherwise. Her status as an idol comes second. Her image and the control she has of it (or lack thereof) is too important. Dahyun is hardworking, and everyone knows how much all of it means to her.

Although there are no explicit prohibitions on staff and talent relationships — they were quite common, in fact — the difficulties encountered due to the nature of the work proved to be undoing of many. Finally, her own feelings stop you from speaking. What are her expectations? Acting without knowing the full picture flusters you. You want to respect her wishes, and making a move before she did seems unwise.

You snap back to the moment, realizing the initiative she just took. Dahyun waits for your response with anxious demeanor, and you speak with full confidence and excitement.

“How do you want to go about this?” A slight smile forming with the words.

A hint of determination sparks in her eye. “About us... we can talk once I fly back. For tonight, I just want you.”

“You’ll be going to the dorms after this, do we meet up by then?” you ask.

“There won’t be enough time, it has to be now.”

The conference room at the end of the hall blesses you with an unlocked door and a secluded space to finally satisfy your pent-up desire. Dahyun barely steps into the room as she turns to let herself be taken when you walk into her, lips locking and her tongue swirling around yours. Her taste adds to the rush of euphoria as your hands run around her waist and back, clawing at the thin fabric. Now inside, you close the door behind you with your foot, both still enveloped in the kiss. Before you could push any further with the momentum from before, Dahyun pushed back towards the door, lightly slamming you into it as she ran her hands through your hair and grasped at the back of your neck.

Both pairs of hands now move downwards. While Dahyun’s moves down your shirt, reaching your belt, yours moves past her hips and onto her ass. Your lips find themselves buried in her neck, her breaths melting into your ears as you grope and feel her skin through the dress.

Before long, she unbuttons your pants and slips inside, her hand running down the length of your shaft, making you throb. Freeing you from the constraining fabric, she strokes softly while holding her lips close to yours. Dahyun smiles as your breath quivered with each stroke, the eye contact established now fueling you with a desire to return the favor.

“Come on” You manage to whisper between breaths, signaling with your head to move to the side.

Reaching some waist-high office cabinets, you help Dahyun lean back while kneeling down and raising one of her legs over your shoulder. Her heels certainly help with the endeavor, and the short dress makes it easy to access her now-soaked lace panties. You gulp at the sight of her milky thighs at each side, feeling the softness of the one resting over your shoulder. You caress her other leg bottom to top, reaching towards her underwear and pulling it to the side.

Her glistening lips make your cock throb harder than before, almost painfully so. Dahyun places her hand on the back of your head, guiding and urging you towards her. Her nails rake through your hair as you finally delve into her wetness, soft moans being let out as you pleasure her and flick your tongue hungrily.

You pull away for a second to position a finger near her entrance, teasing movements as you watch Dahyun bite her lower lip with anticipation. She throws her head back as you slip in effortlessly, her warmth now driving your mouth back towards her pussy. You curl your finger as you penetrate her and lap at her clit, picking up speed with each moan she let out. Her heavy breaths and moans intensify as she now pulls at your hair and presses your head deeper into her.

“Y-yes. Keep going, just like that” she pleads, her words cutting off as she gasped for air irregularly.

A long, breathy moan escapes her. She inhales deeply, only to follow it with quivering breaths and quick, sudden twitches. You feel her walls contract around your finger, sensing the same movement around her clitoris as you maintain your tongue pressing against it. Truthfully, you were unable to move if you wanted to; Dahyun presses your head against her so hard that her nails were now lightly driving into your skull.

Your lustful determination reaches a new high as Dahyun melts and her grip gives out. You rise, and she crashes her lips against yours. The passionate kiss is unlike the one before — similar drive and desire, yes, but the feeling differs. A sense of gratitude? Some form of connection, an emotion? You could not tell, but a certain comfort arose from the sensual warmth.

“That was so damn good” she lets out, the words weaving around the ongoing kiss.

You only manage to smile, raising Dahyun by her ass and placing her on the countertop of the cabinets she rests on.

She leans back once more, this time against the wall, holding her legs by the thighs as you line up your cock for entry. Your eyes could not meet hers; the pair too focused on your tip, softly brushing against her folds. Parting them as you glide in without issue, you moan in unison. Waves of pleasure threaten your legs to give out as you push in to the hilt, one of your hands now helping Dahyun with her leg. The other roams towards her chest, hooking the dress and pulling down. Playing with her soft white breasts intensify the feeling as your senses overload. Her moans encourage you to thrust, the speed of each rising as you feel climax approach.

Dahyun huffs, your cock pumping deep into her with consistent tempo. Coy moans escape through her teeth as she uses her free hand to pull at your shirt, beckoning for a faster, deeper pace. Now past the point of no return, your breaths become shallow, inconsistent, and you search for eye contact once more to tell her of your impending orgasm.

Before you manage to blurt out the words, she locks eyes with yours, and breathes out,

“Inside.”

The answer to your question, almost like a command, pushes you over the edge. Moans and grunts fill the room as you release inside of Dahyun. The intensity pulses through your entire body as you grip her leg and breast with stronger force, each pump more euphoric than the last. By this time, you are barely able to maintain your stance as you let go of her body and collapse forward, your arms to her sides as you lean on the countertop for support.

You slip out of her, out of breath, wincing at the overstimulation when you glide out of her walls one last time. A string follows your tip, a combination of Dahyun’s juices and your cum, and you brush it off on her folds as she wraps her arms around your neck.

Straightening back up with Dahyun, you kiss softly before bursting into short laughter, the disbelief of the moment still settling in.

The party and subsequent drive home did little to distract your brain from the occurrence, not that you wanted them to. You struggle with exhaustion, your hands attempting to relive some of the sensation. To no avail, your mind turns to the emotions. No dice either.

Well, not quite. Whatever next, certainty was at the forefront (ironically enough).

You’ll be the first to know we’re back. ✔

Chuckling to yourself,

I’ll make sure I’m on scheduling... again ✔

#kpop fanfic #kpop smut #twice fanfic #twice smut #male reader #reader insert #dahyun

380 notes · View notes

arcane-aspirations · 3 years

Text

The Frustration of the Experienced or, When Nothing is New* Anymore

I’ve recently picked back up attempting an active practice of daemianism. This form of daemianism is inspired by the animal-formed, corporeal representation of human souls in Phillip Pullman’s His Dark Materials series (best known book is The Golden Compass). I first read the series in 2005 or 2006 or so, and I am very sure I imagined what it would be like to have my soul beside me as an animal then. That’s the sort of person I was then - to imagine and bring forth what I experienced in stories that inspired me to my daily life - and indeed, hope to regain a powerful sense of being again.

I first encountered others who were daemians on the internet a few years later. I didn’t remain an active member, but I found The Daemon Page Forum and was fascinated with this community that developed detailed profiles for what sort of person would have what species as their daemons. It was like personality typing, with varying levels of commitment to an imaginary friend or what I would now recognize as a thoughtform.

Let me come back to that. “What I would now recognize.”

Over the years, although I didn’t post on TDF, I would check back every few months as I remembered daemianism and read over various species’ profiles that interested me. I have always been fairly obsessed with representing myself; I never felt like I had to explore or understand myself though - that felt intrinsic and obvious.

Though I always found it deeply frustrating that often the most common “default” characters and teams were the ones I related to the most, genuinely. I considered myself for a wolf-formed daemian for a very long time. That was also an issue for me being Gryffindor, an Autobot, Thunderclan... My archetype gravitated towards that that was popular, which often was annoying in that many who claimed the popular affiliation with something were frequently the ones just claiming an affiliation with the fandom or the popularity, rather than the soul behind it.

I digress. Mostly. That context of something being popular affecting my relationship with the thing itself isn’t completely irrelevant.

I would say the most important and active time in my beinng a daemian was a rough patch in my life around 2015 into 2016. I was lonely and had became my own worst enemy too, given that a precious friend turned enemy makes for the worst sort. The comfort of my daemon, this entity which was supposed to represent the real, true self, was incredibly valuable. Setting aside the slight reprieve it gave from ‘being alone’ - although of course, it was still unforgettable to me that, my daemon being me and all interactions coming from and only being perceptible by me, I was still alone - the sense that I valued, saw, and still was myself at a time where I had very much lost all of that elsewhere was invaluable for getting through that.

My daemon had a name, mostly, and a gender, mostly, and a few forms that were right, mostly. He didn’t do much but provide imagined cuddles from an animal companion friend - I really remember something I did regularly where I’d imagine leaning our foreheads together - but I remember feeling at least sometimes happy and content as a result of the whole thing. But he wasn’t quite what people on TDF would’ve called a daemon.

Firstly, as much as I liked the idea of having an animal to identify my persona, my self, by, I didn’t like the idea of “settling” in one form. “Settling” indicated being an adult in Phillip Pullman’s series, which I have always reviled becoming and now being. That is, perhaps, a story for another time. Beyond that, it felt limiting - let’s put a pin in that one, too, though only for later in this post.

Secondly, my daemon occasionally wasn’t an animalic shape. In one vivid memory, I danced in my aunt’s kitchen when I was home alone one evening with my daemon in the form of N Harmonia from Pokemon. Is N Harmonia even someone I think is close in personality to myself, and thereby a fitting depiction of myself? Not at all, although I do think we’d be excellent friends.

Thirdly - here’s the woo warning for folks who’ve missed that my blog is witchy - I started having the sense that my daemon wasn’t “just” this thoughtform expression of my soul. I remember feeling like having this thoughtform that was me projected was sort of this... shell of my own self, that then this entity from very far away - in space, in time, from another life, who knows, it’s complicated, I never even felt comfortable saying whether it was real or not - I felt very connected to because we were of similar soul energy could inhabit. That was very much not related to daemianism. A pin here for later in post, too.

I don’t totally remember why my focus on daemianism waned for a bit after that. Things didn’t really get better for me, but my fixations do tend to move around. It may well just be that I got better enough to start playing video games again, and was checked out from my surroundings where a daemon would be projected to remind me where he was. Or it might have just started bothering me too much that he wasn’t “real” in so far as he couldn’t/didn’t exist outside what I projected.

It bothers me that I have to create and maintain so much of the things that bring value to my life myself. It’s exhausting. And those things don’t feel as real as things that exist independent of me and my influence. There’s power in “I invented that” and there’s a kind of resignation about one’s world in “I had to invent that, because it wasn’t there but I wanted so very much for it to be”.

And while there’s others out there, obviously, doing this whole daemianism thing, was that what I was doing anyway? Clearly I was taking it my own direction... or at least, combining it with other non-daemianism things that made it distinctly not quite exactly daemianism.

So while I’ve off and on projected my daemon back into the space around me - that’s the term for imagining and “seeing in your mind’s eye” your daemon existing in and interacting with your environment around you - since then, I haven’t done nearly as much.

I’m picking it back up recently and finding it rather difficult.

Some of the things I established as fitting and suitable back then, while still suitable and true in some lights, are hidden under a complicated tangle of things that don’t make them untrue but certainly obscure or make the way to the situations and perspectives where that truth is apparent difficult. There are roads I don’t walk anymore, even though those roads and how I’d walk them are still important to me. There are many roads I walk now that ...could? should? be acknowledged now that mean nothing to me but resentment that they’re where I walk. I still feel I am the same person I was; I just feel like I never get the same sorts of opportunities to be myself.

So the forms’ fittingness to my personality feel a bit tangled in the context of my life I can’t control, where embracing that tangle feels like a near final step of losing myself. The name is roughly the same; I want a name that feels right and conveys something, and anyone who’s ever named anything to convey a meaning probably has experienced that problem.

And I can’t focus on forms suiting myself entirely, because I’m still bothered by knowledge of how a form is perceived popularly - or because of an animal’s popularity. That in and of itself feels like misrepresentation or miscommunication; I’m not able to communicate why I really feel that is right because there’s an assumption it’s what I chose consciously or unconsciously because it was popular; I’m not able to communicate through that sense of the popular thing that I feel incredibly different and disconnected from others; I’m not able to communicate what I’m saying because the most accurate denotative and personal connotative vocabulary I can find to communicate is full of connotations I don’t mean to others.

Let’s not even start with pronouns, alright?

But I think something in particular that’s frustrating is that daemianism is not the only thing on my mind when I think:

1. representation of the self

2. a form to indicate the self on an entity with malleable form

3. thoughtforms

4. animal representations of the self

I neither want to compartmentalize nor combine daemianism & daemons with witchcraft/paganism familiars/fetches, my polymorphic shapeshifter Otherkinity, souls, thoughtforms, and entities I may or may not share some kind of special soul-energy-woo bond with.

I don’t want to separate what has a resonance - except that resonance, frustratingly, sometimes shifts.

I don’t want to combine what could be varied and interesting, because now any community or representation of that thing is no longer what I am doing or can speak about and find any sense of connection through - or worse, what I am now taken to be misrepresenting or ill-informed about.

And this is the frustration of the experienced, visible here but far from exclusive to daemianism, spirit work, et al in my life: what I know I cannot but help connect to what else I know.

Connecting what I know to what I know alters forever what I do and feel about what I know and what I learn next. I have opinions and feelings about so many things, and everything I encounter is layered upon my opinions and feelings about it all.

And I feel like that connection isolates me from ever being able to appreciate and participate in something new and fresh.

It isolates me from being able to connect to the experiences of someone else who doesn’t have the connections and syncretic perceptions that I do.

I never wish to be someone I’m not, but I frequently wish to be less experienced than I am.

*I don’t think ‘new’ is the word I wanted here, but I couldn’t find it. After the post, I feel fine recording that what I wanted to reflect was not just that something was new and exciting, but also that something was able to be fresh and untainted; able to be its own thing viewed on its own terms without being conflated, connected, or tied to anything else.

#daemianism #experiences recounted

11 notes · View notes

writingandengineering · 4 years

Text

uninterested

hi this was requested!

request: Hi, I'm not sure how to make requests but could you write a fic where the reader is not so secretly in love with Poe but he doesn't seem to be interested at all? I don't care if the ending is sad or happy. Love your writing.

(this became way longer than i intended and i don’t know of the plot really flows the way i wanted to but i’m still proud of this one; i wrote an actual kissing scene that i think turned out okay. this kinda fills the request. also i nicknamed the reader Officer to avoid using a name or “y/n”)

warnings: i don’t think there’s any! just slight angst and a little kissing!

word count: 2831

Working in the comms center in the Resistance meant that you had regular contact with one flyboy, Poe Dameron. He looked just like the recruitment photos that were plastered around on your home planet; the beautiful sun-kissed skin, the brown eyes that just radiated warmth, and the luscious black curls for hair that would make anyone jealous. Just by his looks, he had you absolutely swooning anytime he came around. To you, it wasn’t all about his looks, you loved his dedication and attitude; it was the bravery, it was the compassion, it was his ability to understand people. Most of all, it was how he treated you; he treated you like the intelligent person you are, like someone who could contribute to changing the tide of the war, like you were actually important. Maker, when you were assigned to be his comm officer, you just about died and became one with the Force.

Now, it wasn’t exactly a secret that you were in love with Poe, anyone could tell with the way you started to fumble your words or fidget with your hands whenever you talked to him. That being said, it took a lot of willpower to stay even the slightest bit composed when you talked to him outside of the comm center (you are a professional which means you don’t get flustered during your job). You couldn’t help it, you were enamored by the man.

“Hey Officer! You ready for the mission in a couple days?” You instantly froze, mid-bite of whatever they were serving for lunch. Oh no, there was no way you could deal with Poe right now; not while eating where you run the risk of choking and making a fool of yourself. Quickly swallowing your food and cleaning your face off with a napkin, you take a breath to compose yourself and turn to him.

“Yeah Poe,” you start smiling, but then see that new comm officer (you know, the one that isn’t you) under his arm. You immediately deflate and look towards the ground, the pang in your chest strong. “Yeah, it’ll be a good one.” You mutter and turn around, going back to your food.

Well, there goes your confidence for the rest of the day. You hear Poe joke with the new comm officer, she giggles while they walk away. The sound makes a crack in your heart. You always knew somewhere in the back of your mind that you would never stand a chance, but it hurt to be reminded of it.

_______

There was a lot riding on this mission; the establishment of a new source of supplies was incredibly important to the survival of the Resistance. Sure, that new source was from a shady outer rim planet, but they were supporting the Resistance and hadn’t fallen victim to the First Order; that was all the Resistance could hope for. The mission would be led by Poe and his squadron, with you at the head of the comms team for the mission.

At least that was the plan, until you received a message on your data pad that you would no longer be in charge of the comms for the mission. Actually, you weren’t on the mission at all anymore.

When did that happen?

After your many attempts to gather your thoughts, you go to the one person who should know everything about this mission, Poe.

“Uh, hey Poe? Could I have a word?” you ask, walking up to him in the hangar. Kriff, he looked really good today. That orange flight suit shouldn’t work for anyone but yet Poe made it work.

He turned from his ship smiling, “Sure Officer, what did you need?” Poe stepped away from his ship, towards you. Your heartbeat started to speed up at the simple actions.

“Um, well, I saw that I was taken off of the mission, and I just wanted to know if you knew anything about that?” You say, unsure and look up to him in the eyes. It doesn’t even take him a second to reply.

“Oh that? Yeah, I requested you off of the mission. I wanted to try a mission out with that new comm officer, see how she held up so I don’t always have to rely on you.” Poe said it like it was an obvious reason. The sound of your heart breaking had to be audible with how hard it just cracked.

You furrow your brows and look down at your feet, “Why was I not informed this was happening?” You look back up, brows still furrowed, mouth drawn into a frown. Poe begins to shift in the spot he’s standing in, clearly uncomfortable.

“We just wanted to try it out, you kn-”

You quickly cut him off, “No,” anger starts to seep into tone. “Why would you do that? You know she’s new to the comms center, like, she’s barely been here for two weeks and that qualifies her to run this high stakes mission? I’m sorry Poe, that just doesn’t make sense. There is no “trying things out” with a mission like this, you know that.” So much for Poe treating you like you were good at your job.

“Look, it's nothing against you Off-” he starts before you cut him off again.

“Sure it isn’t Poe, I’ve been your assigned comm officer since you became a commander; why change now to someone else who is new and clearly inexperienced to such an important mission? I just,” you stop, taking a deep breath and shaking your head. Scoffing, you make eye contact with Poe, still shaking your head. Shrugging, you add on, “I just can’t believe you would do that.”

“I know you have feelings for me but this isn’t about that!” He tries to reason.

“What? You think I’m doing this because of my feelings? Unbelievable. I would never put a mission at risk because of my feelings, no matter how strong. This isn’t about me being jealous, this is me being concerned because I care.” You don’t even give Poe the chance to reply before storming out of the hangar and towards your quarters.

Great. You’re off the mission, Poe knows about your feelings, and your heart is broken. What a great day, you think as you plop into your bed. Your thoughts begin to dwell over the encounter and tears start to well up in your eyes.

You just couldn’t believe that Poe would throw you away like that; your feelings for him aside, but as his comm officer? It just added salt into the wound. He wanted her over you? In your area of expertise?

Ugh. Wiping your tears away, you mentally smack yourself for your thoughts; Poe’s allowed to not like you, and who were you to let your life be controlled by a man? In that instant, you decided that you would no longer harbor feelings for Poe (good luck), you would only be professional and you wouldn’t let this get the best of you.

Tomorrow, the Resistance would get a whole new you, a new Officer.

_______

You woke up later than usual the next morning; you could now that you didn’t have a mission to work on. Today, everything would be at your own pace, and no one could stop you.

Except for the general.

You groan as you enter the comm center, the one place you wanted to avoid today. Looking around the comm center, things were not going well, and that was very bad. The general stood in the center, looking frustrated, and oh. Would you look at that? Poe’s new officer was nowhere to be found.

“Officer! Thank goodness you’re here, I need you to fix this mission right now. You need to be on the comms for the rest of the mission, the Resistance can’t afford any more mishaps this mission.” Leia says as she grabs your shoulder.

“Of course General,” and with that you get right to work, ordering and guiding Poe’s squadron. You work at a pace you’ve never done before, but surely, you begin to get the mission on track.

“Officer, it’s good to hear from you! I’m so gl-”

“Save it Dameron.” you grumble and continue to work. From that point on, you only spoke to Poe when you needed to, which was difficult because he was leading the mission. Nonetheless, you got the job done; just in time too. Right as a First Order patrol ship showed up, the last Resistance ship had entered hyperspace. You sigh heavily, the mission was saved, but you were not. Now you just had to avoid Poe when he got back.

There was no way you could face him now, your feelings shattered and you having the “I told you so” advantage over him. Sure you were mad at him, but you couldn’t bring yourself to be rash towards him, you just couldn’t. You walked out of the comm center and towards the mess hall, maybe some caff would clear things up.

So, issue number one was that you had to walk by the hangar to get to the mess hall. Issue number two was that you wanted to avoid Poe, and issue number three was that there was a great chance that you would run into him at some point today; if Poe had enough brain cells, he would seek you out and apologize for putting the mission at risk. You couldn’t let yourself linger on such thoughts, so you started walking faster to the mess hall.

Getting yourself a nice cup of caff that you so clearly deserved, you went to sit down right as someone calls your name.

“Hey, the General wants you down at the debrief!”

You sigh, looking down at your caff, “I’ll be right there.” So much for your cup of caff, no rest in the Resistance you suppose. There was certainly no avoiding Poe now, you would have to see him at the debrief; your avoidance of him didn’t last very long. You dread the walk back to the command center as you start to chug your caff and prepare yourself for the debrief, going over the events in your head.

The air in the command center is thick when you enter; it looks just as tense too. In the center of the room is General Organa and Poe, the rest of his squadron on one side, and the comms team (that new officer included) on the other side.

“Come in Officer, we were waiting on you.” The General says, looking at you expectantly. You choke a little on the caff that you have left in your mouth, but nod anyways, taking a seat near the comms team. “No Officer, I want you up here so you can explain how you fixed the mission.” You start screaming internally as you get up and stand next to Poe.

The debrief starts with the General explaining the goal of the mission and what the plan was supposed to be and what happened. She turned to Poe and asked for his account of what happened and where the mission went wrong.

“Things started going bad when the comms officer couldn’t keep up, uh,” he turns to you, “not you, um, the new officer that I asked to be on this mission.” Poe looked extremely uncomfortable as he continued to explain that the new comm officer that he specifically requested (the one that replaced you), couldn’t keep up with the demands of the mission and wasn’t able to watch out for the entire squadron during it.” You make a face as you listen to Poe describe the mission with every mistake the other comm officer made, you felt kinda bad for her.

“After she ran off, we were able to get the Officer onto the comms and handle the mission; Officer was able to correct the mistakes and get us back on track. The mission was a success thanks to the Officer.” Poe finishes, looking at you. You want to look back at him, but you’re still mad at him and if you look at him, you’ll forgive him immediately. You look at the back wall of the room instead.

General Organa continues, “Officer, without you this would’ve been a failed mission, so thank you.” She turns to you again, “You’re one our lead comm officers for a reason, thank you for returning to the mission.” You nod at her in appreciation, eyes skimming over Poe, who looked at you with some sort of emotion in his eyes. Your heart panged but you ignored it in favor of starting at the back wall again.

The rest of the debrief was a blur; input from other officers and pilots taking up the rest of the time. As soon as the debrief was dismissed, you bolted to the door, not wanting to even chance talking to Poe.

“Officer! Wait!”

Apparently, you have awful luck. You slow down to a stop in the hallway, waiting for Poe to catch up. Taking a couple deep breathes, you turn to face the man you couldn’t help but love. Looking into his deep brown eyes, they’re full of the same emotion from the debrief. What was it? Regret?

“Look, Officer, I just… I just wanted to say that I was sorry,” Poe starts. He makes strong eye contact with you, as if he was trying to make his words more sincere. “I know I said some really shitty things to you and I should have never brought your feelings into it like that, but I really am sorry. I care about you too, you know? I thought I could get your attention this way and be, uh… inconspicuous about it.”

You inhale sharply and furrow your brows, “Then why would you do that? You put yourself and everyone else at risk for what? Making me jealous? What about that new officer's feelings?” Anger starts to bubble up in you at Poe’s idiocy.

“No, it isn’t like that!” Poe drags one of his hands down his face, “I planned things out and that officer was nice enough to help out, but nothing went right. I was supposed to come back from the mission successful and ask you out for drinks after. I wanted to prove that I didn’t have to rely on you, and that you could also rely on me. I just did everything wrong and it just looks so fucked up.” It was in that moment you could actually see the sincerity in his face, in his eyes. Poe reaches out to take both of your hands into his before starting again, “I really like you and I messed up really bad. You don’t have to forgive me, I just wanted to let you know that I’m sorry and that I’m an idiot.”

You go slack jawed at Poe’s words. He likes you back? Your feelings for him weren’t one-sided despite his apparent lack of interest? After staring at him in shock for a few seconds, you conclude that he is in fact, an idiot, like he said. The feelings for him that you were trying to poorly repress for him came rushing back. You look down to where he’s holding your hands and squeeze them.

“You did all of that because you liked me back? You made this elaborate plan instead of telling me? Holy kriff, you are so… extra. I forgive you, I don’t think I can stay mad at you.” You say, breaking into a smile. You see the emotions in his eyes change to something more familiar, something happier. He squeezes your hands back and then smiles so warmly at you that you melt in his grip.

“So, can I ask out for a drink then?” Poe asks, pulling you closer to him. You wrap your arms around his neck while he places his arms around your middle. Poe’s face is within centimeter of yours and you can see him glancing down at your lips in a silent question. Your smile widens.

You close the remaining gap between your lips and his; you weren’t sure what to expect kissing Poe Dameron, but this was more than you could’ve hoped for. His lips were soft and worked against yours like it was the most natural thing in the galaxy. The kiss takes your breath away as it begins to deepen even more, lips parting and Poe’s tongue invading your mouth. Your hands creep up from his neck towards the bottom of his hair and begin to pull, Poe groans deeply into your mouth before starting to run his hands along you back. The two of you go back and forth before breaking apart and remembering that the both of you were still in the hallway. You look at Poe and laugh a little at his disheveled state; Poe looks absolutely love-struck by you.

You remember his unanswered question, “I would love to get a drink with you.”

#requests #poe dameron #poe dameron x reader #poe dameron x you #poe dameron x y/n #star wars #star wars x reader #reader insert

83 notes · View notes

hilltopsunset · 3 years

Text

4 Ways to Breathe New Life into the Pokémon Franchise

I love the Pokémon franchise. It’s because I love it that I truly want new installments of the game to feel meaningful, to make an impact, and to provide players with something new, different, and worth coming back for without relying on complexities that could turn away new players.

As I will talk about in a later blog post, Game Freak seems afraid to stretch Pokémon’s creative muscles any further; meaningful innovation has been petering out since the end of Generation IV in lieu of minigames like Pokémon Contests and Super Training alongside inconsequential time sinks like Secret Bases and Poké Pelago. While I do enjoy the inclusion of things to do outside the main storyline, these additional events and sidequests should not be the only significant additions to new generations of main-series Pokémon games.

The main attractions of recent generations have provided slight twists to gameplay with the addition of mega evolution and Z-moves, but these changes don’t fundamentally change or challenge the way players experience the game on a moment-to-moment basis. And despite the graphical and processing power of recent gaming devices, and even the long-awaited shift of the franchise to a main console, we are still getting the same low-effort and outdated battle animations we’ve been seeing since X and Y. We are continually denied a more genuine battle experience with Pokémon physically interacting with each other through animations that more appropriately suit each Pokémon’s unique identity.

So what can be done? Here’s a short but detailed list of 4 things I would like to see in a new Pokémon game, in no particular order of importance.

1. Let the Player Character Be an Active Part of the Story

When has the player character ever been a consequential part of a Pokémon game? They never speak; they never have any personality whatsoever. They never experience any growth, regardless of NPC’s trying desperately to iterate how much the trainer has grown over the course of their journey. Certainly the Pokémon carried by the player character have some impact on the story, but the trainer?

Let them speak! Let the player character actually interact with NPCs in meaningful ways rather than just listening at all times. Give the trainer a personality of some sort. Don’t just slap a never-changing pleasant face onto the model regardless of tense, frightening, or sinister scenarios (I’m looking at you, Sun and Moon).

Giving the player character a more active role in the story provides intrigue—as a player, it doesn’t feel compelling being pulled from one place to another; it’s not interesting when the only thing pushing me forward is NPCs telling me I need to get the gym badges, or stop Team Rocket. It would be much more interesting if the Player Character had some imperative reason to pursue these endeavors, rather than get involved simply because “it’s the right thing to do” or, worse, “it’s the ONLY thing to do.” I want to watch the character I’m controlling grow as a person and make choices that have positive or negative consequences on people they care about and the places they visit, rather than be a perpetual observer of events with no real stake in the game.

2. Trainer Levels

Speaking of the player character, create a leveling system for them. There are so many possibilities for a system where the trainer more actively impacts gameplay. For instance, there could be a class system and each class can have unique skill trees that provide access to passive and/or active abilities that improve how the trainer interacts with the world throughout the game. It could be required to choose your path at the beginning of the game, or perhaps you can access them all throughout the game, but can only have one active at a time.

Here’s a list of example possibilities:

Explorer: The explorer class specializes in travel, as well as tracking and catching new Pokémon—this tree can be subdivided into those paths: Travel, Tracking, and Catching. This tree provides skills that assist them in accessing otherwise inaccessible locations, increasing encounter rates with rare Pokémon, and specializing in different types of Poké balls to improve catch chances. Experience for this class is gained through catching Pokémon, encountering rare Pokémon, and exploring (walking in new places, finding treasure, accessing hidden areas, etc.).

Combatant: The combatant class excels at offensive battle prowess through its three branches: Type Affinity, Commands, and Reputation. This tree allows a trainer to specialize in certain Pokémon types (up to 2) to improve their STAB damage. Eventually, you can get a skill that provides STAB for your specialized types even for Pokémon not of those types! You gain access to in-battle shout commands that provide momentary buffs to your party, like improving damage, resisting a big attack, or improving critical hit ratio. A strong reputation will allow you to avoid battle even with trainers who have caught your eye; and in battle, an enemy Pokémon may flinch due to your intimidating presence. Experience is gained by knocking out Pokémon, winning battles, using moves of your type specialization, and issuing commands.

Breeder: The breeder focuses on developing deep relationships with their Pokémon. Skills of this class can be divided into the Breeding, Bonding, and Healing branches. Through this tree, trainers can hatch eggs more quickly, improve high IV chance from newborn Pokémon, develop friendship levels more quickly, etc. Bonding provides Pokémon with beneficial defensive capabilities during battle, like providing a chance to survive an attack that would otherwise bring HP to 0, and having a strong will to resist abnormal status effects like paralysis and confusion. A Breeder’s knowledge of caretaking allows for healing outside of battle, and can even teach Pokémon how to slowly recover in-battle. Experience is gained through hatching eggs, developing friendships with your Pokémon (through feeding/petting, etc.), participating in Contests/minigames, and having Pokémon in your party with whom you have developed a close relationship.

The establishment of a class system like this, where experience is gained through different means relevant to each class, incentivizes players to participate in those aspects of the game, and provides extra rewards for players who already want to get involved. It makes the trainer feel like a relevant and impactful part of the team, rather than a hollow vehicle strictly used to lug the real heroes—your team of Pokémon—from battle to battle.

And for those who think the inclusion of such a mechanic would trivialize the content, I have several suggestions: first, they could easily make the game content more difficult to compensate. Second, they could mitigate the strength of these class skills during key battles like Gym Leaders, the Elite Four, the Enemy Team (Rocket, Galaxy, etc.). Third, NPCs (especially the aforementioned key NPCs) could have access to these skills as well. Remember, I’m asking for significant changes, and this would provide something new, interesting, and impactful.

3. Battle Animations

Update them. It’s that simple. Let Blastoise shoot water out of his water cannons rather than out of his face. Let Scorbunny run up to its opponent and give it a nice kick! Get rid of the old, outdated animations of a drawn foot—we now have well-rendered 3D monsters on gaming systems capable of handling the graphical processing necessary for this to happen. Give each Pokémon a more unique identity with their animations; make them feel like they’re actually in a battle with one another. It’s time.

I acknowledge that providing significant animation updates for the 800+ models is an enormous undertaking that would require a massive amount of time and manpower to make possible. To this I say: spend the time doing that rather than developing Dynamax or whatever. Spend the time on more significant animation development instead of wasting that time on another gimmick that isn’t going to significantly impact gameplay anyway.

To be honest, this point alone would be enough to convince me to buy a new Pokémon game.

4. Populate the World with Pokémon

I know that the Let’s Go series and Sword/Shield did this a little bit, and while it certainly wasn’t executed perfectly, it was fun running around and actually seeing all the Pokémon that inhabit it. Spawn rates in both games were often a bit too high, resulting in cluttered areas. Adding aggressive Pokémon would further enhance the immersive experience—being required to sneak around certain stronger Pokémon could be a really fun mechanic and provide tension; it was a bit too easy to avoid Pokémon in Let’s Go and in the Wild Area. While it was nice to get through Mt. Moon without encountering a single Zubat, imagine instead running through a section of the cave with a trail of 15 Zubats on your tail? Make me work for it a little!

Ultimately, I want to see Pokémon behaving more naturally in their habitats, and not just in sections of the world that I can’t get to. I want to run into a Caterpie hanging from a tree, or a Fearow fishing for Goldeen, or a Pikachu grooming itself. I want to interrupt Pokémon from their lives, not run into a giant gaggle of automatons circling tiny areas for no reason.

So there it is: a look at just a few things Pokémon games could include to make things more interesting and breathe new life into an aging franchise. These changes would require work, but any new game should—I would hate to see Pokémon continue the troubling trend of easy and/or insignificant content when there is so much potential to do so much with what they have.

With all that said, I do want to offer a bit of praise—Sirfetch’d and Galarian Ponyta are pretty awesome, and Galarian Weezing is perfectly ridiculous. But I ask that you keep in mind what your money is telling Game Freak when you purchase their games: it tells them that you don’t mind the severe lack of innovation and improvement. It tells them you don’t mind Scorbunny hopping in place as a giant, orange, human foot strikes its opponent. It tells them that you’re willing to fund their copy/paste animations from 6 years ago, their uninspired gameplay updates, and their ever-increasing focus on gimmicks and minigames.

As for me, I will continue holding Pokémon to a higher standard and hoping that, eventually, Blastoise will fire water from his cannons.

#pokemon #game review #game freak #hilltop sunset #suggestions

4 notes · View notes

chimswae · 3 years

Text

BTS Caretaker CH33

Summary: She may think she has Bangtan Sonyeondan wrapped around her fingers. She may think it is easy to love the members equally without hurting any soul. She may think the boys wont fall head over heels for her. She assumes it is okay to show a little love and affection towards the boys, what if she gets it all wrong? What if it only brings more complication to her already complicated life? Can she survive their charms? Will she be able to resist them? What if they just wont let her go?

- Pairing: BTS x Oc ( Yoongi x OC, Jungkook x OC)

- Genre: Fluff, Slight Angst, Romance, Idol!au

- Word Count: 3,595

- Author Note: There is a small text exchange between Seul and Jin in this chapter, so i put the text up.

Previous | Next

Chapter 33

“Seul, what is the matter? Why with the sudden notice?” Wongeun placed the letter down on his lap, expelling a long sigh. Once again hesitation ripped off the confidence that she had earlier. She had given this into a thought, even Jin would give her a call without fail despite not being there physically by her side. Ever since her encounter with Mr Kwon, she had never seen him lingered around the shop. God knows, when he decided to make his appearance again.

Wongeun snapped his fingers to bring back her attention to him “Am I talking to wall? Is there something that I must know? You are a little off these days” Seul smiled meekly adding to his suspicion.

“It is nothing. I think mother needs me by her side. Her health is deteriorating, it is best to pay more attention on her” she lied. It was an established fact that she quit after finding out the truth about Mr Kwon.

She needed to- no, she must stay away from him as far as possible.

“Seul.. if this is about your mother, you know we can help you. You don’t have to resign” he reasoned.

“Oppa, I think it is about time to focus on something that is more important in my life. I have nothing against this place, hell I have been working for two years with you. It is not easy for me too, but I hope you understand” her cold lips emitted a heavy sigh. She looked at him sadly “Please?” Wongeun leaned back in his seat.

He was morose and kept his mouth shut making her anxious for no reason. “It is hard to let you go Seul. You are a good employee and a good friend of mine. Just so you know, the door is opened for you anytime. Hit me up, and you can get that apron of yours back” he lightens up the mood earning a small chuckle from the girl.

“Thank you oppa, I know I can trust you with this. Don’t worry I will come to visit once in awhile to check on you guys” Wongeun said quickly “And to buy a box brownies” she laughed softly.

“Yes, a box of brownies. I will never forget you, for all the things that you did for me. So, thank you again” Wongeun shook his head and eyed the girl closely. “Don’t sound like we are not meeting each other anymore. Seul just don’t-“ a voice spread across the room, pausing the conversation that they had.

“It is stated in the contract; all employee must give two months’ notice before resigning”

That voice again. Seul’s breath hitched when his eyes laid on her, scrutinizing her from head to toes.

Why is he here? She mentally groaned in dissatisfaction.

Surprised by their manager sudden appearance, Wongeun stood up almost immediately and bowed politely “ Sir, I didn’t know you will be coming today” he murmured while giving an eye signal to Seul demanding her to greet the important person in front of them.

She rose from her feet with so much reluctance didn’t want to appear suspicious, so she gave the old man a little bow without sparing any look at him.

Dressed in navy blue suit, he had round dark shades to cover that two pair of evil eyes which she hated the most. Not long after, he took off his shades, keeping it inside his pocket with an unreadable expression “ Miss Ji, your resignation letter is invalid. I will not accept it. Draft a new one as an advance notice, you may leave the job in two months” his voice was mocking her, to flaunt his power that he had on her.

Seul’s jaw tightened, letting the anger sipping in “I don’t remember having that kind of terms in the contract?” she snapped.

A mischievous smirk spread across his face “ Keep the job for two more months or pay the penalty, your call” Wongeun blinked confusedly sensing the tension in the air as though these two were playing with fire, getting ready to throw it at each other.

“I will pay the penalty fees” said Seul confidently.

“I reckon you can afford those fees. It may cost you fortune. I suggest the first option anyway” the tone of his voice was so snobbish making her fuming in anger. She pondered upon this matter again. If she insists on quitting the job and pay the penalties, where to find the money?

As much as she wanted to seek help from Jin, that sounded impossible. This would only make her to appear like a gold digger. She was not that desperate.

She couldn’t believe it with her ears that after so many years, he still had the audacity to pull such threat on her. This simply means she had to put up with him for two more months before freed herself from this evil lair. How was it possible to survive that?

“Miss Ji, I am waiting” he tapped his finger on his branded wrist watch.

“Fine, I will hand in the new notice tomorrow” Wongeun sent her an apologetic glance considering he didn’t have much say in this. He too didn’t understand why Mr Kwon seemed so interested in this business recently. All these years, he never showed up and would contact Wongeun occasionally through phone call.

Something is fishy, he thought.

“Good. Enjoy your last two months here, you never know what awaits you” those last sentences sent chill down her spin. You never know what awaits you, it rung inside her head in loop. She couldn’t simply forget it just because it came from the nastiest human being alive, Evil Kwon.

Without wasting any more seconds to breathe the same dirty air as his, Seul excused herself to tend her job. Wongeun watched her back leaving the scene with a heavy heart. There were unanswered questions inside his head that need to be answered soon.

Satisfied with his successful plan in keeping the girl under his radar, he was ready to leave. “I want her letter by hand and she must submit it to me personally. Tell her to come to my house tomorrow, I will be working from home” he ordered.

Wongeun nodded, trying to be optimist since the older man made Seul to submit her notice all way to his house without any solid reason. How odd was that?

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

Two more days till home. Just two freaking days, then he could recharge back the energy in him. He already missed his odeng and eomuk though, for the time being Seul would be keeping those two cuties with her during his absence.

Jin decided to laze around a bit considering the practice for their concert tomorrow had taken almost 13 hours of his time straight without break. He plopped himself on the comfy king-sized hotel bed and expelling a tired sigh. Massaging his aching shoulder, he released another loud grunt not liking the pain that took over his body.

His roommates, Jungkook and Namjoon were out to get food with Jimin. As soon as they reached their hotel, he went straight to his room without wasting more time outside. Jin prioritized his sleeps more than anything. He fished out his phone from his pocket and decided to text Seul again.

He bit his lower lips muffling the small chuckle from his mouth. Nowadays, the mere thought of Seul became the source of strength in him. Even though this feeling that he had for her started way back then, but he’s too afraid to admit it.

Someone needs a love counselling session.

Joyfully, his fingers moved swiftly against the screen and typed a quick hi to Seul.

Damn, why is he like this?

Seul was reading his last message and her eyes flew open in surprised to see his name appeared on the screen. Jin’s quick reflex was no joke, he acted as if Seul was at the brink of death. Giving Seul no time to process, Jin bombarded her with questions which almost knocked her sense out from her body.

“Where are you meeting him? With who??

“Are you by any chance alone?”

“Don’t tell me your best friend refuse to follow you there!”

“Seul don’t go! It is dangerous! The last time you’re breathing in the same room as his, he almost ripped your dress apart. Goodness woman!”

“Geez Kim Seokjin. One at a time. Your words fly faster than bullets. I am alone, no, Hwasa is working. She can’t ditch her job because there’s only her and Sera working this shift. And, about the first question, I am heading to his home” Seul swore to god Jin’s high pitch yell could be heard miles away. This was the exact reason she didn’t want to tell him about her plan meeting the old man alone. Jin would react this way.

“YAH ARE YOU INSANE? DID YOU JUST OFFER YOURSELF TO THE EVIL MAN VOLUNTARILY? ABORT MISSION. RETURN. HOME. NOW!” he yelled angrily through the speaker earning a soft hiss from the latter.

“Are you mad?”

“No. I am so happy that you are now on your way meeting Mr Kwon, what a beautiful reunion!” his sarcastic remark sounded so Min Suga. When she thought about it again, they must be spending too much times together as a roommate.

Seul snorted “I know but like I have a choice. I just need to submit this and once this reach him, I will leave immediately. I will take care of myself Jin” her voice softened at the end. Her heart skipped weirdly at the attention that he showed to her, like when he sounded so protective over her it drove her wild heart to edge.

“I know you can take care of yourself, but I don’t trust him Seul. Think about this again? His threat is empty, about the penalty fees I can help-“ she blurted quickly before Jin could say more.

“I don’t want you to help me. This is an issue that I can solve by my own. I only need your morale support and I don’t need your money. Jin, I can handle him. I will contact you as soon as I am out from his house alright?” for some reason her assurance did not sound tempting to him at all. Jin didn’t feel good about this.

The end of the line fell into dead silence worrying the timid girl. Angry Jin was not pretty, and she knew it would lead to more harm than good. “Jin..” she called him out softly meting his heart.

Aish, how can I stay mad at you, woman. Jin rolled his eyes in annoyance.

“Under one condition, don’t hang up on me until I make sure he won’t do something inappropriate to you” she frowned and stopped in front of the beautiful bungalow house. For a second, the size of the house took her breath away but realizing who’s the owner of this property, she cringed in disgust.

“That is impossible. International call is expensive Kim Seokjin, are you mad?”

“I can afford that, just listen to me, will you?! Stop being so stubborn!” Seul sighed and glanced at her phone screen before pressing it back near her ears.

“Look, my battery barely survives this phone call Jin. I will call you as soon as I am done, it wont take long. If I didn’t get back in 15 minutes, you can reach Hoon and tell him my whereabouts” she suggested to ensure Jin wouldn’t make fuss over this again.

Jin paused for a second before responded “15 minutes is too long! Why do you need 15 minutes when you can just leave the letter at his doorstep and leave immediately?” as expected from Jin, he wouldn’t take things lightly.

“Every step that I take is more than one second you moron. To add to those delay is my hesitation, can you just spare my life for 15 minutes and reconsider my offer. Gosh, you are impossible!” she exclaimed.

“Ji Seul, I don’t like what you are doing” he scowled.

Seul rubbed her head, with a small sigh “Do you trust me?”

“I always trust you but not now. It is not a good idea, you still have time to change your mind and take off from there. I..just that- I am not there for you Seul. I don’t want anything happen to you” low murmurs could be heard clearly and Seul found herself smiling shyly. This different side of Jin always make her looking forward to spend more time with him in the future.

“I promise, I will be back in 15 minutes without scratch, can you wait for me till then?” she bit her lower lips nervously. Did she sound like she’s flirting with him? Why was she worried over her choices of words and tone of voice? This is sickening.

Jin finally gave in and nodded “15 minutes not more. If you don’t give me a call within that time, I am calling cops”

“Hoon” she corrected.

“Hoon has no gun, cops have one”

Seul whined “You are not calling the cops! I forbid you in doing so, just call Hoon” he chuckled softly picturing Seul’s pout in his head.

“Fine, Hoon”

“I have to go, I will be back in 15 minutes max alright?” she hung up without bidding a goodbye and annoyed the hell out of him. He glanced at the clock in fear, 15 minutes from now Seul must be out safely from that home.

Or else, Jin..

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

Entering the luxurious lavish home, her eyes scanned the interior admiring it along her way. The maid brought her to another wing of the house which she assumed where his office would be. Taking a deep breath, she dragged her heavy legs entering the office and not to forget thanking the maid before the woman disappeared from her sight.

“You made it” the old man tore his gaze from the pile of document in front of him to Seul. She wished how earth could just swallow her right now rather than being in the same room as his. Seul mustered her courage and approached the wooden table slowly, “I am here to submit my letter as you requested” placing the letter on the table, she took a step back.

“I will get going now” she mentally screamed to quickly exit the suffocating room and normalize her breathing. Mr Kwon smug, taking his time to say this one thing that could stop her from walking away through that door.

She reached for the door knob and before she could open the door, Seul heard him chucked lowly “I know what you are looking for. It is your biological father, right? What if…” he stood up from his leather swivel chair, walking stealthily towards Seul.

Her brows flinched as he continued “What if, I know who your real father is?” he minimized the gap between them.

Seul’s eyes shot open realizing what this man tried to offer her, “Wh-at… nonsense is that…” her eyes threw daggers as she backed away, pressing her back against the cold door. The older man cackled in delight watching how much power he had on Seul.

“Not nonsense, but I do know where to find your real father”

“I don’t trust you”

“Really? Did your mother ever tell you about your real father?” he brought his face closer to her, teasing the girl in process. Her lower lips quivered in fear “I know… he is one my father’s best friend” she held back her tears from hitting the ground.

He nodded “True, but have you seen any photo of him?”

“Why does it matter?!” she snapped.

“You have such a loud mouth, it could be used for better thing in the future” he rubbed his thumb over her lips only to be slapped away by Seul harshly. “Don’t touch me” she gritted her teeth in anger, feeling offended by his sexual remarks.

“Alright, I won’t touch you. But that won’t change the fact that I know where to find your real father” he tilted his head studying her expression. It was a mixture of pain and anger. “Your dad is closer than you think” he whispered in her ears.

Seul shook her head frantically “I will never listen to a bastard like you, stay the hell away from me” Mr Kwon let out a sarcastic laugh.

“Stay the hell away from you? Even blood can’t tear us apart Seul” he snorted. “I will spare you for now but remember, my arms always open for you in case you need me” he twisted the door knob, opening the door for her.

With one final glance, she scurried off the room using the last ounce of strength in her body afraid that the bipolar man might change his mind in the middle and decided to lock her up or kidnap her. Once she felt the cold wind hit her skin, she was relieved to survive the battle with demon inside.

Thinking about his words earlier, could it be true that he knew who’s his father. Hence, there was a chance for her to find him. She realized it was too early to put a trust on his word especially it came from Mr Kwon.

Seul still had her mother, she is the key to every questionable thing in her life.

If she could dig it from her mother, then she didn’t need Mr Kwon’s help. He wouldn’t do it for free, there’s always be an exchange of something every time people seal a deal with him.

Her loud ringtone brought her out of her trance, and she answered without even bother to look at the caller id “Seul! Thank god you are alive. Have you met him? Did he do something? Are you okay?” his panic voice rose from one octave to another.

“Nothing happen so can you calm down? Save your voice for tomorrow’s concert. I delivered the letter and leave before he could say anything” it was not the perfect time to tell Jin about the things in relation to her father. She would tell him when she’s sure Kwon’s words were not a mere bluff.

Jin disagreed “I can’t stay calm knowing you are with him! Don’t do that again. You are scaring me woman. Are you on your way home?” she hummed a soft yes and started walking.

“Then I will give you a company until you reach home” his crazy ideas made her smile.

“Don’t be silly, I am perfectly fine. Go to sleep Jin”

“This woman.. It is 9PM and you are sending me to bed already?”

Her nose scrunched up in annoyance “You have to wake up early tomorrow nevertheless, it is not a bad idea to sleep at this time” she defended her earlier statement.

“I am walking you home, that is my final decision! Now, how’s your day?” her eyes were rolled back digesting his cliché side, though deep down inside she could say this was a romantic gesture. With Jin’s soft voice rang in her ears along her journey back home, she feared nothing in this world.

His voice was gentle and soothing enough that it drove a part of the fear away.

With his voice, it shortens the distance to her home. Not to mention, every time she laughed at Jin’s silly dad jokes, half of her burdened were being lifted from her shoulder. Entering her building, she climbed the stairs tiredly unlocking the door. Kicking her shoes at the corner, she promised to clean it up the first thing when she woke up tomorrow. Seul hurried inside her room with Jin voice nagged in the background urging her to head to bed as soon as she reached home.

“Are you in your room?”

“Yes, Mr Kim. I am in my room” she threw her exhausted body on the bed, throwing arm over her head.

“Good, now get changed and rest. Text me a good night when you are done” Jin let out a soft chuckle.

“You are so demanding. Not even my boyfriend but you are acting like one” murmuring with eyes closed, she stretched a little.

He argued “I just walked you back home so appreciate me” Seul’s soft giggle tickled his heart. He sunk on his bed, laying on the cold mattress with a foolish smile across his face.

“So full of yourself, why I am not surprised”

“Consider this as our first date” he muttered.

“What?” bewildered, Seul sat up trying to brain the meaning behind those shady words. She heard his heavy breathing at the end of the line, as he continued “About, me walking you back home, consider it a date” out of a sudden his voice turned fifty shades darker and romantic, enticing every part of her body.

What the hell Kim Seokjin? That is cringy! Jin facepalmed.

“Don’t say anything, pretend that you misheard that. Oh gosh, I must go. Don’t forget to text me a good night! Bye Seul!” he spat the words out like flying bullets without giving the girl a chance to say anything and hung up.

Jin rolled on his bed, screaming in the pillow blaming his sloppy and foolish action. He was worried if that scare the girl away. Grunting in frustration, he felt like he just screwed up his blooming relationship with Seul.

Just what is wrong with me, Jin was frustrated and feeling a little remorseful over his action.

#btscaretaker #bts fic #bts series #bts fanfic #bts fanfiction #yoongi x oc #yoongi fic #jungkook fic #jungkook x oc #jungkook fluff #jin x oc #jin fic #kim seokjin x oc #bts fluff #kpop fanfiction

12 notes · View notes

lezliefaithwade · 3 years

Text

A Christmas Story

A few Christmases ago, when in Paris, I happened to become friends with a homeless gentleman who frequented the corner at the end of my street. He sat upon a shocking pink suitcase with his little dog, Lucky, curled up at his feet and wished everyone who passed by a heartfelt “bonne journée.”

He never asked for money. Not once. He never scorned those who scoffed or worse judged. He simply smiled and greeted every passerby with a sincere greeting of goodwill. I’d been warned repeatedly about beggars in Paris. “Charlatans,” people said, “they’ll take everything you own if you let them.” So, when I first encountered Nichola, I hurried by shunning eye contact and willing myself NOT to look at the dog. I can turn a blind eye like the rest of us to things too uncomfortable to deal with and reasoned that since this was my first visit to Europe, I deserved a break from routine considerations. But no matter how much I wished I could ignore them, they were always there, as constant as the Eiffel Tower. After a few days, it became impossible, and frankly tiresome, avoiding him. I began to observe how kind he seemed. Children, in particular, loved Lucky and were always feeding him from the small market at the corner. On the fourth night of my stay, I happened to be returning from a concert at the Chapel in Versailles. Intoxicated by the music of Faure, I was in a particularly good mood when I noticed Nichola and Lucky asleep on the street. It was cold that night and a light wet snow had fallen so they were huddled on a grate for warmth upon the wet pavement. My heart cracked. I made my way to the apartment I was staying in around the corner on Duvivier and laying on my bed, stared at the ceiling unable to sleep. I had no idea how I could help or what comfort I could offer, but pretending they didn’t exist was now impossible.

If you learn one thing in Paris it’s about man’s inhumanity to man. Art galleries, of which there are a plethora, boast painting after painting of retribution, judgment, mercy, benevolence, and grace. Who knows more about these things than artists? The lesson from nearly every painting is how downtrodden the poor are, how much God loves the unfortunate, and the cautionary tale of revolt. No matter where I went, or what I saw, it was always Nichola and the dog. Van Gogh stared at me from his self-portrait and whispered, “What are you going to do about Nichola and the dog?” The Raft of Medusa by Théodore Géricault became a depiction of the homeless people piled on a barge with nowhere to go. Gustave Courbet’s self-portrait with a dog was none other than Nichola himself with Lucky tucked into his side. And no, it wasn’t lost on me that Nichola (namesake of Christmas) was sleeping on St. Dominque street. Dominique - the patron saint of astronomers; a man who selected the worst accommodations and the meanest clothes, and never allowed himself the luxury of a bed. What was the universe trying to tell me?

The following morning, I had breakfast with Nichola and Lucky. I brought croissants, dog food, and coffee, and for an hour I sat cross-legged on the sidewalk as we made our first attempt to converse. My French is, très mauvais, which didn’t matter as I soon discovered that Nichola's native tongue was Romani. With the help of a translation app, I learned that Romania and Bulgaria, where the majority of Roma originate, became full members of the European Union in 2007. But “transitional arrangements” in their accession to the EU mean that citizens of these former communist bloc states did not enjoy complete freedom of employment in France until December 31, 2013. Even now only certain Roma are able to be hired for certain work. He showed me a photograph of his daughter in Czechoslovakia and he gleaned that I was in theatre visiting Paris on a bursary I’d won from the Stratford Festival. Breakfast over, I waved goodbye and headed to D’Orsay or Versailles, or the Louvre, but I always came back to Nichola and Lucky for dinner between 5:30 – 6:00. On nights when the weather was bad, I gave him money for a shelter or would return home to find that he’d already earned enough for a bed somewhere. Those nights I slept better than others. Nights when I knew he wasn’t on the street, I imagined (probably somewhat naively) that he and the dog were at least safe.

It occurred to me that it was possible I was being bamboozled. It’s conceivable that my friend had a stash of money somewhere, coaxed from emotional tourists like me. Truth be told, nothing would have pleased me more than to find out that Nichola had a fine apartment in a good arrondissement and dined well with Lucky curled up on Egyptian cotton sheets. If I was being fleeced then so be it. Anyone who begs deserves money, as far as I’m concerned. It’s not a noble profession. It’s not gratifying. It’s demoralizing, tedious, work brought to light even more so during the holiday season.

What is it about Christmas that always brings us back to the issue of money? We spend so much on the creature comforts of the season, investing in commercialism and forgetting that the whole Christmas story revolves around a couple about to give birth with no roof over their head. And how often do we watch A Christmas Carol forever reminded that Ebenezer Scrooge’s relationship with money makes him as hollow as the apartments he keeps: void of life and colour. The first time I saw A Christmas Carol I was terrified. (I’m referring in particular to the black and white Alistair Sim version) Marley’s ghost in particular haunted, not only Scrooge but me for days afterward. I half expected to see the shimmering outline of some long lost relative at the end of my bed reprimanding me for stealing cookies or stepping on flowers. In my childlike brain, Marley and Santa Claus merged into some kind of specter sent to judge whether I’d been good, or not. I was forever trying to figure out how good was good? How bad was bad? If found wanting, would I be sentenced to walk the earth with the chains I’d forged? Even as a child I imagined the cord was extensive. I marveled at Charles Dicken's imagination. I didn’t believe Ebenezer Scrooge was real. No one, I reasoned, was that stingy or that greedy; but over time I’ve met a lot of Scrooges and I’ll bet you have too. We use money to ascertain a person’s value and to hold sway over others. It’s the most mysterious entity because it’s only valuable if we think it is. I learned this lesson long ago when studying in New York. I happened to hand a Canadian quarter to a subway attendant who shoved it back at me saying, “I can’t take your funny money.” Perfectly good in one place and absolutely worthless somewhere else.

It’s embarrassing asking for money when you need it and difficult for people being asked. I know a lot about this awkward relationship with money. My father, for a time, was a bank manager and finances were something we simply did not discuss. Not ever. To borrow, even a few hundred dollars was unheard of. Worse, in my family, you were shamed for asking. And if anyone took pity on you with a few bucks here or there, it was always accompanied with the directive, “…don’t tell your mother, or brother, or step-mother.” It was even worse being in the arts, a profession that carried with it the stigma of irresponsibility. The only exception I knew of was my Nana on my Mother’s side who loved nothing more than to give people things. I inherited this one trait from her. Money has never been something I hoarded (probably to my demise). Instead, I’ve seen it as simply an opportunity to help. In Paris, I became the newly converted Ebenezer Scrooge. Instead of eating at the most expensive restaurant, I ate at moderately fine establishments and saved the difference for Nichola. I bought day-old croissants and gave the difference I saved to Nichola. And when my departure date drew near I bought him a care package of food, blankets, socks, dog food, and treats.

My last night in Paris, I met a friend for a quick coffee and found myself getting emotional as I talked about the street beggars. Could it be that in getting to know Nichola, I realized that so much of my life was about luck? I live in a town where it’s not unheard of for people to have more than one home, and there was a perfectly nice person living on the streets. Our lives are so vastly different, our circumstances so varied simply for the fact of our birth. There but for the grace of God…

When my friend and I parted I made my way in the dark to Notre Dame and listened to a Christmas concert in an overflowing cathedral filled to the brim with parents and children all there to sing Sante Maria and Joy to the World. How fortunate for me that I was able to experience Notre Dame before the fire. Even an atheist would be hard-pressed to admit that there wasn’t something spiritual about that cathedral. And sitting there amongst the Parisians I felt a kind of peace. “What will happen to Nichola?” I asked the rafters and what came back was the sound of children singing:

Angels we have heard on high

Sweetly singing o'er the plains

And the mountains in reply

Echoing their joyous strains

Gloria, in Excelsis Deo

Gloria, in excelsis Deo

As I was walked home after the concert I happened by the famous bookstore: Shakespeare & Co. and was stopped in my tracks by the store’s motto, "Be Not Inhospitable to Strangers Lest They Be Angels in Disguise."

That night I wrote a letter to Nichola and left him enough money for him and his dog to return to his daughter. I sealed the envelope and, in the morning, before I left for the airport, I gave it to him.

I mention this, dear reader, not to draw any attention on me whatsoever. It’s our job to help our fellow man…at least Charles Dickens thought so when he penned,

“At this festive time of the year… it is more than usually desirable that we should make some slight provision for the poor and destitute, who suffer greatly at present. Many thousands are in want of common necessaries; hundreds of thousands are in want of common comforts.”

Three months later, I received a letter from Czechoslovakia. Enclosed was a thank you and photos of Lucky, Nichola, and his daughter in the backyard of a home set against the hills.

If I can help someone, then so can you.

#Christmas Paris Christmas story Homeless

3 notes · View notes

justthehiddleswrites · 3 years

Text

The Reluctants | Chapter 4 | The Reluctant Embrace

Pairing: Adam (OLLA) x OFC (Charlie Bock)

Summary: Charlie can’t believe her luck when she lands an apartment all to herself in Quincy, Massachusetts in a decaying triple decker. But life gets more complicated when someone moves into the basement. Specifically her landlord, Adam, who also happens to be a vampire. As life collapses around Charlie, these two forge an uneasy and unlikely relationship. But is their relationship as doomed as the building they live in?

Chapter: As Adam and Charlie enter into uncharted territory with this new arrangement, things get complicated. Charlie tries to re-establish order. It fails.

Warnings: Violence, Smut, Frottage, Dry Humping, Teasing, Coming In Pants, Oral Sex, Vaginal Sex. Couch Sex. Kidnapping. Stalking. Non-Graphic Violence, Character Death

Adam offered Charlie a spot on the sofa which gladly she took, folding her hands in her lap.

“I can’t ask you to do this.” Adam offered.

“You’re not. I’m offering.” She squirmed under Adam’s stare. “It’s different. It’s not like I am under some thrall or something.”

Adam rolled his eyes. “Stop reading books about vampires. It’s all bullshit.”

“Except for the blood and sunlight.”

“Yes.”

“So are you in? Otherwise, I need to find somewhere to move.” Charlie pressed the issue.

“Fine.” Adam huffed.

Charlie squealed, bouncing in place. Adam’s eyes focused on Charlie’s chest for a moment too long, his mind wondering if she bothered to put on a bra or not to see him. She blushed when she followed his gaze, crossing her arms.

“So… so… How would this work?” she stuttered, conscious of everything.

Adam licked his lips in hunger. “I would feed off your blood. Preferably every few days.”

Charlie gulped. “Would you need to bite me?”

“Yes.” Adam hummed, his fangs becoming more prominent. “I can show you.”

“Now?!”

“Can you think of a better time?” Adam snapped back.

“No.” Charlie fidgeted a bit before leaning her head away.

“No, not there. Give me your arm.” Adam commanded.

Charlie’s left arm shot out. Adam’s fingers slid along her hand as he turned her hand palm facing up. The callous on the index finger caught on her wrist.

“The radial and ulnar arteries run through the arm.” Adam traced two lines of each side of Charlie’s wrist. The hair on her arm stood on end. “They carry oxygenated blood to the hands.”

He lifted her wrists to his lips. Adam’s stubble rubbed against the delicate skin, leaving a red mark as he nuzzled his nose, inhaling her. Charlie didn’t seem as he expected. He expected something… well feminine. Flowers, sugar, something sweet. She instead smelled of bay rum and citrus. It made his head spin.

“I’ve already eaten today, so I won’t feed long.” Adam reassured Charlie, and she sighed in relief. “Relax.”

Charlie recognized Adam’s lips were soft and warm, she had thought they would be cold. As Adam’s fangs sunk into her wrist, she hummed.

Adam’s mouth filled with Charlie’s blood and realized he was more hungry than he let on. It had been a long time since he had a “warm meal”. And Charlie tasted delicious. He wanted to drink all of her. He pulled away. His tongue licking away an errant drop from his lip.

“And see,” he turned her wrist to face her. “the bleeding is already stopped. Here.” He rose and grabbed an old t-shirt, ripping it. Adam wrapped the strip tight around the wound. “Keep that in place for at least an hour.”

He patted on the makeshift bandage, his fingers lingered.

“That wasn’t as bad as I thought.” Charlie whispered, feeling somewhat lightheaded, not sure if it was the blood loss or something else. “I will see myself out.”

Adam stood as Charlie did, his arms hanging tight at his side. He didn’t know how to quite end such an encounter.

“I’ll see you in a few days.”

Charlie nodded. “I’ll come down the interior stairs after sunset. Does that work for you?”

“Yes.”

“Thank you.” Charlie gave a slight smile.

“Thank you.” Adam repeated back, the corners of his mouth twitched into an almost half smile.

Charlie disappeared up the stairs while Adam shut the door with a soft click. He pressed his head against the wood.

Charlie and Adam continued on just as they had agreed. Adam would feed on her every few days, always the wrists. And Charlie continued living upstairs. One day, Charlie stopped as Adam took his seat on the couch as he always had.

“Is there a problem?” he inquired. He had been following the arrangement to a T, despite his libido’s desire to do more.

“I need you to not feed from my wrists today.” Charlie mumbled, her hands twisting in front of her body. She plopped down beside him. She continued to fidget beside him.

“Why not?”

“Because I have a job interview at Sheffield and Wyatt and I would rather not have to explain why my wrists are bandaged.”

“Cover them up.” Adam retorted, in a flat tone. The alternative was too dangerous.

“I can’t!” Charlie’s voice broke. “It will look like I’m trying to hide something.”

“You are.”

“Please. Just this one time.” Charlie begged.

Adam contemplated his options. He could refuse to feed, but the fatigue coursed through his body. He didn’t want to be weak like that for another moment, let alone another day.

“Lie down on the couch.” Adam snapped, regretting already what he was about to do.

“What?” Charlie stiffened, wishing she had changed before coming down to meet him.

“If I am to feed from your neck, you will become weak sooner than the wrists. I can’t have you passing out in the process.”

“Okay.” She tugged her jean shorts down, doing little to cover up before lying on the sofa.

Adam tugged at his trousers for different reasons and settled behind her.

“Apologies for the tight fit. Unless you would prefer to do so in the bedroom.”

“No!” Charlie jerked her head to face him. “No. Here is fine.”

Adam pressed against the back of the couch, trying to put any space between his bare chest and Charlie’s bare arm. It wasn’t working. He leaned forward to brush her dark curls away, exposing the soft skin of her neck.

“Just breathe.” he whispered to her. Adam’s breath fanned across the skin behind her ear. Goosebumps broke out on her arms. She exhaled a shaky breath.

“So where will you feed?” Charlie’s voice wavered.

If she tilted her head slightly to the left, then their noses would bump which meant inevitably their lips would touch. And Charlie would have plausible deniability for kissing Adam. And how she wanted to kiss him. Her chest ached when she took a deep breath and inhaled that scent of sandalwood and men’s cologne.

Adam ignored Charlie squirming for the moment, her thighs rubbing together, while he traced the curve of her neck. His backside pressed as far back as he could manage without becoming part of the fabric of the sofa, his cock threatened to ruin everything.

“So the carotid artery.” His fingers danced across Charlie’s neck. Adam marveled at how perfect, how exquisite Charlie’s neck was. Not a blemish, not a freckle. A perfect canvas. And he would be the artist. “takes the oxygenated blood to the brain, neck and face.”

“Oh, I see. Will it hurt more than the wrist?” Charlie’s chest was heaving at this point and she was certain she would need a fresh pair of underwear.

“Much more.” He leaned in. Charlie smelled of bay rum and flowers. A heady combination of her shampoo and the boutique perfume she always wore. “And if you move, I might accidently rip open the artery. Can stay still while I feed or should I hold you down?”

Adam’s hair tickled her shoulder. “It might be best if you hold me down.” Adam’s eyes widened. “We don’t want to take any chances do we?”

“Of course not.” He wrapped his arm around her ribcage, pushing her into the cushions. His thumb grazed the underside of her chest. Adam wrapped his foot around her ankle, locking her in place. “Ready?”

Charlie gulped and nodded before closing her eyes and tilting her chin away from Adam. The tip of his nose moved along her cheek and his lips ghosted over the crook of her neck. She jumped when his stubble scratched along her skin. Adam pulled Charlie tight to him.

“I promise to be quick.” His voice deep in his chest.

He licked her right as his fangs sunk into her and Adam felt the soft pop of the carotid. Charlie whimpered as Adam suckled and fed. His mouth ignited every nerve in her body. She never felt more alive and aroused than lying there in Adam’s arms.

Adam realized as he fed on Charlie, inhaling the smell of bay rum and catching a whiff of her arousal, he had royally fucked up. He should have insisted on feeding her anywhere else. The crook of the elbow, the knees. Hell, the ankles. And here he was with Charlie pressed against him, his thumb threatening to inched upward to pinch her nipple and his fangs deep in her neck with his cock straining against his jeans. He recognized he was past the point of no return and all he could do was move forward and pray Charlie didn’t run.

“Are you all right?” he inquired as he pulled away. Droplets trickled from the puncture marks. Adam used the tip of his tongue to swipe them away. Charlie shuddered against him.

“Fine.” She tilted up to gaze at Adam to find him looking at her with a strange look, not the I’m-too-cool gaze he normally wore. “Are you okay?” Charlie reached out and touched his chest. His shirt, as usual, unbuttoned and hanging loose.

“No am I not.” Adam’s voice low and drawn out even more than usual.

“Do you need to feed some more? Perhaps you are still hungry.”

“Yes, I am.” He leaned forward and Charlie tilted so he could feed some more only to gasp as she felt not fangs but Adam’s soft lips against her neck. She curved into his lips.

“What are you doing?” she breathed, turning to lie flat. Adam twisted to lie on top of her.

“Making either the best or worst decision of my life.” he muttered as he covered her mouth with his.

Charlie’s hands moved to cup his face, pulling him deeper into the kiss. Adam’s nose nudged against hers, his mouth open panting. Charlie slipped her tongue into his mouth, tasting blood and mint. Adam followed. She tasted of peach lip gloss and earl grey tea. He wanted more. Adam wanted to inhale her. He could devour her right there and he knew it would not be enough.

He pulled the two of them to sitting, Charlie straddling his hips. His cock teasing the crotch of Charlie’s shorts. Adam’s hands pawed at the ridiculous cartoon tee shirt Charlie wore, squeezing her tits.

Charlie groaned and her back arched at Adam’s touch. “More.”

Adam smirked into her neck and squeezed again, only to be rewarded by not only another moan but Charlie’s hips grinding against him. Denim on denim. Delicious friction.

“Fuck.” he cursed into her mouth, desperate to taste her again. Adam’s hands traveled down Charlie’s curves to light on her hips. His fingers bruised through the material.

“Hmm.” Charlie hummed as she nipped along Adam’s neck. His mouth fell open when she licked along the curve of his own neck, mirroring the spot where he had fed just moments ago.

“Don’t stop.” Adam pleaded, at the mercy of this human, this woman. Charlie.

She bit down on him, and he groaned bucking into her. Her hands splayed across the taut muscles of Adam’s torso, caressing each angle and ripple, reveling in his beauty. Charlie continued to grind against Adam’s lap as he massaged and fondled her tits. He moaned against her mouth as he came, ruining his favorite jeans. He was still hard. His hands slipped under her shirt and snaked their way to the clasp of her bra. She pulled his hand away and stilled.

“I think I should go.”

“I think you should stay.” Adam countered, placing a kiss on her lips and moved to deepening it before Charlie turned her head away.

“I think I should go. This is supposed to be a business arrangement.”

Adam huffed. “I just came in my pants, darling. I believe our business arrangement is over.” He nuzzled against her, peppering her collarbone with kisses and love bites. She spied the large wet spot on the crotch of his pants, wondering how much was Adam and how much was her.

“No, no no!” Charlie rolled off of Adam. “This is a business arrangement, nothing more.”

Adam pulled her onto his lap. He pressed his forehead against Charlie’s. “Is that all you want? Because if that is the case, we can forget about this and go back to the way things were.”

“I didn’t say that.” she shrugged her shoulders. “You are an excellent kisser.”

“Centuries of experience. You should see what else I can do with my tongue.” He kissed her again, pecking her lips over and over, tongue teasing the inside of her top lip.

“I don’t fuck musicians.”

“And I don’t fuck zombies.”

“So where does that leave us?”

“I don’t know but it is better than the alternative.”

“Which is?”

“Jerking off to lesbian porn.”

Charlie laughed and stood on wobbly legs, Adam steadied her. “I’m leaving. And if I hear any moaning down here, I am calling the cops.”

“You wouldn’t dare.”

“Try me.”

“You could just stay and you know watch it with me. Or we could do other things?” Adam ran a finger along her waistband.

“I better not but I would very much like to see you tomorrow and do this again.”

“Yes.” Adam stated.

“Goodbye Adam.” Charlie leaned down and kissed his lips. Adam got an eyeful down her shirt and spied the blue lacy bra.

“Wear that bra again and you’re on.”

“Deal.”

“Goodnight Charlie.”

Adam held onto her hand until his arm stretched no further and his fingers lost purchase with hers. He fell back against the couch as the basement door shut and he heard Charlie’s footsteps up the stairs to her own apartment.

“FUCK!” he hissed, not too loud so Charlie didn’t overhear through the thin floors. He rose from the couch and to find a clean pair of trousers and a towel to clean himself up.

Charlie fidgeted the entire way down the basement stairs the next night. She adjusted her top. Another one of her favorite t-shirts. It was broken in by the hundreds of washing, so much you could barely make out the Bruins logo on the front. And it was so thin, you could see the blue lacy bra through the material. A deal was a deal and Charlie intended to honor it. She knocked on the door at the foot of the stairs.

“You know you don’t have to knock.” Adam leaned against the door frame. He wore dark rust red pajamas. The pants hung loose and low around his hips and the top unbuttoned halfway. “You are the only one that uses this door.” He huffed before his lips curled into a devilish grin.

“Manners matter.” Charlie stated matter of fact, hoping she wouldn’t lose her resolve before she even got into the apartment. “May I come in?”

“I don’t plan on making out with you on the stairs, so yes.” Adam bowed to let Charlie in and for once it was her turn to roll her eyes.

“I appreciate your restraint. Now I just have—”

She was cut off by Adam’s mouth on hers. His tongue tasting and licking the inside of her mouth. He tasted that she wore that cheap cherry Chapstick. The kind that tasted nothing like cherries and everything like cough syrup and petroleum. For a moment, she melted against him, her hands reaching underneath the satin material of his shirt to splay across his stomach. And then she remembered herself.

Charlie stepped out of the embrace and into the kitchen, sitting down at the cluttered table. Adam’s brow furrowed. Not a good sign.

“Why are you carrying that?” He jabbed his finger at the legal pad and pen in Charlie’s hand, which she placed on the corner where she cleared some room. “Are you planning on taking notes?” Charlie didn’t laugh.

“Not exactly.”

She folded her hands on top of the pad. Charlie gestured for Adam to take the seat across from her. He ignored her directions to flip the chair next to her backwards to straddle it, his arms propped up on the back of the chair. Adam leaned over to ghost his lips across the nape of her neck, pushing her hair aside. Goosebumps again. His tongue darting along the curve of her neck.

“I thought you were here to have some fun?” Adam’s voice rattled in his chest, like a deep resonate note from an upright bass. The sound went straight to Charlie’s core.

“I did. But before that, if we are going to continue down the path and venture, I think some ground rules and a framework need to be agreed upon.” The words tumbled out of her mouth as a huge run-on sentence before uncapping her pen.

Adam sat back in the chair. “We already have ground rules. No fucking.” he attempted, but he knew that once Charlie set her mind to it, there was no deterring her. The incident with the speakers proved that much.

“That is a rule, not the rules.” She huffed, recapping your pen. “If you’re not willing to negotiate, then I can just leave.” She stood up, pressing against Adam in the process. Just because she wanted some rules, didn’t mean she wasn’t horny as fuck.

Adam snatched her wrist and pulled her back into the chair with a snap. She landed hard on the cushion. “Ow.” She rubbed her bottom in mock pain, as the shock hurt more than the actual injury.

“Talk.”

Charlie smiled and wiggled in the chair as she uncapped her pen again and wrote 1. No fucking in big looping cursive.

“And bottoms and underwear should remain on at all times. Just in case one or both of us loses self-control.”

“I have excellent self- control.” Adam scoffed, he was losing interest in this pointless exercise.

“Who came in their pants yesterday?”

“Who helped?” he countered. “Can we hurry this along?”

Charlie smirked, writing 2. Bottoms and underwear remain on at all times.

Adam leaned over to read. “Except your bra.” He tapped the paper.

“The bra is remaining on.”

“Bra is off. Your tits are magnificent.” Adam nuzzled against Charlie’s neck.

“I’ll compromise. Bra unclasped, straps remain on the shoulders. You will have to get creative.”

Adam nipped her neck with his teeth causing her to jump. He chuckled against Charlie. “I’m an artist, I am nothing if not creative.”

This continued several more minutes until the following rules were created:

1. No fucking.

2a. Bottoms and underwear shall remain on at all times.

2b. Bra may unclasped but straps must remain on shoulders.

3a. Adam’s hands must remain on top of the clothing mentioned in (1) at all times. No rubbing on Charlie’s genital area with hands or fingers without prior permission. Permission may not be given during the session.

3b. Charlie’s hands can go wherever the fuck she wants them to go. Rubbing of Adam’s cock is encouraged. Adam says fuck permission.

Adam leaned over and read it, “Are you really going to leave it like that?”

“You said word to word.”

“Fine.”

4. Bedrooms are strictly off limits.

“There. Sign.” Charlie slid the paper over after signing it herself. Adam huffed once.

“In order?” He stood from his perch. Charlie nodded pushing the pad off to the side. “Good.” He spun her chair around and lifted her onto the table. Adam tugged roughly at her shirt and stretched it over her head.

“Hey, I like that shirt.”

“I like that shirt on the floor.” Adam moved to bite Charlie’s lower lip, rewarding him with a whimper. “Did you have your interview today at Sheffield and Wyatt?”

“Yes. Do you want to know how it went?”

“No.” Adam growled. He used his hips to push Charlie’s legs apart, standing in between.

He cupped her face as his tongue licked the inside of her mouth. She groaned against him, scooting to the edge of the table. Charlie pushed his shirt off his shoulders and onto the floor. Her nails dug in his sides as she pulled Adam closer to her core.

Adam smiled against her mouth as his hands traveled to Charlie’s back and popped the clasp of her bra with ease. The bra loosen and Adam cupped her chest, squeezing them. Charlie’s breasts were heavy in his hands. Adam lowered his head, pushing her bra up and sucked her nipples.

“Hey!” Charlie jumped back although not moving out of Adam’s reach, her voice heavy. “That’s against the ground rules.”

“Check your paper.” Adam nuzzled himself in her cleavage. Charlie leaned back and twisted the pad to read.

“Shit.”

Adam chuckled. “You forgot about mouths. Now let’s put that self-control to the test.”

He pulled her tight against him, pulling her legs to wrap around his waist. Adam rutted against her. His hands mauled against her breasts, pinching at her nipples. Charlie moaned and whimpered as Adam crushed his lips against her already swollen lips.

Soon, her coil grew tight inside her core, she whined and gasped as her release grew closer. Adam lowered his head and sucked upon her nipples.

“Oh god!” Charlie yelled as she came, soaking through her clothes.

Adam’s head fell into the crook of Charlie’s neck as he bucked against her one more time as he reached his own release. He would have to do laundry more often at this rate. Charlie relaxed while Adam slumped against her. The two of them using each other to support their bodies. Each of them breathed heavy.

Charlie pushed her curls off her face. “So…” she clapped her hands against the table until she found her legal pad. “… I think the rules work.” She lied.

“No.” Adam growled.

“Excuse me?” Charlie blinked at Adam’s sour expression. She slid off the table. “They… they… are great.” Her voice an octave higher than usual.

“They’re bullshit. A feeble attempt to deny what this is.” Adam towered over her, backing her against the table, jostling the contents. “Denying yourself. Zombies.” Adam spat.

“Adam!” Charlie screamed. “Don’t fucking call me that!” She ducked under his arm and stormed off towards the stairs. With his unnatural speed, Adam ran to block her path.

“I’m sorry.” Adam mumbled.

“What did you say?” the tiniest hint of a smile at the corners of Charlie’s lips.

“I’m not repeating myself.”

“I will just assume you apologized and agree the rules are perfect. Goodnight, Adam.” She moved to walk up the stairs but Adam didn’t budge.

“Tomorrow?” Adam pulled her against him, her body still warm from their earlier tryst. “Unless you would prefer to stay.” He dug into her hips. Charlie bit her lip to hold back a moan.

“I don’t think that is a good idea.”

“Since when have we ever come up with a good idea?” Adam leaned down to kiss her, but she turned away.

“Night, Adam.” Charlie stated as firmly as she could before walking up the stairs. “Tomorrow.” she called after him. Adam’s mind is already turning.

Once she made her way back into the apartment, Charlie glanced down at the legal pad, tightly gripped in her hand.

“Fuck… shit… fuck!” she moaned and cursed, flinging the legal pad across the room before heading the bathroom to clean herself up. Perhaps skirts were a better idea than jeans.

#adam #adam fanfiction #adam fanfic #adam angst #adam fluff #adam smut #only lovers left alive #only lovers left alive fanfiction #adam x ofc #the reluctants

5 notes · View notes

deceitfullyanxioussss · 5 years

Text

Intruloceit: It/Its pronouns

Gift for @mostlikelytokillyouwithaspoon !!!!!!!!

Logan uses it/it’s pronouns

Warnings: Minor sexual themes (hip grabbing), Sympathetic Deceit/Remus, Unsympathetic Patton.

If I need to add anything else, let me know!

Ship: Established Demus/Dukeceit, Intruloceit (focus on Loceit)

Part 2

Logan adjusted it's tie for the billionth time that morning. It's tie had to be as straight as a line to maintain it's serious reputation.

Although... something told Logan that it would be viewed as anything but today.

What for? It's pronouns.

Logan was an it.

No, it wasn't transphobic. It wasn't dehumanization. Logan was an it.

Giving itself he/him pronouns felt wrong. She/her or they/them didn't do much of anything either. It's tried out neopronouns as well, but just... nothing.

It wasn't a human, and gender felt wrong to it. It didn't feel right being gendered like that. It was an it.

It smiled warmly to itself through the full-body mirror. It liked it.

It frowned though, letting it's shoulders sag. Patton won't like it, it just knew.

It took a deep breath as it tried to convince itself that today was going to be ok. With a firm nod towards itself in the mirror, it exited it's room.

"Hey, Logan." Virgil gave a brief nod in it's direction, his bangs bouncing with the motion. It nodded back much more definedly.

"Hello, Virgil." It turned to the other's. "How was everyone's sleep?" It asked. It was of utmost importance for the sides to maintain the best sleep possible for Thomas's optimal productivity.

Virgil shrugged, Patton replied with a simple "good", and Roman beamed at it while ranting about his grand dreams.

Logan nodded once Roman had finished his spew. "Thank you, Roman, that was interesting."

Patton spoke, "Hey, I've noticed something with Thomas lately."

Everyone turned to the fatherly figure.

“What is it, padre?” Roman asked.

"Recently, Thomas has seemed to take an interest in transgenderism, specifically it/it’s pronouns.” Patton stated. “I was wondering if anyone had anything to share.” Patton suggested, resting a smirk on his face.

Logan sighed. There was no way to turn back now. “Yes, actually.” It levelled itself with Patton, maintaining a monotone voice.

Patton rested his gaze onto it. “Oh, are you trans then?” He smiled.

Logan nodded. “Yes. I believe I am non-binary, Patton.”

Logan’s eyes surveyed the room. Patton smiled at it, Roman looked pleasantly surprised, and Virgil didn’t really show too much of a reaction.

“Awe, Logan, why didn’t you tell us before. Do you use they/them or neopronouns?” Patton cooed.

Logan would never in a million years outwardly admit it, but it was beginning to feel slightly nervous. It knew there was no reason to, however. It knew that Patton wasn’t going to accept it’s pronouns, and it knew that Patton wasn’t going to hurt it, so why was it nervous? Being nervous wasn’t going to change the outcome.

Logan pushed the nervousness to the back of its mind, choosing to ignore Virgil’s curious gaze from the corner of its eyes.

“I use it/it’s pronouns actually. That would probably be a good reason why Thomas has recently gained a curiosity. You see, I have been experimenting with my pronouns for the past three and a half months, and so far, it/it’s feels the most right to me at the moment.” Logan explained.

Patton’s smile seemed to fade. “Pardon?” he asked, voice uncharacteristically serious. Logan visibly tensed.

“I, uh, use it/it’s pronouns.” Logan simplified, a slight quiver to its voice.

Patton let out a chuckle. “That’s ridiculous. No, you don’t Logan.”

Logan cleared it’s throat. “Yes, I do.”

Patton’s face went stone-cold. “Listen, if you use they/them pronouns, I’m all for that. But it/it’s pronouns are transphobic! You can’t just dehumanize someone like that!”

Logan suppressed a groan and it’s urge to defend it and it’s pronouns. Instead, it spared a glance towards Virgil and Roman, catching sight of their conflicted expressions, before sinking out. It knew that if it stayed any longer, it would get frustrated and lash out and that wouldn’t be fun for anybody.

So it opted to leave and come back to the issue later.

Logan rose back in it’s room with a sigh. It immediately walked over to it’s mirror and gazed at itself, frowning.

Maybe I’m not actually an it. Logan wondered with a sadness. I suppose it doesn’t really make sense anyway. Thomas is cisgender, so I shoud be too, right?

Logan heaved another sigh and adjusted it’s tie unnecessarily.

Final answer then, I’m not an it.

Just then, yellow was seen out of the corner of its eyes, standing out clearly against the dark blue theme of its room. “Deceit?” it questioned, turning around to look at the scaled side, who was staring at it with an unamused expression. “What are you doing here?” it asked the other, looking away and back at the mirror, trying to distract itself by smoothing out some extra ruffles on it’s suit.

Logan watched through the mirror as Deceit’s image stepped closer to it.

Logan’s actions stopped in their tracks when Deceit rested his hands on its shoulders from behind.

“Ssssssomeone,” he began, the hiss quietly murmured directly into its ear, sending the smallest shiver down it’s back. “is lying.” Deceit said. “I’m here to know what about.”

Logan completely stilled, it’s pupils had dilated and it’s breath had caught in its throat as Deceit hands left its shoulders and moved down to it’s hips. "I-” it stuttered, a faint pink travelling to it’s cheeks.

Deceit took a step back from it, removing his hands from their comfortable place on it’s hips upon seeing the others uncomfortable reaction.

Logan waited a few moments for its heart to calm down and cleared it’s throat, forming the reply, “I-I was just t-telling myself that I use he/him pronouns before you c-came in.” Logan informed. It could see Deceit nod from the mirror.

“And… what are your pronouns, Logan?” he asked, voice filled with genuine curiosity.

Logan shook its head and looked to the floorboards. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Clearly, it does, Logan. I can’t have you lying. That’s my job.”

Logan turned to look at the other directly. “I- I believe I use it/it’s pronouns.” It confessed, feeling shame coarse through its body. If Deceit had a reaction, his expression was neutral, leaving the reaction internalized.

Silence wafted between the two bodies, causing Logan to become tenser by the second. Eventually, Deceit took a step forward. Logan immediately took a step back, unaware of the action until it was committed. Deceit stopped his movements and quirked a brow. "Logan, are you ok?"

Logan nodded, stuttering, "Y-Yeah, s-sorry, I just-"

Deceit interrupted. "Lie."

Logan was drawn a blank. How was it supposed to respond?

Once again, silence encased them.

It finally figured that Deceit should know the recent events.

"Patton, he, uh… called me transphobic for my preferred pronouns. He said that it was 'dehumanizing'. I didn't get opinions from either Virgil or Roman, I sunk out before they said anything." Logan explained, fingers going to play with the end of its tie out of nervousness.

Deceit nodded and cautiously took an experimental step forward. Logan stayed put this time, its warm brown eyes firmly locked with Deceit's mismatched ones. Deceit slowly made his way over to where Logan stood, his hands calmly reclaiming their position on its hips.

"Logan, dear, pay no mind to Patton. It/its are a perfect set of pronouns." He murmured reassuringly, a subconscious blush making yet another appearance on its face.

It swallowed. "D-Dear?" It parroted questioningly.

Deceit hummed. "Logan, if you will, I'd love to have you as my datemate." He said, the warmest, yet most crooked smile gracing his features. Logan couldn't help but be enraptured, the dim light of it's room catching the other's scales so beautifully, the gorgeous way his mouth curved into a crooked smile. Logan didn't think its blush could get darker but it did. Logan was almost too eager to say yes, but a thought reached it and it hesitated.

"I thought… you and Remus were a thing though." Logan said, voice dripping with disappointment.

Deceit nodded. "Well, yes, we are. Thing is, we both have developed romantic feelings for you and were hoping you would enter a polyamorous relationship with us."

Logan took in Deceit's words carefully. It wasn't really the best with emotions, everyone knew that, but it could recognize when it felt different about something. An image of Remus filled its head. Logan had felt something odd towards the strange man during their last encounter, but it wasn't sure if it could label it love yet. It wasn't exactly opposed to the idea of being in love with him though.

Deceit, was certainly a different case however. Logan wasn't too pulled towards Deceit in their first encounter. Their next meeting, while it had been Deceit's fault it wasn't as involved in the courtroom scenario as it should have been, there was something undeniably attractive about the snake's impressive debating skills, knowledge on philosophy, and that damn suit that clung to his perfect chest so well. Unmistakably, it had fallen for the yellow side.

It shyly wrapped its arms around Deceit's shoulders and cleared its throat. "I suppose that would be satisfactory. Yes, I will happily date the two of you."

Deceit grinned at it, eyes shining with excitement. "I'm sure Remus would be glad to hear." He spoke, one of his extra arms showing themselves and gently caressing Logan's cheek. "I'm sure he wouldn't be so glad to know that I get to kiss you first though." He chuckled and slowly brought their bodies closer, studying its face for any signs of objection, finding non. Their lips finally met in an explosion of fireworks that made Logan's heart flutter. It closed its eyes and simply melted into Deceit's three arms.

#Sanders Sides #Deceit Sanders #Remus Sanders #Logan Sanders #Virgil Sanders #Roman Sanders #Patton Sanders #Sympathetic Deceit #Sympathetic Remus #Unsympathetic Patton #Dukeceit #Demus #Intruloceit #Loceit #Intrulogical

144 notes · View notes

lia-jones · 4 years

Text

Growing Stronger - Chapter Three - Happy Birthday, Andrea! (Victor’s POV)

Victor was having one of those days. Which was uncanny, because he never had one of “those” days. Ever. He was perfectly able to separate his personal life from his work, proficient in the art of putting emotions aside to deal with issues at hand. That was exactly what made him a good businessman. It was also what gave him his fame of being cold and aloof, although he didn’t mind. It worked, it gave him good results. However, for the life of him, he found himself unable to concentrate, his eyes constantly being drawn to his phone.

Annoyingly persistent, the question hammered in his mind: should he call her? After all, it was her birthday. They were practically business partners, it would be rude not to call. She knew he knew when her birthday was. Like the excellent administrator he was, Victor quickly drafted on a piece of paper a list of costs and benefits of said call. The benefits were obvious. Number one, it was a show of goodwill; number two, it would improve business relations; Number three, it was a polite gesture. He grudgingly added a fourth benefit, not because he would willingly admit it, but because it was a fact, and facts needed to be addressed, no matter how painful or embarrassing they were. Number four, he would love to hear her voice.

Victor sighed heavily as he read the fourth point of his benefit list. He was a fool. Moving on, he thought. The costs of calling Andrea to wish her a happy birthday. Number one, it would probably upset her. Judging by their last encounter, she wanted to have nothing to do with him. She even threatened to quit the study in case he was involved. He was clearly a persona non grata. Number two, he shouldn’t be wasting his time with such a thing. She would probably have gotten one of those automatic Happy Birthday messages from LFG, since she was a former employee. Maybe that’s all he had to do. He didn’t go around calling every business partner to wish them a Happy Birthday. It was simply ridiculous. Inefficient. Number three… Victor wished he didn’t have to write this down. Number three, he was probably forcing himself into her life, just like he did with the producer. Except this time she had made it perfectly clear she didn’t want him there. She slapped him and left. Because he was an idiot and said something very hurtful in the hope of winning an argument.

Victor gave up on the list and lowered his head, holding it between his hands. He had called Daniel all the ugly names he knew, and now those names could perfectly describe him. He told Andrea her infertility was a silver lining. What kind of an asshole says that to the woman he loves? Especially to Andrea, who went through so much, was capable to change her life for the better, to face her abuser with courage and integrity, how could he throw such a cheap blow? No wonder she didn’t want him in her life. She loved him like nobody did before, gave him unprecedented happiness, she lovingly tore down every single wall he built, and they connected in ways he never deemed possible. She showed him sometimes he could be his worst enemy, depriving himself of happiness for pride and... Well, mostly pride.

Victor had to make it up to her, he had to make sure everything in her life worked perfectly. He could no longer hold her, or kiss her, or tell her he loved her, but he could ensure she got everything she ever wanted. That was the real reason he was investing in her study. He knew that the moment LFG was involved and he put his plan in motion to diffuse all the gossip around her, no one could stop the momentum her study would have. Everybody would want to invest in it. She would be virtually unstoppable.

The sound of a knock on his door made Victor internally panic and quickly throw the list to the trash, effectively eliminating any evidence of his weakness. It was Goldman. Victor spoke before Goldman could, pretending to be focused on his work.

“Talk.” He said, dismissively. He watched Goldman shift his weight anxiously from one foot to the other. Victor did not have to fake his exasperation. “What is it?”

Goldman took a deep uneasy breath. Seeing he was nervous, Victor softened his expression.

“Take a seat. What do you need?”

Goldman relaxed when he heard Victor’s softer tone, and sat down.

“I don’t know if you have heard, Diane and I got engaged.” He started.

“Yes, I am aware.” Victor offered, giving him a small smile.

“Sir, first of all I have to say I am beyond grateful for all you have done for me over all of these years. If it weren’t for you, I would probably still be living on friends’ sofas, or maybe the street. If it weren’t for you, I wouldn’t have a career, a dignified life, and I wouldn’t have met my future wife. I owe it all to you, Sir.”

Victor was not expecting this sudden expression of gratitude. Goldman had been a good companion over the years, enduring his hard temper, listening whenever Victor couldn’t hold it inside anymore and needed to confide, even if he only allowed himself a few very short outbursts. Victor had put all his trust in his assistant, and he had proven to be worthy. He was the one who should be grateful. Goldman continued.

“I know you will probably consider this a waste of your time, but I still have to ask. Will you be the best man at my wedding?”

Victor was thrown back by Goldman’s question. Andrea was absolutely right. The memory of both of them in his bed, enjoying post-coital bliss, came to his mind. “I found it.” He could hear her voice like she was there right there, in his arms, head on his chest.

“You found what?” Victor’s head raised from the pillow.

“My favorite place on Earth.” She smiled. Victor raised an eyebrow.

“My bed?”

“Your arms.”

Victor’s heart beat faster, and he couldn’t help but hold her really tight, butterflies running wild inside his stomach.

“They’re yours.” He lifted her chin and kissed her softly. “I’m yours.”

They stayed like that for a moment, face to face, noses touching, a smile on their faces. Victor felt relaxed, happy, noticing how perfectly Andrea fitted in his embrace.

“Goldman invited us to go on a double date.” Victor started.

“Yeah, Diane mentioned it too. I told her not to get her hopes up.” She said, pulling herself back down to lie her head on his chest.

“Why not?”

“You want to do it?” She seemed surprised. Did she think he would say no?

“Well, she’s a close friend of yours, right? The idea does not make me exactly euphoric, but if it’s something you’d like, I don’t mind.”

“Goldman is your friend too.” She retorted.

“Goldman is my employee. It’s different.”

“No, Goldman is your friend. He might be your best friend actually.” She lifted her head from his chest, making Victor resent the cold of her absence. She had this resolve in her eyes, that sweet expression she wore when she was trying to make a point. “Goldman has been working with you for what, seven years?”

“Eight. So what? I have employees working for me for longer than that.”

“Employee or not, the guy has taken your crap for eight years, and you know how hard you can get. He knows all your quirks, probably knows more about your personal life than even I do. He’s your go-to guy, and maybe you don’t care to admit it, your confidant?”

She wasn’t wrong. Goldman was all of those things. Except for confidant. Victor enjoyed his privacy.

“You may be right.” He said, furrowing his eyebrows. “Who knew you’d be so insightful?” Victor teased.

“Who thought I wouldn’t be?” The tone of her voice raised slightly, as she pretended to be offended. Victor played along.

“Well, everybody knows I’m the wise one in the relationship.” Victor jested, as he pulled her closer.

“Oh really? And when was that established? I was not informed of such an important conclusion.”

“We had a meeting.” Victor declared nonchalantly. “Didn’t you get the memo?”

“Clearly I didn’t. So, if you’re the wise one, what is my role, then?”

Victor stifled a laugh.

“The village idiot.”

“Good night, then.” She said shortly, motioning to move away from him, pretending to be upset. Victor hugged her waist, keeping her in place.

“Wait, don’t go.” He said, between laughs. “You don’t like your title?”

“I don’t know what a title is, I’m the village idiot.” She squinted at him, as she tried to free herself from his grip.

“Do you think I’m letting you escape that easily?” Victor pinned her arms against the mattress, kissing her. She was still pretending to be angry, as she didn’t kiss him back. “Kiss me.” He urged in a hush.

“I’m the village idiot, I don’t know how to kiss.”

“I’ll show you then. Follow my lead.” He was still playing along, but his mind was filled with desire. He wanted her again. His tongue glided on her lips, his teeth biting them, inviting them to join the kiss. Andrea blew a raspberry on his mouth. Maybe she wasn’t playing anymore. Was she offended with what he said?

“You’re angry?” He asked, suddenly worried, as he let go of her arms.

“And I’m the village idiot?” She said smiling, pulling him from a proper kiss. She could be so endearingly frustrating sometimes.

“Maybe I’m the idiot.” Victor spoke into her lips, before claiming what was his.

Victor cleared his throat, fearing he drifted away in his memory longer than he should.

“It will be my pleasure.” He answered Goldman, who in return looked at him like he had grown an extra head.

“R-Really?” He stuttered with surprise. “Thank you, Sir!”

“You have been working close to me for the last eight years. It’s about time you call me Victor.” Victor gave him a slight smile. “In fact, I would like to give you my wedding gift immediately. Pick a venue for the wedding, flowers, caterers, anything you need, and bill it to LFG. Your wedding will be my gift to you.”

Victor suppressed a smile when he saw the panic on Goldman’s face.

“Sir, it’s too much. I don’t know what to say…”

“It’s Victor.” He warned. “Don’t think too much of it, consider it a token of appreciation for all these years of loyalty. Now, let’s get back to work.” Victor declared, turning to his computer.

“Absolutely… Victor. Is there anything you need?”

Victor paused for a moment, pondering.

“Yes. Cancel all my meetings for the rest of the day. I’m going home. Call me if anything comes up.” He answered, gathering his belongings to leave.

The terrace was filled with fairy lights. Balloons saying “Happy Birthday” were tied to the rim of the balcony. On the center, a table with two seats, already set with colorful plates and some candles.

Victor was confident that she wouldn’t remember his birthday. He made sure of it, he didn’t care for birthday celebrations. When she told him that she couldn’t go to his place for dinner because she needed to work on her thesis, he saw nothing unusual. When she called him telling him she needed him, he practically flew to her apartment. Clearly, when it came to Andrea, Victor didn’t do all the thinking with his head.

She hugged him from behind. He took her hand and pulled her to his chest, making her face him, his arms around her.

“Surprise!” She said, beaming at him.

“I really have to watch my back with you, don’t I?” He playfully raised his eyebrow at her.

“Happy birthday, handsome.” She kissed him. To Victor, just that kiss alone was worth the whole hustle. He held her tighter and deepened the kiss, decided to prolong the warm feeling for as much as he could. Like it happened so many times with Andrea, he wished he could still stop time. She broke the kiss with a mile-wide smile.

“Wait, don’t go thanking me yet. I’m not done.”

She had a whole meal prepared for both of them. His favorite white wine, that Portuguese fish stew he tried in Portugal and absolutely loved. Victor ate with gusto, trying not to moan with each bite he took. It was delectable. Maybe he should let Andrea cook more often.

A chocolate raspberry cake came after, decorated with 34 lit candles. Despite his protests, Andrea sang him Happy Birthday and made him blow the candles and make a wish. Victor felt himself blush with all the attention. Well, he could just blame it on the wine.

Andrea went to her apartment with the dirty dishes, returning with a wrapped box.

“I do hope you like it. I saw it and thought it would bring out your eyes.”

Victor smiled as he opened his present carefully. He didn’t know what it was yet, but it was already on the list of his most prized possessions. It was a dark teal shirt. Very tasteful. He could already picture it with some of his suits. He pulled Andrea to his lap, kissing her.

“I take it you liked it?” She gave him a wide smile.

He loved it. He loved it all. He never enjoyed birthdays, apart from those he had spent with Mia. But this was different. He didn’t spend his time wondering if his feelings were reciprocated, he knew they were. Victor felt love and felt loved. That feeling alone was the best gift Andrea could give him.

Victor read the list he saved from the trash one last time. He went to his bedroom, and opened the drawer of the nightstand, retrieving the small box. He had bought it a while ago for this specific occasion. The box would go to its designated owner.

Victor wrote a small note and attached it to the box, putting it on the passenger’s front seat of his car, and drove to Andrea’s apartment. He would leave it in her mailbox and leave. It wouldn’t take him more than five minutes.

The box was too big to fit through the narrow slit of her mailbox. Victor stood there for a moment, contemplating on what to do. Leave it on her doormat? That’s when he heard someone call his name. He took a step back, startled.

He couldn’t recognize the voice in the dark at first. As the man approached, he saw who it was. A man is his late fifties, hazel eyes, blonde hair. That sincere, easy smile, the one Andrea usually wore. It was her father.

#Growing Pains - Series #growingstronger #mlqc victor #mlqc fanfic #mlqc li zeyan #victor x oc #love and producer #mister love queens choice

5 notes · View notes

talesofpanem · 5 years

Text

The Interview

Author: @xerxia31

Rating: T for potty language, adult situations, mentions of substance abuse and minor character death.

Summary: This has all the makings of the most uncomfortable job interview of all time.

Author’s note: This is for the prompt ‘work’, but I just couldn’t get it done on time. Thank goodness for make-up week!

————

It feels like entering another world, driving through the grounds of the west campus. Everything is wide open, lush, green, alive, a huge contrast to the dirty and crowded city where I’ve been living for the past two years.

There are young people everywhere on the expansive lawns, throwing frisbees or leaning against trees with books or binders in hand, and not a cellphone to be seen. It’s like a utopian fantasy world, on the surface.

But I know better.

I pull up to the building where my appointment will be. Grey stone, old, but not yet old enough to be considered classic. Its architectural failings have been compensated for by brightly-painted window trim and shutters, and climbing vines clinging to the stones, bursting with purple flowers. Elegant, but only if you don’t look too closely. For all of its window dressing, it’s an institution.

I’d been instructed to wait in the lobby, arranged as a waiting room of sorts. It’s little more than a dozen chairs ringing the area, facing the double set of interior doors, faded industrial carpet underfoot. I settle into one, the sun-hardened vinyl squeaks in protest. The walls are covered with inspirational posters, pictures of sunsets and mountaintops with words of wisdom in bold print underneath. Motivation. Persistence. Achievement.

“Mr. Mellark?”

I jump to my feet as a young woman with glossy black ringlets enters the room where I’ve been cooling my heels for twenty minutes. She smiles at me. “They’re ready for you now.”

Taking a deep, cleansing breath, I wipe my hands on my suit pants before picking up my portfolio. I can’t remember the last time I was this nervous about anything. Young Peeta Mellark was an outgoing, gregarious fellow. But I haven’t been that guy in a very long time.

The doors close behind me, electronic locks snapping ominously.

The young woman, Rue, she tells me her name is, leads me along a dim corridor, the floors polished to gleaming, reflecting scattered pools of light. “We only use emergency lighting in the offices on the weekends,” she confides. “Budget…” I nod. The schools where I worked while finishing my master’s degrees had all struggled with budgets too. Education is not a career that is steeped in money.

But working with children is what I’ve chosen. And this job, at this particular school, is the one I want more than anything.

Art therapist at the Panem Institute.

The Panem Institute is the preeminent residential facility for kids in trouble, kids struggling with substance abuse issues or mental health disorders. And unlike most centres of its kind, lack of funds is not a barrier to admission.

I can’t help wondering how different my life might have turned out if I’d had access to a place like this when I was a teen. Would I be established now, with a life I could be proud of? A wife, maybe even a family of my own?

Instead, I’m thirty, with a shiny new double MA in social work and art therapy, and precious little in the way of resumé experience. That the institute is even meeting with me is almost miraculous. Apart from student placements and volunteer work, I have almost nothing to show for my life.

But I want this job so badly I can almost taste it. This job, this place– this is why I’ve worked so hard the past six years, for the chance to make up for my own failings.

My childhood wasn’t fantastic, but it was typical by most measures. The youngest of three children, I was born upstate, in a quintessential white-washed all-American small town where everyone knew everyone else. My parents didn’t get along, but they stuck it out for the sake of us boys, which is retrospect was probably far, far worse for us than if they’d simply split.

Instead, beaten down by a life she hated and a town she couldn’t escape, my mother was cold, and often rough with us. Rye, Brann and I learned young to hide from her temper. She, in turn, hid in a bottle.

My dad, though, was my hero, mine and my brothers’ too. He coached our little league teams, came to every one of our wrestling matches, filled our lives with cookies and hugs. Shielded us from mother’s ever-increasing drunken and violent episodes.

Then midway through my senior year of high school, the unthinkable happened. My father, my kind, generous father, was murdered. Shot by some punk barely older than I was, killed for nothing more than the two hundred dollars in the cash register of the small family bakery my father owned.

I was devastated.

There was no one left to moderate my mother’s behaviour with my father gone and my brothers away at school. Down to one final obligation, freedom in sight, she made it her sole purpose in life to be rid of me as well. Or maybe she was just drowning in grief and alcoholism and wasn’t even aware of how she was acting, a theory my brother broached at the time. Whatever the reason, life at home deteriorated. Badly.

And like my mother, I sought refuge in a bottle. Or many, many bottles.

I’d already been offered a college wrestling scholarship based on my earlier performances. A good thing since I showed up at the state wrestling championship - my last ever high school wrestling meet and the first one where my father wasn’t a spectator - hungover as hell, or maybe still a little drunk, and ended up placing second.

College was supposed to be my escape, but by the time I got to State that September, I was far more interested in getting bombed than in studying or practicing.

Over the course of a year, I destroyed every dream I’d ever had, every hope, every plan, every relationship. I alienated every friend, every mentor, even, eventually, my own brothers.

And I hadn’t even cared.

Twelve years later, I’ve clawed my way back, one sober day at a time, through more ups and downs than I can even remember. Fought to become a man my father would have been proud of. But I didn’t do it alone. Therapists and counsellors helped me heal, and in doing so showed me how satisfying it could be to guide someone back from the brink, to help set them on the right path.

And that’s why I’m here now, standing sweaty-palmed but hopeful at the door of a boardroom. Interviewing for a job where I could change the lives of troubled young people like I once was.

My escort, Rue, pulls the door open and gestures for me to enter. The room is small and much brighter than the hallway, with a pair of large windows and pale wood reflecting the warm afternoon light. It takes me a moment to adjust to the brightness, to focus on the group of people waiting for me.

Then the bottom drops out of my stomach, and out of my world.

I never got blackout drunk. Consequently, I remember every stupid decision I made, every assholish word I said. And the recipient of one of the tirades I regret most is sitting across the table, her ebony hair pulled back in an elegant chignon.

Katniss Everdeen.

She and I went to school together, from kindergarten all the way through until I ruined my life. I had the worst crush on her back then. But until after we graduated from high school, she didn’t even know I was alive.

Imagine my shock when, a few months into my ill-fated college career, I ran into her at a party on campus. I’d had no idea she went to the same school. But I was well into a bottle of Bombay that night, and what should have been the start of an epic relationship, or at least a chance for me to talk to the girl I’d lusted after always, turned into a nightmare.

I was already slipping then, already on academic probation, already suspended from the wrestling team and constantly in trouble with my coaches. I was weeks away from losing everything - my scholarship, my sport, my friends. And every encounter with my professors, with my academic advisor, with the counsellor the athletic department had insisted on, every single one had impressed on me that I wasn’t good enough, though I am, in retrospect, certain that’s not what any of them had meant. But I’d had so much anger in my system then, so much loathing.

And Katniss, beautiful, seemingly unattainable Katniss, for some reason seeing her there triggered the deepest well of self pity to open in my chest. She was, in that moment, the embodiment of everything I’d been told I could never have. My gut clenches and my heart hurts as I remember the vitriol I’d spewed at her that night, the accusations about her character and motivations, every one of them utterly untrue. I’d called her stuck-up, selfish, a bitch, among so many other words. Katniss, beautiful, stoic Katniss hadn’t reacted at all, apart from a widening of her eyes and maybe a slight trembling of her lower lip. When I’d run out of filth to throw her way, she’d simply blinked and said softly, “This isn’t you, Peeta.” Then she’d walked away.

I have heard those words in my head a thousand times since that night.

It had taken another three years of couch-surfing and homelessness, of lying and begging and stealing to feed my addiction, before I finally hit rock-bottom. In an alley in the Capitol, with a bunch of other low-life scum just like me, I’d listened as they made plans to rob a convenience store a few blocks away. So desperate was I for the few bucks it would have garnered me that I was ready to go along with them… until I saw the gun.

The idea of robbing a little mom-and-pop convenience store at gunpoint was my come to Jesus moment. I was hunched in filth, hungry and so desperate for a drink that I was steps away from becoming the man who had killed my father.

The road back from that point wasn’t straight, and it wasn’t easy. I’d like to say that I never had another drink after that, but it’d be a lie. But I’ve been sober now for seven years and forty-four days, a purple medallion in my pocket reminds me every day how far I’ve come.

As does Katniss’s voice in my head, reminding me when I feel weak, when the cravings hit hard, that I’m not that person.

But she doesn’t know that. Looking across the table, she must be seeing the asshole who treated everyone, and especially her, like dirt.

“Please have a seat, Mr. Mellark,” an older, balding man says, smiling. I recognize his voice, Plutarch Heavensbee, the institute’s director, with whom I’ve spoken on the phone several times before today. I hesitate though, steeling myself to meet Katniss’s eyes. If she looks uncomfortable I’ll leave. It wouldn’t be fair to her if I stayed. As disappointing as it’ll be to walk away from this opportunity that I want so damned badly, I have only myself to blame.

I catch her gaze, silver pools in the sunlight, expecting her to be glaring at me. She’s not though, her expression is carefully neutral. But as if she sees the question in my glance, she nods.

Plutarch introduces the others in turn; Reza Seder, head of counselling services, Dr. Lavinia DeSantis, head of medical services, Alma Coin, head of security. “And of course you know Ms. Everdeen,” Plutarch says, his smile widening, and I can feel my eyebrows crawling up to my hairline. She knew I was coming, told the others that she knew me, and yet I’m still here. They’re still going to interview me.

“Hello, Peeta,” she says, in that smoky smooth bourbon voice that has acted as my conscience for years. And, okay, has narrated my fantasies too, if I’m being honest.

“I’ve already disclosed to the board that we grew up together,” she continues, “and they’re okay with my presence. But of course I’ll leave if it makes you uncomfortable having me here.” Her words and delivery are coolly professional, but beneath them I hear a faint note of pleading. She wants to be here, I just know it. And though I’m likely signing the death warrant on this job, I find myself asking her to stay.

This has all the makings of the most uncomfortable job interview of all time. But if I’ve learned anything from my primary therapist, Dr. Aurelius, it’s that I can’t run from my past. And if I’ve learned anything from AA, it’s that I can’t ignore my shortcomings.

Each member questions me, softballs to start - my education, my job experiences, my plans. I pull out my portfolio, walk them through the educational and therapeutic programs I’ve developed, outline what worked during my previous placements, what innovations I’d like to employ. They seem impressed, and I start to relax.

“You didn’t go to college right after high school, Mr. Mellark?” Alma Coin asks, her strange, pale eyes cold and judgemental. I stiffen; this is where previous interviews have gone off the rails. I’d never outright lie about my addiction, but I’m not keen to bring it up either. Even seven years sober, people are reluctant to entrust an alcoholic to watch over children.

“That’s correct,” I tell her. “I didn’t start my undergrad until I was twenty-four.”

“Why is that?” I could tell her that I couldn’t afford it until then, that’s true, or about my father’s death throwing a spanner in my plans, also true.

Katniss is looking at me, grey eyes wide and guileless. She nods again, and it feels like encouragement. I know what I have to say.

“I’m an alcoholic,” I tell them, bracing for their reactions. But nobody flinches. “I’ve been sober for seven years. But I started drinking in high school, and I lost a lot of years to the disease.” Across from me, a hint of a smile graces Katniss’s pouty peach lips. I take it as my cue to keep going. “That’s why I went into social work, and why I want to work here so much. To help kids like me. To maybe save some of them from the mistakes I made.”

There are nods around the table, no one looks particularly surprised. I don’t know whether Katniss has told them, or if it came up in my background check.

“And you’re not concerned that working with addicted children might trigger you to revisit your own demons? Your CV is completely lacking in experience with troubled youth.” It’s true, my field placements were all in middle schools, my experience as an art therapist mostly with kids with ADHD or autism spectrum disorders. The kids here by and large have much more complex issues, abuse and addiction and mental illness all compounded, often violent and criminal backgrounds too.

“I’ve spent years in therapy learning to cope with my triggers,” I tell Coin.

“That’s not the same as real-world experience,” Seder interjects. “These kids, the things they tell you, the things they’ve seen. It’s gutting.”

“I realize that,” I tell her, affecting the most professional tone I’m capable of despite the cavern that’s opened in my stomach, the knowledge that I’m nowhere near qualified enough in their eyes. “I completed a research project on intergenerational addiction in college and interviewed hundreds of young addicts.”

“That’s really not the same as interacting with them day to day,” Seder says, and it’s not cruel, but it feels dismissive.

“I also observed troubled youth in counselling during my practicum while I was in graduate school.” They know this, it’s in my resumé, along with letters of reference from the clinician supervisors. But Seder is shaking her head and Coin looks unimpressed and I can feel the opportunity slipping away.

“Peeta has volunteered as a mentor at the Children’s Hospital’s substance abuse treatment program for more than three years,” Katniss interjects, and every hair on my body stands on end. Because while that’s true, it’s also something that’s not in my resumé, something I’ve avoided self-reporting because it’s common knowledge that the program volunteers are all addicts in recovery themselves.

I have no idea how she knows that.

My gaze snaps to Katniss. Her expression remains carefully neutral, but there is the barest hint of a smile in her silver eyes.

“That’s an excellent program,” Dr. De Santis says, looking up from her notes for the first time. “They’re incredibly selective about who they choose to work with their clients.”

“They are,” I agree. The screening had been brutal, but it had been necessary, so many of those kids have lead lives that make mine look like a walk in the park and many are not shy about sharing all of the horrific details. “They can’t risk having the volunteers drop out or relapse. The kids need the stability of knowing that they can’t scare away their mentors. So many of them have had everyone else in their lives give up on them.” I swallow hard; it’s the reason I volunteer there. I’ve seen myself in so many of their faces, kids who use alcohol and drugs to escape the pain, kids who lash out and push away the people around them before those people can abandon them. Like I’d done to my teachers and coaches, my friends and my brothers.

Like I’d done to Katniss, all of those years ago.

“How do you find your personal experiences impact your work with those children?” Katniss asks, a gently leading question, and one for which I am so grateful.

“I can empathise with them in ways that their doctors and case workers often can’t,” I say, mostly tamping down the waver in my voice. Four sets of eyes watch me intently. “It’s the whole basis for the program, giving these kids not only guidance, but hope for their future. If I can succeed after all of my mistakes, after all I’ve done, then they can too.”

“And you intend on continuing to volunteer there?” Coin asks.

“I do.” I’ve already checked with the hospital about whether this job would constitute a conflict of interest, they assured me it would not.

Across the table, each of the interviewers smiles, even Coin, though her smile looks a little less genuine. But I only have eyes for Katniss. Because her smile feels like forgiveness. And though this is my dream job, I feel like even if I don’t get it I’ve accomplished something monumental here. I’ve shown Katniss that she was right, that nasty boy who hurt her, who made her feel small and alone, that person wasn’t me.

Plutarch claps his hands. “Excellent, my boy,” he says. “Now let’s talk salary.”

“I… what?”

“For the position.” At my expression, he laughs. “The interview is really just a formality,” he says, mirth twinkling in his eyes. “The job is yours if you want it.” He pushes a couple of papers across the table. A contract. “I know it’s a little less in salary than you’d make in private practice, but we offer a comprehensive benefits package. Take a couple of days to look it over and let us know.”

I don’t need a couple of days. I don’t need a couple of minutes. “I want the job,” I tell him firmly.

“Well then,” Plutarch booms with evident pleasure. “Welcome aboard, Mr. Mellark.” He reaches across to shake my hand firmly, and I can’t help my goofy grin. I got the job!

Plutarch informs me that their admin will get in touch with me over the next few days to file the tax and legal paperwork they need, and then I’ll begin at the start of the new term, some four weeks away. And I nod in all the right places, but my mind is spinning so fast I’m almost dizzy with it.

I shake each of their hands in turn, lingering just a bit longer to squeeze Katniss’s hand tightly. I thank each of them, but my gratitude to her means more. I think she can tell.

“Could you see Mr. Mellark out?” Plutarch asks Katniss, and she agrees, though she doesn’t meet my eyes.

I follow her silently down the corridor, towards the exit, the delicate tapping of her heels on linoleum almost drowned out by the pounding of my pulse in my ears. Katniss was a cute kid, tiny and scrappy, and she had morphed into a fierce and self-possessed young woman by the time we’d graduated high school. But now, at thirty, she’s an absolute bombshell. Still lean, but with delicate curves that her pencil skirt and blouse highlight perfectly. She walks with confidence, back straight, head held high. She’s more intimidating than ever.

At the electronic doors, she pauses, hand poised just above the lever that would release the locks. Then she sighs, and glances back at me over her shoulder. “Would you like to have a cup of tea with me? Catch up?” I’m nearly rendered speechless; not only is Katniss Everdeen willing to work with me, she’s willing to talk with me too.

“I’d like that,” I rasp, the first words I’ve spoken directly to her in twelve long years.

She leads me back into the building and up a set of stairs. Another corridor stretches in front of us, windowless doors set close together. “Our offices,” she says. Partway down the hall, she stops and pulls a set of keys from her pocket. A small brass plate on the door reads Katniss Everdeen, Lead Addictions Therapist.

Her office is small, and appears to be set up for both paperwork and individual counselling sessions with a tiny desk tucked back into the corner but comfortable looking couches dominating the space. She confirms my guess. “I see the lower risk kids here,” she says. “It feels less institutional that way.”

I can only stare, stunned, as she unlocks a cabinet and withdraws a tea kettle. I knew Katniss’s title here from Plutarch’s introduction of course. But until now, it hadn’t really sunk in, what she does. She’s an addictions counsellor. How utterly incredible that she went into the very field that eventually inspired my own career path.

“Sit, please,” she says over her shoulder. I slip off my blazer, draping it over the arm of the couch, then sink into plush microfibre. The ceramic clink of teacups and spoons and the sultry sway of her perfect posterior as she putters, preparing tea and humming just faintly are almost hypnotic. For all of the times I’d thought about Katniss Everdeen, I never imagined I’d ever actually see her again, and good lord she’s so much hotter than even my edgiest fantasies. “Black, right?” she says, snapping me out of my lurid thoughts.

“Uh, yeah,” I say after a moment’s pause where I try to pull myself together and remember that she’s making tea, so that we can talk. So that I can apologize to her. As glorious as her ass is, I have no business looking at her that way. I lost any possible chance I might have had a dozen years ago.

But she knows how I take my tea. The last time I saw her, gin was the only thing I was drinking.

She sets a red mug in front of me, on the low table between the couches. But she herself sits beside me, instead of across from me, which surprises me. Though maybe it shouldn’t, since she’s a therapist. Knowing how to set someone at ease is part of her training. It’s backfiring in my case though, since her closeness feels intimate. I catch a hint of her scent, something fresh and green but with a little bit of spice, like a campfire in the woods. So perfectly Katniss. “How have you been?” she says, sipping from her own mug.

“Better,” I tell her, because she’s not asking to make small talk. In addition to knowing everything I confessed in the interview, she was there when my world fell apart, she saw first hand how shitty I was.

“I’m glad,” she says softly, and she smiles, and it’s so beautiful and sweet it nearly breaks my heart.

“I am so sorry,” I tell her, but the words are completely inadequate. How do you tell someone that they are not only your biggest regret, but also your biggest inspiration? “For how I treated you when I was drinking. You didn’t deserve any of that, and I have regretted it every day.”

“I know,” she says.

“And what you did for me today,” I continue before my nerve runs out. “I can’t begin to thank you. You not only gave me this chance when you could have told any of them I wasn’t worth considering, but you actively helped me in the interview.”

“You earned the job, Peeta. Plutarch was already convinced before you even walked in the door.”

“The others weren’t.”

She laughs. “I knew Lavinia would love you. And Alma, well, she doesn’t really like anyone, but I have a feeling you’ll win her over eventually.”

“What about you?” I can’t help asking. She’s treating me so kindly, but she can’t possibly have forgiven me. I know she hasn’t forgotten.

“I believe in second chances.” Her smile is softer, a little pained. “I knew you’d find your way back.”

“I was such a dick.”

“You were,” she agrees. “But I knew that wasn’t you.”

“You said that back then too,” I tell her, my tea forgotten. “I, uhm.” My neck feels hot and I rub it distractedly. “I hear you saying that, when I’m having a difficult day. It’s helped me so much over the years. You’ve helped me more than you’ll ever know.” It’s embarrassing as hell to admit that. But she deserves the truth.

She snorts, and it’s a sound so at odds with her elegant presentation and with the seriousness of our conversation. My gaze snaps up to her face, she looks amused and abashed.

“You’re the reason I went into psychology,” she says, and my eyebrows shoot up to my hairline. “I was a biology major first year. But seeing how everyone failed you after your dad died, and how easy it was for you to fall…” she trails off. “And then when you came back to school to try again, sober and working so hard, I knew I’d made the right choice.”

“You were there?”

She nods. “Just for a semester. I was finishing my masters. I saw you a couple of times on campus, but you never noticed me.”

Honestly, that’s probably for the best. That early in my recovery I was still so fragile, just getting through classes took every bit of effort I had, and I spent so many hours with my sponsor and therapist back then I had no time for anyone else. “I wish I’d known,” I tell her. “But I had my head pretty far up my own ass.”

“You didn’t though.” She looks away, towards the tiny, narrow window on the exterior wall, barred, like all of the windows I’ve seen in this building. “I watched you. I’ve kept track of you over the years, when I could. Even then you were already working so hard to make amends.”

I was. And I can tell by that specific word that she knows why. One of the steps in AA is making amends for the shitty things we’ve done, at least where doing so won’t cause any further damage. In those early years, I’d concentrated mostly on my brothers, and earning their trust again. But I also spent time speaking with professors and coaches who I had alienated. It would have been far easier to start over at a different college, and likely would have been less triggering. But it’d have been a coward’s way.

“I never got a chance before now to apologize to you,” I whisper. She’d kept track of me, but I hadn’t made the same effort. Before the booze, Katniss Everdeen was that perfect, unattainable fantasy woman I put on a pedestal and never approached. And after, I locked her away, so terribly ashamed by my actions that I never sought her out, even though she would have been easy to find. I was terrified by how she might look at me.

But she’s clearly a much bigger person than I could ever be.

“I think the time wouldn’t have been right before now,” she says. “For either of us.”

We lapse into silence, Katniss still staring out the window, me fiddling with the mug I’ve picked up again. “Can I ask you something?” she says, and there’s something in her tone that makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.

“Of course.”

“That night… why me?” She’s trying to keep her voice even, I can tell, but the slight waver slays me.

“You were there, and I was a drunken asshole,” I rasp, but she shakes her head, glancing at me.

“It was more than that. The things you said…” she looks away, but not before I see the shine in her eyes. Not before I see the hurt I had been expecting all along. The knowledge that even all of these years later, my words continue to bother her is gut-wrenching. I feel like the biggest piece of shit.

“It was all bullshit, Katniss, the ramblings of an absolute lowlife shit of a human.”

“There’s always truth, even in ramblings,” she says softly. “It certainly wasn’t the first time I’d been called those things. But we’d never even spoken before then. I didn’t know you even knew my name.”

“I knew you, Katniss. I’d always been watching you.” She turns back to me eyebrows raised, confusion in every line of her beautiful face. I don’t want to make her uncomfortable, and I don’t want to make excuses for my absolutely inexcusable behaviour. But she deserves the whole truth. I drop my gaze to my lap. “The truth is, I had a huge crush on you, nearly the whole way through high school.”

She makes a little choking sound, and I can’t bear to look at her. I know I’m doing unfathomable damage to our potential working relationship, confessing like this. I’ll decline Plutarch’s offer, if being here will hurt her. But I can’t let her think that any of the awful things I said had even a speck of truth to them. I can’t let her take any blame.

“In senior year,” I continue, “I had finally convinced myself that I was going to talk to you, to ask you to the Valentine’s dance. But then…” I trail off. My father had died at the end of January, and everything else in my life had fallen away, sucked into the black pit of grief.

A soft, cool hand lands on my forearm, and I glance up. Far from looking disgusted, as I was expecting, Katniss is looking at me with compassion, even through her confusion. “When I saw you that night,” I whisper, barely able to get the words out. “I had already screwed up everything else in my life. I was just so angry at the world, but mostly at myself. I was drowning in regret and self-loathing. And you were there, and you were every bit as beautiful as you had always been. And you just represented everything I wanted so badly and had fucked up. My father was gone, my sport was gone, and the girl of my dreams was completely out of my league. And I lost it, lashed out at you instead of at the person who really deserved it. Me.”

“You didn’t deserve it either,” she whispers, and her eyes shine silver under a film of moisture.

I place my hand over hers where it still rests on my arm, and she doesn’t pull away. “I’m truly sorry, Katniss. Hurting you is the biggest regret of my life.”

“I accept your apology.” I squeeze her hand in gratitude, and a sad half smile ticks at her lips.

“I won’t take the offer,” I murmur, and her brow furrows again. “This is your career, I don’t want to make you uncomfortable, being here.”

She shakes her head. “You won’t,” she says. “I’ve been watching you for so long, cheering for you from the sidelines. I feel like I know you. And I know you won’t ever repeat that mistake.”

“I won’t,” I swear. “I’ll always be an alcoholic, and there will always be a risk that I’ll relapse. But I’ve learned so much in therapy, about communication and managing my emotions. About coping. I have better mechanisms now, and a really great support group behind me.” It had taken a long time to make things right with my brothers, but they are my staunchest supporters now. And my sponsor, Haymitch, is a crusty old bastard, but he’d rip out someone’s throat before letting me down.

“Then stay,” she says. “I’d like to start again, if it wouldn’t make you uncomfortable. Build up that friendship we should have had.” She looks down at our hands. At some point, she’d flipped her palm and I’d entwined my fingers with hers.

“Always,” I whisper in awe, and she smiles, that beautiful, elusive smile that I know will be the stuff of all of my future fantasies. And maybe, just maybe, the stuff of my future reality too.

#talesofpanem #tales of panem #makeup week #work #xerxia31 #submission #week 10

136 notes · View notes

what-you-dont-surrender · 5 years

Text

K.E. 2x06 Analysis

The sex scene! I called it! Not going to go too much into this, it was basically what I said to a T so you can read that here.

I also said the following in a gifset about V watching through the window:

Okay but, look at her. She’s not crying, she’s observing, she’s calculating. That’s the face she makes when she’s observing and adapting. That slight raise of her head on the last gif, she’s decided her next step. Does it sting? Yeah, probably. And that’s part of her hashing out her feelings for Eve, but she’s also planning. That, to me, is far more important. She did tell him to try it with his wife, it was for a reason.

The reoccurring theme of "you're not alone" here is perfect. This episode really strives towards letting Eve know that she has Villanelle, they're similar, and only they both understand what the other feels and thinks.

Ew V, brushing your teeth with Eve's toothbrush doesn't count as a kiss, come on.

V is going out of her comfort zone for Eve! Look at her NOT killing someone, so endearing. And she really does struggle with it.

V’s apartment:

"Who do you want?" Such a great question to start this episode off on because if there is something V establishes in this episode is who she is.

She shows Eve all of these people she's been and she can be at will: change her accent, her language, her posture, her demeanor, her life story. But none of them are her and she is all of them. And part of this episode will be about just that, getting Eve to see and understand that V is not one dimensional, she is not just one thing at a time, she is complex and layered; both vulnerable and deadly all at once.

And then there's the name: Billie - Bill. So is V doing this as her form of an apology or is it a jab? Maybe it's both.

Eve calls Hugo Kenny, doesn't care for the mistake, is definitely detached from pretty much everyone.

The Moscow Rules! Apply! To! Their! Dynamic! Too! I love the writing-between-the-lines going on in this episode.

Villanelle recognizes that Carolyn is also on the spectrum. She can sense Carolyn's detachment from others, her demeanor, and (thought she doesn't know) Carolyn's inability to form lasting relationships. Even claiming she's careful about how much she loves her own son. I wonder if seeing someone like her in a different career, playing a different role, intrigues V. The possibility of a different future perhaps?

Eve are you jealous? You're no longer the "real boss", you're no longer the only one who V knows is like her. Interesting.

The “us” scene:

Eve chose Niko BECAUSE he is normal; he works as a grounding mechanism.

She knew when she entered their marriage that he'd never be up to snuff but stayed because she felt the pull of that darker side of her psyche. Eve is now becoming more accepting of it though, she even enjoys it. Hence why she didn't deny V's "us" comment. She's beginning to accept that part of herself. Villanelle, on the other hand, is becoming more insistent and more blunt because she sees Eve's underlying desire to break out of her shell. (Not alone, part 2)

SESSION TIME!

So many layers to this, lets dig in.

Villanelle using Eve as her background story to spite her is gold, because yes, she uses it to provoke Eve but also because it places Eve as the patient. The counselor's reaction was super telling, expressing that Eve has constantly placed herself as a victim to those who will not comply to her whim. She is far too "up her own arse" per se, to see why Niko wants to leave her. She's focused on getting her way despite of, or even at the cost of, others, choosing to instead play the "blame game". Even better, Eve is forced to hear this herself. She hears a counselor and a group of people who have experienced mental health issues express that she's too focused on her self-pity. And while this angers her it also functions as a catalyst, forcing eve to see more and more how much she has been spiraling and that she is, indeed, part of that "us".

And what does Eve do when confronted with this? She lashes out. If you ask me, her anger is a bit exaggerated, which tells me she's aware that V is right about her but hates having to face the reality. "...this is over...the first rule is honesty..." These lines feel like they're not about the case at all, but have an underlying meaning for Eve. And it shows given V's reaction: "You asked me to come work for you"/ "How can I be honest...?" She’s just as confused, Eve isn’t making much sense. Until things fall in line: "aren't YOU?" which Eve doesn't answer because, yes she IS, she has been playing a different person her entire life. And then Eve does it, she questions V's abilities and we see the tiniest flinch. I love V's lines here because we see her draw a line in the sand. V has lived her entire life authentically as who she truly is. She embraced her mentality and her darkness from a very early age and was not afraid to relinquish all possibility of a normal life as long as she could be true to who she was. And yet here is Eve, someone who has worked to oppress her own nature, questioning her capacity and her ability to perform something that's such a bit part of her identity. And so V places her boundaries: do not underestimate her, do not forget who she is and what she can do. And that last line. It's a jab of sorts. Eve refuses to accept her own nature, so if she wants to be normal then the only thing left interesting in her life is Villanelle. "We'll try again in the morning," Eve won't shut the door to the possibility of a different life, but she needs time.

I don’t think Eve misses Niko, sociopathic individuals just don’t fare well with major life changes. He grounds her, she knows that, so she’s scared of what she’ll become now.

Session 2! My! Favorite!

So, once you guys get to read my full meta you'll see the breakdown of how I arrived here but for now just know I've diagnosed Villanelle with antisocial personality disorder. She's also an overt narcissist. With this in mind, let's dive in.

V admits to an inability to be truthful but most importantly, she doesn't understand the concept of it. The why, the how. Reality, and thus truth, is so boring for her so why would she choose to delve into it more than she already has to? This is also probably why she enjoys her work, she gets to suspend her reality enough and focus on a task, serving as a distraction. She probably doesn't even enjoy her work per se, but finds it’s the only way she can allow herself to be who and how she is, as society has no place for her.

She finds her life both boring and herself incapable of feeling anything. This lack of emotional response to any form of stimuli is a staple for people who're in the APD spectrum. It has been speculated that some people with APD aren't incapable of feeling but simply feel far too fleetingly and their emotions manifest themselves in very low levels for them to a. sense them or b. recognize them. Villanelle has self-awareness and that's a significant feat in itself. She shows a form of frustration or annoyance/displeasure at her reality. She knows there are things others feel, others experience, that she lacks and this state of not-knowing is something she can’t embrace. So she seeks anything that may arise a semblance of an emotion, however small. Her work, staring at her dying victims eyes, Eve; they're all things she chases seeking a sense of normalcy.

I want to touch on a few details: while we must remember that V is calculative and thus this entire speech is done with the knowledge of Eve listening in so yes, ulterior motive, it is also based on V's truth. While the tears may be questionable and perhaps mostly there as a form of maintaining her appearance as a normal individual while she's undercover there are a few facial expressions that are classic V. Slight facial twitches here and there and then, what caught my attention the most, her searching eyes. "I wake up and I think 'Again? Really?'" Here her eyes search, moving from side to side, as one does when engaged in conversation. This isn't practiced or rehearsed, to me, this is a glimpse into V's mind, into thoughts she's had about her person. "I have to do this again?" And the steel eyes come in, a sense of frustration, of exhaustion, of mind-numbing boredom, takes over her features.

Now lets take a look at Eve, she's so in-tuned with what V's saying. For one, it seems she didn't expect V to be candid after their last encounter but most importantly, she seems to recognize the sentiment. She is engrossed listening to all the things V expresses she does hoping to feel something, there is a sense of recognition, of familiarity. And this may very well be why V decided to voice such thoughts, stirring that feeling in Eve. A sort of "see? I feel this and I know you feel it too. Isn't it so dull? Isn't it exhausting?" This move is purposeful but it doesn't necessarily mean it isn't honest. (Not alone, part 3)

And then V kills the bodyguard!

Because what does V do after she opens up every time? She deflects, she jokes, she redirects the attention to any other facet of her person BUT the tiny crack of humanity she just exhibited. Sure, on one hand it’s her way of dealing with this obstacle, in another its a way of showing Eve that she handles things her own way, and it also tells Eve "I am both. I am that person who just opened up and I am this. Accept me as I am, or not at all." We see how detached she is during the kill, how indifferent, showing how no matter what she does she can’t shake the feeling of nothingness. But let’s take a look at Eve too: there's the initial shock of surprise, the heavy breathing, and then she holds V's stare and she begins to calm. V is observing here, perhaps trying to read Eve, was this too soon? How will she take it? And then when she sees Eve cool and collected, head raised high, determined and daring, she smirks and then returns the gaze. "What if I don't really know how I feel?" Man, the soundtrack nails it.

Lol Carolyn don't care Eve! She knew V would go rouge sometimes.

The Gemma scene! Pretty obvious its Eve being territorial and her pride being wounded but the most important part of it for me was: "Are you scared?"

My dear Eve, are you mimicking behavior here? It's a lovely sight. It’s like when a lion cub is learning how to hunt, a bit messy but the intention is there.

Peel's home

"If it bored you, you must've studied it, so you can at least detail the argument for it." Interesting choice of words here from Peel, bringing back that idea of boredom.

We can see V struggling to NOT kill someone and it's so captivating.

Also, Amber SO loved that smack lol

And here we see Eve as her handler!

Isn't it lovely? Look at Konstantin directing Eve, telling her to give her space, let her cool off.

Teaching her how to manage V.

And then we see the chase scene with the girls. Honestly, I haven't made up my mind about this scene because it feels like it's sort of a transitional scene with the next episode so it's up in the air. V obviously scares them to later show up and get them to lower their guard, allowing them to enter a state of comfort. She has a tendency to do that, manipulate a situation to lull the other person into a sense of safety only to strike or get her way. My guess is she's either going to kill those girls or sleep with them as a way to distract her from the failed mission she just walked out of.

The previews! I'm gonna hold off on those for a bit. For now, I hope you enjoyed this until I finish the episode-by-episode analysis.

#killing eve #villaneve #villanelle #eve polastri #2x06 #i promise you all the meta is much better written #its 3am and I'm running on my killing eve high #i hope you like missionary!

267 notes · View notes

shaekingshitup · 5 years

Text

My Type

A/N: I finally did it! There are probably hella typos because the app I was writing this in kept on autcorrecting everything. But I tried to clean em up. I can already think of things I wanna do differently. But i’m just happy that I’m being consistent and doing something. I ACCIDENTALLY PUT IN A “KEEP READING” JUST BEFORE I POSTED THIS. WOW. How did I do that?

Edit: I learned how I put the “Keep Reading” there and I am re-posting because my old blog was trash thanks to staff.

Songs I was listening to try and get me in the mood for this fic are here. But I trust your imagination to feel what a club setting is like. You ain’t gotta press play boo,

Warning: cursing, “the - n word”

Dani was out there givin it her all. She had to because she knew the DJ was gettin ready to spin this Petey Pablo single into her summer anthem. That shit would have her goin nuts in no time.

Hennessy on my lips

“Oh bitch, this is yo shit!” screamed Rachelle, digging in between her breasts to pull out her phone. She always had to take it to the Snap.

Hennessy on my lips

The DJ was messing with them at this point. This was about to be the third time he had teased Dani with the first line of the song. If he kept playin, she was gone have a lot of words for him in the parking lot when his set was over. She hated when they did that shit.

Hennessy on my lips, take a little sip

Privacy on the door, I'ma make the shit grip

Rachelle was hollering, “Ayyyyyy, that’s my best frannnd!” loud enough for damn near everyone in the club’s attention to be drawn to Dani.

As if someone had flipped a switch, Dani started twerkin like her life depended on it. You would have thought she was auditioning to be the lead for City Girls’ Twerk music video. All the ladies were on the floor shaking their asses. But no one was out there throwin it in circles the way Dani was- and she knew it.

Rich nigga, eight-figure, that’s my type

That’s my type, nigga that’s my type

Eight-inch big, ooh, that’s good pipe

Bad bitch, I'ma ride the dick all night

Dani was in a full squat pretending like she really had something or rather someone to ride on the floor with her. She was glad she’d chosen to rock her black romper with the white vertical stripes and the denim jacket to go over it instead of her bodycon dress. If she’d put that on tonight, the fabric would be around her waist at this very moment. Typically, she was so engrossed in her song that she didn’t even take into account the rest of the world. But this time was different. She felt…off. She couldn’t shake the feeling that she wasn’t alone. Glancing up to the V.I.P. balcony she saw why. There was one fine ass man watching her get down. He was leaning on the guard rail devouring her with his eyes as if she was his personal seven-course meal. Dani couldn’t look away. His gaze was far too intense and he held a beguiling smolder she couldn’t begin to match. Not in public in front of all of these strangers at least.

The moment the song was over, Dani straightened up and this nigga had the audacity to wink at her as she made her exit from the dance floor. She turned and grabbed Rachelle by the hand so they could re-fuel at the bar. Her Fairy Thot Mother really brought out the best in her. Yet every time the song was over, she needed a moment to recuperate. Sipping her Between the Sheets, Dani had to yell at Rachelle to get her attention again. Her gaze was fixated on the V.I.P level and who she could make out up there.

“Rachelle, are you listening to anything I am saying to your ass?” Dani fussed.

“Danica Albany Jones. Yo ass should know by now that I can multitask better than most can focus on one task for the rest of their lives. I hear you. You had a fine ass nigga scoping you out while you was getting it and now you’re tryna to make your dance floor fantasy a reality,” Rachelle stated still focused on the balcony.

“Fantasy? Nobody said all dat!” she kissed her teeth and rolled her eyes at Rachelle’s antics. She hated when Rachelle listened to her without looking at her. It was rude as hell and even more frustrating when the bitch was able to repeat everything she’d uttered just moments before.

“Got em!” Rachelle shouted turning back to Dani. Trying to play it cool, Dani forced herself to avert her eyes from the balcony and waited for her to clarify. “Damn, I can’t believe he really in her with that trick Trina.” Immediately, Dani slanted her eyes at her about-to-be replaced best friend.

“You really are out here checkin for Shad? I thought you were done messin with his ass?” Dani loved her best friend and she knew she was a woman on a mission. She wanted a man with a bag. She was strategic about it all and not subtle by any means. She could always tell you who was in the V.I.P section and had that shit mapped out like she drew up the damn blueprint herself. She had messed with a few ballers and other money makers. But she was perpetually stuck on stupid with Shad. He didn’t even meet the criteria for her future husband. But, the dude must have made up for what he lacked in height and net worth in the bedroom because Rachelle was rarely able to stay away for long.

“Don’t worry about what I’m doing tonight. Yo scary ass needs to go find yo stalker.” Rachelle shot back. As if she summoned the devil himself, Dani turned her head to his section and saw him eyeing her again. Once he realized he had her attention, he beckoned her up to his section with a slight head tilt towards the bouncer at the V.I.P entrance.

“Did you-“ before she could even get it out, Rachelle was downing the rest of her drink and pulling Dani towards the staircase.

“Just follow me, I know the area.” Rachelle threw over her shoulder as they wove through the crowd. Dani rarely went out- let alone found herself in the V.I.P section of any club so she held on a little tighter to Rachelle’s hand as they approached the bouncer.

“Hey Mike,” Rachelle offered peeping past him to the booth so she could see Shad occupying a smaller booth with Trina sitting on his knee.

“Rachel. How you doin tonight? I see you brought a new friend” Big Mike countered. He knew her name was Rachelle just like she knew his names was Big Mike. So long as she continued to call him out of his name, Big Mike was determined to do the same. Petty sees as petty does.

“Danica” Dani said a she extended her hand and smiled up at Big Mike. Already she’d won him over faster than Rachelle’s ass ever could. Big Mike turned around and verified that there was someone else on the other side of the velvet rope expecting the ladies. When E provided a nod of approval. He let the ladies inside.

Dani had no idea what had come over her. Granted she didn’t go out often, but it wasn’t like she’d never encountered the opposite sex before this evening. Walking up the stairs towards this man was proving to be a more difficult feat than she’d ever imagined as her legs seemed to be gelatinizing with each step she took. Or maybe it was the alcohol. She had consumed a few shots of Henny at this point. Within V.I.P, Dani could see that he had a few booths for him and his people to occupy. Dani couldn’t even begin to take in his mini kingdom he’d established because she was too preoccupied by how good he looked up close. His short dreads were neatly pulled back into a ponytail towards the back of his head and on his frame he adorned a long white tee, an Amiri distressed denim jacket and a black pair of drop crotch jeans that didn’t do well to help her keep her eyes from droppin below his waist line. What distracted Dani the most, was the gold rimmed wire frames he adorned which were quite similar to her own pair. Gold was her favorite color and she loved it even better against some melanin. As she took the final steps to be in his presence, he called out “Hey, lil mama” welcoming her with a partial smile and a glimpse of his golds in the bottom row of throne-er mouth. If it weren’t for Rachelle tugging her around in that very moment she would have surely collapsed into his arms. Instead, as Rachelle turned her around to tell her some final piece of advice she ended up crushing her ass into his hand. Which, may not have been too much of an issue if his white shirt hadn’t taken on the amber brown from his Hennessy as a result.

“Fuck! Oh my goodness! I’m so sorry” Dani began as she stood bug eyed in from of this adonis of a man. He lifted up his shirt to assess the damage and see if it was soaked through thoroughly.

You’ve got to be kidding me. This man can’t be this fine at first glance and have a body like that. How many packs is that? 6? 8? Do they even got a word for that? Damn Dani get it together. You’re staring. Stop staring.

He chuckled. He was bemused by the situation. Nah by her.

Reach for her waist her bent out and growled, “Imma be right back. You and yo girl make yourself comfortable in the back booth,” as he disappeared down the steps.

“Biiiitttchhh, how drunk are you?” Rachelle asked.

“I only had 1 shot of Henny and that Between the Sheets in the 2 hours we’ve been here. Why?” Dani questioned looking confused as hell. Rachelle should have been saying sorry. It was her fault that Dani’s ass ended up in the stranger’s hand anyways. Rachelle cut her eyes at her friend.

“Because the way you were talking about his body was bold as fuck when you don’t even know his name,” Rachelle cackled. She was low-key proud of her girl.

“Aww fuck. I said that shit out loud? What kind of friend are you for letting me ramble on like that?!” Dani whisper yelled.

“The kind that’s about to put you on game,” Rachelle quipped back, “Okay so to your left you have the Hip Hop Descendants. These are all of the people who got daddies and mamas in the game. The only reason anyone puts up with them is because they parents are the pioneer of Hip Hop, Rap and everything in between as we know it. Some of em had a single or their own tv show coming up. But, if it wasn’t for their DNA we would all say IDC”

“Wait what about Shad? He’s over there and last time I checked his parents were just regular degular people like you and me,” Dani posed.

“Shad is unique in that he was in the game at a young age and just grew up in the industry,” Rachelle supplied.

“Okay. So Shad is the Aladdin of the Descendants because his parents weren’t present in the Hip Hop industry”

“I won’t even acknowledge that. Moving on, in the middle you have Black By Popular Demand. These are the people who the media thinks are Black purely due to association. These hoes got here because they all know how to suck, ride or have a nigga by they side. In doing so, Hollywood calls them trendsetters rather than Culture Vultures and let’s them act out as they please. We don’t really fuck with them or their crews.”

“Is that a Kardashian?”

“They always got at least one of them in that group. To your right, are your Single Housewives”

“That don’t make sense. How are you a housewife and single?”

“If you would stop interrupting, I would be done with my explanations by know.”

“Okay okay. I’m sorry Janice. Continue please,” that made Rachelle laugh.

“You so stupid. Okay as I was saying on your right are the Single Housewives. Most can be found on a segment which is currently airing on VH1 or trying to secure someone to get them on the network. They may have been a housewife or a girlfriend and some point, but for now they just opportunistic.” Dani keeps her word and doesn’t say anything. But she knew exactly where Rachelle was going to make a beeline for later on in the evening.

“Last but not least, we have the section we are in right now: The Heavy Hitters. The niggas in this section got bank. I’m talking numerous sources of income. Collectively, they could probably wipe out Cali’s debt. And from what I’ve heard, the one who is chosey with you ain’t just got big bank he got a real fat-“

“Y’all ladies good over here?” he said as he returned to his private booth.

“Yes,” they sang in a chorus. Somehow he’d managed to find an even more expensive white tee in the few minutes he’d been gone.

“Cool. We ain’t get to introduce ourselves earlier, I’m Erik,” he said picking up the carafe of Henny and a glass gesturing to Dani and Rachelle.

“I’m Rachelle and I’ll take mine’s to go,” she said extending her hand. She took it, saying her goodbyes and heading straight to the Single Housewives section where she was directly in Shad’s line of sight. She really thought she was slick.

Dani turned to find those eyes roaming her frame for the third time this evening.

“I’m Dani…and I’ll take a lil bit,” she managed to get out as he maintained his contact with her. He never broke it even as he offered her the glass, poured his own and sat down right next to her on the sectional.

“Okay lil bit”

“What’s that mean?”

He smirked. “It means, “he said while placing his hand on her thigh, “you really bout it this evening. Ain’t nothin bout you little. Yo shit match my shit and you won’t take them sexy ass eyes off me. That’s My Type indeed”

#fictober day 2 #fictober19 #shaekingspeaks #erik x oc #erik killmonger #killmonger fic #black panther fanfiction #erik stevens #erik stevens x reader

49 notes · View notes

xfanfics · 4 years

Photo

Destiel Fic Rec List Part 5

Last Updated in October 2014. Posted in May 2020 for posterity. Listed in no particular order - the total rec list will have ~250 fics. Header graphic used with permission.

This part of the list contains: 32 fics.

Other Destiel Rec Lists: [1]. [2]. [3]. [4]. [5]. [6]. [7].

_____

Casturbatus Interruptus by gaugbrojotr E | 6k | Canon!verse, Hot, , PWP

post-9.01, in a slight AU wherein Cas comes to live with the Winchesters at the Bunker. Written before 9.03. Crossposting from Tumblr. Written for a prompt from hightopsandsharpies: "Okay, so Cas is a virgin, and has no idea what pleasure is and Dean decides to show him and Cas gets all cuddly and needy afterwards. Dean walks in on Cas masturbating. He’s doing it all wrong, but when you’re a bazillion-year-old virgin, that’s to be expected. Dean decides to lend him a hand in a totally platonic, non-romantic way. Things get a little out of control.

that awkward moment when... by highermagic E | 7k | Hot, wing!Kink

All in all, with a full tank of gas and his radio turned up loud, Dean was in a pretty damn good mood. All that vanished into shock and concern when the sky lit up like daylight, as though someone had decided that black was so passé for nighttime.

This Temporary Flesh and Bone by misachan E | 5k | Canon!verse, h/c, wing!kink

Castiel doesn't serve Dean, fine, Dean has no problem with that - he just wants to know why Castiel's showing up in his dreams again.

What a fabulous little Fic. Very emotional. S4 cas is my FAVORITE.

Only Fools Rush In by baka_sensei E | 18k | Canon!verse, soulbond

Dean does something and in angelic tradition that means he's become Castiel's fiancé. Dean doesn't know if he wants to get married, but he doesn't want to let Castiel down either. Cas lets his feelings run away with him, Gabe is a total dick, Sam is concerned, and Dean has to make a choice.

Learning Curve by blualbino T | 1k | Fluff, Canon!verse

Cas has nice lips. They’re soft looking. Plush even. Dean can do this.

Dinner At Katz's by nanoochka E | 2k | Hot, canon!verse

Dean might have to teach Cas how to have a When Harry Met Sally-esque orgasm, but he certainly doesn’t have to fake it.

Free With His Hands by watermaline E | 2k | canon!verse, handprint!kink

The first time it happens, Dean chalks it up to…well, he doesn’t chalk it up to anything, he’s too busy coming his brains out in his jeans with Castiel’s hand on his shoulder.

Desecrate that Sanctuary by brokentoy E | 3k | Hot, Alt!Canon Verse

Dean develops a fascination with Cas' bones.

What Once Was Sacred by saltandbyrne E | 55k | Hot, AU, Cop Dean, DJ Cas

Los Angeles detective Dean Winchester works tirelessly to atone for the sins of his father one case at a time. When his best friend Charlie drags him to visit Sam at his new job, Dean stumbles onto a bizarre string of deaths that brings him uncomfortably close to his past.Dean can't stop thinking about Castiel, an enigmatic DJ who plays the sexiest music Dean's ever heard. A chance encounter at Castiel's house reveals that Castiel is an incubus, and Dean must face the lies and the reality of his childhood as a hunter. Dean comes to see that he and Castiel have more in common than he thought, and that guilt can be the hardest thing to cast aside.

Freefall by LastKnownWriter E | 128k | Hot, Fluff, AU, Teacher Dean, Firefighter Cas

AU. The most exciting kindergarten teacher Dean Winchester's life ever gets is when he plays mechanic in his uncle Bobby's shop on the weekends. That is until a birthday party goes tequila-nova and he trips into a one-night stand with an incredibly hot firefighter named Castiel. Dean's life gets a lot more exciting after that.

The Best Years of Our Lives, My Ass ❤ by ireallyhatecornnuts E | 110k | Hot, Fluff, HS AU but not really,

AU after Season 8, episode 6, "Southern Comfort." Dean goes to sleep in a motel room in Texarkana, and he wakes up 17 years old, in his childhood bedroom in Lawrence, Kansas, 1996. He has no idea how he got there, why his parents are still alive, why his brother is an adorable freshman with no memory of his adult life, and why the only ally he has in this place is the angel he left behind in Purgatory – somehow also 17 years old. They have to get out, that's the important thing. Only, falling in love with his angel wasn't a part of the plan....

It's like a HS AU... but better! I love how Dean is given a second chance at growing up, and Cas gets to engage with his humanity is painfully familiar ways. Some homophobia from non-central characters.

deus ex nihilo by Valyria E | 7k | AU, dubcon, god cas

Lost on an uncharted island, Dean Winchester is captured by the local villagers and offered up as a sacrifice to their winged god. Castiel takes one look at Dean and decides he wants him for a mate.

Twist and Shout ❤ by gabriel E | 97k | Angst, AU, Main Character Death

What begins as a transforming love between Dean Winchester and Castiel Novak in the summer of 1965 quickly derails into something far more tumultuous when Dean is drafted in the Vietnam War. Though the two both voice their relationship is one where saying goodbye is never a real truth, their story becomes fraught with the tragedy of circumstance. In an era where homosexuality was especially vulnerable, Twist and Shout is the story of the love transcending time, returning over and over in its many forms, as faithful as the sea.

Do I really need to say anything? Twist and Shout is one of my favorites simply because it made me bawl. Didn't love the characterization, but I still liked it overall.

Carry On ❤ by TamrynEradani E | 148k | Hot, AU, Sub!dean, Dom!Cas

When Sam gets into Stanford, Dean needs a bigger paycheck than Bobby's garage can give him. Luckily, he knows a guy.

Forget 50 Shades of Grey, they should make this fic into a movie! Even if you are not a fan of Sub!Dean, give this fic a shot, because it is nearly perfect.

Glasses by Samanthapin E | 9k | Fluff, High School AU, punk!cas, nerd!dean

Teasing turns flirting turns dating turns grossly soppy boyfriends

beer and bacon happy hour by outpastthemoat G | 2k | canon!verse, s8

The problem is that Dean’s been having good ideas all night. “No one insults the trenchcoat,” Dean says, and drives his fist into the other dude’s face. Dean figures he was bound to run out of good ideas eventually.

Hard Road ❤ by aleishapotter E | 54k | Canon!verse

Dean discovers a few truths about himself when he and Cas are forced to go undercover on a hunt to the very last place Dean ever thought he'd find himself: a gay resort called "Last Hope" that is geared towards helping troubled homosexual couples repair their relationships. This fic is hilarious and hot--my favorite things.

Dean Smith Verse by TamrynEradani E | 17k | Hot, BDSM, AU, Sub!Dean

Dean Smith is a man of routine. Castiel takes him apart.

Bratishka: Little Brother by Valyria E | 33k | Cop AU, Cop Dean, Lawyer Cas

Dean thinks he knows pretty much everything there is to know about his best friend Castiel Novak - he's a smart, gorgeous DA who probably lets Dean get away with more than he should to see the bad guy locked up - but it turns out Cas is hiding some dark family secrets.

the way to a man's heart by mkhunterz M | 15k | Fluff, Canon!verse

Dean teaches Cas to cook, and other things as well.

Branded by garrisonbabe E | 12k | | canon!verse, soul bond, marking/claiming

Michael mocked Castiel, telling him he'd never get Dean the way he truly wanted. No matter the mark on Dean's soul, he'd never get him the way the archangel could take him. Dean finds a ritual that fixes that and a few other issues.

Our Bodies, Posessed by Light by obstinatrix E | 39k | canon!verse, sastiel bromance, Fluff

Purged of all his souls, Castiel is a changed being, stronger than an angel and too powerful for Jimmy's body to contain. Happily, there's an archangel's vessel on hand, and he could use fixing, too. Dean isn't too happy about the idea of his brother acting as a vessel for Castiel, and Sam can guess why, but it isn't until Castiel gets inside his head and they learn to share the vessel -- and their thoughts -- that Sam realises Cas is as in love with Dean as Dean is with him. It's unfortunate that there's nothing much to be done about it now, but Castiel will get another vessel soon. The Winchesters will make damn sure of that. In the meantime, it's up to the three of them to establish their own strange accord, and Dean realises more fully than ever that it's Castiel, and not his vessel, that he loves.

So Glad We Made It ❤by scaramouche M | 16k | Fluff, AU

At twelve years old, Dean makes a friend, who becomes his best friend, who will eventually become the love of his life.

Oh, the best friends who grow up together AU. I have a soft spot for fics like these-- comes with pining, awkward misunderstandings, and a good basis for a realistic relationship.

Shut Up (Put Your Money Where Your Mouth Is) ❤ by kototyph E | 23k | Fluff, college au

Dean's done some pretty stupid things, but getting drunk-hitched in Vegas to a colleague he barely knows might just take the cake. His surprise husband, Castiel, is a little weird but likable despite that, and Dean figures they’ll go back to Boston, get a quiet annulment, and go their separate ways. Six weeks later, he’s still married to one of the strangest, most genuine and definitely most dangerously lov-- likable guys he's ever known. Dean doesn't know why or really even how it’s happening, but it’s getting harder and harder to remember that he has divorce papers to file.

FLUFF EVERYWHERE! This is definitely a feel-good fic and I love reading it when I'm sad. Or just you know, whenever.

But the Fire is So Delightful by kototyph E | 5k | Hot, hate then love, College AU

Apparently, it’s been snowing all day. [Dean is a Douchebag Fratboy with a Cherry Ass, Castiel is Angry and Aroused]

Stitches by askance T | 23k | Fluff, h/c, blindness, Canon!verse

Castiel survived Leviathan--but only barely. Vessel mauled and eyes destroyed, Cas is barely clinging to what's left of his grace when Dean finds him naked and alone on the reservoir's edge; in a panic, Dean brings him home to the cabin where he and Sam have been holed up off the grid. What follows is the slow process of the angel's recovery and the unexpected changes that come with his being blind, and in the three months this takes, their little family slowly begins to patch itself back together in forgiveness, love, and darkness.

When Charlie Met Cas by riseofthefallenone E | 25k | Fluff, canon!verse

Charlie is back in all her glory. The Winchesters have showed up on her doorstep and she’s making the best of it the only way she knows how. By being the little sister Dean never wanted and shipping the shit out of Destiel.

The Life After the Morning After by saltyfeathers T | 17k

Dean and Cas get uber drunk on their last day of University. They end up married. Neither of them seem to mind.

The Girlfriend Experience ❤ by Rageprufrock E | 15k | Hot, Canon!Verse, First time

While it's not like Dean hasn't had a couple of truly regrettable hit-and-runs in his sexual history, this is probably the saddest fucking thing that has ever happened to him.

Classic Casturbation fic. Complete with steamy sexytimes, hilarious dialogue, and fed up and clueless Dean. Perfect.

Hands, From Which All Things Are Built by MajorEnglishEsquire T | 14k | Canon!Verse, s8

Castiel travels with the angel tablet and without the Winchesters. One day, Dean gets a text from some anonymous number. (They speak in the language of need.)

Cowboys and Real Estate Angels by almaasi E | 36k | AU

Castiel crosses paths with the ever-charming Dean Winchester at a rodeo show in Texas, of all places. Dean's singing days are long bygone, but his crowd-pleasing skills haven't waned one iota. Unexpectedly, Castiel finds himself in Dean's bedroom; they take and they give, and discover that sometimes strangers can find love like this, too. (And if a man's faith can't be put in God, it needs to go somewhere...)

#destiel #deancas #spn #spn fic rec #destiel fic rec #*#list

4 notes · View notes