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hopelessdelusional · 1 year

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.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

⚠️TRIGGER WARNING FOR SLIGHT MENTIONS OF HOSPITALS, BLOOD, AND DEPRESSION⚠️

You sit in your car smiling at your phone, sure your friends drive you crazy but you wouldn’t have made it this far in life without them.

A year ago today you were laying in a hospital bed watching the same “Friends” episodes that aired on the small TV that sat in front of you. You had gotten into a small car accident, thinking the worst of it was just a concussion, but you were proven wrong when your doctor walked in the room with a clipboard and a frown on her face.

“Ms. L/N, it seems you have a genetic disorder that we didn’t know about. It turns out you have Hemophilia, which is basically a disorder where your blood doesn’t clot normally and when you injure yourself it’s very easy for internal or even external bleeding can occur. Now, it can be treated easily but you have to be careful…”

Those words never left your brain, constantly ringing in your ears. You never thought you’d be the same. Taking on a physical illness like that caused you to struggle mentally as well, struggling to get back in the swing of things. The constant doctor visits, parents calling every day, random relatives texting you, it was exhausting. You were exhausted.

However, you had the best group of friends, who supported you no matter what. They gave you a reason to get out of bed, and even giving you a reason to go to bed when it was an appropriate time. Yes, the journey was hard but you had family and friends right next to you, and that’s all you had to think about. In order to get through the bad, you have to get to the good.

That’s how you ended up here, sitting in the parking lot of the most packed out studios in Los Angeles. That’s also how you got to working again, finally summoning up the courage to put your résumé back out there, and to your surprise getting hired almost immediately.

“I dunno Toshi, it just happened so suddenly I didn’t have any time to adjust to take it in or-“

“n/n I swear to god if you don’t accept this, they are literally the top modeling agency of LA. This is an opportunity of a lifetime.”

You sighed and sat back down in your rolling chair, watching your best friend stare at you from your bed disapprovingly.

“Okay. Okay fine. Whatever I‘ll take it.”

You slowly look up at your best friend who is grinning back up at you.

“I knew you had it in you.”

You walked in through the double doors, showing the receptionist your ID, and finding your way around the building. Eventually you met the agent that you spoke on the phone with. It was refreshing to see she was as kind looking as her picture on the website, but you couldn’t for the life of you remember her name. She immediately jumped up to greet you.

“Good Morning Ms. L/N! Thank you so much for coming in today. I knew as soon as I saw your name on my list of possible photographers I wanted you here ASAP. I love your perspective and the way you capture models flawlessly, There was no way I was going to deny you!”

Taken aback by the sudden energy and kindness that this modeling agent had offered, you smiled and chuckled along with her as she rambled. She walked you through the main hallway and then finally into the main photography unit. It was even bigger than you remembered, many different corners of the unit being used for different sets and shoots. Some ridiculous, like come cologne add with a shirtless cowboy and some majestic, like a mermaid photoshoot.

“Before we start,” the agent stopped suddenly causing you to stumble, but you quickly picked yourself back up and you rose your eyebrow at her.

“My client is a bit…moody. He is beautiful and capable of anything you throw at him, but because of his…attitude…you have to be hard and confident. He admires that.”

She smiled at you like what she had just said was normal, then continued walking.

You no longer wanted to look at the other shoots, now trying to muster up as much confidence and professionalism as you could. What did she mean moody?! You groaned internally, regretting getting out of bed and putting on jeans for the first time in weeks.

“All right! Here we are. Bakugou! Meet your new photographer! She’s the one I was talking about the whole way here, I mean she is just incredible and-“

Suddenly, all the air got punched out of your lungs. That was him. That was the bad kisser that you made out with for an hour and a half at that stupid party! God you hated alcohol, why did you even go?! Why are you even here?! You should run, you should run as fast as you can and never come back.

Instead, you swallowed back your emotions and stuck your hand out, flashing a smile that you hoped didn’t make you look like you’re constipated.

If he recognized you, he didn’t make it obvious, although there was a slight twitch in his left eye, something you remember him doing when you lowered your hand down his stomach and down his-

“Pleasure to meet you! I’m excited to have the opportunity to work with you.”

He kept our eye contact, which both made you uncomfortable and a little excited. He was wearing a tight black shirt that had a slight v-neck, hickeys being showcased beautifully on his skin. You now remembered why you jumped him in the first place, that fire in his eye, beautifully sculpted muscles, a jawline that could kill, and those prominent lips that made you want to pull him close all over again. No wonder he’s a model he’s fucking perfect.

He hesitated before taking your hand in his, shaking it slightly, giving you a brief flashback of those very hands on your waist just two nights ago.

“Yeah, can’t fucking wait.”

You couldn’t tell if he was being sarcastic or not, but instead of lingering on the moment you let go of his hand first, and turned your body to the agent again.

“I have all of my equipment with me, so just give me a second to set up and we can start!”

The agent beamed at you once more before running to get the rest of the crew. You shot a quick glance at Bakugou before smiling gently and walking away. You didn’t want to look at him long for too long, scared you might get too distracted. You were here for a reason, you had to be confident and most importantly professional. You’ve worked with hundreds of models, he wasn’t any different.

You’ve been in the photography game since you were 15, slowly building up your skills. You had done so many graduation photos, weddings, family pictures, and that was all before you were 18. By the time you graduated high school you had enough money to leave your home town and start going to a college that fit you just right in LA. That’s how you met Hitoshi, and through him all the rest of your friends. Ever since then you’ve been slowly building up your career and you have a newfound pride in yourself. Not a lot of people are lucky enough to be in a stable career they love in their early 20’s.

You bent over to plug in the last wire, before turning back around to find Bakugou’s agent. Cursing when you realized you didn’t see her, your eyes quickly found Bakugou, who was looking at himself in the mirror fixing his hair. You sucked in a breath and quickly walked over to where he was standing. You lean on the desk to catch his attention, and thankfully he seemed to stop what he was doing and turned his body towards yours.

“What’s you agent’s name?”

He stared at you for an uncomfortable amount of time before he grunted, looking away.

“Some professional, can’t even remember your fucking client’s name.”

You cocked an eyebrow at him, crossing your arms to show you didn’t appreciate his answer.

“I’m gonna ask you again. What is your agent’s name.”

That seemed to do the trick, because he looked back into your gaze, almost challenging you. You kept your stare, having years of staring contests with Hitoshi up your sleeve. However, you were taken aback when he smirked, causing you to glance at his lips for a split moment before returning back to your stance.

“Allison Marks, now don’t forget that.”

You smiled politely and uncrossed your arms.

“Oh I won’t, even when i’m drunk I always seem to remember things when it comes to you.”

You chuckled, watching a small blush creep on the tips of his ears, before he rolled his eyes looking away.

“Damn right, no one could forget me in a million years.”

You scoffed, starting to walk away from him, but he grabbed your hand before you could fully leave.

“And L/N, don’t get too distracted, we have a job to do.”

His face was neutral but his eyes told you everything you needed to know. His eyes was clouded with confidence and lust, leaving your brain to wonder back to that night again.

He let go chuckling and you walked off in a trance.

Fuck. This was gonna be a lot harder than you thought.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

gold rush

hello my dearest followers/readers! if you’re just now reading this welcome to Wildest Dreams, the Model!Bakugou Katsuki x Photographer!Reader, and if you’re coming back oh boy did i have fun writing this😈

i literally haven’t posted fan fiction since my watt pad days, whew. also ummmm i didnt proof read this so…have fun with that…love you!!!

fun facts! ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

- no matter the gender y/n always says “yes ma’am” in response so someone asking her to do smth (unless the other person is uncomfortable)

- i got the idea of the blood disorder bc my sister has smth similar so i know a bit abt it, however do not be scared to correct me or tell me any information about the disorder!

- can u tell idk what a studio unit thingy looks like😀😀😀no like all i can think about is those scenes in New Girl back when Cece was a model and they showed where she worked…that’s it

- sho used to be SUCH a dry texter but after a couple of years the gang got him to be more expressive and energetic

- the convo at the beginning of katsuki’s texts is actually inspired by a real convo my friends had 🤭

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·˚ ༘₊· ͟͟͞͞꒰➳ updates every wednesday and sunday! happy wildest dreams wednesday ✧.*

·˚ ༘₊· ͟͟͞͞꒰➳ TAGLIST IS OPEN just message or comment: @iiilovemilfs @0anodite0 @bakugouswh0r3 @amethyst123 @nijirosz @bakugoukatsukiwifiu @allnamesredacted @ch3rryhaze @ectoplasmictoast @cathwritestragediesnotsins

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kaitoujokerscans · 10 months

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Get Back Hachi’s Memories! CH3

<3> Memories Lost

"Hosshi!"

"There, there, Hosshi. Have some konpeito." Hachi, with a bandage wrapped around his head, held out some sugary konpeito which Hosshi gladly chowed down on. "Eat up now!"

Joker watched them from the sofa. As far as he could piece together, Hachi had hit his head and passed out while Joker was absent. His external injuries seemed to be limited to a large bump on his head.

But internally, it seemed there was something more seriously wrong with Hachi...

Hachi turned and addressed him, "I still don't know who you are, but thank you very much for giving me first aid." Hachi gave a very polite thank-you, which was quite in line for him — except for the part about not knowing who Joker was.

Joker asked with trepidation, "Hey Hachi, you're joking, right?"

"What's this about?" Hachi replied in confusion.

"Well, I mean... you do know who I am, don't you? You're just acting like this 'cause you're still angry about that teacup, yeah?"

"...I'm sorry. I really don't remember," Hachi quietly apologized.

Joker changed his question. "What's your name?"

"Fuuma Hachi."

"Where were you born?"

"The Fuuma ninja village."

"Any siblings?"

"I'm the eighth of ten children. In order, there's Taro, Jiro, Saburo, Shino, Goro, Rokusuke, Nanasuke... then there's me, and Kurumi and Ichimaru are my younger siblings."

"Your hobbies?"

"Cooking, cleaning, and all other household chores."

"Your favorite artist?"

"The Shuffle Sisters, of course! I'm a fan of Ai-chan!"

"Your favorite author."

"Spade King!"

"What's my name?"

"I don't know."

"Why not!?" Joker blurted out, eyes focused on Hachi. But Hachi just hung his head apologetically. Hachi definitely wasn't the type to lie so blatantly. It didn't seem like he was teasing him or playing dumb on purpose. It must've been from when he hit his head...

"You're sure you don't remember me at all? Not even a little bit? You don't know Phantom Thief Joker-"

The moment the words were out of Joker's mouth, Hachi's expression tightened. He glared at Joker with a sharp glint in his eyes. "Phantom Thief Joker!" Hachi shouted loudly.

"H-Hey..." Seeing how worked up Hachi was, Joker flinched for a second.

"I know that name!"

"Huh?"

"Phantom Thief Joker...! When I heard that name, anger suddenly swelled up in my mind! I remember that person did something awful to me!" Hachi stood menacingly with his fists clenched tightly at his side. "That's a name I couldn't forget if I tried! I'll never ever forgive Phantom Thief Joker! I have to take revenge on him at all costs!"

"Eh... um... uhhhh..."

"As it happens, you just brought up his name! Are you Phantom Thief Joker!?"

"Eh? Well, uhhh..." The gears in Joker's brain turned as fast as they could. Then he caught sight of his own clothes and threw out, "Uh, no, I'm... not Joker! My name is Kaitou Joe." Joker used the same name he just used on stage. Luckily, he was still wearing the costume too.

"...Joe-san?" Hachi asked inquisitively.

Joker responded without delay. "Yeah, that's me! I'm Kaitou Joe, and I travel around the world on this airship! I'm kind of a globetrotter! I go where I please, wherever the wind takes me!"

Hachi's eyes softened, and he bowed his head. "Oh, I see. I apologize for accusing you of being Phantom Thief Joker without knowing anything. That makes more sense. You were kind enough to treat my wound, Joe-san, so you couldn't possibly be that cold-blooded scoundrel Phantom Thief Joker."

"Say that again!? Who are you calling a scoundrel!?" Joker bent forward without thinking.

"Huh?"

"Uh, nothing, er... you shouldn't insult people like that," Joker quickly covered up.

"Oh, excuse me. Yes, you're right, Joe-san."

"Sure..." Joker said, leaning back into the couch. An awkward silence ensued. Both of them were trying to figure out what to say to each other. The living room was silent except for the sound of Hosshi chewing on konpeito.

Hachi opened his mouth. "All right, Joker-san. I have to leave now."

"Huh? Where are you going?" Joker asked in surprise.

"I get the feeling that I can't stay around here. Thanks to you reminding me, I figured out that my goal is to beat Phantom Thief Joker. So I'm going to head out and look for Joker!"

"Eh? No, wait, instead...!" Joker bent forward again in a sweat. "How about you stay here instead? You can travel with me in this airship and search for Joker while you're at it!"

"What?"

"Besides, you're hurt. You shouldn't push yourself until you get better. Maybe you'll remember something else in the meantime."

He couldn't let Hachi go off on his own at this juncture. If he went out and found out that "Joe" was Joker, things would snowball. So it fell to Joker to figure out a way to restore Hachi's lost memories.

"But I couldn't possibly impose on you..."

"It's fine! C'mon, just stay here. Okay, Hachi?"

Hachi considered this for a while. Then he looked up at Joker with shiny golden eyes. "All right! I'll take you up on your offer for now. Thank you, Joe-san!"

When Joker woke up the next day, a wonderful smell drifted past his nose. It was the delectable scent of toast and ham and egg and sausage; one of Hachi's usual breakfast menus.

"Hachi!"

Joker jumped out of bed and rushed to the breakfast table. He nearly put on his usual red suit before hurriedly switching to "Kaitou Joe"'s outfit. The chic look just wasn't his style.

When he entered the living room, Hachi spoke to him with that same old smile. "Good morning, Joe-san."

"Oh... right... good morning."

"Since I'm intruding on your hospitality, I made breakfast."

"Yeah, I can see..."

Hachi's memories still weren't back, it seemed. Joker sat down at the table and wolfed down breakfast with the usual gusto. It was the taste of Hachi's cooking, same as ever. The crispiness of the toast and firmness of the egg yolk was the same as ever too.

To the side, Hosshi was stuffing its cheeks with konpeito as if nothing was any different.

"Not a care in the world, huh, pseudocat...?" Joker mused. Meanwhile, Joker was on edge trying to keep his identity secret from Hachi.

"Well then, I'll join you too," said Hachi as he drew up a chair across from him and started to eat breakfast, as was his usual habit.

Everything was the same as normal. Except that Hachi, though he was right in front of Joker, didn't remember him at all...

Curious now, Joker asked, "Hachi, how's your injury healing?"

"The throbbing in my head's completely gone now. Thank you for that, Joker-san!" With the same beaming smile as ever, Hachi munched on his breakfast. "Oh yes, I did some investigation into Phantom Thief Joker."

"...!" Taken by surprise, Joker's utensils froze. "O-Oh really?"

"Yes. It appears that Phantom Thief Joker is an internationally-active thief. His manifold and elusive ways of showing up have given him the nickname of 'Miracle Maker'..."

"I do know that much." It was a weird feeling, hearing Hachi explain this.

"But somehow, I get the feeling that I know Joker. I've seen his face, of course, but I think I've already heard about the gum he uses, his trademark card techniques, and his other special tricks. I suppose I must've done research on my enemy..."

"Uh-huh..."

Well yeah, Joker thought to himself. Hachi was the one person who got to see Joker working up close and personal. It seemed that Hachi didn't remember that he'd been Joker's assistant, nor was he able to recognize the face of "Joe" as "Phantom Thief Joker". This is a real issue...

Joker crammed his mouth with a second piece of toast and swallowed it down. Then Hachi said to him, "By the way, I've had a lapse in memory like this before."

"Huh!? You what? Really!?" Joker was about to ask for more detail, but just then his phone rang. He glimpsed at the screen and saw the words "STUPID SPADE" displayed. That was what Joker had listed for his contact info.

Joker picked up his phone and answered, "Sup, this is Joker..." before catching himself. "Joe, can I help you?" he corrected.

The call automatically transferred to the tablet next to the table, and a camera feed switched on. The tablet screen showed a young man who looked puzzled by what Joker had called himself. "Do you have a moment?"

Phantom Thief Spade was the one on the other end of the line. He was a handsome youth with steadfast eyes and a shapely nose. His long dark blue hair flowed freely and was crowned by a yellow crest that tufted out at the top. Spade had been Joker's rival since they were kids.

"Uh, actually..." Joker was tongue-tied. If Spade somehow let slip that he was Phantom Thief Joker in front of Hachi, he'd be in big trouble. And he was pretty sure that Spade was going to talk about their mutual profession.

"Cutting to the chase, something surprising happened while I was on the job recently..." Spade started to talk without even waiting for a response from Joker.

Oh snap, if he keeps talking, I'm not gonna be able to keep my identity secret!

"Ah! Sorry, Spade! I've got something else to do right now. Seeya!"

"Huh? Wait, Jo-"

Before he could say the next syllable, Joker switched off the display.

Hachi asked in confusion, "Joe-san, are you sure?"

"Eh? Yeah, it's fine!"

"That was Phantom Thief Spade-san just now, wasn't it. I've met him more than a few times before."

"Huh? Oh really, you have?"

Apparently Hachi did remember Spade. Joker was a little mad that his memories of Spade were still quite intact, whereas his memories of Joker had been neatly excised.

"Sheesh, that's just perfect, isn't it..." Joker grumbled to himself. Just then, his phone rang again. He checked it and saw the words "SWORD-FOR-BRAINS QUEEN" on screen. The names he registered people under were very childish. "Not again..."

But if he didn't answer, she'd probably just keep calling. The tablet display came on. The girl who showed up on screen didn't even say hello before getting down to business. "Hey, can I talk to you, Jo-"

"OH HEY! Been a hot minute, Queen!" Joker frantically cut her off.

"Huh? It hasn't been that long, has it? You sure sound chipper."

Queen's eyes widened in surprise. She had beautiful blonde hair tied into two ponytails and a charming face, but contrary to appearances, she could be very rowdy.

Like Spade, Queen was a longtime affiliate of Joker. The three of them had trained under the same master, Phantom Thief Silver Heart, and learned the ABC's of thieving from him. Queen still lived with Silver Heart as his granddaughter.

"I need to talk to you about something. On my last job, I ran across this one phantom thief. There was something really weird about him."

"Oh, really." Joker's mind was elsewhere, and he already had the urge to hang up.

"So about this weird guy... hey, are you paying attention to me, Jo-"

"NOOOPE nope nope! I have no clue!" Joker drowned her out as fast as he could. Why was it that they picked today of all days to call him by name!? Talking to them right now really was a bad idea. "I'm busy right now! Talk to ya later!"

"Hey, wait-" But before Queen could finish, Joker turned off the display again.

Hachi, right in front of him, was confused. "Joe-san, you're busy?"

"W-Well, I'm eating the breakfast you made right now, aren't I? I'm the type to focus on my meals and eat them respectfully!" This was hardly something Joker would have said yesterday when he was gaming and munching on a fillet at the same time. If he'd had this attitude then, none of this would be happening right now.

"Ha ha, a compliment like that makes all the effort of making it worthwhile." Hachi smiled. "I suppose Queen-san just had bad timing too."

Apparently he still remembered Queen, too.

"You seem to have a lot of thief friends, Joe-san. I wonder about that weird phantom thief that Queen-san mentioned."

"Ha ha, I guess I do." Joker laughed hollowly and sighed. If he didn't restore Hachi's memories quick, he wouldn't be able to talk with Spade and Queen normally, and more importantly, he wouldn't be able to do any capers.

Joker asked Hachi, "Hey. You said something about having a memory lapse before, right?"

"Yes. I hit my head one time and got amnesia."

"What!? Really?"

"I think I just must've hit the wrong spot. But I got help and went back to normal that time..."

"You got help!? From who?" Joker impatiently leaned forward. If they used the same method, Hachi's memories might be restored.

"Umm... If I remember correctly, the person who helped me was..." Hachi traced back his fuzzy memories and at last exclaimed, "That's right, it was Hyakkimaru-san!"

#kaitou joker #light novel

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edoro · 2 years

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Tags: "for maximum humor i need hunter to be COMPLETELY oblivious to the variety of crises of sexuality he's causing all of his friends to have it's not like he thinks he's UGLY he just doesn't really think of himself that way at all. his body is a tool he also happens to live in whether it's attractive or not is completely irrelevant to literally any part of his life or job so why would he care"

Oof. Ow. But yeah, that makes sense. Poor Hunter. D:

Kinda interested in this concept, tbh?

-🍀

oh thank you! i really love to consider Hunter's relationship to his self, both the abstract sense of self and also his like, physical existence, wrt his trauma.

he's just so... his whole thing is just so much about being used and dehumanized. he was literally made to be an object for Philip's use, and not even one of any like, objective significance - there were no big plans, he wasn't needed for the Day of Unity ritual (a headcanon about what a grimwalker might be for that i used to have), he literally just exists for no reason other than to be Philip's combination stress ball/teddybear/caretaker/whipping boy/brother replacement.

so like - he came into existence because Philip wanted him to, to fulfill his own needs. and then he was raised as a soldier, made into a weapon to fight on Philip's behalf, guard him, carry out his orders, etc etc.

and i think we get a lot of evidence that Hunter basically just occupies a series of roles that are expected of him. even just with s2e6 and s2e9, we saw that there was a very definite difference between Hunter, without the mask or uniform or weight and status of his rank, and the Golden Guard, Emperor's right-hand man. and at the end of s2e6, there's that very interesting bit where he comes right out of that audience with Philip where, remember, he gets verbally abused and then physically threatened, and then as soon as he sees Kikimora he puts on that Smug Little Shit persona and acts like everything is fine.

he switches roles so quickly, and is so able to just... push down and dismiss whatever emotions he's feeling. and then after Hollow Mind, when he abandons the role he's trained his entire life for, he's just an absolute wreck.

so like obviously he hangs a lot of his personality on that! it means so much to him, to be the Golden Guard, and what is that? it's whatever Philip wants it to be, basically. whatever anyone tells him he needs to be, because without Philip around he just immediately turns to Darius to validate him and approve of him and tell him what he needs to do to be worthy.

he just seems to have so little internal sense of self and rely so heavily on external validation and guidance. and i see him as someone who dissociates a lot, too, which i also think there's plenty of canon evidence for.

anyway, all of that adds up to seeing him as a person who has a very practical, utilitarian relationship with his own body.

(this is also, tbh, why i don't really vibe with the headcanon some people like that he experiences serious food insecurity - i know Amity called him 'scrawny', but, i mean, his character model doesn't bear that out, he just kind of Has That Vibe because he looks exhausted and unwell, and it just doesn't make sense for Philip to expect him to be a soldier and then also not feed him. sweet parkour tricks take a lot of calories!)

so yeah i just see him as someone who sees his body first and foremost as a tool. he exists to be a shield, a bodyguard, a weapon, a show of the Emperor's strength, etc etc. he exists to carry out orders, fulfill expectations, lead and succeed at missions. and like he's clearly very skilled at combat, and that takes a lot of practice - he's spent a very long time honing his body and his physical skills.

for some people this can lead to a deeper sense of connection with the body, but Hunter just seems so disconnected from himself in general, and again like, all of his trauma is so very much about being dehumanized.

(my headcanon of him as a csa survivor also plays into this - it creates further distance between himself and his body, is another situation where he separates his consciousness from his physical existence in order to cope. it's just another thing his body is for, another way that he exists for someone else's use and pleasure, and things like 'being attractive' don't factor into it - Philip might desire him and enjoy using him that way, but it's just one of his duties, that's all.)

so, yeah. my headcanon there is that he just doesn't really think of himself like that one way or the other. his body has certain needs - fuel, cleanliness, wound care, sleep - that he fulfills as necessary for it to keep functioning, so he can carry out whatever duties he's assigned. if it gets hurt or scarred, that doesn't matter. if it's hungry or tired, that only matters insofar as it interferes with his ability to perform his duties. what it's wearing or how it looks or how it's touched or seen or used doesn't matter except insofar as he needs to know what's expected of him in the current moment.

#hunter toh #dissociation #csa mention #the owl house #asks

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blood-bound · 1 year

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And then [throws darts with eyes closed] 13, 27 and 41 for Mark

For doing these randomly, you picked some good questions!!!

Do they enjoy poetry?

Yeah, Mark is. A softie romantic at heart. (Deep in the heart. Very deep. But there!)

But even with that he really only likes specific poetry… he likes poetry in nerdy historical ways; he thinks Roman poetry in Latin is soooo much better than other stuff. I imagine early in his graduate studies he spent a long time reading Roman poetry, specifically romantic ones haha. I think no one really knows exactly how much he likes it, though Sampson probably at least saw him reading or mentioning it once. He was probably close to sharing more before the relationship went bad. It's possible Sampson figured out he liked it when he was spying on him, without his knowledge. It's a very very guilty pleasure.

Has a chance encounter ever had an unexpected effect on them?

Uhhh lots of small encounters have had large effects on Mark…. I’m trying to think of an answer to this question that is interesting but also not just restating his backstory. Ok. OH yes I thought of one. Sleeping on this helped cause i was STRUGGLING last night.

Fairly early on on his kindred existence, he met a gargoyle in the chantry. Mark had no idea the origin of gargoyles, their history, or how they were treated, and this particular gargoyle was very young. His name is G. Because he was so young (existed for like 5 years) he was childlike in many ways and had a unique perspective on things. Mark was nice to him, because like, why not, and so G became his friend. Flew him around even.

Mark later found out more about how gargoyles were seen, (badly, like unfeeling servants) which is fucked but of course didn’t make Mark less friendly with G.

Then, the battles with the Sabbat happened. Mark and G fought in the war; Mark willingly for status, territory, and also cause he thought the Sabbat were fucked, and G, cause he was forced to guard the chantry. This traumatized G and also he got injured so Mark didn’t see him for awhile. A lot of gargoyles died.

Mark looked around for him and that’s how he found the gargoyle barracks which are. Bare bones and sad. He saw more first hand how they are treated now.

Mark is planning on looking into this more and trying to help the condition of gargoyles. This is kind of a big thing cause its the first thing he sees in kindred society that he thinks he could make better on a larger scale. God speed Mark. I hope Julius doesn't tell him to stop.

Do they learn from their mistakes?

He isn’t one to make the same mistake twice, when he can help it. Mark likes learning, remembering information, logic, etc. He is also trying REALLY hard to like, be successful, so if he trusted the wrong person or was careless, then he definitely learns from that. He’s recognized now that he is somewhat easy to manipulate/gullible, and so is trying REALLY hard to get past that, but that’s hard to fix quickly. And he’s kind of set in his ways - larger character flaws - the repression, paranoia, and general stand-offishness - ain’t going anywhere anytime soon.

So basically like, mistakes caused by external issues or miscalculations - yes he will learn. Mistakes from internal causes? He’ll learn only up to a point, and probably won’t identify their root issues.

#mark vtm oc #ough fun fun fun questions ty

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bluejayblueskies · 3 years

Text

in the reciprocal

Words: 8.3k

Relationships: Jon & Martin (QPR)

Tags: Season 1, Scottish Safehouse, Light Angst, Queerplatonic Relationships, Gray-Aro Martin, Kiss-Averse Jon, Kiss-Averse Martin

Warnings: internalized arophobia, mild external arophobia, mild internalized homophobia, canon-typical Lonely depression and dissociation, teasing someone about a crush (in a friendly manner), mention of canon character death, Martin briefly pretending like he still has romantic feelings for Jon and participating in a romantic relationship that makes him uncomfortable (this is addressed and resolved)

Ao3 link in source

Martin’s relationship with romance has always been … complicated.

He has distinct memories of his early teenage years, when the major topic of conversation had shifted abruptly to who had a crush on who and who had kissed who after school and who had asked who on a date. Martin had never really participated in those conversations, though that could be owed more to the fact that he didn’t have many friends than that he wasn’t interested.

Because Martin was interested. The idea of romance had always intrigued him—a fairy-tale thing where there was somebody who would choose you and love you and never let you be alone ever again—and he wanted, more badly than he knew what to do with sometimes, to be in love.

The world, as Martin quickly learned, was not a fairy tale. No matter how much Martin tried to pretend otherwise. In fairy tales, when people got sick, they eventually got better. In fairy tales, parents always loved their children and showered them with affection. (Or were villainous and cruel, locking their children away in towers and treating them like objects to be discarded. Though Martin was never fond of those stories.) And in fairy tales, love was always easy. It wasn’t something that had to be learned or forced. It was instead like breathing—nearly effortless unless you thought about it too much—and, like breathing, it was something that everyone did.

So Martin couldn’t understand why he was so bad at it.

Just before he’d dropped out of school to work full time after his mother couldn’t anymore, he’d been asked on the first and only date of his entire life. Nino had been his friend for nearly a year and a half, and Martin loved spending time with him more than he loved most things in his life back then. School was growing more difficult as Martin had to take on a second part-time job, his mother was growing sicker and shorter with her temper, and he was quickly coming to the realization that he was … different.

After all, he’d never once felt the same kind of affection toward the girls whose names he attempted to doodle in the corners of his notebooks as he felt toward Nino.

Coming to terms with the fact that his first real crush was on his very lovely, very male best friend was … hard. But one day, Nino had bumped his shoulder against Martin’s as they sat in the library and had said something funny that Martin has long since forgotten, and he’d found himself smiling widely. His heart was a stuttering mess in his chest, his stomach twisted up into knots, and … things hadn’t been so bad, then.

Loving Nino had felt safe. Looking back, Martin is sure that Nino had been able to read all of Martin’s stutters and flushed cheeks and clumsy attempts at affection for what they were, but at the time, it had felt like a private indulgence. Just another way for Martin to spend time with the boy who was gradually becoming the most important person in his life. (Behind his mother, that is. She would always come first.)

What was funny about the whole situation, in a way that was actually not very funny at all, was that Martin was even considering asking Nino out. He liked to fantasize about what it would be like—creating clumsy scenarios in his mind where he would slip a note into Nino’s backpack before they parted ways or blurt it out on their way to the tube or whisper it quietly under his breath in the library so that nobody else could hear it but them. He imagined what it would be like if Nino said yes, his face lighting up with a smile and his hand reaching for Martin’s.

He tried to imagine what would happen after that—the date, the kissing (which he could never quite picture without grimacing and pushing the image quickly away), the hand-holding, the…

Well. He actually wasn’t quite sure what was meant to come after.

(Like breathing. It was supposed to be like breathing.)

It was funny, except it wasn’t. Because when Nino pulled Martin aside on their way home one day, face flushed slightly darker than normal, and hesitantly asked if Martin would like to go to a movie with him in a way that was very clearly meant to be a date, Martin expected to feel happy. He expected to feel relieved, that he hadn’t had to muster up the courage to ask Nino himself, or nervous, that he was finally going to be pursuing a romantic relationship with the boy he cared so much about.

Instead, he felt … stiff. Uncomfortable, like his skin was suddenly just a bit too tight. He felt the sudden urge to hide, or maybe to run, or to vanish into thin air so he didn’t have to be standing here anymore, now desperately trying to avoid the eyes of the boy who had just bared such a vulnerable part of himself to Martin.

Confused, Martin tried to look within himself for that warm, stammering affection that had been there a minute ago and found it transformed into something awkward and tense and devoid of all desire for romance. But that didn’t make any sense, he thought as he stared blankly at Nino, who was becoming increasingly nervous, shifting from foot to foot as his mouth pinched into a thin, anxious line. He remembered liking Nino. He remembered the fantasies, remembered coming up with a thousand scenarios just like this one, remembered stammering and stuttering and wanting so badly to take Nino’s hand in his own.

It was like remembering a story he’d been told. Just a fairy tale.

“You … can just say no,” Nino said finally, and Martin felt a curl of guilt in his stomach at the clear upset in Nino’s eyes. “If you have to think this long, it’s … probably not a yes. Is it.”

Yes, Martin tried to say. It’s a yes—of course it’s a yes, I’m just … surprised. Maybe things would make more sense if they actually went on a date. Maybe Martin would just … sort himself out. He was just surprised, or maybe in shock.

He loved Nino. He did; he knew he did. He just … had to figure out how to bring it back.

He didn’t get the chance. (Though, thinking back on it now, Martin knows that even if he’d tried, it wouldn’t have worked.) Nino pulled back slightly, hands going to the straps of his backpack self-consciously. “Right,” he said, sounding terribly embarrassed, and Martin felt himself mirroring the emotion. “S-sorry, I … I guess I was reading things wrong. I—I thought that you … never mind. It doesn’t matter.” Nino forced a smile then, and it lacked all the bright and shining things that Martin liked about it. “S-suppose I’ll … see you in school tomorrow.”

“Yeah,” Martin managed to say. And then Nino was gone, and Martin walked home alone.

He dropped out a few months later. Nino said that he would call, but Martin has always been good at lying and even better at telling when somebody else is doing so. And Nino hadn’t been putting much effort into it.

That was … probably for the best. At least Martin didn’t have to feel that dizzying, sickening sensation of guilt and awkwardness every time he looked at Nino anymore.

So, there it was. The world was nothing like a fairy tale. His mother only ever got sicker, her affection for him only ever grew more a thing of the past, and love was…

Well, love clearly wasn’t for him.

That didn’t stop him from falling hopelessly, irrevocably, head-over-heels in love with Jonathan Sims.

Martin, as a rule, makes a habit of not talking about his love life. For one, because there is a distinct lack of it (a fact that he much prefers but doesn’t generally feel like explaining in detail). And for two, because Martin just knew it would turn into something like this.

Martin places his head in his hands to hide the flaming red of his cheeks. “Can we not talk about it?”

“I think we’re actually obligated to talk about it now,” Tim says with what Martin is absolutely certain is a cheeky grin. “Given that you’ve just admitted that your not-so-mysterious crush is Jonathan Sims.” He drops his voice to an exaggerated conspiratorial murmur. “Is he the one you’ve been writing poetry about then?”

“I don’t have to say anything,” Martin mumbles into the very clammy palms of his hand.

Tim, fortunately, drops the poetry topic. He unfortunately does not drop the crush topic. “I mean, don’t get me wrong,” he continues. “You’ve got good taste. The whole … sweater vest, ‘disgruntled professor’ vibe is attractive, and he’s funny, you know? In his own way.”

Martin lifts his head from his hands and gives Tim an exasperated look that he hopes screams can we please stop talking about this. Tim must misinterpret it as jealousy instead because he holds his hands up in the air placatingly. “Hey, no competition here. We’re just friends, and I’m not really interested in dating anyone at the moment.” A pause. “Though, I suppose if Jon asked, I wouldn’t say—you know what, that’s not helpful.”

“He is pretty hot,” Sasha pipes in from her spot on the break room couch. “I definitely get where you’re coming from.” Then, after Martin turns that same exasperated look onto her: “Just trying to show our support for the cause, Martin.”

“Yeah, well—don’t.” Martin stands, maybe a little bit too abruptly, and crosses the room to where the kettle sits on the counter. He fills it in the sink and then clicks it on, the blue light reflecting off the countertop and faintly illuminating his hands.

“Hey,” Tim says, leaning against the counter next to him and giving him a surprisingly serious look. “I’m sorry. If talking about this makes you uncomfortable, we’ll drop it.” He mimes zipping his lips closed and throwing away the key. “No questions asked.”

“I’m pretty sure talking afterward negates the ‘zipping your lips shut’ thing,” Martin says, which earns him an amused huff of laughter and a gentle elbow in the side. He finds himself smiling, if only briefly before it falls from his lips once again. “And it’s … fine. I’m not upset. It’s just…” He hesitates, considering, and settles on a suitably vague, “It’s complicated.”

Tim makes a noise of understanding. “Say no more, Marto. Consider the subject dropped.”

“Thank you.”

There are a few moments of silence between them, filled only with the gentle hum of the kettle. Martin reaches for the mugs, and as he pulls four from the cabinet, Tim says abruptly, “So wait—is that why you always bring him tea?”

Martin nearly drops the mugs. “Tim.”

“Sorry, sorry.” Tim grimaces at him sheepishly. “I’m dropping it.”

Martin nods and pulls the box of tea from the cupboard. As he gets the mugs ready, however, he can feel Tim’s eyes on him, heavy and curious. Finally, it gets to be too much, and Martin sets the box down with a sigh. “I bring him tea because he never leaves his office and at least this way he’s hydrated. If you absolutely must know.”

“Caffeine is a diuretic, you know,” Sasha says from where she’s still sitting on the couch.

“Yes,” Martin says tersely, grabbing the kettle as it clicks off, “but it’s better than nothing.”

The tea isn’t related to the crush. It really isn’t. But Martin knows that the more he tries to make excuses, the more it’ll seem like he’s deflecting, which will just be counterproductive. So he prepares the tea and passes Tim and Sasha’s mugs to them. Then, fully aware that Tim and Sasha are watching, he grabs Jon’s mug and makes his way to his office.

He doesn’t knock. He found out his first week here that Jon doesn’t like it when people knock and prefers them to verbally announce themselves instead. It wasn’t because Jon had told him; Martin gets the feeling that Jon is too stubborn to admit to that sort of weakness in front of him. It was because of the subtle tension in Jon’s shoulders every time Martin opened the door after rapping three times on the doorframe; the way his voice sounded ever so slightly pinched when he asked what Martin wanted.

So Martin says, just loud enough to penetrate the thick oak door, that he’s coming in, and then, after a moment, he opens it.

Jon is sitting at his desk, mountains of papers and files stacked on either side of him. His laptop is open in front of him, and he’s currently focused intently on something on the screen, the harsh white light of the LCDs reflecting off his glasses. He doesn’t seem to notice when the door opens, but when Martin takes a few steps closer and gently clears his throat, he looks up from the screen, blinking a few times as his eyes adjust to the dimness of his office.

“Ah,” Jon says, his gaze landing on the mug. “Right. You can…” He looks at the disastrously cluttered surface of his desk and, after some consideration, pushes a stack of papers to the side to make a mug-sized gap in the mess. “You can place it there.”

Martin does. He doesn’t mean to linger afterward. Even though things are ... better between them now that Martin is staying in the Archives and Jon seems to have softened slightly toward him, they’re not quite at the ‘hold a casual conversation’ stage of their relationship yet. Still, Martin finds himself standing in front of Jon’s desk long enough for Jon to glance back up from his computer, a small furrow forming between his eyebrows.

“Did you … need something else from me?” he says, sounding more confused than annoyed.

No, Martin means to say. I’ll be going now.

Instead, he says, “How are you doing?”

Jon stares blankly at Martin, like he doesn’t understand the question. Martin briefly curses his complete lack of a verbal filter at the worst times and purses his lips, telling himself that frantically trying to rescind the statement will only make things worse. “I’m … fine,” Jon says with a hint of incredulity in his voice, like he can’t fathom any reason why Martin would want to inquire after his well-being.

Good, Martin opens his mouth to say. Let me know if you need anything else.

Why he says instead, “I just … noticed that you haven’t been going home lately,” he doesn’t know. He hasn’t had a crush in so long—is this what it was like the last time? God, it’s a bit embarrassing, isn’t it?

Jon still looks bewildered, though there is an edge of irritation to his voice when he says, “There is a lot to do here, Martin. I assure you, I can take care of myself.”

“Right, yeah.” Martin fights the urge to rub his hand along the back of his neck, settling for the inside of his wrist instead. “Just … I know I’ve taken your cot recently, and if you’re not going home at night, I—I would hate to feel like I’m making you sleep at your desk.”

“You are not making me do anything. I can make my own choices.” Jon purses his lips for a moment before saying, more gently, “Besides, you … have more need of the cot than me at the moment.”

Martin can’t help the little shudder that goes through him at the reminder of why, exactly, he is in need of the cot. “Yeah,” he concedes. Then, because it’s only been a week or so and he still feels like he hasn’t said it enough: “Thank you again, for … for letting me stay here.”

Jon’s expression softens into something almost sympathetic, just for a moment, before growing closed-off and shuttered once again. Martin’s traitorous heart thuds in his chest at the sight, just like it had when Jon had listened to his story impassively and then matter-of-factly offered him the cot like it was the only logical thing to do.

(He hadn’t understood why he’d reacted like that—pounding heart, sweaty palms, cottony mouth—until that night, staring at the dark, cracked ceiling of the Archives and running Jon’s words over and over again in his mind. But it wasn’t surprising, was it? Of course Martin would find himself attached to his prickly, no-nonsense boss who kind of hated him the first moment he showed him an ounce of kindness.)

“It’s … really no problem at all,” Jon says, sounding a bit stiff in a way that’s hopelessly endearing, like he doesn’t quite know what to do with Martin’s gratitude. Then, even more stiffly: “You’re … doing all right?”

The tentative concern in Jon’s voice is enough to bring a flush to the tips of Martin’s cheeks that he desperately hopes can’t be seen in the low light of Jon’s office. “Y-yeah. As well as I can be, I—I suppose.”

“Well,” Jon says in a businesslike voice, like he’s delivering a report, “if you need any further accommodations, please let me know. Given that this was a workplace incident and you were investigating the Vittery building on my request, the Institute and I are responsible for ensuring that you remain safe while you’re … displaced from your previous home.”

Martin has always been good at reading people. And for all that Jon wears various masks of professionalism and skepticism and authority, he’s still surprisingly easy to read. It’s easy to control an expression, to control a tone of voice, but Jon’s eyes are always so much more emotive than he probably means them to be. Right now, they’re flitting around the room, from Martin to the floor to his desk to the floor again, like they’re afraid to settle on one place for too long.

It’s easy to identify the emotion as guilt. It takes Martin a few more moments to place what, exactly, Jon is guilty for.

“It’s … not your fault, you know,” Martin says slowly. “What happened with Prentiss. You’re not … responsible for it.”

Martin expects Jon to brush him off—to tell him that he’s being ridiculous. He doesn’t expect him to say, with a voice that leaves no room for argument, “I am not responsible for Jane Prentiss’ presence in the Vittery building, yes, nor for the fact that she followed you home. But I would be remiss not to acknowledge that you encountered her while following up on a statement, per my request, and that I … was not as cautious as I should have been with regards to sending you on dangerous assignments.” Jon’s eyes are sheepish now, and a touch concerned. “I will be sure to take the appropriate precautions in the future, as it would be unacceptable for you to be injured or … otherwise hurt whilst performing your duties as an archival assistant.”

It’s not a heartfelt statement by any measure. Really, it’s just common decency, and definitely what should be expected from one’s superior in a line of work that is (apparently) much more dangerous than it appears to be on paper. But Jon’s eyes when they finally turn to Martin are softer than he’s ever seen them, even as his expression remains carefully neutral and professional, and it feels like Jon has just said something profoundly kind.

Martin’s heart has some stuttering, skipping things to say about that particular fact.

“Um,” Martin says eloquently. “Th-thanks.” He considers mentioning again that Jon really isn’t at fault for sending him into a building that, for all Jon knew, contained nothing more than a few very persistent spiders. But he doesn’t. Instead, he holds the little scrap of kindness he’s been given close to his chest, stammers something about getting back to work, and leaves Jon’s office before he says something embarrassing like I like it when you care or you have kind eyes or we could share the cot if you stay too late.

Tim wiggles his eyebrows at Martin as he takes a seat back at his desk, and Sasha gives him a much more subtle knowing look. Martin ignores both of them and busies himself with the statement sitting on the corner of his desk, diving back into the formatting he’s been struggling with all morning.

Jon is his boss. Jon doesn’t even really like him, when he’s not feeling guilty for almost getting Martin killed. It’s never going to work between them.

A bit of the tension bleeds out of Martin’s shoulders. His eyes drift back toward the door to Jon’s office—the golden nameplate outside it, embossed with Jon’s name, the frosted window, the old, warped wood—and he feels something light and comfortable settle in his chest.

Jon is prickly and lovely and blunt and awkwardly conscientious and completely unattainable. Jon is never going to look at Martin with affection in his eyes and ask Martin to run away with him to pursue a romantic, fairy-tale ending, and Martin is never going to feel that intense, awful discomfort that seeps into the gaps where the love once was. He can blush and stammer and imagine holding Jon’s hand and kissing the inside of his wrist and tangling his foot with Jon’s underneath a table, and nothing will change.

It’s never going to happen between them. And it’s better that way.

The car ride to Scotland is quiet. Jon keeps sneaking glances at Martin when he thinks Martin isn’t paying attention, as if Martin will vanish if he doesn’t keep a watchful eye on him. It should be irritating, but … maybe he’s right. Martin doesn’t feel fully here yet. He still feels empty and numb, like all of the emotion and life and things that make him him have been cut away, consumed by the salty fog that had filled his lungs and stung his throat as he inhaled.

Peter Lukas is dead. Martin had felt it happen with a sort of empty detachment—the ripples of fog as Peter disintegrated into nothing but mist and static. Jon hasn’t spoken about it since they left the Lonely, but Martin had seen the tension in his shoulders as they’d returned to their flats to pack and taken the keys to the car from Basira and made their way painstakingly through London traffic.

Martin had wanted to tell Jon that it was all right—that everything was going to be okay. But his throat refused to form the words. It took all of his energy to remain present and solid, and he just … couldn’t. So he remained silent and gripped Jon’s hand as tightly as he was able and focused on not giving in to the Loneliness that still lingered underneath the surface of his skin.

Now, both of Jon’s hands are on the wheel of the car, his fingers and elbows rigid and stiff. Generic pop music spills out of the radio, the signal distorted enough that Martin only catches about half of the song, the rest swallowed by static. Better than him, he thinks absently. Right now, he feels as if he’s only static.

He can’t remember if he was like this before the air opened wide in front of him and he was swallowed whole by the fog, the panopticon gone in an instant and replaced with nothing but endless gray. He was … close, he thinks. Every day, things grew dimmer, his own thoughts and feelings more difficult to get a handle on. It grew harder and harder to remember why he was resisting at all. What his goal was, other than to just … be alone. He thinks he would have forgotten entirely, had Jon not been three floors beneath him, alive and breathing and reminding him that he was doing this—all of this—for a reason.

It had been … lovelier than Martin ever could have imagined, falling in love with Jon. It grew within him like a garden, new flowers cropping up every day. Some were white and delicate, blooming in his lungs when he looked at Jon and felt the all-consuming need to bundle him up in a blanket and make him tea and hide him away from the things in the world that wanted to hurt him. Others were purple and angular, blossoming with every lunch they had together and story Jon told him. And some were red and thorny, roses with waxy petals that made Martin’s cheeks grow hot every time Jon said his name like it was special or treated him kindly or smiled.

So when things grew difficult—when the loneliness crept too close, when he grew too comfortable being invisible, when he had to look Jon in the eye and tell him that he didn’t want to see him—Martin retreated to the quiet garden in his soul. He ran his fingers along the petals and stems and leaves and reminded himself that he needed to do this, or he’d lose Jon again and the garden would shrivel and die.

It had been an easy decision, in the end.

There’s a soft crunching noise, and Martin breaks free from his thoughts to see that they’ve transitioned from the smooth asphalt of the motorway to an unpaved gravel road. It’s bracketed on either side by trees, and though the sun has long since set, Martin can still see the gentle swell of hills around them, outlined softly in the moonlight. He thinks, for a moment, that he sees fog, clustering around the bases of the hills and swirling around in tight eddies, but when he blinks, the image is gone.

“We’re almost there,” Jon says quietly. It’s one of the few things he’s said to Martin the entire trip. Then, after a moment: “It’s … rather nice out here.”

Martin supposes it is. The landscape around them had been a vibrant green before twilight had washed it out into deep blues, and there have been cows dotted around the fields, shaggy and brown and grazing contently. It’s a stark change from the grays and browns of central London, with buildings on all sides and people everywhere and no chance to ever really see the stars. If circumstances were different, Martin thinks he would be cooing over the cows and trying to get Jon to stop so he could take pictures and enjoying his first trip outside of England.

Instead, Martin just nods.

Jon seems to understand. He sneaks another glance at Martin—full of something soft that Martin, in his foggy state, doesn’t quite know how to parse—but remains silent for the rest of the trip. It could easily be a stiff, uncomfortable silence, but … it’s not. It feels companionable.

When did being around Jon become so easy?

Daisy’s cabin is small and squat, nestled between two hills and idyllic in a way that doesn’t match the rough-hewn, steel-eyed woman Martin had known. The inside is dusty and cold, and Jon mutters something about central heating before disappearing down the corridor and leaving Martin standing in the living room, staring at the place he’ll be living in for the foreseeable future.

The place he’ll be living in with Jon for the foreseeable future.

Martin feels something in his chest stir at that—a strange, twisting emotion that’s there and gone before he can put a name to it. He shivers, in a way he doesn’t think is from the cold, and goes to find Jon.

He … doesn’t think he should be alone right now.

They find an old, rusted radiator that miraculously still works, pumping out hot air with a groan of metal. Jon digs a set of musty sheets out of the linen closet and begins dressing the bed. Martin notes the lack of a second bedroom, and he thinks he might object to the implication that they’ll be sharing a bed if he weren’t aware of the fact that he might vanish if left alone for too long. (Or if he were himself enough to feel embarrassed. Or to feel anything.)

He doesn’t think anything shows on his face, but Jon’s always been keen, even more so now that knowledge drips into his mind like water from a leaky faucet. Jon’s hands flutter over the sheets for a moment before he says, “I … hope this is all right?”

Martin tries to find his voice to agree, but the energy required to summon it is too much, so he settles for a shallow nod. He doesn’t think it’s a sufficiently enthusiastic agreement, but Jon doesn’t question it. He worries his bottom lip between his teeth for a moment, then says, “And … you’re all right?”

It’s a bit of a ridiculous question, really. No, Martin isn’t all right. No, there’s nothing Jon can do about it. No, he doesn’t know when things will be better. Or if they’ll ever be better.

Martin just looks at Jon, eyebrows slightly raised. Jon lets out a small, dry laugh. “Right. I … suppose that was a silly question. I—I meant…” Jon hems and haws for a long moment before finally saying, “Do you feel … safe, here? W-with me?”

That question has a much easier answer.

When Martin nods without hesitation, Jon visibly relaxes. “Good,” he says, voice rough around the edges. “That’s … that’s good.”

They stand there for a moment longer, the silence between them thick and heavy but not uncomfortably so. Finally, Jon clears his throat and says, “Well, I—I suppose we should rest then. We can … talk tomorrow?”

Martin nods and tries to smile. He doesn’t quite manage it, but … that’s all right. For now, this is enough.

Jon retreats into the bathroom, and Martin finds himself overcome with exhaustion. He slips into the soft pajama trousers he’d absently stuffed into his duffle bag, climbs under the covers, and is asleep before the sound of running water from the other room abates.

Martin doesn’t remember what happened in the Lonely. Things had been foggy and disjointed, slipping through his grasp when he tried to hold onto them. He barely remembers what came after, when Jon had led him away from the sand and the fog and the waves, his palm a searing heat against Martin’s. His first few days at the safehouse are spent in a similar fog, like each muscle in his body is frozen solid and he’s slowly attempting to warm them with a matchstick flame.

His third day is … better. His fourth, better still. By the end of the first week, Martin feels more himself than he has in months, if still acutely aware of the fog that now lives in his lungs and creeps out of his throat when he thinks too hard about what’s transpired or when Jon is out of sight for too long.

Martin remembers what it’s like to be happy. He feels it when he shuffles sleepily into the kitchen on their eigth morning in the safehouse and sees Jon standing in front of the stove, hair tied up in a neat bun and eggs sizzling in a pan in front of him. He remembers what it’s like to be frightened. He feels it when he wakes at night, shivering and shaking with the lingering memory of dreams of nothing but endless fog and aching loneliness.

And he remembers what it’s like to be in love.

He remembers it just in time to lose it.

The worst thing, Martin thinks, is that he’d almost managed to convince himself that it would be different this time. He knows, logically, that it’s not that simple. He’d done a little bit of research after what happened with Nino, reading through a few web pages on aromanticism before becoming overwhelmed and closing out of every single one of them. He tentatively returned to them a few years later after realizing that this wasn’t something that he was going to grow out of or move on from.

He had difficulties settling on a label, partly because of the sheer number of them and partly because he … didn’t quite know how to categorize his feelings. How could he categorize something that he’d only felt once before? Gray-romantic seemed the safest option, so that was the one he settled on.

(Not that he ever told anyone that he was arospec. It never seemed important, even when Sasha would needle him about his crush and Tim would make too-loud suggestive comments that could surely be heard through the door to Jon’s office.

… Martin misses Tim and Sasha. He thinks, if he’d had the chance—if he’d had more time—they would have been the first people he told.)

Martin knows that his relationship with romantic attraction is complicated. Yet somehow, he’s still found it within himself to hope that this time, things will be different. This time, when he tells Jon that he’s very in love with him and has been for a while, those words will continue to be true even after they’re spoken. (He ignores the fact that the actual thought of saying them aloud makes his stomach twist and his mouth grow chalky.)

But, just like with Nino, Martin doesn’t get the chance to try. Jon beats him to the punch.

“I … I love you,” Jon says quietly. He has Martin’s hand in his, and he’s holding it so gently Martin might cry. There were things Jon said before this moment—a conversation that has led them here—but Martin is having a hard time recalling any of them. All he can think is no, no, not now, not here.

His skin crawls. His hands are clammy, and he’s sure that Jon can feel it. He has the instinctive need to get away, but he’s also frozen in place, the lump in his throat sealing away all of the words that he should be saying.

He should be saying something.

The silence stretches on between them, the vulnerability on Jon’s face slowly morphing into concern. “... Martin?”

He sounds so confused, and Martin … he can’t. He just can’t. He doesn’t think he’ll survive the moment when that confusion turns to hurt.

So Martin swallows sharply and forces his hand to squeeze Jon’s and says, “I love you too.”

And he does, in a way. He wants Jon here, by his side, eating breakfast next to him and rambling to him about whatever latest thing has piqued his interest and listening to Martin describe the cows he’s seen on his walks. The thought of Jon leaving—of losing him, the same way he lost Nino—makes his stomach twist into knots, because Martin loves him.

Just … not in the way that Jon thinks he does. Not anymore.

And Martin can’t help but feel guilty about that fact.

Jon frowns at Martin for a moment more, like he can tell that something’s wrong but he’s not entirely sure what. Martin breathes out slowly and gives Jon as genuine a smile as he can muster, trying to convey that everything is fine. That nothing’s wrong—why would anything be wrong?

It must work, because Jon exhales slowly, his expression softening into one of the gentle smiles that Martin has grown so fond of. He rubs a thumb over the back of Martin’s hand in a motion that should be comforting but only reminds Martin of the fact that Jon is doing it because he loves him.

Martin thinks that Jon is going to kiss him then—isn’t that usually what comes after things like this?—and dread coils in his stomach. But Jon doesn’t. Later, Martin will find out that Jon dislikes kisses just as much as he does (though for different reasons). For now, though, Martin can only feel relief when Jon squeezes his hand once more before letting go and standing. “I’ll go make us some tea,” he says quietly, then retreats to the kitchen.

Thinking back on it, Martin wonders if Jon knew then. That something was wrong. But for now, he just feels relieved that he has the space he needs to breathe.

It’s their second week at the safehouse, just a few days after Jon told Martin that he loves him, that Jon finally sits Martin down after dinner and says softly, “Martin, am I … am I making you uncomfortable?”

“What?” Martin says, like he has no idea what Jon’s talking about. (Like a liar.) “No. What … what makes you think that?”

Jon wrings his hands together. He’s wearing one of Martin’s sweaters, and Martin doesn’t know how he feels about it. The clothes sharing is fine. The fact that Jon is clearly perceiving the clothes sharing as a romantic gesture is … less than fine.

Martin told himself that it would be okay if Jon perceived their relationship as a romantic one and Martin didn’t. He was good at pretending. And besides, how different could things be?

Very different, as it turned out. In all the ways that mattered.

Jon seemed to take any opportunity he could to touch Martin—a hand brushing against the small of his back when he passed behind him to grab a mug, an ankle nudging against his underneath the table as they ate, a head resting on his shoulder as they sat side-by-side and read. Martin had never been particularly touch-averse or touch-starved; touch was just … touch. He’d liked it when Tim had tousled his hair or when Sasha had thrown her legs across his on the breakroom couch, but he didn’t feel like he was missing out on anything on the days he went without any human contact at all.

Now, it’s all Martin can do not to flinch away from Jon’s touches, knowing that each one is delivered with love and affection that Martin can’t return. Though perhaps he hasn’t been doing as good of a job as he’d thought, judging by the concerned look Jon is giving him now.

There have been other things too—whispered I love yous in the early mornings and soft smiles that seem somehow more and little gestures that are so Jon but also so romantic—and Martin wants so badly to disappear back into the fog in those moments. But that … that wouldn’t be fair to Jon. It’s not his fault that Martin is like this, after all.

(It’s not Martin’s fault either. He knows this, logically. He’d spent a long time hating himself for what happened with Nino, for how he couldn’t just be normal and go on dates and enjoy something that the rest of society seemed to prize above all else. It had taken him years to finally come to terms with the fact that he wasn’t broken, and he couldn’t be changed. That this was just … who he was.

It doesn’t mean that sometimes, he doesn’t wish that he could be someone else. And he’s never wanted it more acutely than when he stares at Jon’s kind brown eyes and soft smile.)

So Martin lied and lied and lied. And he thought he’d been doing so successfully. But here Jon is, frowning at him, a careful distance between them, and Martin feels his chest begin to tighten.

“I just…” Jon begins, then stops. He looks down at the couch, studying the ugly floral pattern with apparent rapt fascination. Martin doesn’t know what to say, so he waits anxiously until Jon finally continues, “It doesn’t feel like you’re … happy. I know that things have been hard, a-and … it’s all right if you still need time after the Lonely, but it…” Jon swallows. “It feels like some of it may be because of me? W-when I touch you, sometimes you get … tense. And sometimes…”

“Jon?” Martin prompts after a moment, the word strangled by the growing lump in his throat.

“Sometimes,” Jon says quietly, “when you tell me that you love me, it … it feels like you’re lying.”

And the way Jon says it—tentative, with wide, hesitant eyes, like he’s the one that’s the problem—makes Martin’s desire to keep up the ruse crumble away in an instant.

It still isn’t easy to come clean. But he forces himself to do it anyway.

“It’s complicated,” he begins, then winces. Not a good start. Sure enough, Jon’s shoulders grow tense, and he shifts slightly further away, like he thinks Martin wants more space. Because he thinks he’s done something wrong. “You haven’t done anything wrong,” Martin adds quickly. It’s not you, it’s me, he thinks wryly. “It’s … not your fault.”

Jon opens his mouth—to say what, Martin doesn’t know. He barrels on before Jon gets the chance to speak, his haste making his words harried and blunt.

“I’m aromantic.”

Jon blinks at him, clearly surprised by the abruptness of the statement. After a long, awkward moment, during which it becomes abundantly clear that Jon is waiting for Martin to make the next move, Martin continues, “My relationship with—well, with relationships—i-is complicated. I-it’s, um … it’s hard to explain? A-and I don’t want you to think that I—I don’t care about you. I want to be here, w-with you, just…”

“Not in a romantic capacity?” Jon finishes softly.

Martin exhales heavily, feeling a bit like a hole has been punched in his chest and he’s slowly deflating. “Yeah.”

Jon is looking at him with soft, kind eyes, and Martin doesn’t know what to do with them. So he buries his face in his hands. “I’m sorry,” he says, his voice coming out muffled.

“Hey, hey.” Jon’s hand brushes against Martin’s shoulder before pulling away quickly, and that just makes Martin feel worse. “You haven’t done anything wrong either.”

“Yes, I have,” Martin says into his palms. “I lied. I let you think that I—I was still in love with you, and … Christ, that was shitty of me.”

“I … do wish you had told me sooner,” Jon concedes. “But … only because I care about you, Martin, a-and I don’t want you to be uncomfortable around me.” He hesitates. “You … do know that I’m not mad at you, right? Th-that I wouldn’t have been mad, o-or upset, or hurt, if you told me that you didn’t feel the same way about me?”

Martin takes a deep breath, then another. “But I did,” he says raggedly. “For … for so long, I did. Ever since Jane Prentiss locked me in my flat for two weeks and you believed me when I told you about it a-and let me stay in the Archives. A-and I didn’t lie, in the Lonely. I did love you, a-all the way up until…”

Martin trails off. Jon lets the silence linger for a moment before saying gently, “If you don’t want to explain it to me, o-or if it’s hard, you don’t have to. But … if you can, I’d like to understand. For myself, a-and for you.” He wraps his hands tightly around his knees where they’re tucked against his chest. “This is important, and … I want to get this right.”

Martin exhales. He picks at a loose thread on the couch between them, focusing on it so he doesn’t have to meet Jon’s eyes and can pretend like he isn’t so extremely exposed and vulnerable right now. “I … I do want to explain. O-or I want to try. It’s … hard, though. Mostly b-because I’ve never had to explain it to anybody else? But also because … I don’t really understand why I’m like this.”

Jon opens his mouth, and Martin holds up a hand. “I know, I know—you don’t … have to comment on that.”

Jon closes his mouth and tentatively shifts so his knee is pressing against Martin’s. Martin waits for the tingling of his skin, the pins-and-needles discomfort, but it never comes. Maybe it’s because he knows that this is an act of comfort rather than one of affection. It’s … really nice.

He presses back with a sigh, feeling a bit of the tension and nerves drain out of him. “I—I get that love is difficult for me,” he says quietly. “I’ve just … always had trouble with the fact that what makes it difficult is that I’m someone who apparently never actually wants their love … requited. And if it is, I just … can’t anymore. It all goes away, a-and I just … fall out of love?”

Martin can feel Jon’s eyes on him, inquisitive and searching, but Jon doesn’t say anything. There’s a moment of silence between them, during which Martin tries and fails to collect his mess of feelings and thoughts and emotions into something that he can verbalize. Finally, Martin sighs and says, “It’s ironic, isn’t it. I’ve loved you for so long, a-and I still do, but … not in the way you love me. Not anymore. And now you’re the one who—who loves someone w-who doesn’t … who can’t…”

“Oh, no, Martin.” Jon’s hand is covering his then, and it’s warm and gentle and lovely, and Martin could cry. “I’m not…” He hesitates, squeezing Martin’s hand once. “Well. I am still in love with you. In the … romantic sense. I—I don’t want to lie to you about that. B-but I also love you in … so many other ways. Y-you’re my friend, Martin, a-and you’re someone that I can trust. You … you make me feel safe, e-even when there’s … so much in my life that’s dangerous and unpredictable, and I know that you’ll … always be there for me when I need you to be. I want to be here with you, always. I would … be happy in a romantic relationship with you, yes. But I would also be happy to just be with you. In whichever way you will have me.”

Martin’s throat feels very tight. “Oh,” he says faintly. He feels a pressure at the corner of his eyes and realizes, with a flush of embarrassment, that there are actual tears collecting there. He stares hard at the lamp just behind Jon, trying not to let any of them escape.”You, um … you really … mean that?”

“Of course,” Jon says, like there’s no question to be had about the matter. “You are … such an easy person to love, Martin. In all the ways it’s possible to love someone.”

Martin tries—he really does—to keep the tears back. But it’s just … so much, and Jon is so lovely, and this is more than Martin ever thought he was going to be able to have. So he takes a shaky breath in, and on the exhale, a few tears slip free and trail down his cheek. He brings a hand up and scrubs them away, mutters a sorry underneath his breath, but Jon just squeezes his hand tighter.

“It’s okay,” he says. “It’s okay, I’m … I’m here. I’m not leaving you.” Jon hesitates. “Provided that that’s … all right with you, of course.”

Martin can’t help the shaky laugh that escapes him. “Yes, it’s all right with me. Of course it is.”

Jon smiles, and Martin aches with it. “Good.” He nudges his knee gently against Martin’s. “Because this cottage would get very dull without you in it. Who would I talk to about all of Daisy’s awful romance novels?”

Martin laughs again, and it chases away most of the lingering tension in his body. “Be careful what you wish for. I’m going to start doing dramatic readings next.”

Jon’s eyes sparkle with humor, but his voice is sincere when he says, “I look forward to it.”

True to his word, over the next week, Martin does increasingly dramatic readings of the worn, water-warped romance novels stacked haphazardly on the safehouse shelves. (Skipping the, quote, ‘unnecessarily erotic’ bits to avoid Jon’s pinched look of discomfort and his own beet-red face as he stares down at words that should really not be used in a sexual context ever.) He bakes cookies, laughing when Jon drops the cup of flour he’s holding and ends up covered in it. He spends the first three walks after their conversation wringing his hands together before finally asking, in a series of nervous stutters, if Jon would like to hold hands while they walk.

“But not in a romantic way!” he hastens to clarify. “You just have very nice hands, a-and I’ve always liked the idea of holding someone else’s hand, but—you know, th-the romantic connotations of it aren’t … great, and … you know, now that I think about it, this was a stupid question, you don’t have to—”

And then Jon takes his hand and squeezes it gently, and Martin feels a warmth spread through him that he doesn’t quite know what to do with.

That’s been happening a lot lately. He … doesn’t think he minds at all.

Then, a few weeks after their conversation, Jon turns over in bed to face him and says, without any preamble, “Have you ever heard of a queerplatonic relationship?”

Martin has, but only in passing, so he shakes his head. Jon explains, sounding very much like he’s reciting the wiki page for the concept, which is … more endearing than it has any right to be, probably.

“Does … does that sound like something you might be interested in?” Jon says nervously. “W-with me, of course. If that wasn’t … clear.”

Martin nods before Jon is finished speaking. “Yeah,” he says, maybe a bit too eagerly. Then, quieter: “Yeah. I’d … I’d like that.”

Jon smiles then, bright and wide and lovely, and it occurs to Martin—not for the first time, and probably not for the last—that he can have this. That he can be with Jon—maybe for the rest of his life, though that’s a … big thought that he definitely isn’t ready to look at head-on yet—without the dates and the kissing and all the other romantic gestures that Martin always thought were necessary for something like this. That they can be happy, together.

That Martin can have his fairy tale ending, and it doesn’t have to look like he’s always been told it should.

Martin smiles back at Jon, reaching across the bed to brush his fingers lightly against Jon’s. And for the first time in a long, long while, he finally feels like he’s home.

#tma #the magnus archives #jonathan sims #martin blackwood #jonmartin #(in a queerplatonic capacity)#my writing #my fic

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somecunttookmyurl · 3 years

Note

If It is okay to ask, how to tell when a kid is adhd or just being a kid? Looking back I can see a few signs like constant daydreaming, restlesness fidgeting etc but that wasnt much different from the other kids. As a teenager it became more clear I think because most of girls my age were not behaving like tomboys anymore and the symptoms mentioned above did not go away plus i think I had/have rsd. But only now as an adult i feel like these things are actually getting on the way. I daydream a lot, the restfulness didn't go anywhere, rsd still anoying as fuck (i think this is related with being a people pleaser? I got that too) and i notice more and more this horrible thing you usually call executive dysfunction. I cant really get a diagnosis and while I relate to a lot of symptoms and posts adhd people share, I'm really scared Im just procrastinating and trying to use adhd as an excuse for not getting things done. And I feel really bad about that. So back to my original question, if the signs were there since childhood but did not trouble me until like 4 years ago, how can i tell If It was adhd or Just kid stuff?

i mean the fact it didn't go away is a pretty good tell, honestly.

redmore to save the dash

as an adhd kid you may, with other children

-had difficulty making/keeping friends or socialising and felt "weird" or "different"

-were not invited to parties, made excuses to not go, or acted inapproptiately when there (and were never invited back)

-easily gave in to peer pressure from a desire to "fit in"

-were probably called "gullible"

-found it difficult to "wait your turn" in any activity

-frequently picked last for games and team sports

-found it difficult to "share" things with others

-caused fights/arguments with siblings/other children over trivial things

-may have been called "spiteful" or "vindictive"

-not realised when you were "taking things too far" with joke or play

-tried to annoy people on purpose

_________________________________

as an ADHD child in school you may

-consistently not done school/homework until the last minute. not by choice, but because you could never seem to "just get started on it" until it was immediately pressing

-not known where to start with longer-term projects / never really "got" how to study or revise for exams. could not organise notes.

-made careless mistakes in schoolwork

-had report cards littered with "intelligent but could try harder" "needs to apply themselves" "has potential but lazy" etc

-parents/teachers said you had an "attitude" / you had a tendency to "talk back"

-often seemed to forget things you had already learned until you were reminded of them, or had difficultly linking knowledge together

-doodled a lot in class, and found doing so made it easier to listen

-easily distracted by external stimuli ie things happening outside the classroom window, or a conversation in the next room

________________________________

as an ADHD child at home you may

-had trouble getting up in the mornings (your parents had trouble dragging you up, and you felt groggy/sleepy "just 5 more minutes")

-had issues going to bed. did not seem "tired" at bedtime. stayed up late reading frequently. refused to get ready for bed.

-always been rushed to get ready for things

-being forgetful or "a ditz"

-being called "lazy"

-forgetful with daily activities such as brushing your teeth and would need to be reminded

-found it hard if not impossible to keep your room clean and organised. not "knowing where to start" with it

-walking past things without seeing them. eg my parents would leave my laundry on the stairs to take up and then berate me because "you've walked past it six times today". not really seeing mess in general bc it became "background noise"

-not following through on instructions/not finishing what you were asked to do. like doing half of the dishes

-you were over-sensitive to criticism

-would often lie to get out of obligations, maybe even compulsively (ie you couldn't help it)

-you answer to "why did you do/say x" or "why didnt you do x" was frequently "i don't know" and you genuinely didn't know

-liked to do things the same way every time and got upset if the structure or plan changed

-would become frustrated if your demands were not immediately met. could not "wait until later"

-somebody would ask you to do something and you wouldn't do it for several hours, without realising it had been that long

_________________________________________

as an ADHD child in your leisure time / emotionans you may

-people saying "are you even listening to me?" a lot

-talking excessively, being "a chatterbox"

-despite being a "chatterbox" around familiar people, you were very shy/withdrawn around others. your two modes are "verbal diarrhea" and "mute"

-answering questions before the person even finished asking, interrupting others a lot

-you had a lot of interests but didn't keep up with any of them for very long

-were "emotional" or "overdramatic" ie crying or getting angry easily

-identified as a "perfectionist" and would either hyperfocus on unimportant details, or gave up on new pursuits you were not "immediately good" at

-people said you have a "selective memory" because you can eg name all 151 pokemon in order but not remember to pick up milk on the way home

-your moods seemed to change quickly and drastically

-had difficulty "behaving yourself" in public ie when out shopping

-broke/smashed things when angry

-got injured by doing reckless/stupid things

-complained of "being bored" often

-watched TV or played video games excessively and could lose hours at a time without noticing

#all of this obv in addition to the general #daydreaming/fidgeting/inabiliy to sit still/excess physical energy #you can look up child ADHD rating scales #that would have been completed by a parent or teacher #and look back and score yourself

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andromedasstarship · 3 years

Note

i could not choose between 77-80 so i overbearingly ask u to use each of them with spencer reid if u wish 🥺👉🏻👈🏻

80. “Your comfort and happiness is more important to me than some stupid dinner.” + 77- “If you want to leave, we can leave.”

send a prompt + character from this list!

pairing - spencer reid x gn!reader

warnings - stress?? mostly fluff

a/n - tysm kenna for requesting this i love you and i loved writing this. i also went overboard on this one bye! ive also never posted something this long in an ask reply before so if this looks weird BYE!

Your car had long gone cold, but you still couldn’t find the energy to pull yourself out yet. It was futile to try and wrestle your emotions into a tightly sealed box; as soon as you crossed the threshold of the town-home you shared with Spencer, you knew he’d be able to read you like a book. Damn genius profiler skills.

Taking a quick look at the time you knew you had to suck it up and go inside; you were pushing how ‘late’ you could be without him worrying something had happened on your commute home. With a deep sigh, you grabbed your bag from the passenger seat and exited the car; taking your sweet time with locking the car behind you and digging your house keys out of the bottom of your bag.

To put it simply, it had been a difficult year. It was the final year of your Phd. program and while- all things considered- you had had an amazing time, the past few months had been both physically and mentally draining. What was once your lifelong passion had suddenly started to feel like a chore; a chore you felt you weren’t even good at anymore. Almost every day was spent either in your own classes or teaching undergrads. Almost every night was spent on the final edits of your thesis or grading work from your students. The few moments of freedom you found were spent doing the boring parts of adult life: housekeeping, getting your car fixed, calling elderly family members, etc.

Neither of you had formerly addressed it, but you knew it was taking a toll on your relationship. Spencer being busy was a constant, but it was normally balanced out by your typical 9-5 schedule. But recently, even on the nights he was home you’d be too wrapped up in your own work to even sit down and eat dinner with him. By the time you crawled into bed he’d be long asleep and in the mornings you’d been leaving for work earlier and earlier in order to get research time in at the university library. It felt like the two of you hadn’t even been awake in the same room for weeks, let alone do anything relationship-y.

Tonight was supposed to change that. Kind of. His team was having a fancy dinner to celebrate some major milestone that you couldn’t remember. It’d been on the books for months, but kept getting pushed back by surprise cases. It felt like everyone held their breath this week, waiting for a case to pop up, but instead everyone was left pleasantly surprised when no such thing happened. It was going to be a great night: classic Rossi pasta dish, all partners and kids invited. Even though the two of you wouldn’t be alone, it’d still be a perfectly good excuse to get out, put on some nice outfits and have a fun evening with friends.

Spencer had been particularly excited. The past week, you felt as if it was the only thing he ever talked about. Not that the two of you were having extensive conversations. He kept talking about how great it would be to get out of the house and how much he was looking forward to having a totally work free evening. His excitement warmed your heart.

Which is why you were taking so long to find your keys. Today had been one of the hardest day you’d experienced in a long time. The thesis meeting you had with your advisor- that you’d been staying up late every night editing for- had gone horribly; it was as if everything you prepared was wrong. Almost every student in the class you taught scored poorly on the latest assessment- on a unit you considered yourself an expert on-, something you viewed as a failure of your ability to convey the info. And to top it all off, even though you felt as if you’d spent hours upon hours working yourself to the bone the past week- in order to clear space for tonight-, you still felt as if you had piles of work to catch up on.

You knew the stress and tension of the day would read clear on your body as soon as Spencer got a look at you. And with how excited he’d been, you absolutely didn’t want to ruin the dinner. You’d hate for him to feel as if you were being selfish or that you couldn’t even prioritize him in your schedule.

You took one last deep breath, before going to put the key into the doorknob. Just as you touched the handle, the door swung open from the other side.

“Jesus!” You exclaimed, one hand clutching your chest as you nearly jumped out of your skin. In front of you was Spencer, smiling down at you with that irresistible grin of his.

“Did I scare you? Sorry. I thought I heard you car pull up earlier and when you didn’t come in I thought maybe something was wrong so I wanted to come check-”

You quickly cut him off- even though you did find his worrying a bit endearing- by pressing a quick kiss to his lips.

“A good song came on just as I pulled in, couldn’t just get out.” You lied, adding a small laugh for effect. It was an on brand situation for you, something certainly believable. If Spencer had any doubts, he didn’t question you, simply moved out of the doorframe so you could step in.

Inside the house, you set your bag down by the front door like you always did. While kicking your shoes off, you pulled your jacket off, smiling when Spencer had his hands already open to hang it on the rack. You knew he had that ridiculous memory- and you had a pretty set routine-, but it still made your heart swell every time he anticipated your next move and went the extra mile to be helpful.

“So, how was your day?" Spencer asked, as the two of you made your way to the kitchen area. “What’d Professor Addams have to say in your meeting?”

You clenched at the handle of the fridge, grinding your teeth before pulling the door open. When you turned to look at Spencer, you saw he made himself comfortable on one of the countertop stools.

“Went well. They gave me some uh, um, some comprehensive revisions.” You said flatly, turning back to face the fridge; missing the skeptical look Spencer was throwing you.

“That’s good?” He said slowly, before adding, “well how was class? You just wrapped up the last unit didn’t you?” You both knew he knew the answer, but was just attempting to further the conversation. Had it been any other day you would’ve found it endearing, but today just wasn’t that day.

You slammed the fridge door shut, just hard enough to be cause for concern. “I thought tonight was absolutely no shop talk. Huh? Why don’t we just start that rule now.” You said, a slight edge to your voice. It’s not his fault, it’s not his fault.

“Are you okay-”

“Yes! I just don’t-”

“If there’s something wrong, you know you can tell-”

“There’s nothing wrong-”

“Do you need to stay-”

“Stop!” You exclaimed, bringing an end to the constant cutting each other off. “Everything is fine. Okay?” You said, unable to maintain eye contact.

Spencer slowly nodded, though you could tell he didn’t believe an ounce of what you had just said. Luckily for you, he seemed to let it go, falling back in his seat.

“I’m gonna go shower and get ready and then we can leave, alright?” You asked rhetorically. When he just nodded again, you very quickly walked up to him and pressed another quick kiss to his lips. “Love you.”

“Love you too.”

---

The ride to Rossi’s was silent, something that normally wouldn’t have bothered either of you had it not been for the borderline argument you had in the kitchen. As you pulled up a few cars down from the house, you caught Spencer staring at you from the passenger seat, a slightly concerned look on his face.

“Stop doing that.” You huffed out, but there was no real bite in your voice.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” He asked gently, reaching out to push a piece of your hair away from your face. God that was sweet.

You quickly nodded and threw a very forced smile his way, not quite meeting his eyes. “I’m fine. I promise, come on.” You said, killing the engine and pushing open your car door.

Before you could fully open the door, Spencer’s arm shot out across your body and pulled the door back shut with a bang.

“Spencer!” You yelped, startled by his sudden movement. You turned and gave him a bewildered look.

“You always look over my head when you lie.” Spencer stated.

“Oh I do not-” You started, but letting the sentence fall flat as soon as you realized you currently were looking over his head.

“Your favorite song came on the radio, twice, on the drive here and you didn’t react at all either times.” He said. When you still didn’t say anything he continued. “What’s going on? You know you can tell me.”

The look he was giving you was making you feel all sorts of guilty. Of course he cared, that’s why you loved him so much. You just didn’t want to ruin something that’d been in the works for so long, all because you had a bad day.

“Spencer,” you started, giving him a very pointed look and making sure to hold eye contact, “I’m fine. Can we just go in?”

Spencer shook his head, externally searching your face for more clues while also internally thinking back to any clues from your kitchen fight. “We aren’t going anywhere, until you talk to me.” He urged.

It probably wasn’t the best move on his part, seeing as you both were incredibly stubborn. The two of you were unrelenting, both staring blankly at the other; hoping the other one would break first. After nearly 5 minutes of silence, it became very clear that neither of you were standing down anytime soon.

Spencer reached his hand out again, gently cupping your cheek; internally you cursed your body’s natural reaction to lean into his touch. “What’s going on?” He asked, voice much softer than earlier.

You were internally screaming over how caring he was. Damn him! You cursed yourself for not being able to just play the role of perfect partner for one night.

“I’m exhausted.” You said, voice quiet. “My meeting went horrible day. I absolutely failed at teaching my students the last unit. I’ve been bringing so much work back to the house I haven’t even been able to give you a second of attention. And now we have this dinner that you’ve been looking forward to for months and I don’t want to ruin-”

This time, it was Spencer that quickly cut off your rambles with a kiss.

“Do you want to leave?” He asked, as if it were the most simple thing ever

You gave him a shocked look. “Spencer, you’ve been talking about this dinner for weeks. I, I can’t ask you to put this off, you and the team rarely get time to-”

“If you want to leave, we can leave.” He said. His voice was so sincere it made the whole thing that much more difficult. He was too good.

“Spencer, no.” You said, putting special emphasis on the ‘no’. “We haven’t even walked in the door, there’s nothing to leave yet. I’m not going to ruin the dinner we’ve all been planning on for months. I’ll be fine for a couple hours.”

He didn’t answer, instead pulled his phone out and quickly started to type out a text.

“What are you doing?”

“Texting Rossi, I’m gonna tell him you aren’t feeling well and we can’t come anymore.”

“We’re outside his house! It’s not a big deal-!

“Your comfort and happiness is more important to me than some stupid dinner!” Spencer cut you off, giving you a very pointed look. You weren’t sure your heart could take the swelling much longer.

“Spencer, you’ve been planning-”

“I don’t want to hear it-”

“You’ve wanted to get out of the house for so long!” You stressed, giving him a ‘duh’ look.

“We can go do something else!” He replied, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Just us, no pressure to be ‘on’ in front of anyone else.” That did sound good- No!

“I’m not gonna be the one who keeps their boyfriend away from his friends-”

“I see them every day. Every day. One dinner means nothing.” Spencer said confidently, clasping your hand tightly between his.

You contemplated for what seemed like hours; though it couldn’t have been more than twenty seconds. “Are you sure?”

“I’ve never been more sure of something in my life.” Spencer said, giving you a very mock serious look; you couldn’t help but laugh at that. “There you are.” He said, smiling to match yours.

You turned the car on, clicking your seatbelt back into place. “So, where to pretty boy?” You asked.

“Well, I heard of this new ice cream place that just opened up. Their ‘claim to fame’ is they make over 50 flavors in store every single day. Did you know on average it takes nearly three hours from start to finish to make a single batch of ice cream? Or that when ice cream-”

You shook your head in amusement, chancing a couple glances in his direction as you were driving. You loved his excited ramblings and animated hand motions as he further explained the history of ice cream; as well as all the random facts about the place he was directing you to. As you got closer to your new destination, all you could think about was how lucky you were to, to be loved by someone who always knew just what to say.

---

permanent tags - @sunflowersandotherthings

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer x reader #reid x reader #criminal minds fanfiction #'stori writes #kenna #'stori answers #spencer reid/you #spencer reid x you #spencer reid/reader #spencer reid x gn!reader #spencer reid/gn!reader

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chosenimagines · 3 years

Text

To the rescue (Dr Spencer Reid)

Universe: (H) Criminal Minds Summary: Reader goes as every morning into the same coffee shop. The good morning turns into horror (Reader is named Alia) Used Prompts: - Warnings: sexual assault Language: English Request: Yes/No

Request: Hey! So, I had this idea of Spencer meeting reader(can be fem, male,or GN; I don’t really mind) in a coffee shop. They’re both neighbours, go to the same coffee shop and order similar coffee everyday. Neither of them ever say anything, just wave and smile. It’s obvious that they both have a crush on each other. One day, either a persistent random or ex won’t leave reader alone, and Spencer comes to the rescue and pretends to be their boyfriend. Also, wanna add they both know each other’s names from when the barista calls out their names.Also, can Derek and Penelope feature! I just love them so much. Like imagine as Spencer is introducing himself as reader’s boyfriend and they walk in and hear. Honestly, you can tweak and change the request as much as you want. I just think coffee shop Spencer is a cute trope (by izraahh1)

Requests [Open]

A/N: Thank you very much for your request @izraahh1 I enjoyed writting it! Enjoy <3

My requests are open on Wattpad and Tumblr

🖊️ 🖊️ 🖊️

️____________________________________________

Accompanied by a delicate bell, I entered the well-filled shop. Fortunately, no one stood at the checkout, but waited for her order off the beaten track. As joyful as I was, I stepped up to the counter. "Hi."

Friendly as always! Nevertheless, I put a radiant smile on my lips. "A wonderful good morning, Jazzy! I take a cappuccino with caramel sauce please and a chocolate croissant." "Name?" Was she being serious? Okay, the answer was obvious! But it was difficult to take seriously as I was here once or twice a day and often placed the same order and every morning Jazzy stands behind the counter. But that was fine with me! "Alia! A-L-I-A.", I spelled patiently. Not even Jazzy could spoil my good mood! I had had a great morning. I had bought a new book with a free bookmark; the course had been postponed and in a seconde I would get my life-saving coffee and something to eat. It couldn't get any better on a Monday morning! I was just happy, which I also showed uninhibitedly. Annoyed, Jazzy nodded, tapping rougher than necessary on the display of the cash register. Her fingernails caused a repetitive clacking, which I sometimes knew from myself when I used my phone. But when I typed it was not half as continuous as with the young cashier, because her modeled fingernails were longer than my natural nails, which is why the recurring tone made sense. "Next!", moaned Jazzy and I trotted to the side to wait for my name to be called. It was always a pleasure to see Jazzy! Sometimes I wondered why she was working at the checkout. I pushed the thought of her aside. I really shouldn't continue thinking about her negative nature! My foot tapped to the rhythm of the song that was playing in the coffee shop. But I didn't pay much attention to it, because I buried my nose again in my book. Much to my chagrin, I had barely read half a page when I was disturbed. Someone strangely pushed towards me. I took a step to the side over and over again, but the person just moved in. "Well! How are you?" I knew the voice! I jerked my head and Robert's dull blue eyes stared at me. There was a mischievous sparkle in them, which I didn't like at all. It scared me! "Leave me alone!", I hissed. I prayed fervently that my voice wouldn’t shake and that he wouldn’t hear my fear. I didn't want to show any weakness towards him! "Why so scratchy? Is that how you greet your boyfriend?" "Ex-boyfriend.", I clarified. "And this has been the case for three months." I must have dropped my book, because it was no longer in my hand when I crossed my arms in front of my chest. "Nonsense, we just took a little break," said Robert, stepping even closer. "No! I broke up with you. There was no small break, Robert and now please leave me alone!", I demanded. Even I heard how much my voice trembled. It didn't sound determined but anxious! That didn't help me in the slightest. My goose was cooked! "I'm really interested in whether I'm still going to turn you on." he said- quite loudly, considering that sex was less widely used as a topic in public. His fingers enclosed the waistband of my pants. "Leave me alone!", I said weakly. My panic paralyzed me. "The lady told you to stop!" Robert was already stumbling backwards due to external influence. I was more than grateful for the distance! My cute neighbor Spencer, whom I met here every morning, stood next to me protectively. I had never been this happy to see him in my life! I didn't want to imagine what would have happened otherwise... "What are you supposed to be?", Robert blared at him. My fingers dug into the sleeve of Spencer's cardigan. I didn't notice it until he released them from his arm. Then he crossed the fingers of my right hand with his right hand and put said arm around my shoulders. "I am her boyfriend! If I may introduce myself, I am SSA Dr Reid." The words sounded friendly, but Spencer exuded strength, confidence and authority. Robert pulled up his shoulders. "SSA?", he repeated shyly. Spencer nodded. "I'm an FBI agent.", he added. "Sorry, sir! I didn't want to bother your girlfriend. I'm already gone! Have a nice day, sir!", my ex babbled to himself and run as fast as possible. Relieved, I exhaled. Immediately my muscles loosened and I felt comfortable in my own skin again. Spencer loosened our fingers. Then he stood in front of me, gently caressing my upper arms as he looked at me from top to bottom. "Are you doing well, Alia? Did he do something to you physically?", Spencer asked. But I shook my head. "Fortunately not. Thanks to you! I don't know what he would have done if you hadn't helped me. How am I supposed to thank you for that?" Suddenly, his cheeks took on a slight shade of red. "That goes without saying." he said. "It's not," I countered. That's when a idea came to my head! "It's not much for your heroic deed, but I invite you to your coffee. That's the least I can do!" My neighbor quickly gave in. "If you insist!" I grinned at him. "You said it!" But Spencer took a few steps away and knelt before coming back to me. He held something to me. My book! I had completely forgotten that. "It suffered underneath the feet of this-" Spencer broke off, took a deep breath before continuing to speak. "Your book unfortunately suffered a bit, but of course I wanted to help you first and then save the book." Smiling, I accepted it. "Two heroic deeds in one day! Spencer, a bit more and I will die in despair because I don't know how to thank you.", I teased him and gently nudged him with my shoulder. His cheeks turned darker. "The coffee is enough for me. Thank you!", he coughed. Once again, I noticed how cute Spencer was! I already liked him. "Spencer!" "Alia!" Now I had to laugh. "What a coincidence that we are being called out at the same time!", I said. Now my rescuer was also smiling. "Yes! A nice coincidence.", he commented. After I had paid, we walked together to exit. But Spencer suddenly stopped. "Morgan, Garcia, what are you doing here?" A remarkably dressed woman and a casual-looking man came up to us. Both wore a broad grin on their lips. I had clearly missed out on something! "We're going to university today, pretty boy! We should pick you up. Did you forget that?", said the man. Spencer shook his head. "We just wanted to get a coffee beforehand. Who can guess that our pretty doctor will save his beautiful girlfriend?", the woman added. Then she hold out her hand to me. "Penelope Garcia! Colleague and friend of Reid." "She's not my girlfriend.", Spencer croaked. But I would like to be... "Then you should change that quickly! The way you two look at each other, I assumed that I have been swearing you two have been together for a long time." How do we look at each other? Puzzled Spencer looked at me. I swallowed hard and remembered the man's initial statement - I believed his name was Morgan. "Which college do you have to go to?", I wanted to know. He told me the name with the grin not leaving his face for a second. "I have to go there too! Would there be a problem taking me there as well?" Penelope raked in with me. "Of course not! And now tell me since when you know our beloved Reid!”, she demanded as pulling me out of the cafe. I could hear Morgan's laughter behind me. What unique people!

#coffee shop spencer #dr spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x oc #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid #dr spencer reid imagine #dr spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x fem!reader #criminal minds #criminal minds angst #criminal minds one shots #criminal minds fanfiction #coffee shop trope #coffee shop spencer reid #requests are open

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andraaste · 3 years

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I am not your enemy - Lance fanfiction part 13

Thing promised, thing due ! It’s not your daily maana but chapter 13 of I am not your enemy which is available !

Happy reading 😉

(there's a joke that unfortunately doesn't work in English, don't be too mad on this handsome vampire please)

Chapter 13 : You always trusted him

Realizing immediately that something was wrong, the dragon eyed me worriedly, totally hypnotizing me with his icy gaze. My heart raced far more than it should at the feel of his fingers on my skin and his scent against me, the images from last night starting to loop in my head as the vampire's words still made my throat tight.

Feeling unable to answer for the moment, I quickly walked around his large stature that blocked me in order to enter the room, divided between several contradictory emotions.

That night I had let Lance see me fully and it terrified me. I wasn't just talking about my nudity. He had seen my wounds, my limits, my deepest fears, and despite the shame it caused in me, I let him do it, urging him to enter my head, my heart. Meeting him here made my hands sweaty, I didn't know how to react. I felt both euphoric and anxious to find myself in his presence. Besides, my exchange with Nevra had once again proved disastrous, which made my stomach bitter.

I definitely didn't know how to react.

Trying to ignore the footsteps that followed mine, I made my way with some haste to the back of the forge. Once in front of the weapon wall, I raised my hand to grab a sword haphazardly, except I didn't even have time to wrap my fingers around its pommel as a tanned hand grabbed mine. Like last time, I found myself trapped between Lance's body and the shelves in front of me.

- You know that it’s not because you are part of the Obsidian that you can take a weapon without authorization ? he said close to my ear.

The sudden hoarse tone of his voice made me shiver. I was aware of his every gesture, of his every breath that lifted his chest against my shoulders. He knew perfectly well where not to touch me on the level of the back so as not to hurt me and that troubled me.

- What's more, this one is way too dangerous for you.

His palm gently pulled mine away from the handle, slowly dropping our arms together along my side. He didn't let go of me though. I took a deep breath in an attempt to ignore his touch.

- Is there anything I can take here ? I tried then, injecting as much confidence and humor as possible into my intonation.

- So, you plan to train on your own and with a real blade ?

His tone, bordering on condescending, irritated me instantly. Damn, I needed to externalize everything that was swarming inside me, what the hell was he not getting in there ?

- I especially need to let off steam for a moment, do I still have the right or you will also prevent me ?

Anger, which began to grip my heart again like a vice, suddenly made a source of heat rise in the palm of my hands. It didn't take long for the dragon to realize this and suddenly squeezed me much tighter, locking my fingers against each other.

- Andraste, calm down. Now is not the time to do that here and you know it just as well as I do.

- If you let me get out of here with what I came to get, I will indeed have plenty of time to go and calm down elsewhere. Except that in the meantime, you're hurting me, Lance.

Visibly surprised by my last words, he eased the pressure on my knuckles, relieving me somewhat even though he still hugged me tightly.

- Make your light disappear and I'll let go, he chided me.

More annoyed than before crossing him, I clenched and clenched my fists to order my powers to dissipate, which didn't work as much as I wanted. Several pairs of eyes began to rest on us without discretion.

- I would like, but I must say that your touch doesn’t help me, I say defensively.

My Chief of Guard slowly unrolled his fingers from my skin, finally letting me move my wrist as I heard it. Closing my eyes for a moment, I instinctively visualized the path of my energy along my flesh, causing it to flow back to my epicenter, level with my stomach. With amazement, I discovered as I opened my eyelids that no trace of magic left my palms.

Lance pulled away from me to give me a questioning look.

- Since when do you know how to do that ? he asked me, an eyebrow raised.

- It was a first, I said with a shrug, as I myself was shocked at the outcome of my attempt. You see, I am good. So I’ve the right to train a little.

- You are incorrigible... but you’ll have to show me that in more detail.

A proud smile dawned on my lips as he blew loudly, letting out air so cold that I saw ice crystals crystallize on a blade close to him.

- Well, I think we both know how it ends when I show you things "in more detail"... is that really a good idea ? I asked him lower, almost timidly.

He looked at me for a long time, much calmer and more serene than a moment earlier. The atmosphere had changed. More intimate, more personal. As if, in this noisy and bustling room, we were suddenly alone.

- If you want us to stop our private interviews, I will comply without objection. This is your choice, not mine. But we know very well that what happened that night has nothing to do with it and that it would have ended up happening at one point or another.

The dragon approached me dangerously, a smirk so similar to that of the Ashkore era that it disturbed me.

- Know that it wasn’t the first time that I wanted to kiss your cute little mouth, he confided to me with a certain childish malice. And then, as you have already said so well, it is you who threw yourself on me. If you don't want this to happen again, just say it and for my part, I'll be able to stay perfectly docile.

I was obsessed with his words, with what they implied. Any relationship between us could only be unhealthy, totally abject. But then, why did I no longer know what I wanted or not ? Logic would have wanted us to stick to what was decently expected of us. Anger, contempt, that should have been our only fuel.

- What if that's not what I want ? I whispered so low that I was afraid he hadn't heard it. What if, for once, I had the right to listen to myself and not give a damn about the convenience of our relationships ?

Lance had never looked at me so deeply, which made me blush with stress at what I argued. Deep down, I knew the young man had fully understood what I was talking about.

- That night, when I dreamed that I was falling from the cliff... it wasn’t the first time that I had this dream. Before I fell, I still see the draflayels flying around me, but not only. I have the impression of constantly remembering that moment in Memoria, that moment when it was just you and me, I concluded hesitantly.

Never did he cut my tirade, realizing every piece of information I offered him.

- So, is that a good idea ? Probably not, no, I answered my own question a moment earlier. But I want to and for once, I want to have the right to listen to myself.

A new smile, this time much sweeter, appeared on his face before he spoke again.

- Your wishes are orders, my angel. On the other hand, only these, so do me the pleasure of getting you away from this wall of swords once and for all. Don't forget who's in charge here, he winked at me.

Lance pushed me towards the exit, I had obviously lost the battle for my weapon for a long time. Stopping in front of the exit door, the dragon seemed to hesitate for a moment, pulling one of its locks of hair back.

- I have obligations tonight, but I'll come see you tomorrow night in your room, if you want.

Without another ounce of ceremony, he turned on his heel and left me on the doorstep.

After literally being kicked out of the forge, I wandered aimlessly through the HQ gardens. I realized a little more every day that besides Lance, I didn't really have any relationships that I felt like myself anymore. When he wasn't there, I often walked in circles, desperately trying to find a way to make myself useful despite my poor physical condition.

No longer able to bear to see the same landscape, I decided to leave the enclosure of these walls that I knew only too well.

My steps guided me in the direction of the burrow, a place that had definitely changed in recent years. A tree with a bent shape had grown just above the crevice, which provided a corner of considerable shade in the great plain. I decided to lie there for a moment, enjoying the calm that reigned around me. Surprisingly, my back was not as painful as I would have thought, the cream of Eweleïn probably having something to do with it.

Stretched out at full length, I watched the clouds move with the light wind blowing between the branches above me. Raising a hand above my face, I lazily imagined my energy flowing through my veins to the muscles of my palm, my fingers. Several fine and luminous lines then began to run over my skin, creating a labyrinthine path on every inch that covered me. I felt good. Soothed, even.

Looking up at the blue sky, I thought I felt something brush against my whole when my eyes rested on a cloud of singular shape. My heart warmed when, in that white and vaporous cotton, I recognized the features of a fire dragon. I might not have been as lonely as I thought. A weary smile appeared on my lips, it was as if his aura had wrapped around my heart.

I knew now that he was watching over me.

- You always trusted him... I whispered. Valkyon, are you relieved of what you find in my heart ?

A new breeze lifted my hair, as if to answer my question. Savoring this moment, I closed my eyelids for a few minutes.

A hand was shaking my shoulder more and more vigorously when I finally came to reality. Slowly opening my eyelids, it took me a while to emerge from my heavy sleep. A scarred gaze plunged into mine.

But what was he doing there ?

- Did you sleep well, Steeping Beauty ?

I couldn't help but giggle at my interlocutor's attempt to quote a tale from my world.

- It's Sleeping Beauty, Nevra.

A wonderfully soft smile appeared on his usually closed face.

- You really have some odd-named stories, that's all I can remember, he said with a weak laugh.

I awkwardly straightened up to sit facing him, when a grimace of surprise and pain distorted my features as my back skin suddenly burned. The vampire immediately leaned over me in concern, one hand holding my shoulder to keep me from rocking.

- Andraste, is everything okay ?

Seriously, I've been asked this question too much lately.

(Chapter 14)

#eldarya #eldarya new era #i am not your enemy #eldarya lance #eldarya ane #beemoov #lance eldarya #lance #ashkore #eldarya fanfiction #eldarya fanfic #eldarya writing

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ettawritesnstudies · 2 years

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Space dragons!!!! I'm curious, how do you think they'd navigate? I'm thinking about birds and magnetic fields, or sailors and stars, but both those things have complications when you're in literal space (aaaahh I'm so excited by this idea! Congrats on the very cool concept)

thank you!!!! I am very excited about it too. I have been yelling at @siarven about it nonstop for a week I'm sure they're sick of me by now (thank you quinn <3).

quickly googles magnetic fields because I got a B minus in E&M a year ago during quarantine and don't remember any of it

ok disclaimer all of the ahead is magic-technobabble and only somewhat-plausable theorizing on the part of a chemical engineering junior who should really be doing their mass separations homework.

The earth's magnetosphere is caused by the dynamo effect because the inside our our planet's outer core is made of molten iron and nickel alloy that's spinning really heckin fast and creating an electromagnetic field that encases the planet. It functions as a shield to keep our planet from getting blasted with UV rays and solar winds, which is quite useful for enabling survival and makes pretty auroras whenever they hit near the poles.

The catch is that asteroids don't have cores, much less molten ones. They're too small for gravity to make that happen. But what I am wondering is if the movement of the asteroids themselves (if enough of them were made of metal instead of rock) would generate a magnetic field in kind of a donut shape around the entire asteroid belt following the right hand rule, where the "current flow" isn't electrical flow but the movement of asteroids... If the magnetic field plausibly existed, I could then handwave that the dragons could have the ability to sense it and follow it home. Let me go bug one of my physics friends and get back to you on that.

“Real science” aside, my magic system is already loosely based off electromagnetism. There are 6 main kinds of magic that fall under two groups. External magic means you can effect the world around you but don’t hold any energy/power inside yourself, and includes manipulation, amplification, and nullification. Internal magic means you struggle to control what the magic does once it leaves your body, but you always carry a store of power, and includes generation, storage, and release. Everything has a magical “fingerprint” - most people have one favored type but can dabble in the others in their group with effort and training, while plants, animals, rocks, ect. all default to a “natural state.”

I could also say that each world has it’s own magical fingerprint that’s an average/accumulation of everything living on it’s surface + the makeup of the rock/metal in the asteroid itself. (and oh hey that gives me an idea for my universe as a whole...and names in runaways... maybe this could fix my connection issue)... Memorizing a planet’s magical signal would be kind of like like memorizing a song based only on the frequency waves without hearing it ever. But things that are born on that world share a part of that waveform in their own magical DNA. A dragon could find their way home by finding which planet resonates with their magic!

And of course constellations would be a way to navigate - just because you leave the planet doesn’t mean the whole sky changes so long as you stay in your same solar system. Yes the perspective would move, but bouncing around the asteroid ring would be the equivalent of our sky changing from summer to winter or the northern to southern hemispheres. It would be a lot to keep track of, but anyone who can can memorize/bring along a star map and a good sense of direction and they’d probably be ok.

#worldbuilding wednesday #wbw #ask answered #worldwanderer

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wewinbees · 3 years

Text

“you only saw me as a weapon!” an in-depth analysis of tommy and techno’s relationship /rp

a mild focus on techno’s thoughts since it’s his speech, but not one or the other is in the right here. a lot of this might have been said, but this is a BIG collection from pogtopia to doomsday to address as many angles as possible. to preface, i don’t think tommy sees techno as a weapon and nothing else, but the point remains that techno feels like he does, and that’s important.

this is from like january btw lol

we’ll start with “the blade” tommy’s nickname for techno, which got adopted by a lot of the server (as tommy’s nicknames tend to be). most other people have the Big [X] format, but techno gets this specialised nickname. i think the reason he developed a negative association with it was because of when it was used; when they need him for fights. the most important would be the vault reveal, with wilbur getting everyone to victoriously chant “we have the blade!” to boister morale. this would have been fine in and of itself, if it weren’t for the events of the rest of the day and what that name would come to represent. it ends up becoming a taunt to him, because that’s what people get close to him for. his use to them as the blade rather than his friendship to them as technoblade

tommy’s always very happy to call in techno for help, and techno usualy sorts it out with... minimal effort required. i do see this more as a blend of tommy’s pride in knowing techno and smugness at having that kind of upperhand in a fight over him viewing techno solely as a weapon to use, but this still ends up being detrimental to their friendship because of how much it happens. remember, the entire reason techno joined the server was to help wilbur and techno form pogtopia. techno doesn’t mind helping tommy out, but at some point it’s going to be frustrating, being called in for any and all minor struggles. but in the end of the day, it’s fine, because they’re brothers under the same cause. destroying manberg. Oh Wait.

the main issue came after the festival, with that faith and trust tommy had in techno being shattered; rightfully so, because watching tubbo get murdered was traumatic for him, because for tommy the pit was no way to settle that conflict (which reminded, wasn’t techno’s suggestion, it was proposed and pushed onto them by wilbur). since tommy sees technoblade as unbeatable, he couldn’t understand why techno was so easily peer-pressured by manberg. he was threatened by how many people were against him, he was stressed dealing with the voices telling him to do it, he didn’t see any other way out, he wasn’t getting any support from his only other allies even though he was looking right at them and they still did nothing.

but tommy didn’t understand because he thought techno could have won. techno did try to stall as well, but without orders from his friends he ended up following schatt’s, and once he realised he had the power to kill everyone on stage, he just gave into that power. the miscommunication during the pogtopia arc was why techno felt as betrayed as he did, and why the victim complex argument annoys me so much, since he was kept in the dark for that long while grinding resources for the army. also, since techno wasn’t there for l’manberg’s peaceful days or the start of the disc saga he would never understand how important those attachments were to people, so he’d feel little remorse blowing them all up (especially since he knew that was the backup plan for pogtopia anyway, and just because people were unhappy about it didn’t change the fact that it was a plan)

a lot of people say that techno should have known that pogtopia’s goal was to form a new government, that at some point he should have overheard the real plan. everyone agreed to ‘destroy manberg’ (as in the government not the land) but somehow techno never found out about the ‘restoring l’manberg’ part of the plan. how that happened, who knows, but in the end of the day, the writers chose for that miscommunication to happen for the story. it’s not a how or a why, it’s just a fact that was written in. he didn’t find out until it was right in front of him, and he was bound to feel betrayed by that, enough that he was driven to do something irrational. my personal theory is that techno was mainly following wilbur’s orders, and because wilbur was the real traitor, chances are he never mentioned any forming of a new government since he knew that would lose techno’s support. wilbur was probably using techno as a weapon, that was his mentality for a lot of people back then, but since he was the leader of pogtopia then that negative transference carried on to the rest of the members for techno, most of all tommy as he was the other key founder, and not as underhanded about getting techno’s help. i’d say wilbur’s address of techno during the final speech was the a key reason as to why techno doesn’t feel as used by him than he is with tommy, solidifying the anarchy bros before dying, meaning anything else could be revealed.

after the war, the bedrock bros were completely alienated from eachother. tommy started to blame everything about l’manberg’s destruction on techno, since wilbur died and ghostbur isn’t really at fault for anything. techno distanced himself from everything, going into retirement for the unforeseeable future because he felt like his violent anarchist tactics were futile and grew tired of constant conflict. he talked to tommy a few times during retirement, and every single time, he asks tommy how the government was working out for him. when he was at risk of being exiled, just before being exiled and immediately after exile. he wanted tommy to see the government in the same light as he did, because when l’manberg sold him out he realised they were the same. they’d both been betrayed by the government and from that point on he fully believed tommy would be better off away from l’manberg. but every time tommy said no, because he believed in the original dream wilbur had for l’manberg and because he trusted tubbo’s leadership. techno was smug when he was proved right because of course he was he’s technoblade. plus, they did view eachother as enemies at this point, so it’s not unacceptable for them to argue with eachother right now.

that brings us to the execution. traumatising! the refusal to run a fair trial and the dehumanising treatment from his old allies in pogtopia hammer this home, but importantly they rope philza into the chaos this time. ALSO it’s important to mention that techno was killed; he just got an extra life from the totem. he was actually killed and his character experienced that pain as punishment. he was pushed out of retirement, which was unjust in his eyes, since he believed he had genuinely changed. it didn’t help that quackity explicitly told him it wasn’t actually punishment for the withers, but instead a move to consolidate power, furthering his view of the cabinet as corrupt. from that point on he left retirement. he’d been doing well without violence, building connections with new people like vikk and lazar and finding a fragile form of peace, but in the end this shattered it. he’s back to being the blade, speaking with violence, because l’manberg made it clear there was no other way for him to be heard at this point. so he’s going to destroy them, even if he has to do it alone.

enter stage raccooninnit.

tommy taking refuge in techno’s house because he knew techno was rich enough for him to steal his resources and strong enough to defend him from dream is... interesting. he couldn’t go back to l’manberg, but he took refuge with a man who he viewed as a villain. this probably doesn’t help techno’s opinion of him, since he is quite literally using him for his resources, but in the end of the day tommy was desperate and quite literally on the verge of death, so he seemed to take some kind of pity on him. the exile period of their relationship is definitely the most important part of this argument, because it was just the two of them: no wilbur or pogtopia as an external force (though the pressure of dream and l’manberg still affected things) but in the same way ultimately doomed to fail. they fight for a moment, but ultimately settle as ‘business partners’. which quickly evolves back into a friendship like the one they had before the festival.

my least favourite take is that either one of them never valued the other at this point because this is just.... violently not true. they started off working for mutual benefit; tommy explicitly agreed to do minor terrorism in l’manberg and to help techno get his weapons back in return for techno’s help getting the discs back and taking refuge in his house. from the start both of them stated their limits:

techno was always planning on getting revenge on l’manberg for what happened on the day of his execution

tommy never wanted to upset tubbo, and wanted to put getting his discs back first

should note that tommy changes his mind on the disc’s priority later on, but at the point of their alliance he does make it clear that’s what he wants out of the partnership. the issue is that from the start both of them went in with blind optimism. neither of them lied to eachother or forced them to change their viewpoints but in the end of the day they could never be on the same side as long as l’manberg was involved. (note, i think some people think he wasn’t but techno was actually planning on helping tommy getting the discs back, with him getting annoyed at tommy letting tubbo give dream the disc because that made both of their jobs so much harder, but it was more of a long term goal bc he knew dream was hard to beat. plus before his execution, he visited tommy and strongly implied he would be willing to help with the discs, and that he would be a better ally in those personal aims than NLM were)

i don’t understand the ‘techno was only using tommy’ accusation here because like... how? what would he have to gain by having tommy on his side? he could definitely have blown up l’manberg without his help, so why bring him in at all? it was a very mutual agreement of ‘we’re using eachother’ that developed into genuine friendship. i’ve always seen it as a teaching experience: techno knows tommy had been wronged by NLM, and by extension tubbo, and by taking him on these minor terrorism trips, he’s showing tommy the worst of l’manberg. look, look at this execution stand, look at what they’ve done. and in doing this, he’s trying to prove to tommy that what he’s going to do to l’manberg is right. and in showing him the worst of NLM, he’s neglecting all of its good parts, but again, techno cant see any positives in l’manberg, and is trying to show tommy that everyone, especially tommy, would be better off without it. and tommy had criticisms of l’manberg before he was exiled, especially in regards to tubbo. he told ranboo the reason he chose wilbur to be president instead of tubbo was because he was worried the presidency would ruin their friendship, and Look At Exactly What Happened. techno highlighting the flaws of the country to tommy was easy because it WAS flawed and it hurt both of them. and techno’s hope was that tommy would join him in the eventual destruction of it, because he wanted to share his revenge with tommy and for him to get his own justice against l’manberg. but it... didn’t quite work out that way.

they both tried to make it easier for the other; techno told tommy he didn’t need to fight against l’manberg if he didn’t want to, but tommy came with him to the festival anyway to confront dream, despite techno’s mission being against the government in that situation. tommy started to view tubbo’s cabinet as corrupt for the execution and neglecting him during exile, and ended up helping techno out around the base and even toning down the purposeful annoyance (per techno’s ooc request). and the day before the green festival, he told techno he would help to destroy l’manberg (not knowing how quickly things would escalate the next day, since doomsday was fairly spontaneous) but in the end they would never be able to find a full compromise: techno would always be an anarchist and tommy could never hurt tubbo.

people accuse techno of not caring for tommy, which really annoys me because it’s not?? true??? if anything he shows more outward affection than tommy did. he didn’t have any benefit from taking in tommy, but he still did it. it’s not really basic decency either, given that they were technically enemies beforehand. he picked up on tommy’s fragile state around dream and defended, hid him despite the fact that he owed dream, he kept him away from logsted and the final control room after realising how upsetting they were. he exchanged the christmas presents, he jumped in to defend him against the rest of the server and when tommy betrayed techno, he was genuinely hurt! he was wrecklessly impulsive in a way the calculated blade usually wasn’t, almost blowing up half his house (including almost killing his villagers) because of the negative association with dnret.

that’s not to say tommy doesn’t also get absolutely crucified for betraying techno because of all of techno did for him. again it was somewhat inevitable. tommy said it himself, he was turning into someone he didn’t want to be, he was hurting people, and it was somewhat because he was living with technoblade. he was so powerless under dream, and he liked the feeling of power he got from teaming with techno, so much so that it drove him to cruelty, with even techno telling him he went too far with fundy. in the end, it’s probably for the best that he set that boundary and left to go back to l’manberg, but ultimately it was upsetting to both of them. techno felt betrayed because he genuinely thought tommy was his friend, only to be turned on last minute once again, now surrounded alone by enemies he was trying to protect tommy from. to him, allying with dream was just as bad as tommy allying with l’manberg. a betrayal for a betrayal, absolute reciprocity.

we all know the doomsday speech, with techno’s arguments being consistently stronger than tommy’s and much easier to defend, but we can’t just dismiss him. tommy had a lot of emotional input that day, and was angry at techno for a Lot of reasons, so he was more focused on shouting than making sense. he was more accusatory, while techno had fairly focused rebuttals (which, fair, i’m pretty sure that was techno’s first big addressal of most of that with other characters). it ended with tommy calling techno selfish for destroying l’manberg and techno coldly shutting tommy out for the betrayal.

betrayal was the driving force for techno’s “weapon” speech. tommy used him in pogtopia, tried to use him to stop dream exiling him and terrorising NLM) which he laughed at when told in character) and used him for getting the discs back. tommy wasn’t just using him, he genuinely felt like they had built a relationship beyond that, but when techno acted under his own ideals that went against his, then it was over. because tommy doesn’t value techno’s ideals, because they’re ‘selfish’ to him since he’s one of the only ones who believes in them. in turn techno sees that as making tommy selfish and as such they’re unable to compromise.

living with techno was an important part of tommy’s recovery process, which is still ongoing now. he saw immediate changes from his time with dream, claiming he felt “more me-ey” around techno and genuinely valuing his company. but he viewed techno’s alliance with dream as a betrayal, and he viewed the nov 16th incident as a betrayal. because he see’s techno’s belief in anarchy as selfish. something i never hear people point out is that tommy ADMITS he betrayed techno. after doomsday*, he says “all this time, technoblade told me i was betraying him. and you know what? (whispered) i was.” he’s guilty about it, and he understands that techno’s hurt. but he still can’t see him as being in the right, because techno took l’manberg forcefully and violently, and because tommy was hurt by their separation too. techno was powered by revenge more than anarchy during doomsday, which i think is important to point out. tommy had focused in on the threat of dream, and forgotten all the trauma techno went through with l’manberg, and left techno to rejoin l’manberg.

BOTH of them have explicitly stated “i viewed him as a friend but he never viewed me as one” and that’s just... devastating. at one point we can only hope that they have an in-canon conversation to actually settle all of this, but for now their storylines are separate and we’ll just have to live with that.

if anyone has anything they’d like to ask/clarify, or additions from any side i’d love to see it bc character analysis of dsmp characters is what’s keeping me going rn lmao. i said betrayal so many times here i am very sorry for clogging up the tag bc my readmore isn’t working yet (edit SAVED)

*i actually think this speech from tommy is very important, and not looked at as much as other stuff so im gonna link it here [55:52].

#technoblade #tommyinnit #dsmp #mcyt #bedrock bros #dsmp analysis #my readmore isn’t working sad face #can you tell im done with one sided discourse? i just can’t cope with black and white accusations they are all so so flawed #people are entitled to their opinions but sometimes it is just character bashing #the victim complex accusation rots my brain almost as much as people critising how c!techno shows emotions bc folks.... COME ON #if this is coherent i will be AMAZED because i should have focused on either pogtopia era or exile era #i don’t understand mcyttwt because this would be like five threads they have no room to argue anything how do they live #long post #my metas #if this post flops i will be devastated bc then i can’t justify procrastinating 2 essays #sbi #sleepy boys inc

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jalebi-weds-bluetooth · 3 years

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Hi Dear Jalebi, I demand your analysis :) What are your thoughts on IPKKND might have some typical track if the audience, TRP, actors departure didn't influence it otherwise? Let me explain, IPKKND was supposed to have a longer office track (that wasn't common though, I would've loved it) but the TRP was low, so Shantivan track was introduced. Then, I read that, Sana Maqbul (Lavanya) wanted to quit IPKKND, that's why the quick breakup???

Is that why they didn't give us the COMMON AF *jealousy and hero's ex GF turns villain* track? Then again, Anjali was jealous and sad about Khushi after the first reveal of Shyam, and it looked like track about Didi Ki Saut was beginning. But again ratings dropped and the fandom didn't react well (kinda protested), Anjali quickly stopped showing jealousy and Dadi was introduced to give ArShi a common saas-bahu vibe.

Hello Dear Analysis Anon!

I am going to over answer this with a lot of detail because I have a lot of thoughts, as always! Time to get into my thinking cape/coat:

This analysis is going to cover:

(1) every example you just mentioned,

(2) my thoughts on external things affecting plot of the story,

(3) things/plots/ tracks that could've been if not for external factors

Examples

1) IPKKND was supposed to have a longer office track (that wasn't common though, I would've loved it) but the TRP was low, so Shantivan track was introduced

As far as I can remember from one of the writers' interviews, the office track was cut short because this was a show on Star Plus - which, as a channel, caters to 'family audience' therefore needs to have sanskaar and stuff at its core. Hence the rude shortening of the office track and weird 'makeover' and 'desi-dying' Lavanya. And hence we had a very weird four months of an eighteen-twenty years old Khushi teaching someone about sanskaars and suddenly knowing everything about a household when Bua-ji or even Payal would've been a more apt choice for this 'tutoring'.

If this was a Star One show, they might've not shifted out of the office for the longest time!

2) Sana Maqbul (Lavanya) wanted to quit IPKKND, that's why the quick breakup??? Is that why they didn't give us the COMMON AF *jealousy and hero's ex GF turns villain* track?

I did not know that's why the quick end happened. Honestly that happened perfectly. I think Lavanya had an inkling about their relationship heading south right when Arnav told everyone he's getting engaged to her. But she chooses to not see it until one day she couldn't. Maybe we could've gotten more from La but if you see carefully, La clearly knows that this relationship is now just for face. Bless her heart for trying though, trying with a smile!

Also, again I think the writers never thought of making Lavanya a vamp. They had enough material with Arnav-Khushi's own differences, Shyam and Buaji playing enough roles to mess up Arnav-Khushi's love story. I probably think they always had planned Lavanya as a beautiful person who was unintentionally caught in all of this. I feel they planned La and Khushi's friendship - they clearly enjoyed writing two completely different people becoming closest of friends.

The writers/creators deserve full credit for this.

3) Then again, Anjali was jealous and sad about Khushi after the first reveal of Shyam, and it looked like track about Didi Ki Saut was beginning. But again ratings dropped and the fandom didn't react well (kinda protested), Anjali quickly stopped showing jealousy and Dadi was introduced to give ArShi a common saas-bahu vibe.

This is all true.

My Thoughts on External Things Affecting Plot

It's not necessarily bad that external things affect plot. Feedback, from channel or fans, can help the show to pivot and understand what is working and what's not. The problem is when feedback is implemented regardless whether or not it matches the theme of the plot.

I loved:

1) The channel moving out of the office because the power dynamic was too great and the contract terms were very unhealthy and Arnav Singh Raizada deserved to get sued at least 10 times by the end of this contract so yes, the shorter the office track the better. Literally the saving grace is they didn't "fall in love" there.

2) The fans protesting against Didi Ki Saut track. Not because I hated the track - I think it was executed in the worst manner! From identical visual languages to show Arnav-Anjali and Arnav-Khushi scenes (which didn't work to show Arnav being equally torn between the two most important women in his life, but just made the audience get creeped by Arnav-Anjali's relationship) and writing scenes of Anjali getting offended by Arnav-Khushi's intimacy/Arnav spending time with his wife, on her birthday, in his bedroom... did she expect Khushi would just *disappear* in a her and Arnav's bedroom? Like that was the worst way to show a compelling plot line and giving people some weird thoughts about Anjali-Arnav (which I hate because I LOVE Anjali-Arnav).

3) Barun walking out when the plot was literally done. Yes, thank you!

4) Barun going to do a movie led to the kidnapping track, which I liked a lot. No, not the nonsense of Manorama Bond fishing out Delhi's security camera footages in vintage recording system - but the fact that given the chasm and angst between Arnav & Khushi, only something bigger than their misunderstanding could force Arnav to give weight to his feelings and for Khushi to be able to forgive him. And his life was at stake. It was a sharp reminder to both of them that they lost so much by not communicating that it doesn't matter what they had to say - they loved each other, they just needed to get back and fight off everything together.

And then again, there are things I HATED that happened because of external factors:

1) The channel for the whole La becomes Desi. And the overdose of sanskaar and tradition that followed for a few months *uggggh* Clearly the channel demanded this from the plot because family, traditions and all are important to Star Plus (wtf are they thinking for Ghum Hai Kisi Ke? though or YRKKH?) And even the Aarav track and Mrs. India - two tracks with terrible execution - were very Star Plus recommended content. Just now Saath Nibhana Saathiya 2 had a Mrs. Surat/Gujarat track and Yeh Hai Chaahatein had a miracle child popping up...

2) The fans demanding Arnav & Khushi's proximity. The whole hut scene was *noooooo*. Lack of consent, body doubles, GLARING logical loopholes and them just trying to do it when one of them is really not in the mood and they were both so out of character. @phati-sari explains this really well in her post (just search for the hut to get all relevant posts on her blog)

3) Barun? Not exactly - he's never in control of the plot so really it's the writers that kinda know what to do with his presence and absence. Even if they get a short time, it's upto the creators who know if they use the last 2-3 weeks for stretching a random track as much as they can and give a rushed ending or quickly wrap up a crap track and give a satisfactory ending. A good example of this is Lavanya's exit - although rushed was dealt with grace, important conversations and memorable hugs. Bad one is the end of the show - I know Barun gave his papers but I wish they went the La way with the end of the show - important convos, teary hugs and a sweet moment (they tried their best tho...)

It's an ITV trend though to not plan for the end of a show... they stretch a crappy track as much as they can and have like a 2 min epilogue. Kasautii 2.0 was the funniest cause they had all misconceptions cleared, Komolika and Mr. Bajaj die and then have a weird 2 min pillow fight to show 'happy family'... guess in that way I'm glad we had whatever we did with IPKKND!

Possible Tracks Then

So if external factors didn't influence the show, we might have had the following:

1) A longer office track. It would end the way it did in canon though. I think it was prewritten that at one point Khushi would tear up the contract and hold him accountable for everything Arnav did. Just instead of 3-4 days it would've been 10-15 days after the contract.

2) Didi Ki Saut track. Honestly that was compelling if executed right. Sometimes you can have an antagonist without becoming a villain, Anjali the perfect character for that.

3) A separation track. I'm pretty sure Arnav-Khushi could have separated at some point in their six months marriage - this is just my inkling and not something I heard in an interview unlike the above two. If given full reign to writing, we probably would've gotten an angst heavy stuff at some point post marriage/6 months.

4) A remarriage track sans Dadi. We know why Dadi was introduced (honestly I didn't mind her, it was a track done well and kinda to redeem Arnav in front of the public eyes. It's a perfect track cause Arnav is 'nice' for standing up for her and kinda heals the wounds he caused in the first few months of the marriage by retorting someone who tells Khushi everything he told her...) But anyway I do think a remarriage was in the works, not because of TRPs but the way their whole 'marriage' was framed and how Khushi was broken because of the lack of everything in it. And they deserved one w/o the devastation that night brought.

5) The 'marriage' would've been a live in. Arnav and Khushi's elopement was supposed to be darker in nature*. Their 'marriage' would've had no religious nor legal validity, therefore a stark contradiction to everything Khushi stood for... but you can't have that in ITV. *By dark I don't mean sexual violence - never.*

6) The whole IPKKND was meant to be darker. I am glad for the romantic comedy though! I think their balance of angst and comedy pre marriage was perfect! Not sure post marriage because it felt like a loop of going back to square one with no progress. But I think things were meant to be less subtle, more tragic and dramatized. So I think we could've gotten extremely angsty periods post marriage with a slow, gentle lull to the romance/comedy. While I am extremely glad for the lightheartedness, I wish I could've read what the whole original concept for Arnav/Khushi was!

7) Arnav revealing the truth to Khushi would've been different. We know the distasteful suicide track quickly came as a way to push Arnav's buttons and have him confess the truth of his elopement to Khushi. And that came from Barun going away - hence the quick kidnapping track and everything. So if Barun didn't go away, I honestly don't know how the revelation would happen. Would Arnav start piecing things together from information and things about Shyam in Laxminagar? Would Arnav end up helping and hospitalizing Shashi who would tell him the truth? Would Arnav come across any hidden wedding card Buaji could've had printed for Shyam-Khushi or even Shyam's fake kundili? Given the Gupta house wasn't the place where Shyam covered his tracks... was this where Arnav would start seeing things? Or guilt ridden, would Garima/Khushi/Madhumati tell Arnav the truth? Something was meant to happen for this revelation, whether it's Arnav believing Khushi or just getting further evidence against her - I... don't know! I wish I knew what the writers had in store.

We highly appreciate for not showing a typical Nanand against Bhaabi trope, also for not making La villain, but would it result differently if things didn't have a hand? Imma cry thinking Anjali jealous and La villain! meh! What a feast for the eyes it was to see ONLY ONE VILLAIN and less negativity in a tellywood show. Baas bohut hua my casual verbiage. By demand I mean no pressure, please take your valuable time and reply whenever you feel like it.Take Loads of Care and Chocolates your way <3

I hope the above answered all your queries :) Thank you for all the chocolates and care!!!

Phew this was rather long! A big hug to anyone who went through it! See ya later!

- Jalebi

#ask #analysis anon #THIS IS LONG #so many thoughts #how arnav khushi's confrontation would've been #the only answer I crave #analysis #ipkknd #iss pyaar ko kya naam doon

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ibijau · 3 years

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Price of wishes pt7 / on AO3

Lan Xichen meets his new relatives in the Cloud Recesses

Lan Xichen gazes upon the gates of the Cloud Recesses, and feels…

Not scared, not quite, but nervous certainly. The more he travelled with Nie Huaisang and his brother's disciples, the more Lan Xichen became struck by how much the world has changed while he was clinging to his last believers and trying to survive. Towns are bigger, houses are more durable, people from different places mix, and they sell as common things items that he remembers being rare luxuries.

The world has changed, and Lan Xichen is striving not to show how unsettled he feels.

And then, there's this writing business. Out of every passing fashion that had to stick around…

In spite of how he feels about this writing fad, Lan Xichen has been trying his best to learn. Trying isn’t succeeding. Lan Xichen can read some characters, and he knows certain texts thanks to Nie Huaisang’s efforts, but it simply isn’t enough to maintain the illusion of the person he is supposed to be.

Hopefully, Nie Huaisang’s other plan will work.

The Lan disciple guarding the gate is startled when he's told that the young master of his sect has returned, but by the time Lan Xichen asks that his uncle be warned he lost his jade token in an incident, that young man in white has already accepted his existence. It's not surprising, not when Lan Xichen has already convinced Nie Mingjue whose mind is much stronger, but it's still a relief.

The Lan disciple dutifully sends a message to master Lan Qiren who arrives quite fast to the gate, followed closely by a boy whose features are eerily similar to Lan Xichen. He got that much right, it seems.

Lan Xichen bows politely before the man who is now his uncle, the boy who he will call his brother for a full mortal lifetime, and smiles at both of them. He can feel for a moment their doubts about his presence, forming a stronger wall than Nie Mingjue’s did, but he only needs to absorb some of Nie Huaisang’s belief in him to make that wall crumble. It is not hard at all, and Lan Xichen can’t help but feel that those two are almost relieved by his intrusion in their lives.

It was the same with Nie Mingjue. He might act tough and stern, but he is young, not ten years older than Nie Huaisang. He’s also as desperate for company as his brother but in a position that forbids him from seeking out new friends. And now, as Lan Qiren caves into the invasion, Lan Xichen gets a flash of gratitude, because having a nearly fully adult nephew means someone he can rely on. Lan Qiren, like Nie Mingjue, is a lonely man, and shouldn’t be so resigned to it at such a young age.

“You weren’t supposed to be gone this long,” Lan Qiren scolds his nephew. “You should have been here a while ago to help prepare the arrival of the guest disciples. And what's this I hear about your token being lost?”

Nie Huaisang, unnoticed by nearly everyone, lets out a shaky breath.

“My apologies, shufu,” Lan Xichen says with another bow. “A few things came up while I was gone that delayed my return. In fact, I would like to speak to you about this immediately, if you have the time. Wangji as well, this will concern him. And… I think it might be good if Nie gongzi came as well.”

Lan Wangji, exactly as silent and austere as Nie Huaisang described him, stares at his brand new brother with emotionless eyes. When those eyes turn to Nie Huaisang though, they let a certain curiosity shine through, to which Nie Huaisang reacts by turning a little pink and averting his eyes. But no objection is made to Lan Xichen’s request, and they all retire to the house Lan Qiren shares with his nephew for a private conversation.

It is not an unpleasant place. Austere but elegant, as everything appears to be in the Cloud Recesses. One thing immediately attracts Lan Xichen’s attention: the number of books. This house alone appears to contain as many as all of Qinghe Nie’s library. This makes Nie Huaisang’s panic over Lan Xichen’s inability to read all the more understandable. If the entire sect is similar to Lan Qiren, then Lan Xichen’s meagre powers might not be enough to counter their surprise at a young master who cannot read fluently.

Tea is poured as refreshment for the travellers, and all four of them sit down. Lan Qiren allows his new nephew a moment to drink, then asks again about the delay in returning.

"The situation is this," Lan Xichen explains. "While I was away, something happened and I lost all my memories. I cannot be sure what it was exactly, but I do not appear to have any physical marks on me, nor did I detect anything that would indicate a curse. All I know for sure is that I barely knew who I was when this started."

His new relatives are startled at the news, especially Lan Wangji who glances at Nie Huaisang in a silent question, but with the slightest of push on Lan Xichen’s part they do not think of doubting that story.

"As I wandered, I stumbled upon the Unclean Realm where Nie Mingjue welcomed me and treated me as if we knew each other. I played along and didn't mention my predicament. I thought Nie Mingjue did not feel like an enemy, but I didn't know how much to trust my instincts. After a while, Nie Huaisang realised something was wrong, encouraged me to share my secret with him, and agreed to help me hide this for the time being. We both feared someone might try to take advantage, should my situation be revealed."

"A wise decision," Lan Qiren agreed, a severe expression on his face as he stroked his beard. "It is lucky you wandered into friendly territory, when others might have been less kind than the Nie."

Meaning the Wen sect, Lan Xichen guesses. There's a feud of sorts between the Wens and the Nie, he understands, but really the whole cultivation world appears scared of them.

"Our thanks to Nie gongzi for his help," Lan Qiren says.

"Mn," Lan Wangji agrees, cramming a surprising amount of emotion in that single sound. Or maybe it is the way he's looking at Nie Huaisang, his pale eyes intense and sharp.

Nie Huaisang blushes intensely and squirms a little, clearly uncomfortable with the attention, or perhaps with being praised over something that never happened. To rescue him from his discomfort, Lan Xichen promptly continues.

“The memory loss is actually rather severe,” he explained. “We are still figuring out what I can and cannot remember. While I was in Qinghe, I dared not say too much to Nie zongzhu, even after deciding he was friendly, because I couldn’t be sure of the extent of that friendship, and I knew I had to think of my sect’s safety. But after making me confess the truth on the way here, Nie gongzi has been of great help in figuring out just how much I have lost. He happened to have with him a number of texts concerning our rules and customs which he shared with me, though I must confess reading is not easy at this time. It causes me terrible headaches after even a very short while.”

Hearing this, Lan Qiren’s concern only grows, marking him to Lan Xichen as a far warmer person than Nie Huaisang prepared him for. Not that he blames his young friend for his judgement: it is not unexpected for a man to behave differently toward a student than he would with a relative, especially when the student is Nie Huaisang, who has made it clear that learning does not come easily to him.

Worried for this nephew he’d never met just half a shichen earlier, Lan Qiren quickly comes up with a plan. First, he will go fetch a doctor to check Lan Xichen, since an external eye might detect more than he did himself. If they can identify what ails him, they might return him to normal. Should that fail (Lan Xichen will have to use his powers on the doctor as well, though he’s getting tired and might require a large offering from Nie Huaisang that night) they will need to keep the situation secret, for fear that certain people try to take advantage of the situation. In that case, Lan Qiren decides that his nephews will isolate themselves together for a few days, until the lectures for the guest disciples start, so that Lan Xichen can be reminded of the knowledge and behaviours expected of a young master of their sect.

Lan Wangji makes no objection to this plan. His only remark is to ask that Nie Huiasang stay with them until Lan Qiren returns with a doctor, so he can be further questioned about the present situation. Lan Qiren agrees, and leaves the boys alone.

As soon as they are just the three of them together, something shifts in Lan Wangji’s attitude. So far he hasn’t given the impression of a particularly expressive person, and yet Lan Xichen can instantly tell that his new brother is incredibly upset.

“Nie gongzi,” Lan Wangji says, his voice monotone and yet heavy with carefully refrained emotion. “Who is this person sitting with us?”

Nie Huaisang goes pale, as if he might faint, then turns a bright shade of red, before he starts laughing in a nervous manner.

“Ah, just as could be expected of you!” Nie Huaisang exclaims with a painful grin. “Lan gongzi is really something else! Anybody else could be fooled except you, I should have known!”

Lan Wangji makes no answer. Lan Xichen cannot tell if his new brother is aggravated or relieved that Nie Huaisang isn’t even trying to hide that something is wrong.

As for Lan Xichen himself, he feels too keenly the pain of disappointment. While Lan Wangji does appear to be a powerful young cultivator, and strong willed for his age, Nie Mingjue and Lan Qiren were still his superiors. The only reason he resisted where they gave in, Lan Xichen suspects, is because Nie Huaisang has more faith in Lan Wangji’s strength of spirit than in his, creating a weakness in his powers.

“Explain,” Lan Wangji demands, and Nie Huaisang obeys without hesitation.

Not only does he not hesitate, but Nie Huaisang appears sincerely relieved to share his secret as he retells the way he ran away, how he became lost and unknowingly made a deal with a god who then took human form.

Lan Wangji listens, glances over Lan Xichen, and frowns.

“He looks like me. Why?”

From being merely a little nervous, Nie Huaisang panics at the question with such intensity that it nearly makes Lan Xichen physically sick. For a torturous second there is no more belief sustaining him, replaced by a terror that cannot feed him. It doesn’t last longer than a heartbeat before Nie Huaisang pulls himself together and laughs awkwardly, but Lan Xichen is left shaken.

“Well, I ran away because I felt so lonely and unappreciated, right?” Nie Huaisang explains. “And I wanted to not feel alone. And so I thought of you, because I…”

He hesitates, his entire face flushed red. For the second time in just moments, Lan Xichen feels Nie Huaisang’s belief waver, replaced by a sentiment entirely directed toward Lan Wangji.

“I think of you as my best friend,” Nie Huaisang miserably lies, “so of course I wanted someone like you at my side.”

Hit by a sudden realisation, Lan Xichen stares at the young man who gave him a chance to live again. With parts of Nie Huaisang modelled after Lan Wangji, of course Lan Xichen knew already there had to be some attraction involved. But this isn’t mere attraction that he is witnessing.

Instead, Nie Huaisang is in love with Lan Wangji.

That discovery alone is already painful. In their short time together Lan Xichen has become quite fond of Nie Huaisang and has seen nothing in him that could make him fear the ‘marriage’ part of their deal. To find that he has a rival, one of true flesh and blood, one who doesn’t need the world explained to him, who can read and write and do all those things that matter so much to Nie Huaisang, is like being stabbed in the guts.

But things only get worse when Lan Wangji, so impassible thus far, huffs ever so slightly at Nie Huaisang and smiles at him with all the warmth his nature allows him.

It might not be love yet, but fondness is a first step in that direction.

Meaning that Nie Huaisang might never have needed Lan Xichen and just didn't know it yet.

"Nie gongzi always makes things interesting," Lan Wangji placidly comments, which Nie Huaisang appears to take as criticism, while Lan Xichen suspects it to be a compliment. "I will allow this person to remain."

"Really ? Wangji, that means lying!"

"Hm. This person is meant to be my older brother, correct?"

Nie Huaisang again panics, explains, apologises, but Lan Wangji's attention has shifted to his new brother. Under such a piercing gaze, Lan Xichen feels exposed, though he doesn't detect any bad feeling coming from Lan Wangji, only curiosity and a sharp flicker of hope.

"He may stay," Lan Wangji repeats. "If he stays long, he will in some years announce that he steps down in my favour. Until then, this person may carry the title of heir."

Silence falls for a long moment. Lan Xichen hasn't finished processing what this means (more effort, more lies, more pretending, all to fool not only this sect but also all others) when he notices that Lan Wangji is smiling again, while Nie Huaisang starts howling with laughter.

"Wangji! Lan gongzi! No, wait, it's Lan er-gonzi now, right? Either way, who knew you had it in you to be crafty! Dumping your responsibilities on someone else like this… why, it sounds like something I would do!"

"You are my friend," Lan Wangji soberly replies, though his eyes shine. "And a bad influence."

Nie Huaisang only laughs harder, joyful and free in a way Lan Xichen has never seen him.

It might be good to look for new followers quickly, the god decides. Before this fountain of belief dries out as Nie Huaisang realises he already has everything he wished for, sending Lan Xichen back to the misery and despair of his old existence.

#xisang #nie huaisang #lan xichen #lan wangji #lan qiren #a little hint of one sided wangsang in there too #jau writes #xisang wishes au #still no fucking idea where I'm going with this au tbh

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omgsomeonesomewhereonearth · 3 years

Text

I’ll Write This Scene a Thousand Times - Ch2

AO3 || Chapter 1

Ship: Moceit (Janus/Patton)

Warnings: Arguing, smoking mention character outed before they're ready.

Summary: Patton and Janus get into an argument. Feelings are hurt, and then they are shared.

Taglist: Technically, I don't have one yet, but I'm tagging some people from the first chapter who seemed interested in reading more. If you want to be added or removed, send me an ask or message.

@iclaimedtobethebetterbard @princess-rosie @symphony-soldier-29 @stardustsides @ent-is-undecisive @roka-logical-lies @ifyouhadntbutyoudid @3-has-charm @moceit

...

“Come on, try to be more cute!”

His new pretend paramour was turning out to be quite the demanding director. Janus pursed his lips, leaning idly against Patton’s incredible cozy couch cushions as he watched him tilt his phone this way and that, trying to find the most natural angle for a staged relationship announcement.

“You wound me, Patton,” he deadpanned, “I was under the impression you already found me rather cute.” Patton glared - no, that was the wrong word. Something incredibly intrinsic in the nature of Patton didn’t quite allow him to ‘glare’. Patton pouted at him in the selfie camera, freckled cheeks puffing out in frustration.

Clearly, he didn’t have much trouble with that particular direction, Janus mused.

“Why can’t you just smile?”

“I am smiling.”

“You’re smirking!”

“Same thing.”

Patton made a very petulant noise indeed, “This needs to be believable!”

“You’re mistaken if you think anything where I’m-” he shuddered, “-smiling, will be remotely believable.”

Then he caught a look at Patton’s face. As funny as it was to wind him up, Janus wasn’t sure he wanted to see him actually crack today.

“Alright, look, why don’t you come closer?” he coaxed, shifting slightly and encouraging Patton to lean against him, draping his arm around his shoulder

“There you go, how sickeningly adorable are we?”

Within the frame of the selfie, they were adorable. Patton’s honey brown curls and fluffy white sweater were the perfect contrast against his fitted black button down - ofcourse, he already knew that, they’d chosen their outfits ahead of time. To anybody who couldn’t feel the stiffness in Patton’s shoulders, they probably looked like the perfect couple.

“Okay… you ready?”

Just as the countdown ticked to one, Janus turned his head and pressed a quick kiss against Patton’s cheek.

The camera clicked.

Patton whipped around to face him immediately after, cheeks darkening, “You - I didn’t know you were going to do that!”

Janus grinned, reaching for his wrist.

“And this is exactly why,” he replied in a voice not entirely devoid of smugness. The picture had been caught before Patton had had the chance to react, still smiling widely as Janus leaned over to kiss him, “You’re welcome.”

Patton blushed harder, spluttering slightly and quickly prying his wrist out of Janus’ grip, scooting back as far as the couch would allow. Janus let him go, following the embarrassed motion with his eyes.

Once he was at what he apparently deemed a safe distance away, Patton mumbled, “It is quite a good picture, actually. Better than any of the others we’ve taken today, anyway.”

“I’m sorry, what was that?”

“I said it was quite good, actually-”

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t quite catch you saying that, would you mind -”

“Oh stop it!” the corner’s of Patton’s mouth twitched in what Janus chose to interpret as a smile.

He rose to his feet, feeling rather good about himself, “Well, now I suppose you can send that along to Logan for approval and we can be done here then? Er - not that this hasn’t been fun, or whatever.” he amended hastily. Nailed it.

“Oh, um - actually…”

Janus groaned, “I swear to God if you tell me we have to take another set of photos, ‘just in case’-”

“It’s not that,” Patton said quickly, “I was hoping we could talk.”

“Well, you’d better make it quick,” Janus drawled, “I do have actual engagements outside of this, you know.”

The words came out in a moment of pettiness and he regretted them almost immediately, partly because they weren’t remotely true - unless mooching around at his home counted as an ‘outside engagement’.

But as he said them, Patton deflated, his eyes downcast, his mouth drawing in to form a silent, plaintive ‘oh’.

“That’s okay!” he covered up quickly, as if he thought Janus hadn’t noticed his disappointment, “It was silly anyway, you don’t have to-”

“No no no, it’s quite okay,” Janus interjected hastily, “I can always take out the time for you, dear.”

Right, yes, flirt Janus. I’m sure that’ll somehow not make you the asshole here.

Patton gave him a wan smile. He gestured for Janus to sit, and he did, careful to leave space between them now that the camera had been put away. He watched Patton fidget for a few minutes as he tried to find the words he wanted to say.

“-So the night we… well, met, so to speak,”

Ah. Janus winced internally - he’d been wondering if Patton would want to have this conversation for a while now, and had dearly hoped he never would. Externally, he smirked. “Yes, I would say we were rather ‘well met’ - I’m glad you think so too.”

Instead of the frustrated groan that he was expecting, a burst of tiny, adorable laughter spilled out of Patton’s lips. Patton seemed just as surprised as him, lifting his hand to cover his mouth even as his shoulders shook and his dark eyes crinkled with delight.

It was hard not to smile back, with a laugh like that, especially when it had been his own idiotic joke that had caused it.

“That was quite funny,” Patton admitted as his giggles tapered off.

It had been terrible, but Janus wasn’t one to look compliment horses in the mouth. “Thank you, I try.”

Patton’s face sobered far too soon, “Um, did you - do you remember anything? From then, I mean?”

“I…” Janus considered, “I remember enough.”

The memories were hazy, though. He remembered leaving the premiere, going to get a drink. He remembered catching sight of an absolute vision in pale blue, gazing with wide, curious eyes at his surroundings, smiling and waving self consciously when he’d noticed Janus watching him. He couldn’t for the life of him remember what they’d talked about.

He hadn’t even known who Patton was, at the time, though he’d assumed he was at least semi-famous, given the usual clientele of the club.

“D’you - do you remember what I was acting like?” Patton asked haltingly, “Was I normal, I mean?”

Janus paused. He thought about the man he’d met , who laughed loudly and carelessly, who followed him eagerly to the dancefloor. Who looked at him like he would follow him anywhere, if Janus asked. He thought about the man he’d woken up next to, who’d been skittish, panicking, shrinking into himself when Janus so much as looked at him.

He thought about the way he’d felt when Patton laughed at his dumb joke.

“I’ve known you for about three days and you’ve been either tipsy or highly stressed for all of them,” he replied in a measured voice, “I’m hardly the person to ask how ‘normal’ you were acting.”

Patton nodded, though he seemed disappointed, his brow knit in confusion.

“It’s just - I don’t remember anything,” he started, voice strained, “I’ve gone over it so many times and I still can’t understand why I did it!”

Janus’ gut twisted far harder than it should have.

“Oh, thank you so much,” he snapped.

“That’s not fair,” Patton snapped back with just as much wounded ferocity, “You know what I mean - I’ve never done anything like that! I’m not like that, I stay out of trouble-”

“-Not like what, exactly?” Janus interrupted, narrowing his eyes, “Or should I say, ‘not like whom’?”

“Janus-”

Stop, he should stop, remove himself from the situation, calm down.

Janus had gotten to his feet without realising it.

“‘Stay out of trouble?’” he hissed, “We are grownups, have you considered that we shouldn’t be getting into ‘trouble’ for having consensual sex in the first place-”

“Of course I’ve considered it, but that doesn’t change the fact that we do, and we did!” Patton protested, “I’m just being realistic here, we both chose to be in this industry-”

Janus scoffed.

“And maybe you don’t care, but I-” Patton spoke right over him, “think I have a responsibility to behave-”

“Behave?” Janus laughed bitterly.

“You’re misunderstanding me-”

“Oh no, I think I understand just fine,” he interrupted, “I’m so sorry I led you astray, I assure you it won’t happen again.”

“I- I know it won’t?” Patton replied, dumbfounded, “Janus, I’m not trying to fight with you-”

“Well in that case, perhaps I should take my leave.” Janus cut in.

Patton looked dismayed, “Maybe that’s for the best, yeah,” he muttered eventually. He didn’t get up to show Janus the door.

Janus thought about slamming it behind him, but decided it would be rude and uncouth.

Besides, it would be far more satisfying to leave it open so that Patton would have to get up and close it. He was at the end of the corridor before he heard it click quietly closed.

He didn’t turn around.

…

Janus was mooching around in his flat. Janus was definitely not thinking about Patton as he did so.

Had he been about to cry, when he left? He wouldn’t have noticed at the time, what with his own anger, but the idea that Patton might have cried after he walked out made his heart clench.

Because that was fair, he grumbled to himself. It wasn’t like he’d said anything wrong, he was right - this whole charade they’d gotten trapped in, it was unnecessary and ludicrous, and it wasn’t his fault - wasn’t either of their faults.

God, he needed a smoke.

Just as he was reaching for the box hidden in his bedside drawer - why were they hidden, he lived alone - his phone buzzed. He’d been tagged in an image by @patton.theheart on Instagram. Ah yes. Even if they were both seething and furious at each other, the dance continued.

“Three perfect months with @totally_notalyre - we’re both so excited to finally share our relationship with you all!!! <3 <3 <3”

The comments were already flooding in, row after row of overwhelming positivity, keyboard smashing and heart emojis. Janus scrolled through them impassively, stopping to smirk at the ones raving about how attractive he was - well, he never claimed to be a modest man.

Then he saw one that made his blood run cold.

“So proud of you Patton!”

Followed by several rainbows.

And several more:

“I’ve been a fan of you since you were like, 16 and I’m so happy to finally see you living your truth!”

“Well done Patton! Don’t worry - your true fans will stick by you no matter what!”

“Thank you so much for sharing your true self with us, Patton <3”

The memories of the past few days, every version of Patton that lived in his head, flashed before Janus’ eyes in a very different light, ending with him cross legged on his couch, biting his inner cheek as he listened to Janus berate him.

He definitely needed a fucking smoke now. No he didn’t - he needed to call Patton, he needed to talk to him, to ask him - to ask him what? They were barely friends, and he’d just spent the afternoon yelling at him, what right did he have to demand answers?

“Calm down, Lyre,” he growled to himself, “Just call the man, be calm and subtle; you need to apologise to him if nothing else.”

“Hello?” Patton had picked up on the first ring. Did his voice sound subdued over the phone? Or teary?

“You weren’t out,” Janus blurted out clumsily. So much for subtle.

“I’m sorry?”

“When we had our… ‘encounter’,” he clarified, “You were still closeted?”

“Oh, that,” Patton replied flatly. He could practically hear him fidgeting over the phone, “Well technically, I wasn’t exactly closeted, I was just - trying to avoid talking about it until I was ready.”

“ …I’m so sorry.”

“No, no - it’s okay!” Patton said hastily, “I mean, maybe not ‘okay’, but looking on the bright side - I was planning on coming out in a few months from now anyway! So, you know, technically this took the pressure off!”

Despite his cheery tone, Janus got the feeling Patton didn’t quite believe himself. He definitely didn’t believe him. “You had one planned?” he asked.

“Well yeah, actually!” Patton admitted, “Technically, it’s still gonna happen - I’m gonna be releasing an album where I sort of share my experiences and feelings and stuff, so it’s not like I lost anything, I guess.”

You lost the right to control your own damn narrative, Janus didn’t retort, because he knew fully well that Patton knew that, he was just a relentless, infuriating optimist.

“Um… Janus?” Patton’s voice cut through his thoughts, “Just by the way - I’m not technically supposed to tell many people, so please just keep that quiet because I think Logan is already quite cross at me anyway?”

“Done,” Janus chuckled. Then he drew in a breath, ready to address the difficult part of this call, “Regarding my conduct earlier today - I believe I might owe you an apology.”

“No you don’t.” Patton responded quickly, far firmer than he’d ever been, at least with Janus.

“Patton-”

“You don’t,” he repeated, “Yeah, I mean - you could have been nicer, but you were right, and I said some less than nice things too! But, you know - when you sorta grow up in this industry, it becomes a bit hard to know which bits are normal and which bits are kinda…messed up? And our little spat today, it really kind of reminded me, so if anything, maybe I should thank you!”

“You should not.”

“Well-”

“If you can forbid me from apologising, I can forbid you from thanking me.”

“Yeah, okay, fair enough!” Patton’s giggle was just as infectious over the phone and Janus felt the corners of his mouth lift against his will.

“Ahem - well, lovely talking to you, as always, but I ought to get going now.”

“Goodnight Janus.”

“…Goodnight, Patton.”

#moceit #patton sanders #janus sanders #ts janus #ts patton #sanders sides #ts sides #sanders sides fanfiction #my writing #i'll write this scene a thousand times

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son-fuori-di-me · 3 years

Text

"I had no idea I could change someone's life."

One Shot. Word Count | Around 3300. Description | <French female pov> you're visiting Rome for the first time, and you casually meet Damiano David the day before the Circo Massimo concert. The conversation takes a unexpected path.

Content | Real talk. No romantic development. * Expect French idioms and italian approximations from automatic translators

---

"Bordel, c'est immense !" ("Holy cow, that's big !") I said, looking at the Circo Massimo.

It was my first time in Rome. Knowing Italy a bit, I expected a hell lot of sun, a delicious bunch of ice cream for each meal, and tons of pretty things to snap with my phone. Well, that was the plan for my first two days there. Cause Saturday would be a very different day. Saturday would be Måneskin day.

I've been waiting for so long to do this trip. And what a blast it has been for now. Took only a bag, my external battery, some makeup and my favourite clothes to finally discover this astonishing city. This was my first solo trip. I've always travelled with my family or my ex, but never on my own. For once, I could decide what I wanted to see, what I wanted to eat, when to take a break. And as there are plenty of things to see in Rome, i wanted to enjoy every second of my trip. I could focus my last day there solely to the Måneskin concert happening that Saturday night. But as I didn't want to leave anything to chance, I decided to precisely organize my last day, so I could visit a bit more - a get a last fantastic meal before the concert.

I got myself a gold pit ticket. I guessed that would mean I had a special queue. So on Friday night, as I was back from a late tour in town, I decided to watch more closely the Circo, to check for the entrances, and see how I could sharpen my organization and schedule for the next day.

"J'espère que je vais pas avoir à poireauter toute la journée, avec la chaleur qu'il va faire." ("I hope won't have to hang around here all day tomorrow, the weather's gonna be hot as hell")

It was almost 10 pm. I was getting closer to the Circo, trying to read the boards, but all was written in italian and didn't seem to concern the concert. And a year fangirling over Måneskin clearly wasn't enough to become fluent. I saw no sign mentioning "gold pit". So I decided I would ask around, with Google translate ready in my phone in case I couldn't find anyone speaking English.

I saw a guy sit on a bench, smoking. He was dressed in an ugly dark sweater, with the hood over a cap. He was either a drug dealer or a hobbo. My instinct as a girl living in Paris got the uphand and I decided to ignore the guy and try to find a woman instead, or maybe a group of locals, to get me the information I wanted. Unfortunately, after a good 20 minutes walking around and asking people, no one could tell me how to make sure I find the right queue for the concert. I was about to give up and head back to my airbnb and I saw a silhouette still sitting on a bench, near the Circo. It was the same guy from earlier. "Bon, je tente, s'il est trop chelou, je me barre." ("Well, might as well take the risk, if he's too much a weirdo, I clear off quickly.")

"Scusi, do you speak English ?" i said, getting closer to the guy, but still from a good distance in case it turned wrong.

"Pretty good. You need something ?" He was searching something in his pockets and reached his pack of cigarettes. His voice was deep, but gentle. He did look funny but didn't sound dangerous - i still didn't get too close as I hate the smell of smoke.

"Do you know well il Circo Massimo ? I'm going to a concert here tomorrow and I want to make sure I find the right queue, but they haven't installed any sign yet". I asked, showing the structure of the stage behind me.

"Cute accent, where are you from ?" he answered, completely ignoring my question.

"Well, I'm French. So, do you know il Circo ?" I preferred to quickly repeat my question to let him know I wasn't interested in whatever he was trying to.

"Ah, Bonjour ! I speak a little French !" He said, now reaching for his lighter.

"Yeeaaaah cool, but how about the Circo ? I'd like to be here early enough, but I don't know wh-" I froze as he lighted up his cigarette. It was brief, but with the spark, I saw his face for a second.

"Hm ? You don't know what ?" He asked, with a smirky voice.

"Mais naaaan ?" ("Dont tell me -") I let out that typical French astonished sound without thinking. "You gotta be kidding me !"

He laughed as I was getting a little closer, staring at him. With one hand, he was putting his lighter back in his pocket, with the other, he lifted a bit his cap. It was him. It was Damiano.

I felt my spine shiver with that uncomfortable sensation of being around someone famous. As a journalist, I had my lot of interviews, so I knew there's no point in changing behavior around such people. But I still was flabbergasted to see him.

"Sorry, I didn't recognize you. Well, gotta say you're not dressed in your best outfit !" I chose the strategy of sass, to hide how impressed I actually was.

"That's my favourite sweater you're seeing me in, and I'm smoking hot in it" He said with a smirk, getting into the sassy game.

"Time off before the big day ?" I asked, completely forgotting about my initial request and switching to my interview mindset when I'm super focused about the conversation. "Shouldn't you be having a great night of sleep, to recharge your batteries ?"

"I don't feel like going to bed" He said, having no idea how the conversation would soon turn. Fortunately for him, I wasn't working in the music media industry. "That's quite a stage we're gonna play on."

I didn't know why he was talking to me about all of this. I didn't dare to ask him either. I just enjoyed the moment.

"Well, the Eurovision song contest was bigger, wasn't it ?"

"Hm, don't tell me about it, I still don't know how I managed that."

He suddenly had a strange tone in his voice. It didn't sound like the radiant and confident Damiano you see on Instagram stories or on TV interviews. I remembered where I heard him like that. In the 2019 documentary "This is Måneskin", the making of Il Ballo Della Vita album, in the sequence he's arguing with Vic on a train, as he tells her how anxious he can be get sometimes.

"Well, you did, didn't you ?" I put on a more serious voice. "And you had a ton more of pressure, representing your whole country ? So how a concert here in your home town could be worst than performing in front of all of Europe - not to say the whole world ?"

He was still smoking, listening in silence.

"Or maybe it isn't about how big the performance is but about performing in itself ? Why are you performing ? Why are you putting on a show ? All those fancy clothes and that makeup, who is it for ? For people to love you ? Or for you to love yourself ?"

Mais qu'est-ce que je branle ? Il va se barrer dans deux secondes, là c'est sûr (What the fuck am I doing ? He's leaving any second now.) I got a bit too excited about being able to share a few words with him. What's gotten onto me ? Well, let's go then.

"What is it you're running after ? Or running from maybe ? Some complex to compensate ? With all that smudge and confidence, that wouldn't surprise me."

He sat back on the bench. As he inhaled a deep breath of smoke, I saw a smile on his face. But I also saw his hand holding the cigarette shaking.

"Are you a psychiatrist or something ?" He simply said, as if he was trying to keep his voice as steady as possible.

I hesitated to tell him the truth. I was sure he would walk away the second he would know my actual job. Et puis merde, autant tout dire. (Well, fuck, might as well be honest.)

"Nope, I'm a journalist." I admited, as he looked right back at me with a surprised look. "Pretty much the same. We get appoitments with random people, listen to their life, observe their body language, and tell them our whole opinion about all of it, which might very well shape how they perceive themselves from now on."

"Only difference is that you don't have to keep anything secret. Right the contrary."

There. This was it. He was gonna leave now, for sure.

"Before you go, did I hit any truth ? Don't worry, I'm not in the music media industry, I won't write anything from our conversation." I hoped this information would save me a few more seconds with him.

He didn't answer right away. He didn't leave either. He kept looking at me, still smoking his second cigarette in a row now.

"Whatever it is you write about, I guess you must be good at it" he finally replied. "Cause you did score a few points."

Another short silence broke. As a fan, I was obsessed with his music, lyrics, and attitude. But catching a glimpse of what lied behind the glamour definitly caught my interest. I wanted to know more.

"Why are you here ?" I slightly deepened my voice, getting back to my interview tone, and kept on going with this as if that was usual business for me. "It's half past 10. You play on Rome's largest stage tomorrow. You surely better should be in bed, or be about to, before the big day."

In that moment, I had the upper-hand in the conversation. He was sat on the bench, I was on my feet in front of him, and therefore above him. Not the best approach to get someone's trust for an interview, but with a personnality like Damiano's, you gotta put your own show.

"I actually don't sleep much before big events like these" He finally answered, accepting his condition as an interviewee. "I don't sleep much at all."

"You're tend to insomnia ?"

"Not really, I just got used to 4-5 hours of sleep, that's it."

"Even during tours ? Cause this all sold-out European tour for Teatro d'Ira must have been exhausting".

"You have no idea, bellezza."

"So tell me." From there, I decided to change my strategy and sat on the ground, still in front of him, but giving him the upper-hand, to put on a more trustful atmosphere. "How are you doing ? And I don't mean, like casual 'yay, fine', I mean : how are you doing ?"

I still have no idea of my tactical move of giving him more space to express himself worked, or if he understood right away where I was leading him, but in the end, he still didn't seem bothered by this conversation we were having. In fact, it looked like he was enjoying it.

"I'm... content, I'd say." He paused, and I didn't interrupt him with another question this time. "I know I'm going through the life I wanted. The music, the tours, the praise. It's all I could have ever asked for."

D'accord, très bien, mais ? (Okey, very good, but ?) I stayed silent, but I couldn't help anticipating what he was saying.

"But surprisingly, sometimes it's still... unfulfilling. Like I can never be satisfied".

Repressing some Hamilton's lyrics from my mind, I innocently pretend I didn't fully understand what he meant - another journalistic technique, to get someone to repeat themselves with other words in order to get them deeper into their reflexion.

"What do you mean, "never be satisfied" ? You're on top of Spotify chart list, your albums are now platinum successes, you're winning awards. How is this not satisfying ?"

"It's just... What are all those things for ? Money ? Fame ? Yeah, I like those but..."

"Typical Capricorn" I muttered, to slide in the conversation that I actually knew pretty well my subject - my subject being him. He chuckled.

"Damn really ? Let me guess ? Aries ?"

"Pisces+Taurus, actually. So what, you don't like being famous ?" Getting back quickly into more questions - another technique to keep control over the rhythm of an interview.

"It's not that I dislike it. It's just... not always as fun as I thought it would be."

"What part of the job ? The writing and composing ?"

"No, that's the best part." He reached for a third cigarette. It was almost 11 pm now. "Vic, Thomas and Ethan. Måneskin. They're the best thing that ever happened to me".

"Then what, you feel like a fraud ?"

"Hell, no ! I'm exactly where I should be." He claimed, with a light pride tone.

"So, if you're proud of what you create, and if you love the people you create that with, then what is the matter ? If life is about getting the Bare Necessities, it seems like you got it all." Hitting with a universal - and musical - reference. Shoud do the trick.

"Hahaha ! Lo stretto indispensabile, si ! But life isn't that easy." He said laughing, as I felt he started to let go of the tension. "In real life, you get judged all the time, and people try to dismantle you, and spread rumors."

"I didn't think you'd be one to listen to people's comments about you".

"I'm not. I stopped giving credits to those. But it's still here, you know ?"

"From what I see, you're keeping it real, with lots of wisdom. I can't quite grasp what seem to bother you."

He paused, looking at his feet for a few seconds.

"I'm afraid it won't last." He finally confessed. "I'm afraid it all ends as quickly as it all started. I'm afraid people get bored. I'm afraid I become a caricature of myself. I'm afraid I can't write new songs. I'm afraid to be a shooting star, you see ? Very bright, but gone in a flash."

"Like, to be an Icare ? Or may I say "Ykaaar" like on your Instagram ?"

He chuckled again.

"Huh, I'm that obvious ?"

"Yeah, even a bit over-the-top, if I may dare say so."

"Well, I've always related so much with this mythological figure. I mean what's wrong with aiming for the Sun ?" He said, pointing a hand to the dark sky above us. From his attitude, I could tell he was way more relaxed than in the beginning. He even took his cap and hood off, so I could now see his face more clearly. His eyes were glittering. "Burning your wings... What's that morale supposed to teach us ? Be modest ? Be moderate ? Che noia !" (How boring !)

"Well don't be !" I felt almost like scolding him. "There's nothing wrong with seeking big dreams. As there's nothing wrong with this feeling of being outrun by your life. Savour the moment. Every second of it. It's because you can't know how long it may last that it tastes so good, so thrilling ! And you actually already are ten steps ahead ! Writing songs like ´Torna a casa' or ´Coraline' at, what, 19-20 years old ? You're the real deal, dude. And even if later on, you get blank page anxiety or write just good-enough songs, it's okey. You got plenty of time to make mistakes. Take the leap of faith. Failing and being a failure aren't the same. You learn, you grow from it. It's okey to doubt yourself, but please, don't ever doubt all the love and support you get."

I paused, hoping I didn't do too far and missed my point. But in a way, I could also feel I got it right. He was looking at the Circo, his eyes even more sparkling than before.

"I..." He got up, standing on the bench, looking as tall as a statue from my perspective. He came down and took a few steps. I got on my feet, starting to feel concerned about what I just said.

"I didn't know I needed to hear that." He finally confided. "I always wanna reach perfection. I'm aware I can be authoritative, sometimes even harsh, on the band. I can't accept to be a failure. But love and support, that, I can't get enough of."

I didn't respond. There was nothing to add. This instant felt like an hour. The wind was slightly blowing through the length of the Circo in front of us. His hair reflected the gentle light of the moon, only showing her first quarter. He broke the tranquility of the moment, turning and taking a few steps in my direction.

"Grazie mille" he said, his arms opened, calling for a hug.

"But, you're very welcome" I said approaching him, softly putting my arms on his back as he put his over my shoulders. The second before his face disappeared from my vision, i noticed a tear on his cheek.

"You've completed reset my mind. I feel like I can start all over again. I was anguished, trapped by my anxiety. But it's all gone now. You've changed me. Thank you, thank you so much" He affirmed full of hope, his voice shivering.

"Wow, well. I had no idea I could change someone's life." I answered, trying to hide how moved I myself was from the conversation.

------

It was almost midnight now. We kept talking for a while, comparing life in Rome and Paris, exchanging what was our best concert experiences. But he still needed to get back home to rest before the concert, and I didn't want to arrive too late at my airbnb - even if I could have spent the whole night talking with him. Yet, to enjoy our last few minutes together, he offered to walk me back to where I was staying. It was just a 15 minutes walk, along the Tevere river bank.

"So tell me." he asked with a smirk. "How does the Bare Necessities go in French ?" He started to muffle the melody.

"Oh no, you don't expect me to actually sing it ?"

"Hehe, you got me into a therapy session, so I can get a little song from you, no ?"

"Damn, you. This is blackmail !" But drunk on the moment, I took a deep breath.

"Il en faut peeeeeeu pour être heureux, ("Look for the baaaaare necessities,") vraiment très peu pour être heureux, ("the simple bare necessities") il faut se satisfaire du nécessaire !" ("Forget about your worries and your strife")"

I started dancing along, if I had to be ridiculous, might as well utterly be. But he actually followed my lead, clicking his fingers.

"In fondo, baaaasta il minimo, ("I mean the baaaaare necessities") sapessi quanto è facile ("Old Mother Nature's recipes") Trovar quel po' che occorre per campar ! ("That brings the bare necessities of life !")

We kept on singing Disney songs for a few minutes as we walked at a slow pace - I was shocked he never saw Tarzan and immediately made him promise to watch it as i told him Phil Collins recorded all the songs in five languages, including Italian. When we finally reached my destination, we exchanged a last timid hug as farewell.

"Well, I'll see you on stage tomorrow." I told him as I crossed the street.

"And I'll look for you in the crowd !" He shouted with the brightest smile on his perfect face.

** the end **

#maneskin #damiano david #maneskin imagine #damiano david x reader #maneskin x reader #my writing

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