#having grief with each other over shit that genuinely fucking matters and is impossible to sweep under the rug but also the fact that theyre

[bidaryl]

the thing about twd fic dying off around s6/s7 is that plot lines and characters beyond that are barely incorporated and included so now we're forever stuck reading about fucking negan being the biggest baddest killer to ever walk the earth and the whisperers and reapers and governors are left in the dust. for once i just wanna read about negan being the Alexandria Outcast: Hated By Most, Needed By Some, and let alpha or the fucking commonwealth be the monster at the end of the story. please

#like don't get me wrong he truly was that bitch for a hot season or two there but please. #im too tired to word any of this right i just think that having negan as the only villain in fics is boring #and i would instead like to read about #the trials and tribulations of him trying to co-raise a child with a guy that thinks showering is Optional #and would also like to go into the whole negan and judith being friends and daryl raising judith and daryl and negan #having grief with each other over shit that genuinely fucking matters and is impossible to sweep under the rug but also the fact that theyre #both trying so fucking hard to do right by the kids #that doesnt make sense. Whatever #IN THE HOT TIME TRAVEL FIX IT AU that lives in my head #where everything from the start til the finale happens #with some extra bits and pieces too #where everyone that survived til the end wakes up at the start again and Remembers #but everyone thats dead forgets #negan rocks up at the prison gates with actual lucille by his side #laura and franklin behind him #knocks on the gate all little pig little pig let me in. cos he thinks hes funny. and its a prison #and daryl. whos on watch. is like. No. Fuck this guy. Fuck no #and maggie's like. Absolutely not. Fuck no x2 #and negans like. I had a choice. And I Made it. and now I'm here. #i told you what i'd do if i could do it all over again. turns out; i can't. #if you wont take me i get it. But you gotta accept lucille. brought her all the way here cos i knew if she fucking stood a chance; #it'd be with you lot. #OKAY WELL shit it more complex than that but this is tumblr tags and also im tired. but u get the jist #anyway. fic where negans with team family from earlier on the road and then they all have to sort out their Feelings and shit

[tchallasbabymama]

All For Us Chapter 5

Hey y’all, hope you enjoy the chapter a day early! Check out my masterlist to catch up on this story or read my other ones. And, as always, reblogs and comments are more than welcome 🥰

Word Count: 5,471

CW: Mention of self-harm

Erik fidgeted in his chair as he waited for his family to walk through the door. He had seen each of them individually at least once, Shuri being the only one who never came back, but something about seeing them all together had him on edge. His right leg couldn’t stop bouncing, and he tapped his fingers on the arm of his chair impatiently. 

“Don’t worry, the Udakus are never on time,” Naomi reassured him as he looked to the clock for the second time in the last minute. Their appointment started five minutes ago.

“They run on CP time, huh?” he joked, trying to distract himself from his nerves. 

“CP time?”

“Colored people time...the name’s dated as hell, but basically Black people ain’t ever on time.”

“That is true of Wakanda as well,” she laughed. “Time is more of a suggestion here.”

“I can fuck with it,” he chuckled but was cut short by the thumping in his chest as the door opened, and T’Challa walked in, holding the door for the rest of the family.

“Your highnesses,” Naomi saluted them. “Please, come in and make yourselves comfortable.”

Naomi had arranged the chairs in her office so that the six of them sat in a circle. Mira sat between Erik and Ramonda, and Shuri chose the seat closest to Naomi. T’Challa sat between his mother and sister and threw a smile Erik’s way.

“Thank you all for coming here today. It is imperative that Erik has a healthy support system when he leaves here, and I just wanted to make sure we are all on the same page. I know you have each met with him individually, but I figured it wouldn’t hurt to get it all out there and move forward as a unit. Now, I know we all want what’s best for Erik-”

Shuri scoffed, and Naomi turned to her.

“Princess, I heard you still have some reservations about him. Why?”

“He killed my brother,” she seethed.

“Shuri, I am right here,” T’Challa said, exasperated at her unwillingness to see past her anger.

“By the grace of Bast!”

“Shuri,” Ramonda chided.

“Queen Mother, if you don’t mind, I think this is a conversation that needs to happen between these two.”

Ramonda nodded and gestured for Shuri to continue.

“You’re only here because Nakia snatched a heart-shaped herb before he burnt the rest of them to the ground. It’s taken this long for them to even start growing again. All he does is destroy, and I don’t want him here. It’s bad enough you made me heal him, but now I have to look at him every day and pretend to like him, too?”

“You don’t have to like him, Shuri, but he is family-”

“That didn’t mean anything when he threw you over the falls or when he almost killed me, so why should it matter now?”

“Because I’m not that same person anymore,” Erik jumped in.

“Oh, sure. You’re just magically better all of a sudden,” she rolled her eyes and turned back to her brother. “How am I supposed to sleep at night knowing he’s in the palace?”

“Princess Shuri, Erik has been working very hard to overcome his anger and his past traumas. So much so that I see no need to extend his stay past what we originally agreed on.”

“Wait, really?” Erik’s face brightened, and he turned in his seat to look at Naomi.

“Yes. You have shown remarkable improvement, Erik.”

“You mean he can come home soon?” Queen Mother asked, prompting Erik and Shuri to feel very different ways about her use of the word “home.” Erik missed having one, and Shuri hated having him in hers.

“Yes, ma’am, he’ll be out of here in two weeks.”

Mira couldn’t contain her smile as she reached for his hand. They locked eyes, and yet again, the look in his eyes needed no words. They were glassy as they swelled with tears, and a couple fell while Naomi handed him the tissue box.

“What’s wrong, dear?” Ramonda asked.

“My bad,” he sniffled as he dried his tears. “I just really want to see Cupcake.”

“She wants to see you, too. I told her you were sick and had to get better before she could, but she’s been asking me about you damn near every second.”

“And me, as well. She is excited to meet you, cousin,” T’Challa chimed in. “‘Do you think daddy will like this?’, ‘When is he coming home?’, ‘Is daddy still sick?’, ‘Can you tell daddy I love him?’”

“Or my personal favorite, ‘Can we bring some to daddy?’ after dinner last night,” Ramonda added.

“She’s still a daddy’s girl, through and through,” Mira said with a sarcastic eye-roll, making Naomi chuckle.

“Yes, mine is the same way. It is quite frustrating,” she joked. “Now, I think it would be beneficial for us to go around the room and get it all out on the table. Princess Shuri already went, unless you have more to say…”

“No.”

“Ok, then King T’Challa, how about you go next?”

He nodded and looked to his cousin.

“I do not think I have said this to you yet, but I am genuinely sorry, Erik-”

“Stop, you didn’t do anything.”

“I know, but I needed to say it. I am also sorry I disobeyed your wishes; that was something I should not have done.”

“I’ll say,” Shuri mumbled under her breath.

“But I am glad that I did. Otherwise, we would not get to see this other side of you.”

“Thanks, man. I was in a bad place, obviously, and, uh...I don’t know, I just felt like a failure...I felt like I had nothing to live for anymore...my pride was hurt.”

Mira slowly pulled her hand back and placed it in her lap, and Erik could feel the tension brewing beneath the surface.

“Anything else, my king?”

“Just that I hope we can move past all of this and build a relationship. You are my cousin, and I am determined to love you whether you want me to or not.”

Erik and Mira both smirked at the king. They were thankful for the kindhearted man and his insistence on cleaning up the bad blood in his family. 

“Queen Mother, do you have anything you would like to share?”

“Yes, actually,” she reached into her bag and pulled out something that had been gift-wrapped. She handed it to Erik, and he looked at her in confusion. “Go ahead, open it.”

Everyone looked on with intrigue as he ripped at the paper, revealing a gold picture frame. Erik flipped the frame over and a lump formed in his throat.

“This is from a gala for the Pan African Council in 1991. It was one of the two times I met him.”

Drops of water splashed on the picture of N’Jobu, and Erik looked up for a leak in the ceiling before he realized the tears were flowing from his eyes. He grabbed another tissue and passed the box around when he realized the others were getting misty-eyed as well. Even Shuri. 

“I, uh...I don’t know what to say...thank you, Auntie,” he croaked as he got up and pulled her into a hug. Mira took the opportunity to take a look at the picture. They had the same look in their eyes, but feature-wise, Erik had to have taken after his mother. There was no doubt about it though, those deep brown puppy dog Udaku eyes were front and center.

Erik sat down, and she handed the photo back to him.

“May I see?” T’Challa asked, and Erik passed it to him, watching as Shuri took a look over his shoulder to see it too. Her face softened a little more, and Erik could swear she saw a hint of sadness there. He passed it back, and Erik simply stared at the photo, fingers lightly caressing the fame.

“Alright, lastly, we have Mira. Anything to add?”

“Not really,” she shook her head.

“Well, then may I ask you a question?”

“Yeah, go ahead.”

“Earlier, you seemed upset when Erik mentioned not having anything to live for. Care to expand on that?”

“Not really.”

“Mira...you know I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Then how did you mean it, Erik? You said you have nothing to live for, yet your daughter and I were sitting at home waiting for you.”

“I wasn’t in my right mind, Mira. All that mattered was the mission. I lost myself to it. Actually, I lost myself a long time ago, but at the time, nothing could’ve pulled me back...not even you or Imani.”

“What if it happens again. Not for this, but for something else? What if you start working again and go back to your old ways? What then?”

“I won’t.”

“How am I supposed to trust that, Erik?”

“Mira, I’d like to jump in if you don’t mind.”

Mira shook her head and gestured for Naomi to continue.

“I understand your hesitance, but I assure you, I have the utmost faith that Erik has changed. His behaviors were tied to his trauma, and we have been able to work through his feelings of grief, anger, guilt, and self-loathing.”

“Self-loathing?” Queen Mother asked.

“Erik, would you care to…”

“Yeah, sure,” he cleared his throat. “I, uh, sort of hated myself for a long time. Everybody I loved died, and I had some sort of...what did you call it?”

“Survivor’s remorse.”

“Yeah, survivor’s remorse. I felt guilty for not dying.”

Mira looked up at him and her eyebrows furrowed as she tried to keep the tears at bay.

“Then I felt guilty for all the shit I did to survive, and how violent I became...then the self-hate kicked in when I realized how good I was at it.” His fingers ran over the scars on his forearm, and he took a deep breath. “These aren’t trophies. They’re my sins.”

The room fell silent.

“How many?” Shuri asked tentatively.

“You don’t wanna know.”

“I do,” Mira chimed in. “I’ve tried counting them, but you’re such a light sleeper it’s impossible. I can guess though...I got to five hundred once before you woke up one morning.”

“I don’t want you to look at me differently-”

“Erik, you don’t have to tell us if you don’t want to, but nobody here will look at you any differently if you do. Right?”

Everyone agreed, even Shuri. 

Erik took a deep breath and hung his head before speaking, “Three thousand and nine scars...three thousand and nine people are dead because of me.”

“You’re not that person anymore, Erik,” Naomi reminded him.

“Yeah, but what if I am?”

“You’re not,” Mira reached for his hand again.

“How do you know?”

“Cousin, I can guarantee you that even in the short time we have known each other, you have changed.”

“Erik, you should trust yourself more. You’ve been given the tools you need; you just have to use them.”

He nodded slowly, taking in Naomi’s wise words.

“It also helps if you’re surrounded by people who love and support you.” She turned to Shuri, “Princess, let us work through your feelings.”

“I already said what I needed to say. I don’t trust him...but I’m not saying it’ll be like that forever. Just for now, I still don’t.”

“And why is that?”

“Have you ever had someone try to kill you?”

“No, I can’t say that I have.”

“You never forget the look in their eyes.”

“I understand you, sister. It is not an easy thing to get past...however, it is possible. Look at him now. Do you see those same eyes?”

Erik looked at Shuri, and her stone face softened a little but still stayed pretty wooden.

“No.”

“Look, I get it...I’m your T’Chaka, but I don’t wanna be that person anymore. Not to Mira, not to Imani, not to y’all-”

“Don’t forget yourself. You’re doing this for you, too,” Mira chimed in, and Erik nodded.

“We are still working on self-love, but I feel that the next two weeks will be fruitful,” Naomi said, closing her notebook. “Is there anything else you all need to get off your chests?”

“I have one more thing,” Mira said as she sat up in her chair and turned her body to face Erik.

“I never told you what happened after you left,” she said, trying to keep it together. “I, um...I got depressed again, like when Imani was born. It wasn’t pretty, but I made sure she was good. I couldn’t eat. All I wanted to do was sleep. It got so bad I had to quit my job and go live with Stefan and Havana. I know that’s what you suggested in the first place, but I thought I could handle it on my own. I’m basically a stay-at-home mom now; I take care of the kids while Stef and Ana are at work...cooking and cleaning, and all that jazz. I never thought I would like that life, but it’s nice, and it’s a good way to repay them for letting us stay there. You wouldn’t believe how big SJ is now, and they have a new baby Daveed...things are different now, but it’s nice.”

“Have you...are you seeing anybody?”

“No, but I tried dating...didn’t work out.”

Erik tried and failed to hide the smirk on his face.

“I can’t say I’m sorry about that, but I am sorry about what I put you through, Mira. I shouldn’t have left you two.”

“I know you know that now; I just wish you knew it then.”

He pulled her hand to his lips for a kiss, and she let him.

“Are we still separated?”

Both Ramonda and T’Challa’s eyebrows raised. Neither of them was aware that the two had been having marital problems. T’Challa never even thought to ask.

“Erik, I need to tell you something…”

His breath hitched in his throat.

“I’m not saying it’s what I want now...but I was going to serve you with divorce papers. I had them drawn up and everything. They just needed your signature, but I couldn’t bring myself to give them to you. I was going to give them to you when you came back...if you came back.”

“And now?”

“Now...I don’t know, Erik. I think I have to get to know this new you to decide.”

“That’s fair.” He said to the ground before lifting his head and looking Mira in her eyes. “I’m gonna make you want to marry me all over again, though. Watch.”

--------

“If you don’t sit still, you’re going just like this,” Mira fussed as she tried to braid Imani’s hair. 

“No, I’ll stop!” Imani tried her best not to move, but the pillow she was sitting on was starting to get uncomfortable, and she was getting antsy. Every second that passed brought her one step closer to meeting her daddy, and she couldn’t wait. All she had to do was get through the school day. 

Mira smirked and tilted Imani’s head to the side to start on the last braid right as Shuri walked into the living room and plopped in the chair across from them. 

“Rough night?”

“Couldn’t sleep.”

Over the past two weeks, Shuri had been slowly opening up to the idea of Erik living in the palace, but when she closed her eyes at night, she just kept seeing him lurking over her bed, ready to strike. 

“Something on your mind?” Mira asked through gritted teeth that held a tiny black rubber band.

“No, just...apprehensive.”

“About Erik?” Mira mouthed to her so Imani couldn’t hear. Shuri nodded and sunk deeper into the chair with a sigh. Mira finished up Imani’s last braid and put a couple of beads on the end before kissing the top of her head. “Ok, you’re done. Can you go get dressed?”

“Ok, mommy!” Imani took off, but before Mira could tell her to slow down, T’Challa came around the corner and scooped her up, planting a kiss on her cheek. Imani’s giggles erupted throughout the expansive living area and forced Shuri to crack a smile.

“Why are you running in my palace?” he playfully chastised her.

“I’m happy I get to meet my daddy. If I put my school clothes on fast, it’ll happen faster!”

“Well, let’s make it even faster then!” T’Challa took off with her down the hall, leaving Shuri and Mira in the living room laughing at his shenanigans.

“When is he gonna have one of his own?”

Shuri’s eyes rolled all the way to the back of her head. “As soon as he stops chasing after a woman who wants to live on the other side of the planet.”

“Nakia still giving him the runaround?”

“Girl, you don’t know the half of it,” Shuri complained. “Maybe you or Erik can talk some sense into him.”

“Maybe...you seem to be warming up to the idea of him lately. How are you feeling?”

Shuri sighed and sat forward in her chair, resting her elbows on her thighs. “I won’t lie and say I’m thrilled, but I understand him better now, and I trust my brother’s judgment. And mama’s. And yours...I want him to be in Imani’s life, but it is just hard to forget his face in that moment, you know?”

Mira nodded, “I don’t, but I do.”

“Maybe seeing him in a new light with you and Imani will help,” Shuri shrugged.

“I hope so.”

“Me, too.” 

Just then, T’Challa re-entered the room, “The princess is having trouble deciding which outfit to wear.”

“That’s my queue,” Mira got up from the couch and washed off her greasy hands before strolling down the hallway to help out her little fashionista. She and T’Challa had already laid out three outfit choices, so it just came down to which one she thought her daddy would like best.

“I want to look nice to meet him, but I don’t know which one looks better.”

“Can I give a suggestion?”

“Mhm,” Imani nodded with her brows creased as she thought really hard over which outfit to pick.

“How about the gold sandals from Lala with this two-piece? Yellow looks good on you, and the sandals match your backpack. You’ll look like a little ray of sunshine.”

“Hmmm...Ok!”

“Glad I could help,” Mira chuckled.

“I’ll wear my yellow outfit if you wear your blue one just like it.”

“It’s a deal,” Mira threw over her shoulder as she left the room to go change. When she entered the living room, her cousins and Auntie all smiled at the two of them. Imani’s yellow Ankara print tube top and harem pants matched perfectly with Mira’s blue ones. The only difference was Mira had on some crisp white sneakers and big gold Fulani earrings. 

Mira walked Imani to school the same way she did every day, but this time her head was in the clouds. Even Imani was quiet on the way, the butterflies in both of their stomachs working overtime. When they reached the classroom, Imani turned to her mom, looking at her face that surprised Mira.

“What’s wrong, baby?” She crouched down to her level.

“What if daddy doesn’t like me?” she poked her lip out, and Mira knew she had to act fast before it started quivering, and the tears started falling.

“Like you? He loves you more than anything in this world!” she said excitedly while tickling Imani’s ribs and making her laugh. “He loves you just as much as I do, baby girl.”

“He does?”

“Of course, you’re his Cupcake.”

“Cupcake?”

“Mhm, that’s what he used to call you because you’re so sweet.” Mira pretended to gobble up Imani’s fingers, making her giggles chase away any doubts she had about her father. “Now, you  ready for school?”

“Yes, ma’am,” she said excitedly.

“Alright, I’ll see you at 2. Be good.” Mira kissed Imani’s cheek and stood back up to her full height.

“I will, mommy. Sala kakuhle!” she waved goodbye and ran to go play with her friends while Mira sent the teacher a smile before heading back to the palace. 

When Mira was nervous, she liked to busy her hands with something, so she took some time to anxiously clean and organize her already clean quarters. She would have to sit in on another council meeting shortly, and although she wasn’t looking forward to having all that attention on her again, she was determined to go in there with her head held high.

Just as she started scrubbing the sink, her alarm went off telling her it was time for the meeting. She washed her hands and squeezed lemon juice on them to get rid of the bleach smell before leaving her quarters and traveling to the business side of the palace. When Mira entered the throne room, she slid into the empty seat between Ramonda and Shuri just as T’Challa started speaking.

“As you all know, Erik will be discharged from Ithemba Center today at noon, and we have the press conference scheduled at five. He has already been briefed on it, and while he is still apprehensive about addressing the nation, I have worked with him over the last week and it seems as though he will be fine. Any questions regarding the press conference?” The council members shook their heads and T’Challa continued, “Now, I have spoken to each of you about his community service, and have finally decided on the order. I would like him to start with the Jabari as a member of their fire and rescue team, then transfer to mining vibranium before moving to border patrols. Then he will work at the River tribe’s animal sanctuary, and he’ll end his service by working as janitorial staff in the market. The order is subject to change if necessary.”

“My king, are we sure we can trust him in the Mining and Border provinces?” Tendayi, the River tribe elder spoke out, making Dama and W’Dani nod along.

“Yes, I have faith in him. Any other questions?”

Mira tentatively raised her hand, not sure if she was allowed to talk or not. T’Challa nodded her way, and she cleared her throat before speaking, “I was wondering if we could move with him? He’s been away from Imani so long and once he comes back, I don’t want to disrupt her life any more than it’s already been disrupted.”

“That is understandable. Housing for the three of you will be provided in each province.”

“Thank you,” she turned to the elders, “and I don’t want to be a freeloader, so if there’s anywhere I can help out just let me know.”

“Mira, of course you and Imani are welcome to stay with us, but if you really want something to do we can find a job for you, too.” Ife stated as the other council members nodded along in agreement. 

“I’d like that. I need something to do,” she chuckled. “Thank you.”

“We will work something out,” Dama winked her way.

“We will miss the two of you around the palace, but I think that is a great idea. You will be provided with transportation to get Imani to school.”

“Thank you,” Mira smiled.

“You are welcome. Now, is there anything else?” T’Challa was met with silence as he checked the time on his beads and looked back at Mira. “Good, it is about time we go bring him home.”

Mira’s heart thumped in her chest as she nodded.

“Meeting adjourned.”

The council members filed out of the room, sending well-wishes to Mira as they went. 

--------

Erik happily signed his discharge paperwork, but his internal celebration was cut short by a knock at his door. He half expected it to be Mira, but he looked up and saw Naomi in his doorway. 

“How are you feeling today?”

“Excited and nervous.”

“I bet,” she chuckled. “Remember what we talked about, and you will be fine.”

Erik nodded and took a deep breath.

“Ready to go? I will walk you out.”

“Yeah, let’s go.” Erik took a deep breath and they walked through the facility in silence before they reached the lobby. There stood T’Challa and Mira with huge smiles on their faces that infected Erik as soon as he saw them. Mira pulled him into a hug and held him tight as she rocked him from side to side.

“I’m so proud of you, Erik.”

“As am I, cousin.”

Mira let Erik go and he dapped T’Challa up, pulling him into a hug next.

“Thanks. Both of you...I couldn’t have done all this without you.”

Mira wiped a stray tear from her eye and looped her arm around his. “Let’s go home.”

“Home, huh? I like the sound of that,” he mused.

The three of them made their way back to the palace where they were greeted by a tearful Ramonda and a still apprehensive Shuri. She sent him a small smile, though, and that was enough for him. The family sat around the kitchen table talking and laughing as if it had always been that way, and Erik found their familiarity to be a comfort he hadn’t felt in a long time. Ramonda constantly pushed food in Erik’s direction, and even though he had a late breakfast he just couldn’t say no. He stuffed his face full of eggah and freshly squeezed mango juice until he had his fill and sat back in his chair with his hands resting on his full stomach.

“I’m ready for a nap. Where am I staying?”

“This week you will be in the palace, as well as during your time working for the Merchant tribe-”

“You’re gonna hate it…” Mira sang under her breath with a wry laugh, making T’Challa smirk.

“But, other than that, you will be staying with the various tribes during your volunteer time.”

“What exactly am I supposed to be doing?” he sent a suspicious look Mira’s way.

“We can discuss that later. For now, let us get you settled in.”

Erik nodded and followed behind Mira and T’Challa as they walked through the winding palace hallways. They took him to his living quarters, and he was pleasantly surprised to see that he would still be living with Mira and Imani.

“I didn’t know if you’d want me with you or not.”

“Oh, you’re sleeping in the guest room...but I wanted you close for Imani.”

“Fair enough,” Erik nodded and walked around the space, checking it out.

“I will leave you two alone to get settled in,” T’Challa turned and left the space.

Mira looked at her beads. “You might want to go ahead and get ready, we’ll be leaving in thirty minutes.

“Leaving?”

“Mhm, we have to pick up Imani from school.”

“W-we do?”

“Yeah...are you ok?”

“Nah. What if she doesn’t like me?”

Mira bursted out laughing and caught him off-guard. “She asked me the same thing this morning.”

Erik just smiled and shook his head. He had nothing to worry about.

“Just like her daddy, huh?”

“Just like him,” she smiled back.

“I guess I should get ready, then. I want to make a good first impression.”

“Erik, you’ll be fine…I promise. She already loves you.”

He stood and kissed her forehead before turning and walking towards the bathroom, pulling his shirt over his head. Mira tried to avert her eyes, but his rippling back muscles called to her. Her face felt hot, and she bolted out of the room, hoping he didn’t notice how flustered he made her.

He did.

A little while later, Erik emerged from the bathroom very well moisturized and followed by a cloud of steam. He stood there for a few minutes in his towel, staring at the clothes in his huge closet, not knowing what to put on his body.

“Mira!” he called to her in the other room. She playfully rolled her eyes and headed his way, already knowing what he wanted. Like father, like daughter.

“You rang?” she stood in the doorway with her arms crossed over her chest, trying like hell to keep her eyes above his collarbone. 

“I don’t know what to wear.”

“Wakandan or American?”

“Uh, American, I guess.”

“Do you want to match Imani?”

His face lit up, and she took it for a yes, pulling out a pastel yellow t-shirt and a pair of jeans with matching sneakers. 

“This outfit with gold accessories.”

“Thanks,” he grinned at her, and Mira tried not to get lost in his dimples. She was failing miserably, so she left him to his own devices. She missed the satisfied smirk on his face.

--------

Erik could feel the eyes on him as he walked through the city with Mira and T’Challa. Some were cold, but most were simply confused by his presence. 

“Ignore them,” Mira whispered up to him, and he nodded, taking a deep breath. He wasn’t going to let anything ruin this moment. 

They arrived at the elementary school and Mira went in to get Imani while the two men waited outside. As soon as Imani saw her mother, she jumped down and ran over to her.

“Hey baby girl, how was your day?”

“Good! I made a new friend,” she said proudly.

“You did? I’ll have to meet them sometime soon. Right now we have to go see daddy,” Mira’s eyes flashed with mischief and Imani’s joy radiated throughout the room. “Ready?”

Imani was so happy she could barely speak, so she just nodded her head. Mira waved goodbye to the teacher, and the two of them traveled back down the hallway hand in hand.

Erik’s fingers tapped his thigh in rapid succession and he chewed on his bottom lip.

“I can hear you overthinking, cousin.”

Erik started pacing back and forth and was about to open his mouth to say something when the doors to the school swished open. T’Challa held his hand up and started recording with his beads.

“Daddy!” Imani saw Erik and dropped her backpack as she ran to him. For a moment, he was frozen in time, but as she got closer he snapped out of it and crouched down for her to run into his arms.

“Hey, Cupcake,” his voice cracked as he held her tight. Her little arms wrapped around his neck like she never wanted to let him go, and he couldn’t help the tears that streamed from his eyes. Mira and T’Challa tried their best to hold it together, but neither could blink the tears away.

“What’s wrong?” Imani heard him sniffle and pulled back to look at his face.

“Nothing, baby, I’m just happy to see you.” He closed his eyes and said a silent prayer to Bast to thank her for letting him live another day to see his daughter once more.

The four of them walked back to the palace with Imani talking Erik’s ear off the whole way as he carried her on his hip. The first thing she did when they got there was to show him her dolls, all of which were fully decked out in the most beautiful doll-sized finery T’Challa could get his hands on. Erik took in the sparkly purple walls and the finger paints by an easel in the corner of the room. Her canopy bed was the main attraction, though, and made her feel the princess she was.

“Damn, T did all this?” Erik asked as Mira entered the room behind him.

“Yep,” she laughed. “He’d do anything for that little girl.”

“Remind me to thank him later…” he trailed off as his eyes caught sight of an enormous, stuffed jaguar by the window seat. A goofy smile took over his face, and Mira couldn’t help but swoon. Over the past few weeks of her getting to see Erik at Ithemba, she could tell his spirit was lighter. However, it wasn’t until the three of them were sitting in Imani’s room playing with her dolls that she thought Erik actually looked happy. And not just happy, but happier than she had ever seen him. His smiles actually reached his eyes for the first time since before he left for Wakanda, and she loved to watch the two of them interact with each other. Erik was a gentle giant when it came to his baby girl, and all his fierceness flew out the window when Imani started popping butterfly clips in his locs. 

Erik noticed Mira was lost in her thoughts, so he reached over and grabbed her hand. He squeezed it and looked into her eyes, once again conveying his soul with a single look. 

He was home for good this time. Next Chapter

Taglist: @ladymac82​, @kitesatforestp​, @harleycativy​, @raysunshine78​, @maddeningmayhem​, @theblulife​, @motheroffae​, @love-mesome-me​, @toni9​

#cecewritessometimes #black panther fanfiction #erik killmonger #erik stevens #erik killmonger x oc #black!oc #all for us

[chickensarentcheap]

Best Part of Me -Chapter 86

Warnings: none

Tagging: @innerpaperexpertcloud, @c-a-v-a-l-r-y, @alievans007, @tragiclyhip​

Three hours seem like thirty. She feels numb; both body and brain simply running on autopilot. Head swimming with a multitude of emotions, yet incapable of showing or expressing a single one. Limbs feeling impossibly heavy.  Too much energy expected and expended with even the simplest of movements; gnawing on a thumb mail or twirling a strand of hair around her index finger, or tucking loose strands behind her ears. She’s tired; already worn out from the bombardment upon her earlier arrival at the hospital. Updates given by both emergency room staff, the radiologist, and a team of surgeons; presented with the best and worst case scenarios for short and long term progress, difficult decisions having to be made on the spot because there was no time to waste. Consent forms and insurance and financial matters that had to  be discussed, legal issues that her already overwhelmed mind couldn’t fully comprehend.

She hasn’t had time to think; no spare moment to focus on exactly WHAT she’s feeling. Knowing that just under the surface lingered tremendous worry and all consuming fear and an imminent panic attack, yet never actually succumbing to any -of all- of those things. She can feel the tsunami of tears that continue to grow and strengthen, the dull ache of sorrow and grief that sit heavily on her chest, the lump of emotion that is lodged in her throat.  Yet she’s seemingly incapable of letting any of those things out, and instead has done little more than sit in a cramped and uncomfortable chair in the crowded OR waiting room. Passing the time by repeatedly counting the tiles on the drop ceiling or staring at her feet as she continuously brushes the toes of her runners against the highly polished floor.

When she’d first arrived she’d been met by the CEO of the hospital -Anil’s friend who had visited the house just the night before- and he’d offered not only his most skilled and revered physicians and surgeons, but  one of the private meeting rooms genuinely used by families with a loved one on death’s door. And while she’d initially accepted and had appreciated the spacious -and surprisingly bright and cheerful, given the circumstances the room is used for- area and the comfortable furniture, she’d lasted all of ten minutes when left to her own devices. Once Koen and Rata left to tend to the things at the safe house and the hotel they’d initially been staying at, she’d quickly gone stir crazy. The silence and the stillness unbearable; each tick of the clock on the wall seeming impossibly loud and grating. She can’t remember the last time she’d been subjected to that level of quiet. She’s spent six and a half years surrounded by noise; crying and babbling babies, children laughing and playing and squabbling, a husband that blares his music while working out and is always finding some kind of noisy home or land reno project to keep himself busy with. She’s become so accustomed to continuous noise that everything seems alien now; unfamiliar and uncomfortable and anxiety inducing.

She’d retreated to one of several OR waiting areas. Oddly comforted by the cramped surroundings and the conversations carrying out in Bengali and broken English.  It didn’t matter that these were strangers; everyone in the room in a similar boat. Some silent, some quietly praying, others gathered in small groups as they anxiously await news on a loved one. The noise and the smells are strangely soothing; the hum of chit chat and the scent of cafeteria coffee. She tries not to make eye contact despite the curious stares and the odd whisper; occasionally catching glimpse of sympathetic smiles throw her way. Normally she’s social and chatty, even under the most stressful of situations.  But now she’s afraid to open her mouth. Scared that if she looks at someone and sees sadness or pity in their eyes or they try to engage her in kind yet curious conversation, she’ll lose it. That a simple act of compassion will have her throwing her arms around a complete stranger and sobbing into their shoulder.

That’s not where she needs to be right now. Giving in to the immense fear and all consuming worry and the doom and gloom that had come with the lengthy list of diagnosis’ she’d been given; less than optimistic results from emergency x-rays, CAT scans, and ultrasounds. She can’t dwell on that; what MIGHT happen. They may be the experts; top notch in their fields and highly educated with decades of practising medicine under their belts. But  they don’t know Tyler. Not the way she does. They don’t know the trials and tribulations he’d been tested with over the course of forty-one years.  They don’t know how strong he is; how resilient. They didn’t see him beat the odds seven years ago; bouncing back when the cards were stacked against him and busting his ass to get back on his feet again.  And they definitely don’t know how much he loves his family; the depths and the lengths he’d go to stay alive and return to them.

The universe can’t give a man a second chance and then try and snatch it away that easily.

She checks the time on her cell phone. It’s now been three hours and twenty two minutes since he’d been taken down to the OR and a small team of surgeons had set to work. Three significant and invasive procedures at once; back and the knee and the femur of the right leg. The latter seems to give the doctors the most concern;  a massive open fracture that has caused damage to the spurring muscles, tendons, and ligaments.  The main fear -aside from infection setting in- is whether or not there’s too much damage and the leg will be beyond repair. That is a scenario she refuses to acknowledge.  The thought of having to make that decision -having to take away something so vital to someone so active and who can’t still for more than five minutes- leaving her dizzy and nauseous.

Instead she’s been putting all of her energy into thinking...believing...that the operation will be a success. That the damage can -and will- be fixed and the placement of an ilizarov -a metal ‘cage’ over the femur with screw going through the skin and down into the healing bone- will aid in a successful recovery. It will be a long haul; several months of out patient physiotherapy and learning how to weight bear and walk again. But it’s better than the alternative.

Sighing heavily, she places her elbow on the chair’s armrest and places her head in her palm. Eyes closing as she lets the hum of the nearby beverage machine and the multiple conversations taking place around her lull her into a state of relaxation.  Between her feet rests a clear, hospital issued garbage bag; filled to the near brim with her husband’s personal effects. The clothes are beyond salvation, and she questions their mere presence among the other objects; torn and tattered and soaked in blood. And she catches herself thinking about how there hadn’t seemed to be that much of it seven years ago. When she’d rummaged through the items given to her and she’d fled to the nearest public bathroom; furiously sobbing as she irrationally tried to scrub the utility vest clean with water and hand soap because she’d thought he might need it again.  Had there been that much blood? Had his things been that saturated and damaged? Or is it one of the small details that have simply escaped her after so many years?

She scolds herself for thinking about it; comparing the two instances. And she briefly considers trying to distract herself by opening the bag; throwing out the clothes and even the vest, and cleaning up whatever is left behind. The two cell phones, a wallet, his watch and bracelets. The kids would want those last items. Especially the latter for Millie, who had made the newest one and a matching one for herself. If anything DOES happen, it would give them something of his; things that were on his person and would tie them to him forever.

But nothing is going to happen, she reminds herself. He’s going to be fine. He’s going to get through this just like he’s gotten through everything else. And when all is said and done, we’re going to put this all behind us and go home and live our lives.

“Hey,”  a quiet voice greets, accompanied by the tap of toes against the side of one of her runners. And when she opens her eyes she finds Yaz standing over her. His eyes glassy and his brow furrowed with worry; a take out cup of coffee in one hand, a tea in the other.

She manages a small, shaky smile. “Hey.”

“Want some company? I come bearing gifts.”

“Company would be nice. Gifts or no gifts.”

He hands her the cup of tea, then lays a hand on the middle of her back and leans over her chair, pressing her lips to her cheek. “I’m sorry. I am so fucking sorry.”

Esme wraps her arm around his waist and briefly rests her head against him. “Thank you. But there’s nothing to be sorry for. You did everything right. There was nothing you could have done to prevent this. Or stop it once it did happen. It was way out of your hands.”

“Still feel like shit about it though. Guy’s been like a brother, you now? Known him for a long time. If it wasn’t for him putting a foot up my ass and forcing me to grow up I wouldn’t have Siobhan. Or a baby on the way.”

“It’s kind of alarming when Tyler is the voice of reason,” she chides. Nothing could be further from the truth. When things are their darkest or their scariest, he’s the one that holds everything -and everyone- together. The strong, stoic type who may not say a lot, but is genuine and heartfelt when he does. And he doesn’t shy away from calling people out on their bullshit; always trying to help them avoid making the same mistakes he had years ago.

Yaz sinks into the chair alongside her, arm loosely draped around her shoulder. “How you holding up?”

“Okay, I suppose. I haven’t had an emotional meltdown yet, so I guess I’m doing okay. Some wicked deja vu though. Sitting here like this, in Dhaka, waiting for news. It would be kind of funny it wasn’t so goddamn scary and depressing.”

“I would have been here sooner, but there were things that needed to be taken care of. Loose ends that had to be tied up. You shouldn’t be here alone.  Last time you didn’t really have anyone, but now you have a whole team behind you. A whole family. No way you should be going through this by yourself.”

“Koen and Rata had some things to take care of. For themselves and for Tyler and I. And they needed to clean themselves up. All that blood. All HIS blood. There’s so much of it.” She nods down at the bag between her feet. “How does anyone survive that? How can they lose that much blood and still be breathing?”

“He’s tough. Tougher than most. He doesn’t know how to give up. Doesn’t know the meaning of the word quit. How bad is he?”

“Pretty bad. They’re doing a three in one. He has a torn ACL and MCL in his right knee; they said it’s probably been like that for months and they don’t understand how he was even walking on it.  Open fracture of the right femur; it’s caused some damage to the quad and some ligaments and tendons. They’re hoping they’ll be able to save the leg.”

“Jesus…” Yaz breathes, and gives her shoulder a tight squeeze.

“Gunshot wound to the lower back,” she continues. “The bullet is lodged near his spine. I had to decide what to do. If they left it, it would eventually shift. Days, weeks, months, years And once it would sever the spinal cord and cause instant paralysis. I went with the other option; take it out and hope they don’t fuck anything up while they do. If that's going to happen...if he loses the ability to use his legs...I’d rather it happen now. Here. In the hospital. Not when we get home. He’d be able to accept it better right away.  At least that’s the reason I gave them when I told them to go ahead and to the surgery.”

“It was the right choice,” Yaz assures her “That’s exactly what he’d want. Exactly would be easier on him.”

“We have talked endlessly about these kinds of things; stuff going wrong on the job. But we never talked about THIS. We’ve talked about what happens if he dies, what happens if he gets a severe brain injury and has to have around the clock care for the rest of his life, what happens if he loses his hearing or his sight. But not about this. Not about losing a leg or never being able to walk again. And I’m worried. I’m scared I didn’t do the right thing. For him.”

“You DID do the right thing. You know Tyler better than anyone.”

“And I don’t care if he can’t walk again. Or if he loses his leg. Or if something goes wrong during surgery and I have to take care of him for the rest of our lives; be a wife AND a nurse. None of that matters to me.  He’s my husband. He’s the father of my children.  And I love him regardless. I just want him to be okay. I just want him to live. We have five kids. We have another on the way. We…”

“Wait...hold up..what?”

“Shit….” she groans, and places her palm against her forehead. “...I wasn’t supposed to say anything. We were waiting; until we got home and I found how far along I am.”

“You’re pregnant? You’re having a baby?”

“Surprise, right? It technically shouldn’t have happened. But Tyler didn’t exactly handle the recovery from the vasectomy the way he was supposed to and….well…” she lifts the bottom of her hoodie and t-shirt and runs a hand over the small baby bump. “...here we are.  Little bean and I. Another Rake to add to the world.”

“More proof that things happen for a reason. It shouldn’t have happened, but it did. The silver lining, right?”

“That’s one way to look at it, I guess. And that’s what he needs to be okay. Because of the baby. What kind of universe would let a man create a life and then kill him before he gets the chance to even see it?”

“He’s going to be alright. He’s strong. Tough. And stubborn as hell.”

She gives a small laugh. “That seems to be the quality everyone associates with him.  You guys only the tip of that particular iceberg. Try living with him every day for almost seven years. You don’t know the full extent of that stubbornness, believe me. And I know I complain about it; how hard headed he is. But it isn’t all bad. Him being that way. There’s nothing he wouldn’t do for me and kids. No battle he wouldn’t fight. And that’s how I know he’ll get through this; he wants to see us again.”

Yaz presses a kiss to her temple, then lays his hand on her shoulder, drawing her into him. “I should have got you decaf,” he   says, and nods down at the tea in her hand.

Esme manages a laugh. “It’s fine. One regular tea a day won’t hurt. And thank you.”

“No thanks needed. It’s just a tea.”

“I don’t mean that. I mean for coming here. Showing up. Sitting her with me. I didn’t want to be alone.”

“I got you,” Yaz assures her, placing a hand on the top of her head and bringing it down to his shoulder. “I got you.”

****

Nik is waiting in the hallway when Esme steps through the sliding doors that lead to and from the intensive care unit. Uncharacteristically dressed down in a simple pair of jeans and a black t-shirt; no make up on her face, glossy black hair pulled back into a ponytail. Pacing relentlessly; the soles of her black patent flats clicking against the polished tiles.

“How is he?” Nik inquires, and Esme gives a small start; lost in a world of worry and fear and tremendous responsibility; brain doing battle with all of the negatives of the situation when she’s trying to search for the positives.

“Still in recovery.”  It’s been seven hours since the incident at the storage facility; six spent anxiously waiting as her husband underwent extensive surgery “They just moved him there half an hour ago. I was just getting a tour of where he’s going to be for a while. This will be home for a bit, I guess. It’s really nice; as far as ICUs go. Very patient and patient family friendly.”

“There’s a hotel right across the street,” Nik informs her. “Wouldn’t you be more comfortable there?”

“I don’t want to be away from him.  I don’t want him to be alone.”

“You wouldn’t be far away. Couple hundred yards from the front entrance. And it’s not like they won’t contact you if they need you. You’d be close, you’d be able to sleep properly.”

“I’m not leaving him,” Esme remains adamant. “He’s not going to be alone. He deserves better than that.”

“Tyler wouldn’t want you burning yourself out. He wouldn’t want you worrying yourself sick. Not eating or sleeping properly…”

“He’s my husband and I’m not leaving him alone. Maybe you’d make a different decision, but this is mine. Respect it. Please.”

“Fair enough. I’m just concerned about you. That’s all I just want what’s best for you. For BOTH of you.”

“Why are you even here?” Esme asks, and steps out of the way of an orderly pushing an empty bed. Leaning back against the wall next to the sliding doors, arms crossed over her chest and one ankle over the other.  “You were supposed to go back to Australia; with Ovi and Kyle and the kids. To make sure there’s no trouble waiting for when they get home. I thought that’s what we agreed on.”

“Flight doesn’t leave for a few hours.   I wanted to check on things. On you. On Tyler.”

“He made it through the surgery. Or surgeries, I should say. There were no complications and they were able to remove the bullet. I guess they did some tests to check on his nerves and his reflexes and his legs ARE responding. Not a perfect score by any means, but it’s a lot better than they expected.”

“So he’ll be able to walk?”

“They didn’t come right out and say THAT. But they didn’t say he wouldn’t, either. They’re cautiously optimistic.  And I’ll take cautious optimism right about now. He is breathing on his own, though. He needs a bit of supplemental oxygen but no intubation. They’ve given him nerve blocks in the small of his back and his legs and he’s pretty heavily sedated. Doctor said they’d keep him that way for a few days, then slowly bring him out of it.”

“And the leg?”

“They were able to salvage it. He’ll have the ilizarov on for a couple months, at least. But it’s better than the alternative. They’re going to fix his shoulder; torn rotator cuff, shredded labrum, some scar tissue from the last surgery that’s pressing on some nerves.  I told them to hold off until he’s able to be sent home and admitted there. I didn’t want to put him through too much all at once. That’s a lot for one person to handle. Even Tyler.”

Nik nods in agreement. “Do they know how long? Before he can be sent to a hospital closer to home?”

“Depends on how well he does here. They said to be prepared to be here for two weeks at least. A month is the worst case scenario.   That’s if there’s complications or infections. But they did say he’s strong; his heart rate and oxygen levels stayed stable the whole time in the OR. And he wasn’t conscious when he was brought in or in recovery but he is responding to stimuli.Voices and touch. So that’s a good sign.

“A very good sign. Have you seen him?”

“No. They said they’d call me when he’s brought here But I know it’s bad. He’s in really rough shape. I guess Nathan carved his face up pretty good and he cracked his open; tons of stitches and a skull fracture and a severe concussion. There’s no swelling on the brain though. At least not yet. They’ll keep an eye on him. Fingers crossed, right? Maybe he’ll be spared at least a little bit.”

“And you?” Nik asks. “How are YOU?”

“I’m doing okay, I guess. I don’t think the enormity of it has hit me yet. It doesn’t seem real right now. I haven’t even been able to see him; he was already down getting x-rays and a CAT scan when I got here, and then they took him to the OR. It’ll hit me then,  I guess. When I finally DO see him.”

“Do you want me to stay? So you won’t be alone? Anil could push the flight back a couple of hours; I could go in and be with you. You shouldn’t be by yourself, Esme. This isn’t seven years ago. A lot has changed since then. Especially between you and Tyler.”

“I appreciate the offer, Nik; I really do. But I WANT to be alone with him. When I first see him. It’s something I need to do by myself. And I just want my kids out of Mumbai. I want them back home. I want them to get back to their lives. Or at least some parts of their lives, at least. And I’d also really appreciate it if you could make sure Ovi and Kyle stick to the story that I’ve told them; that we had to stay behind for a  few days but we’ll be home soon. I need some time; to figure out what and how to tell them.”

“I’ll make sure no one says anything. But if the kids ask…?”

“Just tell them something unexpected came up that Tyler needed to take care of and I decided to help out. I honestly don’t know how to tell them anything else right now. I’m still trying to wrap MY head around what’s happened. And how serious it is.”

“Are you sure you don’t want me to stick around for a few hours? I don't want you to be alone.”

“It’s fine, Nik. I’M fine. Honest. I’m not giving you the brush off because of our ‘issues’. I really am okay. And I just need to be alone with my husband the first time I see him. I know that probably doesn’t make any sense to you but it makes sense to me.”

“Do you need anything? Do you need some clothes or a toothbrush, toothpaste, anything at all? Name it and I’ll get it for you.”

“Koen and Rata went to the safe house and got all our things. I’m good. And they got a room across the street and are going to stick around for a few days at least. So I won’t be totally alone; they’re only a text away if I need something.”

“I just wish there was something I could do,” Nik laments, and reaches out to tuck wayward strands of hair behind Esme’s ears, then gently cradles her face in her palms. “Something I say, even. That would make this all better. I’d do it; take it all away. Make him better.”

Esme manages a brave smile, then swallows around the lump of emotion sitting in her throat and nods. “I know you would. And I appreciate everything you have done; showing up in Mumbai and making sure the kids were safe. And I know Tyler appreciates that too. He doesn’t trust a lot of people with them. Or me. But you’re on the top of the very short list of those he does.”

“I’d do it again. In a heartbeat. I know you don’t believe me when I tell you that I’m sorry. For everything I’ve said, everything I’ve done. But I am. Sorry.”

“I don’t want to talk about that right now. I do appreciate what you’re saying, but I just don’t have the time or the heart for this conversation.  I just can’t right now, Nik. When all this is over and he’s stable and he’s home, maybe I can do it. But not now. And I’m sorry.”

“There’s nothing for you to be sorry for. It’s me. All me.”

“Tyler has a friend back home. Andy. You met him at Millie’s party. He’s the aboriginal artist; has a kiddo with special needs.”

“I remember.”

“His business card is on the fridge. If you could call him and ask him to contact me? He has my cell number. Just tell him that Tyler’s hurt and in the hospital and I’d like him to call me. Please?”

“I’ll do it as soon as we get to your place.”

Esme sighs, then combs her fingers through her hair and crosses her over her chest; hands running up and down her biceps. “What’s going on down there?” she asks, and nods down the hallway to where Anil is  huddled in quiet conversation with Koen, Rata, and Yaz.

“Anil is praying. He’s quite spiritual. Apparently Saju was too.”

“Always amazes me what people in our line of work can actually be into. It’s fascinating, really. How we can lie so  easily  and hurt people and take lives yet  still believe and have so much faith in something.  How long has something been going on between the two of you?”

“What?” Nik gives a small laugh “What are you talking about?”

“You know what I’m talking about. You and Anil.  Don’t deny it; he’s been watching you the entire time we’ve been talking. And I know that look on his face. In his eyes. That’s ‘the look’. I have someone that looks at me pretty much the same way.”

“Trust me, no one can look at anyone the way Tyler looks at you. And Anil’s probably just worried about you and how you’re holding up. He feels responsible; for how things ended up.”

“It’s no one’s fault. No one had a reason to think Nathan was off the rails and working for Mahajan.”

“Tyler did,” Nik points out. “He thought Nathan was the mole the entire time. And he tried telling me. He even had the evidence and I just wouldn’t listen. I just thought he was being paranoid. He gets that way sometimes; ever since the PTSD was diagnosed.”

Esme nods in agreement. “I’ve accused him of it a few times. Always turns out he DID have something to worry about.  I won’t do THAT again; laugh it off  or tell him he’s  crazy and needs to stop reading too much into things.”

“I just thought getting attacked rattled him and he was looking for someone to blame. And punish. I should have taken him more seriously. And I regret that. You have no idea how much.”

“Believe me, I’ve said some things to him over the past few months that I regret. And nothing is more painful than that. Regret.  I just hope I get the chance to tell him that. That I was wrong. That I’m sorry.  I really hope I get that chance.”

“You will. He’s tough. Toughest person I know. Present company not included.”

“I don’t feel so tough right about now,” she admits.  “I feel empty and broken and I’m scared and I’m just…”  she sighs once more, shaking her head slowly as she stares down at her feet; toe of one runner rubbing across the tiles. .”...well mostly I’m just scared. And you know, this Nathan thing. This whole ‘you and him’? Sometimes we get so caught up in the idea of someone that we refuse to see the bad stuff or we just ignore it entirely; we hope we can fix them. I’ve made that mistake before.  Why do you think I’m on my second marriage?”

“Ask me, you definitely traded up the second time around.”

“I did,” she smiles. “I really did. He’s a keeper, that’s for sure. My knight in slightly tarnished armour. And Anil seems like a keeper, too. He’s a good guy. Definitely doesn’t pull any punches or play games. What you see is what you get. And if you ask me, the view is good. He’s pretty nice to look at, isn’t he.”

Nik grins.

“I’m married, not dead. I do notice and appreciate attractive people. And he definitely fits the bill. I think he’s a perfect match for you. You’re a lot alike, personality wise. He reminds me of you, actually In all good ways. I hope it works out for you, Nik.  You deserve someone great.”

“Even after everything I did? The pain I caused you?”

“I wouldn’t wish it on anyone. Not even you. I just want you to be happy. You deserve that. To be happy. And maybe this is it. Maybe HE’S it.  It happens when you least expect it, that’s for sure. I’m kind of an expert on that subject. I think I’ve written the damn book when it comes to meeting someone under the weirdest and most fucked up situation.  And somehow still making it work.”

“I think you and Tyler are the co-authors of THAT book. I was just thinking about you guys the other day; how it doesn’t seem like seven years.”

“Oh believe me, there’s times it feels like seventy. This would be one of those times. And then there’s those amazing days where it seems like no one time has passed. Like we’re still brand new in everything and still enjoying every moment together and just loving each other as much as we can. Some mornings I’ll walk into the kitchen and he’s in there and he kisses me like it’s the first time all over again. And it’s...I don’t know…beautiful.”

“You’ll get more of those times. More of those kisses.”

“I hope so. Because I’d miss those kisses. I’d miss all of his kisses, actually. Even when he’s grumpy or pouty and I force him to kiss me. Don’t tell him I said that; that he gets pouty. He swears he doesn’t, but he does. You know Tanner’s pout? Picture that on a grown man. On a mercenary covered in tattoos in scars. Trust me, Tyler pouts. And it’s adorable. Don’t tell him I said THAT either.”

Nik gives a small laugh, then runs a hand over Esme’s hair and settles it at the nape of her neck. “Do you want a change of scenery? They’ll call you, right? When they’ve moved him here.”

“Yeah, they said they’d text my cell. They said it would be awhile. They need to keep an eye on him in recovery for a bit. Oxygen, heart rate, that kind of thing.”

“Do you want to grab a tea? Some fresh air?”

“I could use a bit of both, actually. And a phone charger. Koen couldn’t find mine at the house. I swear those things just vanish into thin air or grow legs and walk away. And I should call Tyler’s dad.  I’m sure that’s the last person he wants me to call but it is his father. I know the guy’s a dick, but that is his son and…” her voice cracks with emotion, and she takes a deep, quivering breath. “....and how sad is it that the old man probably won’t even care? That he’ll probably say some shit like ‘call back when he’s dead’. Or ‘don’t expect me to show up at his funeral’.  Because that fucker would; say those things.  And I couldn’t handle that; hearing those things about my husband.”

“I’ll do it for you. Make a list; names and numbers. I’ll call whoever you want me to, okay?”

She  nods. “Okay.”

“You know what I think would really be good for you right now? Something to eat. When’s the last time you ate?”

“I don’t. Some time yesterday. I was too nervous this morning and then things went to shit and I ended up here.”

“You have to take care of yourself, Esme.  He’d want everyone to make sure of that; that you’re taken care of.  Especially now.”

Her eyes narrow. “Yaz told you, didn’t he.”

“He did.”

“We weren’t going to say anything until we got home. Until I saw my doctor and had an ultrasound and found out how far along I am. And now? Now I don’t even know when THAT’S going to happen. When I will get home and have any of that done.”

“Anil knows people. He’ll find someone here that will look after you. That would be good, right? Get some peace of mind? Make sure everything’s okay?”

“I would definitely take some worry off me, that’s for sure.”

“I’ll make it happen. For now, let’s get you something to eat and some fresh air. A little sunshine would do you some good.”

“I could use a little of that  right about now.”

“Come here,”  Nik draws her into her arms, tucking her tightly against her.

Esme hesitates; years of hurt and torment and anger holding her back.  The woman attempting to connect with her...trying to so desperately to make amends...had caused so much damage. Or at least tried to. The attempts -albeit failed- at becoming the ‘other woman’ and destroying a marriage and a family,  the lies she told and the times she’d tried to convince Tyler that Millie wasn’t his and that getting married would be ‘the biggest mistake you ever made’.  It is still painful; that kind of betrayal. And she doesn’t know if it will ever heal; if she’ll ever trust Nik again or even see her as a friend. But right now she IS trying; it’s genuine and heartfelt and there was remorse and guilt in her eyes. And that hug feels so good; the warmth coming off of Nik’s body,  the strength and conviction in those arms, the hand that runs up and down her hair. It’s real; the first real embrace and source of comfort that she’s had all day. And she finally gives into it; both arms circling Nik’s waist and her forehead coming to rest against Nik’s shoulder.

Still the tears don’t come.

****

The main nurse in charge of his care is an older woman; born, raised, and educated in Minnesota. Julie. “But you can call me, Jules”. Shortly after graduation from nursing school, fate...and love...had intervened; sending her on a humanitarian trip into the slums of Dhaka where she met a local doctor.  She never moved back to the States; choosing to reside in Bangladesh; bringing three children into the world -all medical professionals themselves- who in turn have made her a ‘nana’ seven times over. She has that quality; a caring, gentle, and adoring grandmother. A kind, round face and dark, sympathetic eyes; hands that are warm and soft when she shakes yours or touches your shoulder or taps your cheek.

The small talk and the ‘getting to know you’s’ had been a change; her day filled with conversations filled with surgeons and would care specialists and a ‘slightly concerned’ specialist who was troubled by ‘irregular eye movements’ during a neurological exam. Nothing but medical jargon she didn’t fully understand and no one seemed interested in explaining; depressing news and worst case scenarios and warnings not to ‘get her hopes up’.  Talking with Julie had been an escape. Being able  to share her own story about meeting the love of her life and never going home again.  Showing the nurse pictures of her children; bragging about how beautiful and smart they are; how blessed they are to have such an amazing, hands on father who they adored. And vice versa.

But it hadn’t taken long for reality to set in. And despite the comforting hand -and surprisingly strong- hand resting on her shoulder, she hadn’t been able to handle it. The hours of preparing herself for the moment had done nothing in the end; spending less than half a minute at his bedside before she had to flee. She had imagined what he would look like; the shape he’d be in. Putting together all the information she’d been given from the doctors and creating a vivid image in her mind. Her brain had been overly optimistic; painting a brighter and more positive image than what she’d come face to face with. She hadn’t prepared for THAT. The bruising and swelling; the rows of stitches above his right eye, across the top of his forehead, and under his right eye. That one is the worst; stretching all the way from the middle of the orbital bone to his temple.  And she certainly hadn’t been ready to see the central line -for fluids and medications- placed in his chest. Or the severity of the cage like apparatus encasing his thigh.

Now she stands in the room’s private bathroom. Hunkered over the sink with her palms against the ledge; struggling not to vomit. It’s all too much; the reality of the situation. The direness of his condition hitting with such force that she feels as if she can’t breathe. Her lungs tightening and her stomach clenching; the ache in her chest -her heart- unbearable. And she feels ashamed. That seeing him that way affected her so badly. That the love of her life...the man she’d fallen so easily for seven years ago- is at his weakness and more vulnerable and he can’t even count on her to keep her shit together.

A soft knock comes to the door, and before she can respond, the nurse steps inside. A sympathetic smile curving her lips; a tiny plastic cup of meds in one hand, a styrofoam one filled with ice water in the other.  

“Are you okay?” Julie asks.

“No,” Esme admits. “I am so far from okay.”

“Here,” the nurse offers the med. “For your stomach. The nausea.”

“Is it safe?”

Julie arches an eyebrow.

“Baby safe,” she clarifies. “I need it to be safe. I can’t take anything that isn’t. I can’t take any chances. Especially with this one.”

“You’re…”

“We just found out. Two weeks ago. I don’t even know how far along I am. I just know I can’t take any chances. We lost one. A few years ago. I need this baby to be okay.  HE needs it to be okay. He wouldn’t be able to take it if something happened. He wouldn’t be able to handle another loss.”

“It’s safe,” Julie assures her, and Esme gives a grateful, appreciative smile and takes the meds offered; dumping them into her mouth and washing them down with a sip of water.

“I hate myself,” she says. “For having to leave like that. For having that reaction to him. Of all people. He’s my husband. The father of my children. And that’s how I react? What is wrong with me?”

“Nothing. This is a lot for anyone to go through. It's hard seeing the people we love when they’re sick or injured. And seeing them at THAT extent? It’s a shock; no matter how much we try to prepare ourselves.”

“I’ve seen him in bad shape. Seven years ago. I held him when he was dying; I stuck my fingers in his neck to try and keep him alive. But he didn’t look like that. He was in really rough shape but he wasn’t THAT bad. God, I sound horrible. I’m a piece of shit for a wife. I’m sorry. Language.”

“Oh honey, I’ve heard AND said worse. You don’t have to hold your tongue around me. And it’s him that you’re having trouble seeing. It’s the situation. The loss of control. Feeling helpless because you can’t fix things. Fix HIM. That’s what you can’t handle.”

Esme nods in agreement. “It scares me. Seeing him like that. Because he’s usually the one that takes care of everyone else. He’s the strong one. The one that holds everything together when it feels like it’s falling apart. I mean, I had a labour so fast, that I had to give birth in my own home. He delivered his son. And he was so calm and so strong and to  see him   like this? It’s hard. Accepting it. Seeing what was done to him. And I’m angry. I am so fucking angry.”

“You have every right to be.”

“I just thought I could handle it. And now I can’t. I’m terrified. Of seeing him like and not knowing if he’ll make it. Do you know if he will? Is he going to be okay?”

“He’s doing very well so far.”

“I need someone to tell me he’s going to be okay. That he’s going to get past this. Because all I’ve heard so far is negative and I need something possible to hold onto. To keep me going. Because I’m scared and I’m lost and I don’t know how to help him. And I’ve always been able to help him.”

“All you can do is be with him. Hold his hand. Talk to him. Tell him you love him.”

“I remember seven years ago, when he came out of the coma, he could recite  things I said to him while he was out. Almost word for word. Do you think it will be the same this time?”

“He can hear you. And he’s reacting to voices and touch. It’s just very heavy sedation; you might not get a response every time. But he CAN hear you. His brain is working. We’ve seen signs of that already. Let that be the positive you carry. That he can hear you.”

“I don’t want him to hear me get upset. I don’t want to cry around him. Because he worries about me. All the time. And if he knows I’m having a hard time, it will stress him out. And he doesn’t need to be stressed. I need a few more minutes to get myself together.”

“Take your time, love. I’m going to do rounds; I’ll come back and check on you both. Hang in there,” she gently pats Esme on the cheeks. “You’re a lot stronger than you think.”

****

“Tyler?”  Her voice is barely above a whisper as she stands at the side of his bed. A hand tightly gripping one of his, the other resting on the top of his head; thumb repeatedly brushing across his forehead.

She refuses to let the tears fall, or let fear and sadness creep into her voice. Instead she presses soft, feathery kisses across his brow and down the bridge of his nose; each eye and cheek, then his lips.

“I know you can hear me. Remember last time? When you woke up you were able to  tell me a lot of things that I said to you. Even when I called you a massive dick for stressing me out. And I know that right this second that brain of yours? It’s coming up with some rude comment about YOUR dick. Do I know you or what? I know you better than you know yourself half the time. Maybe even more than half. But I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt.”  

Esme gently combs her fingers through his hair and places a kiss on his forehead.  

“You’re doing so well,” she praises. “Better than anyone thought you would. No breathing tube this time. You’re handling that all on your own. And you’re so strong and so brave and if anyone can get through this, it’s you. If you can survive seven years ago, you can survive this, right? I know you can. And I’m not going to let any asshole doctor tell me otherwise. They don’t know you. Not like I do. They don’t know how hard you’ll fight to get back to your family. But I do.”

She hooks a foot around the leg of a nearby chair and pulls it to the side of the bed; pressing one last kiss to the corner of his mouth before gathering the sides of the hoodie -HIS hoodie- around her body and sitting down.

“This is a lot nicer than the last ICU we were in,” she says, reaching through the safety railing and taking one of his hands in both of hers. “There’s a shower room and a kitchen for families and a TV room they can sit in when they need a bit of a break. Your nurse is nice. But she’s old enough to be your mother, so don’t get any funny ideas or your hopes up about sponge baths. And your room is pretty big; the little out bed thing is actually a small couch. Quite a step up from the chair thing I had to sleep in last time. And remember your least favorite thing from seven years ago? Having to have a catheter? Well, I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but there was no other choice. At least you got to miss the part where they put it in.. Always a bright side, right? You always say that. About everything. You always make sure I know what the bright side of every shitty situation is. And you’re always right, too. They always do turn out to be the bright sides. Maybe I shouldn’t have admitted that. That you’re always right. Because of all the things I’m saying, that will be the one you remember.  And you will  hold that over my head for the next fifty years.  That’s now much longer you’re stuck with me for. Sorry if you thought you were bailing on me. You’ve got a lot more years left of putting up with my shit.”

She releases his hand, gently turning it over and grazing her nails along his fingers and palm. Smiling when the heart rate monitor beeps, recording a slight change. “I forgot; that’s the ticklish hand. Weird how all the boys are the same; left hand and the inner thighs. I sent them back; to Australia. The kids. I haven’t told them anything yet. To be honest, I don’t know what to say. But I do know that you’d tell me to get them out of Mumbai and send them home. So that’s what I did. Kyle and Ovi went with them and Anil and Nik will stay with them for a bit; just to make sure trouble didn’t follow. And speaking of Anil and Nik, do I ever have some gossip to tell you. But I’ll make you wait until you wake up for that. It should be a few days; until you come out of it completely.”

She traces slow, soft circular patterns on his palm and the inside of his wrist. “I want you to know that we’re okay. The kids and I.  No one showed to hurt me OR them. And I don’t know exactly what happened or what went wrong, or what you remember, but you got Neysa and Aarev out and they’re on their way home. They’re going to be okay. It’ll take a while; to get over everything. But they’ll be fine.  Thanks to you. And I’m so proud of you, Tyler,” her voice cracks with emotion. “I’m always proud of you. I know I bitch about the job a lot;  how you’re away from home so much. But it’s just because I worry about you.  It doesn’t mean I’m not proud of you, though. And speaking of being proud…you being the proud daddy to be and all...Anil’s going to set up an appointment for me. So we can find out how far along I am. And get an ultrasound done. That way you’ll have your very first picture to put on the fridge.”

She draws his hand through the railing, pressing a kiss to the inside of his wrist before carefully setting his arm down on the mattress and standing up. “I need you to listen to me Tyler James. And you know it’s serious when I use BOTH your names.”  She rests a hand on his stomach, the other brushing his bangs off his forehead and then settling on the top of his head. “I need you to know that I’m okay. Because I know right now…even with everything that’s going on with you...that you’re worried about me.  And you don’t have to be. I’m fine. I’m safe. I’ve got people watching out for me and taking care of me. So you don’t need to worry about any of that, okay? Because you always put me first no matter what you’re going through. Right now, I need you to put yourself first. For once. I really need you to do that, alright? I promise I’m fine. And the baby’s fine and the kids are fine. We’re all fine. But we need YOU to be fine, too. So you have to put yourself first for a change. I know that’s hard for you. But it’s what I need you to do.  It’s important you do it. And I love you…”  she presses a kiss to his lips   and then rests her forehead against his.  “...I love you so much. And I’ll be here when you wake up. I told you I’d get to you. Somehow. It’s what we do, right? Bust our asses to take care of each other.”

She nuzzles the tip of her nose against the bridge of his.

“I love you,” she says again. “You need to rest, okay? You’re finally pain free. At least for now. You’re finally at peace.”

She kisses him a final time, then sits back down in the chair and tucks her knees into her chest. Drawing the hoodie around her body once more as she settles in for a long night.

#Tyler Rake #Tyler Rake fan fiction #Tyler Rake fan fic #Extraction #Extraction 2020 #Best Part of Me

[missjackil]

A Dose of SPN Positivity!

For those who know me, they know I love this show.... flaws and all! im critical sometimes, but not overly. Bottom line, I am addicted to the story and Im in love with Sam and Dean.  With Season 14 about to start, and we’re all getting antsy, too much negativity has been flying around, so I want to share some things i love most about the show, and maybe make some of you reflect for a moment and think “Yeah, that is pretty great” and smile.  Supernatural has been referred to as “The Little Show That Could” and to me, its such a fitting description. Logically, on the surface, it looks like it just can’t. I mean, how can a fantasy/horror show, survive with such a low budget, light special effects, and not very scary most of the time. I mean hell, they dont even have that many monsters that look like monsters, so why has it lasted longer than a season or 2? Let alone, 14 seasons with no signs of stopping yet. First and foremost is obvious. Sam and Dean and the actors who play them.  This essay will be full of gushing about these boys, so if you dont feel like enduring such a hardship, scroll on past. if that interests you.....

Yes these 2 fabulous men are the life blood of this show. Without them, we’d have nothing. THEY are the reason, this little show can, and does. Even those who like one and not the other, even if they dont realize it, the one they prefer is who they are because of the other. Both of their qualities and flaws can be directly linked to their influence on each other. If for some reason the other was gone for good, the one left will change drastically. As we see when one is dead or in grave danger, albeit temporarily, the other changes. Sam is no longer sweet, laid back and practical, and Dean is no longer funny, charming, and nurturing.  In fact, they both seem to become an amplified version of their brother. When Sam dies, Dean gets quiet, sometimes too quiet. He also gets methodical and focused. You may get lucky and just get shot in the back, but if he chooses to speak, he chooses his words to let you know shits gonna hit the fan. “You have my brother, and you have one chance, just one, to hand him over, and if he isnt in one peice, when I find you, and I WILL find you, I will take you apart” Sam on the other hand is boiling over with emotion. My boy becomes savage. He doesnt always choose a lot of words to say, he gets his whole point across most of the time with “WHERES MY BROTHER???!!!!” This... my friends, is good stuff! These things couldnt be done with such beauty without Jared and Jensen. Their offscreen relationship, whatever it may be, is wonderful. Theres no denying the love and respect they have for each other. They are very supportive of each other, and help make the other better at their job. They’re not typical actors who have a work relationship but otherwise spend time with each other. They genuinely enjoy being together, and this shows on screen. When two people are this good at their jobs, and with each other, you just have to keep watching. Other things I love about the show, are kinda small. Some maybe youve never noticed, but maybe now you will and enjoy them too, like... Brains vs Brawn: At first glance, we all go Sam=brains, Dean=brawn right? But thats not actually the case. Dean is far from stupid, and Sam is nowheres near a wimp. Dean teases Sam about being a nerd, and Sam doesnt mind, he kinda wears his nerdiness like a badge of honor. Dean will never admit to being a nerd, but he is. He’s read Vonnegut, knows every old west cowboy statistic, and likes LARPing. Sam, though a bookworm, is one tough mofo. hes tall and muscular and has shown to be a little freakishly strong. He can also take a great deal of pain. And though Dean is known more to be the fighter, he can be very warm and nurturing. And nerdy Sam can make you shit your pants with just a look if you piss him off just right. I absolutely LOVE this balance!! Its one of my favorite things! Old school vs New; A lot has changed in 14 seasons. The brothers have grown, as well as the story, but their roots are never forgotten. They’re still driving around in the same car. Hell. Baby has become the 3rd lead! Even though they have mom back, they never forgot her, or dad, and both were spoken of often throughout the series. They refer back to old days often, so we can all get a feel of nostalgia when we remember too. Most episodes bring the deep past up in one way or another, I love this! Loss and Death: I know so many of us complain that they die and come back too much, but I have a real appreciation for it, The circumstances are always different, and so are the methonds of coming back. Sometimes the death isnt serious, or they dont “seem” dead, like in First Blood or Dark Side of the Moon, when there may have been an initial “wtf?” we got to see them in heaven, and in first blood, they came right back. However there was deep seriousness in All Hell Breaks Loose, No Rest for the Wicked,  Do You Believe in Miracles, Swan Song, Red Meat and Beat The Devil that you felt the dying brother’s physical pain, and then the emotional pain of the surviving brother.  No matter how many times they die, they still hit these types of episodes out of the park. WE may know theyre coming back, but they dont. it still crushes them and I love this! Sam and Dean’s Sexuality: I love that their sexual natures are different, but theyre both okay. Dean is sexually active, enjoys porn and vocalizes some fantasies, Though Sam can tease him a little, its just brotherly ribbing, its not judgemental or trying to make Dean feel bad. Sam isnt overly sexual, he’s gone many seasons without sex at all. He doesnt appear to enjoy porn, we know he doesnt like strip clubs, and its NOT because he’s unattractive!! Dean teases him but he doesnt try to make him feel bad. When he has heavily suggested that Sam get laid, its just because he wants him to have fun. Dean even said he appreciated that Sam wanted to stay pure and waited. Otherwise, its okay that Sam is (at least kinda) asexual. Neither are shunned or judged because of their sexuality. Winsync: This is one of the greatest things. if they didnt do this, we wouldnt care, we would never say “It would be a much better show if the brothers mirrored each other, or did the same thing at the same time” but for whatever reason, TPTB wanted this, and it works so well! Its an intimacy we can see without the show going OTT bromantic. Its the connection, the closeness, and being soulmates. I LOVE this! Soulmates and Brothers: Normally a show will make soulmates out of lovers. It’s not often they do it with siblings. It helps justify their deep love and devotion. It adds an additional layer to their relationship. It makes them so tied together that they will share eternity in heaven together, and not just in their memories. This was a very good decision made by Kripke and crew, so we will all know they cant live without each other, even if they just lived in different homes. I love this! Meta Madness: Though I dont like all the meta episodes, I do love the fact they can do them, and DO do them. Because the whole premise is the supernatural, nothing is impossible, even AUs and cartoon worlds. Sometimes I might roll my eyes, but its awesome to me that they can experiment this way and see how it goes. I Love this!! The Bros are Oblivious: Sam and Dean have been through basically everything, and have seen and done everything, yet they seem shocked when people say theyre famous, or when they heard people tell stories about them. Occasionally they grasp their importance, like when they tell people they save the world, but they were impressed that Asa fixed killed 5 Wendigo, and had an Angel Blade, and Father Luca met the Pope. I mean God hung out at the bunker and made them pancakes! Their Heads Dont Get Too Big: Every once in a while, TPTB make sure we, and the boys, remember that they are only human. Even if they lock away Satan, kill Death, save God’s life, they’re just men. Remember when Bobby died and Dean was sure he wouldnt because “its just one bullet!” ? I can see how it would seem so silly to Dean, and even to us, that someone who has lived through so much, could die from a stupid little bullet. I think that one of the smartest things the show has done in ages, was to have Sam tortured by Toni and friend. Sam was so bold and cocky (and need I say sexy?) telling Toni he’d been tortured by the devil himself, and what could she do to him... He soon learned Hell torture or not,  cold showers still suck, blow torches to the feet still hurt like hell, and a mortal human can still fuck with his head. And Dean, well he can still be put on the injured reserve list from a jacked up leg. IMO S12 was great for re-humanizing the Winchesters. I love this! Comedy to Tragedy: Some of the best episodes, started out funny and ended in a tear jerker. Mystery Spot, Just My Imagination, and Beat The Devil top my list. I love the emotional rollar coaster, Coming away exhausted from an episode is the bestthing I can ask for! They havent tried it the other way around, tragedy to comedy, and thats good. If you are crying at the beginning and laughing later, it doesnt justify the grief and you may feel let down and hollow after. SPN is great with having some humor in even the most depressing episodes, but they know when using it and leaving it out is best. I love this! Brohugs: My #1 favorite thing, aside from the hug in 6.1, they have all been beautiful. Not once, have the boys lost the love, or even repeated the same hug. Each one conveys a different message, a different emotion, but all say “I love you more than everything” and I wont ever get tired of them! I would do anything for a single hug in my whole life that had such love in it, as any Winchester bro hug! I.LOVE.THIS!! Now I hope if you read this far, you got to smile a few times, and a spark was added to the fire that you fell in love with 14 seasons ago. Here’s to S14, i hope its filled with all of these wonderful things!

#supernatural #show positive #sam winchester #dean winchester #spn forever

[californiannostalgia]

Holy Shit Voltron Season 6

They did NOT pull their punches, WOW. This has gotta be my favorite season yet. Emotions were flying, space was beautiful/terrifying, important plot points were coming together, and the action was AMAZING.

*SPOILER ALERT IMMA GONNA START BLATHERING*

1. Lotor: Lotor is fucking insane and the creators played it PERFECTLY. His childhood was obviously one of continuous abuse, and I’m guessing the derision he faced for being a half-breed was worse than we’d thought, because he outright despises the Galra. He doesn't want to hear an apology from the monster that wears his mother's face, and when his father is mentioned, he FLIPS. 

It’s hard to wholeheartedly hate him because we’ve seen the potential for goodness inside of him, but with no one to teach him that genocide or forced sacrifices is wrong, he's grown up warped and twisted. What he did to the Alteans strikes me as especially awful because he genuinely sees himself as a savior of Altea. I think his falling for Allura might have been partly because she was the first sincerely kind being he's interacted with, and partly because his ideals of a perfect Altean future included the Princess in it.

Whereas Zarkon felt like a dark, immovable force, Lotor is intelligent, flexible, and much, much scarier. He fooled the Paladins, his Generals, the Galra, the Alteans—like Lance said, he fooled everyone. If he emerges from that overcharge of Quintessence for a final boss fight, he's going to be utterly terrifying. Madness runs in his family, it seems, and it's rendered more disturbing by the tragic circumstances behind it. Lotor should be proud, though. He has more than outdone his father.

2. Allura: Her Altean magics gave the enemy an impossible advantage, but also saved everyone over and over again. When she blasts Lotor with that crazy amount of Quintessence, a part of me felt disturbed by how sad the situation was. This stupid war is forcing a kindhearted child to push someone she cared about (even if it was a relationship built on falsehoods) straight into madness's open arms. Fuck war, really.

Part of her wanted to save him from becoming even more of a monster, but Allura knows where her duties lie. She doesn't have the luxury of feeling sympathetic towards the enemy. She leaves Lotor behind to his madness. She doesn't even blink at destroying the Castle of Lions, the one last piece of Altea she has left. She's a lion goddess, and I love her.

3. Keith: THAT'S WHAT I CALL CHARACTER DEVELOPMENT. Marmora training plus two years in the presence of a solid parent figure and a space pet did him good. When he returned, he came back decisive, hardened, and completely ready for Black. Watching him claim his seat without a moment of hesitation gave me the shivers. The backstory episode was so good, too. This kid loves his fellow paladins with all his heart, and it's great to see his love giving him the strength to save the people that matter to him. Especially Shiro.

Oh, and you know that moment at the end of the fifth episode, when Keith nearly gives up on himself? Not caring about himself is what he does, what he’s used to. But at the last moment, he remembers how Shiro pleaded him not to give up on himself, and opens his eyes. That moment he decides to live is the definition of epic. (Also, HOLY FUCK THAT MARK WAS A SCAR??)

4. Clone Shiro: I can't believe they made us grow fond of the Shiro Clone through the D&D episode (showing off Takashi's dumb nerdy core, god I love him) before pulling the inevitable betrayal. Even though we saw it coming, they made us remember that part of him is the Shiro we love, so that the battle between the two Black Paladins could carry a sufficiently devastating note. 

I now understand why Shiro seemed so obsessed with playing a Paladin. It was because a Paladin is what the Clone was programmed to be, the only thing he knew how to be. Add that to the fact that the last thing the Clone says is Keith’s name? Yeah, the Clone Angst was strong.

5. Shiro: I'd forgotten how good and pure the real Shiro was. His acceptance and encouragement is like hot chocolate. BUT WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU MEAN YOUVE BEEN DEAD ALL THIS TIME. WHY WOULD YOU DROP SUCH A BOMB SO MATTER-OF-FACTLY? 

God, I'm ecstatic to have him back, grandpa hair and all. Thank you, Lion Goddess Allura. (Since this means he didn't go through any more suffering after the end of season 2, I'm strangely relieved?) (Does this mean we get a Shiro video diary now?)

6. Hunk: That first episode of him using his understanding of Galra culture to save an innocent planet was amazing. (I also really liked the command structure the team has. They readily defer to whoever has the most knowledge about a given task and follow that paladin's orders. It's a jarring contrast with how Clone Shiro was acting last season. But I digress.) Watching Hunk being a genius engineer in action is the best. I love one sarcastic, pessimistic child who basically has a heart of gold.

6. Pidge: She hesitated once and failed to stop the Clone Shiro from leaving with Lotor. When the Castle is hacked and her programs are being taken down, she pulls out her last resort card. Using that program is tantamount to admitting that she cannot trust her Shiro, and it is a crushing revelation for her, the team, and us. But she doesn’t hesitate again. (Always a joy to see her work her programming magic.)

7. Lance: The rapport Allura and Lance have with each other is the purest thing. He throws himself into harm's way for her and nearly dies. She jumps out of her lion to go help him when there's a radioactive flare moments away from coming into contact with her position. If one of them is sad, the other is there to offer emotional backup, without question. I dig this healthy supportive relationship.

What’s special about his character is that Lance is a solid presence to lean on for the others—whether he’s providing emotional support for Keith, Clone Shiro, and Allura, or taking command in the absence of a clear leader. Funny thing is, he can’t do shit for himself. His self-esteem is getting lower than ever. He openly cried (something he never lets himself do) thinking he failed Shiro. The self-hatred at his own mistakes and supposed uselessness is gonna blow up sometime soon, and I look forward to the day that time bomb finally goes off. 

8. Coran: I could feel his grief for his dead planet, his sense of inadequacy compared to his grandfather. Very pleased that they gave us quality Coran Feels. (Also, Dungeonmaster/Dragon Coran was amazing.)

9. Krolia: Keith's parents fought so hard to protect the universe and their child. I can't forget the look in Krolia's eyes when the memory beam showed her a tiny Keith standing in front of a tombstone.

10. Acxa, Ezor, and Zethrid: They're trying to be loyal to the Empire, trying to save their people. They're being faced with impossible decisions left and right, and I'm curious what they'll be doing next.

11. Haggar/Honerva: She is genuinely sorry to Lotor, but sorry can't erase a millennia's worth of abuse and she knows it. I wonder what she will think when she finds out her son has followed her and Zarkon's descent into madness? I wonder what plans she has in place. (Could she be the final villain?)

12. Team Voltron: Here's the thing. In previous seasons, they were Paladins, yes, but they were still kids. They messed around with cows, made stupid jokes, generally powered through hard battles with the help of luck and sheer determination. But this season, when they charged into battle screaming, shield up and sword drawn? They no longer felt like brave kids going to war. They felt like the motherfucking Defenders of the Universe, through and through. (I didn't think I'd ever be this into a show about color-coded robot pilots. I was wrong.)

The scene where they pack their things to leave the Castle behind communicates the sense that there is no going back for them, that they are permanently changed and will constantly continue moving forward. It’s exciting. I can't wait for them to return to earth as hot badasses and bask in the respect they deserve. (Also someone needs to punch Iverson.)

13. Overall: The gorgeous backdrops, the pacing of the plot, the presentation of the scenes, the action sequences, the sound effects and acting—they were faultless. The soundtrack was great. There were countless moments of pure badassery: Krolia's fight, Keith vs. Clone Shiro, that Pidge-and-Lance tag-teaming action, Hunk's powerup, Voltron tearing a rift into the fabric of reality, etc. I loved it, I loved every precious second of this season, and I am blessed to be able to witness this masterpiece unfold before my eyes. 

#voltron #my thoughts #my reviews #voltron spoilers #voltron season 6 #keith kogane #lance mcclain #pidge gunderson #katie holt #hunk garrett #takashi shirogane #vld allura #vld shiro #acxa #ezor #zethrid #haggar #honerva #vld coran #krolia #character analysis #voltron season 6 review

[girl-q]

The Originals Season 5 fianale: Welcome to the shit show kids

I had put off writing this. I originally wanted to upload it the next day but I never did and the reason why was cause I was utterly destroyed by the final. I know kind of what people think of me when they read how I write, but I was honestly sobbing my eyes out for quite a while even after the show ended. It started with Klaroline kissing and it was because I was so happy. It was like the time I saw the letter from Klaus at the end of Tvd. I was so happy, but then my tears just turned into sadness, frustration and anger, when they really plunged the stake into each other’s hearts and I was feeling so cheated and lied and as if I wasted my time. This is not only because I´ve been a massive Klaroline since I was younger. They started to mean a lot to me when I was about twelve. I´m a really big fangirl now and I love sooooo many ships and fandoms and I credit it to reading Harry Potter, when I was twelve and discovering the ship that is Klaus and Caroline. In some ways I am who I am now because I knew them and it seems so crazy that all this really influenced my life this much. I went up and down with this fandom. We were pretty hopeless for a couple years and then the phone call happened and I flipped out. Suddenly I had hope and a lot of people did too. I saw it. Time moved on and I got older and I grew up. The finale of TVD came and I was in the same position as now. I had written a whole series like this. I was really happy about the finale. Delena was together, Steroline wasn’t, and I loved Lexie and that letter. I was so happy, man. Then this season came and it was great to see Klaroline and stuff, but side note this season was a flop. On the finale Klaus died. Klaroline kissed. She was his last love, but I´m sad and disappointed in the writers, in Julie and in the world, because I wanted it to be better. I had this fantasy of what would happen and I thought it was going to happen.

Even though I´ve been such a fan of Klaroline for six freaking years now the fact that they weren´t endgame is not why I despise this finale so much. It sucks but I appreciate this show and this family for what they are and this ending was trash and bullshit and I cannot comprehend how this was supposed to A: make sense and B: be cohesive with anything that the characters stand for and C: no then ending wasn’t powerful or special or melodramatic or anything like that. The ending was simply unnecessary. This is my long ass intro, but now I´m getting mad again so let’s get this recap going.

Summary: The fuck.

Hope knocks her dad out before he can kill himself and they bring Klaus back to Nola. They search for a cure and find none. Everyone is all mad and sad and Klaus fantasizes about the ghosts of Michael and Camille. Michael tells him to kill Hope, but Camille as the handy moral compass says no. Klaus escapes for a hot minute, but then gets recaptured. They put some of the Hollow inside Elijah to make Klaus sane for a couple of hours. Kol and Rebekah have some five second drama on the side, because Kol doesn´t want to stay even though Nik is dying. This just reminded me how unimportant all the siblings except Klaus, Elijah and Freya were this season and made me sad.

Caroline comes to see the dying Klaus and they have a nice day trip doing nice things. The scene where he finally showed her New Orleans was cut, but it was quite cute and she played that phone recording from 12 years ago that Klaus made when he was in New Orleans. That was beautiful. In the cut scene they mention Camille and that she was basically a copy of Caroline so lol. Like hoe we went down like the titanic, but at least we know Caroline was more important to him than Camille. Thank you for witnessing my petty moment of the day. In the end they visit the bar and Caroline tries to convince Klaus to say goodbye to his daughter. He doesn´t know how, but she shows him a way and tells him goodbye with that herself. She says she´ll never forget him and then she kisses him, which is ALL we ever wanted and then leaves. I just rewatched that scene and I did cry a little bit again. It´s still so new and the last piece of Klaroline canon we´ll ever see.

The family come together and haver dinner. Kol came of course and they probably have the happiest moment in the show, then Klaus says his goodbyes to his family and daughter. He, Elijah and Rebekah step outside and at this point I still had hope. It all pointed to Elijah telling Klaus he didn´t have to die, but it didn´t and then they killed themselves together, because he feels like he helped his brother achieve redemption and that was his purpose. Elijah had no future and we ALL knew that, but Klaus had and Hope didn´t have to be an orphan and I know a reason he died was because Joseph didn´t want to be in Legacy, but there are different ways of getting rid of Klaus Mikaelson. He could have just stayed in Nola and just simply be mentioned after Hope returns from the Holidays or he could have gone on that world trip with Caroline and help her build more schools or something. I would be so much less upset if there was a genuine reason why Klaus died. There wasn’t one. I´m even more pissed that we never saw what happened to them in the afterlife. Fuck off Julie there is no beauty or allure in guessing what happened to them. These are characters we hold dear and we deserve to know their stupid fate. It´s also so unfair that the greatest character on this show, Klaus Mikaelson, died, but fucking Declan, who looks like he cries every time he has a splinter in his finger and has the emotional capacity of a wet sock lives or Antoinette, who has about as much personality, backbone or use as a coat hanger. These two aren’t even the worst because guess who also still lives and goes about their day. Yes Alaric Schlotzigman and Matt Donotcan. The most boring pieces of trash that ever appeared on TV survived, because they were apparently good at being annoying pebbles for eight seasons. They always complain about every fucking thing and NOBODY LIKES THEM OR WANTS TO FUCK WITH THEM, BECAUSE THEY ARE AS INTERESTING AS MY ARMPITHAIR. Where is the man who survived hell and back? Who was more resourceful than the queen of hell, Katherine Pierce, herself? Where is the I-can-do-anything-I´m-the-oldest-creature-on-this-planet Klaus? There were so many options. They could have put the Hollow in ANYONE else and kill them instead. There was no reason and now I’m crying again, because of something that witch Julie Plec said and I just read it and it was that if you´d ask her where Klaus would go after all this it would be Paris with Caroline, but the stupid fact that Stefan is gone for twelve now made that impossible and she could´ve moved on. Caroline is strong and a lot of things. Stefan would have wanted her to move on and that sucks. Is she just going to be pining after her dead husband for the rest of her immortal life? It´s not about forgetting Stefan. We always love the people we love even if they are not there anymore. We just love their memory, but we can also never stop making more memory and we can´t help falling in love again, because people can´t be miserable forever, that destroys you. Julie should stop walking around blabbing bullshit, because she is not helping anyone. I dislike that woman so much. She thinks she is all special and meaning full, but what fans want after a long time is peace and knowing the fictional people they love are happy and it could have been so great but no she ruined it and I will never watch a flipping moment of Legacy. I saw so many people say that she´ll just destroy it and are also now not watching legacy and me too. I originally wanted too, but I can´t now. I´m not wasting time and emotions on Plecs shows again

This season was bullshit too. It was weak and the plot points rushed so much. Nothing mattered or felt heavy. All problems were just solved in a half assed way and the only thing that all the deaths did was shock value, but hoe that was wrong. You´re not Game of thrones. Josh, Hayley, Elijah and Klaus could have been happy, but no. This sucks and writing this is so emotional again and I feel a little weak and like a loser, but I´m not over it. Everyone deserved better.

I hope Legacy flops and dies and gets cancelled, because I want this bullshit universe to be over and rest. I´m done. I´ll never watch anything she touches. Maybe it´s irrational to blame one producer for everything, but I´m not looking for logic right now- I´m still coping, but I´ll be okay soon. I just need to; I guess, grief a little more for the death of my first ship, for the death of so many people that deserved better and Klaus Mikaelson who could have been there for his daughter. They could´ve been together. It could have been amazing. After all these years we needed a promise of peace and love and that Always and Forever would be alive forever. I guess at the end only Kol lives forever. Rebekah, whose ending I kind of liked, will die and Freya, Davina and Keelin and Vincent will die at some point. Then there will only be Marcel and Kol. I know I skipped over a lot of stuff in this finale, but I´m going to bring this mess to a close now. I will bring everything to a close. This adventure of writing this series for Tvd and TO, my place in the fandom and in a dramatic pretentious way my younger self, because now I´m supposed to be an adult soon and this is over. Farewell kids and all the chickens that read me. You´re cool. It´s been hella rocky, but I made it and I´m proud. I guess maybe it´s just a TV show. Today I´m still angry, but I´ll be fine soon. This shit is really crazy. There is so much stuff I didn´t say, but I’m ready to close this. I´m not apologizing for being emotional or being this intense about it. I can´t apologoíze, because it´s the truth and if that makes me “crazy” or “Stupid” then so be it. Wlcome to being a fangirl hoe. Thank you for being there honey

Bye betches

I´m out

Forever now

XOXO

Q

#Klaroline #TheOriginals #the vampire diaries #the originals #to #TVD #the originals finale #finale #review #klaus mikaelson #elijah mikaelson #hayley marshall #hope mikaelson #caroline forbes #rebekah mikaelson #kol mikaelson #marcel gerard

[kiruuuuu]

Thank you!! This turned out less fluffy than I wanted but I hope you’re alright with it nonetheless. In any case, it was lovely to write ♥ (Rating G, melancholy fluff?, ~1.2k words)

.

If anyone asked, Glaz would’ve said the most dangerous thing that lurks in the corners of the base is boredom. Gun safety is no joke and while most of them can be ridiculously immature at times, they all treat their weapons with respect – so it’s definitely not the variety of rifles, pistols, shotguns, knives and grenades that’s a cause of worry, no. It’s boredom, the mother of all bad ideas, birthing accidents and unsound minds, usually doing more harm than expected, impossible to control or eradicate completely.

But no one asks Glaz and so, as he stands there, eyes burning, hair uncomfortably pasted to his scalp, upper body covered in lime green, fingertips dripping more of the viscous liquid onto the floor, he secretly thinks to himself: the most dangerous thing here is boredom. He doesn’t dare speak it for fear of getting some of the paint in his mouth but is handed a piece of cloth a second later with which he wipes his face, allowing him to see again. Bandit isn’t looking much better, the small explosion got them both good, only he’s decidedly more vocal about it, spewing insults and curses at anyone but the person responsible. Which is him.

“If this doesn’t wash out”, Blitz says, “you’re dead men.” He sounds genuinely angry for which Glaz can’t fault him; after all, they are in his quarters that have taken on a distinct light green tint.

“I’m sorry”, Glaz offers and resists the urge to flee and wash the paint off – he’s to blame as well to a certain point, riled Bandit up by attempting to calm him down, wouldn’t leave him alone and made everything worse by trying to defuse the situation.

“That doesn’t help me”, Blitz replies and no, Glaz supposes it doesn’t yet he hopes the sentiment is appreciated since all Bandit is doing is not very constructive either. Other operators are filing in, attracted by the loud noise, and Glaz thinks he can hear the SAS boys hoot when they catch sight of the extent of this disaster. Smoke calls for retaliation, a show of remorse, and it’s an indication of how outraged Blitz really is that he merely clenches his jaw and nods.

.

Bandit is a mystery to Glaz, full of contradictions and so he’s almost given up on trying to figure him out. He’s got days on which he’s malicious, his remarks biting and full of spite, on others he’s withdrawn and almost secretive, on some he’s a joy to be around, motivated and approachable. His moods are usually extreme and tilt quickly, even more when Glaz is around. It’s almost as if he noticed the quiet Russian attempting to decode his behaviour and taking offence to it, becoming even more erratic. It’s also boredom. It gets to Bandit, eats at him like grief would with others, amplifies his antics. Glaz thinks he doesn’t like to be left to his thoughts. He’s almost tame when they’re preparing for a mission.

Blitz has noticed the tension between the two, Glaz’ curious interest and Bandit’s dislike to being studied, there’s no doubt about it because the punishment he chose aims to reconcile them – at least that’s what Glaz assumes is the idea. Blitz made it embarrassing so no one complains too loudly about him being going soft on them though ultimately, what other purpose does memorising and reciting a famous poem from each other’s culture hold but mutual understanding? Bandit mouthed off immediately, calling it stupid and nothing in Russian literature worth learning by heart, complaining about how it’s just what Glaz does in his spare time anyway but Blitz didn’t budge. He set a time and a place and left them to clean up his room which happened in stony silence.

Now, Bandit is lounging on one of the chairs in their meeting room, looking too relaxed for someone who’s about to embarrass himself in front of his colleagues. Most of them came to watch and jeer, populating the other half of the room and waiting for Blitz. When he arrives, he fixes both Glaz and Bandit with a level gaze. “Bandit, you go first.”

“I didn’t do it”, comes the laconic answer. Blitz’ brows draw together. “What, did you actually expect me to – don’t be ridiculous. I’m sure Glaz can provide some artsy-fartsy shit you can jerk off to.” He laughs and it’s no surprise he treats the whole thing as a joke, making their audience boo and Kapkan throw something at him. Bandit thinks himself superior in that he didn’t subject himself to something he deems mortifying. Glaz suppresses a sad smile. It’s childish and immature and entirely fitting.

“Look, you don’t have to -” Blitz is addressing him now, slightly apologetic as if he feels responsible for his teammate’s behaviour, but Glaz only shakes his head.

“I don’t mind”, he says and before anyone else can interrupt, he just starts reciting: “His gaze those bars keep passing is so misted / with tiredness, it can take in nothing more. / He feels as though a thousand bars existed, / and no more world beyond them before. // Those supply-powerful paddings, turning there / in the tiniest of circles, well might be / the dance of forces round a center where / some mighty will stands paralyticly. // Just now and then the pupil’s noiseless shutter / is lifted. – Then an image will indart, / down through the limbs’ intensive stillness flutter, / and end its being in the heart.”

Most of them weren’t paying enough attention to catch it all, the noise level hardly lowered and it’s doubtful that they would’ve appreciated it even if they had listened but it doesn’t matter. Halfway through, Glaz’ eyes travelled and stopped only when they met Bandit’s, locked gazes, bore into him. Despite the commotion that’s still ongoing, there’s silence between them, thick and tangible and painful. There’s no smirk on Bandit’s lips anymore. “The Panther, by Rilke”, Glaz adds after an eternity has passed and turns back to a stunned-looking Blitz, “I’ve come to like his works a lot and only stumbled over them because of you. So thank you for this opportunity. I learned something and so I don’t consider it wasted time or even a punishment.”

When Bandit storms out, furious, there’s a red hue to his cheeks.

.

It took a while to find him but once he has, Glaz sits down next to him, holds out his hand and accepts the cigarette Bandit wordlessly gives him, lights it with his own lighter and takes a deep drag. Both of them are staring straight ahead. “I’m sorry”, Glaz says quietly.

“You fucking humiliated me”, Bandit shoots back bitterly.

“I think you did that all by yourself, don’t you?” To soften his harsh words, he repeats: “I’m sorry nonetheless. I didn’t mean to.”

“Always, you’re always so fucking sincere.”

“And to you, everything is a joke.”

With a shaky sigh, Bandit rubs at his face. “It really isn’t.”

“No”, Glaz agrees, “I suppose not.” Even when Bandit is sitting down, he’s pacing countless circles in his head, fully aware of being caged by whatever demons have taken hold of him. Glaz knows how it feels and he knows that his best option is to merely keep him company. So he chooses to do so, opts for comfortable silence and hopes he can help fend off the boredom. Hopes Bandit will let him.

#rainbow six siege #bandit #glaz #bandit/glaz #fanfic #oneshot #request #check out other translations of the poem too #this is just one of many

[tyrantisterror]

Well Made Futility: Infinity War Thoughts

I saw Infinity War for a second time and have some thoughts.  SPOILERish thoughts, so, y’know, a cut here for the sake of those who care about such things.

I mean, I actually think this movie is better if you know what you’re in for going in, but I’m weird so what do I know.

So like... Infinity War is fucking difficult to evaluate.  It’s a movie that does something completely unprecedented in film - while we all enjoyed joking about it, no single movie crossover has attempted to weave this many VERY different stories, characters, and (especially) tones into one coherent narrative before.  It is a crossover unlike any other in film.  And it’s mostly successful!

but

I know we all like to dunk on Marvel’s films because they’re popular and make a lot of money, and all of us have an inner hipster who hates things that are successful regardless of their actual quality or content, because fuck that man we’re not normies we only like things BEFORE they’re cool.  But as a person who loves “genre” fiction - i.e. Sci-Fi, Fantasy, Horror, anything that isn’t set in standard reality - the Marvel movies have been kind of revolutionary.  Genre films had gotten so LIMITED before Iron Man, and it was stupidly limited at that.  We could accept that a billionaire fury who punches criminals could walk into a police department without making everyone burst into laughter, but we couldn’t accept that a strange chemical bath would permanently bleach a clown-turned-criminal’s skin.  We could accept a guy getting powers from a spider OR a guy being really good at science but not both. We could accept a guy growing claws out of his hands, but god help you if that man also wears something other than black skintight leather.  Everything had to be “grounded” and “real”, and I put quotations marks around those words because what they REALLY meant in the context of Hollywood was “boring.”

but

And then Marvel slowly chipped away at that.  Not at first - Iron Man and The Hulk were about as restrained as the superhero movies that preceded them, but slowly the movies conditioned us to accept weird shit.  Thor brought in Norse mythology and a certain kind of magic, although they dressed it up as “advanced science”, because we were in a transition and that was a concession they could make.  Captain America took us out of modern day - a risky idea, period piece action movies are never a sure thing - and also introduced the idea of a serum that can turn you into either the ULTIMATE BEEFCAKE or a red skinned skeleton man depending on your moral compass, which is PRETTY FUCKING WEIRD when you think about it.

but

Then The Avengers happened.  Before that movie came out, every conventional Hollywood line of thinking told us it would fail.  Movies with multiple heroes don’t succeed.  That’s why Batman and Robin sucked, right - too many heroes?  And Batman and Robin, why, that’s the worst film ever!  Spiderman 3 had too many villains!  You can’t have more than two super powered guys in a movie - that’s just movie law!  Having more than two super power guys is box office poison.

but

But The Avengers wasn’t.  Maybe most of you don’t remember it because we’ve had 10 years of these Marvel movies and their success seems like an inescapable fact now, but The Avengers defied expectations by being both good AND a box office success - a ridiculously lucrative one at that!  The Avengers took a huge fucking risk and it paid off.

but

Then it happened again.  People assumed The Avengers was as weird as you could go.  Critics were CERTAIN these movies would peter out eventually, that they couldn’t keep doing the impossible.  One of these risks had to doom them.  And a lot of critics looked at one movie on the post The Avengers slate - Guardians of the Galaxy - and said, “That’s the one - that’s gonna be the turd.  A movie about a talking raccoon and a tree monster - two RIDICULOUS character concepts that sound more like jokes than something a studio would actually put in their action movie - along with some d-listers no one but hardcore nerds care about, all directed by a guy best known for gore-filled low budget b movies?  That’s going to kill Marvel.  There is no way that film can be good, much less a financial success.”

but

Guardians of the Galaxy was not just good, but it’s the best series within the franchise.   Yeah, fuckin’ fight me on it nerds.  (no actually don’t I’m voicing a subjective opinion in this paragraph I don’t actually give a shit about ranking movies like this)

but

Even when their movies weren’t game changers, they were still solid and fun.  Whether or not they’re your cup of tea, Marvel’s superhero movies are never worse than “good.”  Some of them are “great.”  Some, like The Avengers, Guardians of the Galaxy, and Black Panther, are arguably transformatively great.  At the very least, these films taken as a collective whole have changed the way we approach Genre Films.  They have redefined what is possible - they reminded Hollywood that suspension of disbelief is a malleable thing, even if some studios haven’t quite grasped the concept yet.

but

Which brings me back to Infinity War.  Like The Avengers before it, Infinity War brings different characters from many different stories with many different tones and styles and, to an extent, genres/subgenres, and blends them into a coherent and emotionally resonate whole.  It requires you to have seen at least the majority of the previous DECADES worth of movies to work, but that’s not a flaw - no more than, say, the twentieth chapter of a novel requiring you to read the previous 19 at any rate.  Infinity War needs those previous films to function, and to its credit, it not only uses what they built, but does so in genuinely surprising ways.  You didn’t think you needed a Rocket Raccoon/Thor team up in your life, but this movie proves you did.  You also didn’t think you’d see Rocket Raccoon genuinely reach out to Thor (who, to him, is a relative stranger) and try to help him through his grief, but it happens, and it’s a legitimately interesting moment that movies both characters forward in their respective arcs.  This movie is more than just taking a bunch of toys out of a toybox and smashing them together (though yes, there are parts of it that are very much that - these are action adventure movies, after all).  Characters develop and bounce off each other in glorious and meaningful ways.  There is a weight to everything beyond the obvious, mercenary Hollywood mandate to make as much money as possible by getting fans of all these different franchises into one theater.

but

The movie even tries to rectifies some of the franchise’s most notable flaws, in particular their lack of decent villains.  You could count the number of actually compelling and interesting villains from the previous 18 films on one hand.  Thanos, the big bad of this film, finally gets us to the other palm.  His motives are understandable but NOT justified - that is to say, you can understand why a person may believe what he believes, but at the end of the film you know for a fact he’s wrong.  Thanos is a bad guy whose evil plan will destroy countless lives, but he manages not to be the cartoonish caricature of a villain whose over the top “destroy the world” motivation makes no sense.  It’s nuanced, is my point.  I don’t think he’s the best Marvel has offered us - he wouldn’t crack my top three just yet - but he’s miles above most of the competition.

BUT

So here’s the crux of my review.  When I got to the ending of the movie - an ending that, admittedly, I spoiled for myself ahead of time, because I do that for most movies ever since I got majorly burned by Jurassic Park III when I was a teen - I couldn’t stop thinking about it, because it’s... it’s a paradox.  Not just the ending, either, but the whole movie.  This is a film that both does and doesn’t work.  It is both an amazing feat and... and fundamentally broken.

And it all has to do with those 18 films before it.

Ok, so: if taken as its own story, that is to say, as just it’s own thing, not the part of a greater whole... then the ending of Infinity War is exactly the ending this story needed.  This is Thanos’s story more than anyone else’s, when you get right down to it, and from the perspective that this movie is meant to tell his story and his story alone, the ending is the only one that would fit.  Thanos gets everything he wants, at the cost of everything that mattered to him.  His crazed vision finally comes true, and the audience feels the full weight of how horrible that is. That ending - that maddening, confounding ending, where almost every hero we’ve come to love over 18 goddamn films is killed with the snap of his fingers - shows us exactly why we can’t let monsters like Thanos come to power, and how even the monsters like Thanos himself are destroyed by following those mad dreams through (a point reinforced by the cameo of a long forgotten past villain, Red Skull).

However, as I said before, you really CAN’T take this movie on its own.  Structurally it DEPENDS on you seeing those previous films.  You have to have seen them just for this movie to make sense, and to be emotionally affected by it you must also have cared about those movies and their characters.  This movie is a sum of those parts.

And as a followup to those 18 films - as a part of their greater whole - it fails.  So many characters we followed and love - Black Panther, Spider-Man, every fucking guardian of the galaxy except Rocket and maybe Nebula if we count her, just to name a few - is killed off in a literal instant.  With the exception of Loki, each of these deaths kind of renders their preceding journey pointless.  Peter Parker was just starting his journey in his preceding film - so was Black Panther, so was Dr. Strange, so were many of the others.  Imagine if Hamlet was killed in act 1 of his play - everything about him would be unresolved, and all of his supporting cast would have no anchor to the plot since the conflict they’re involved in is removed with Hamlet’s death.  You’d have to start over.  Other characters are farther along, but with rare exception, none of them had what could be called a satisfactory end.  If the deaths in this movie actually hold true, then most of the preceding 18 movies have been broken.  They are wastes of time.

Of course, a savvy person would note that literally every character killed in this movie has been cast in the next Avengers film, due out next year.  Spider-Man and the Guardians have announced movies with release dates after that one, too.  Black Panther’s sequel has been announced although the release date has not.  These deaths are highly unlikely to stick.

BUT if that’s the case, well... then this movie’s broken again, because now that ending has no weight.  Now that ending is pointless - in fact, this whole movie is, because it’s all just going to be undone by the next.  Either this film was a narrative waste of time, or the preceding 18 were.  There’s no other option.

...but...

There is, I suppose, a possibility.  A faint one, admittedly - I have no idea if they can achieve it.  There’s a possibility the fourth Avengers film could find a way to make this movie’s weight hold while still putting all those dead characters’ stories back on track.  Infinity War was conceived as a two part film story, after all, even if they dropped the “Part 1″ label come release.  No matter how much this film wants you to think otherwise, it is just part of whole - and maybe, just maybe, the second one will make the first work WITHIN that whole.

I don’t see how it can, but then, I didn’t see how they could make me care about fuckin’ Rocket Raccoon.  And Guardians of the Galaxy is, as I said, the best one.

If I were a betting man, I’d bet on this movie ultimately being a narrative cul de sac - a very well made, but ultimately pointless entry that is invalidated by what comes after it.  If that ends up being the case, then that’s kind of sad - but there’s a chance they may make it work after all, and if I’ve learned anything, it’s not to bet against Marvel.

[elegiesforshiva]

Ghosts VII: Glass House

Masterpost

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For Sakura, time blurs into a stretch of a mellow trying.  Trying to get out of bed, trying to find an antidote in the labs, trying to remember her otousan’s words, Bad dreams are only bad dreams.  Nothing more.  

When she opts for soldier pills over breakfast again, a forgotten calendar on her fridge tells her it’s been over a month since Sasuke’s retun. Sakura supposes people didn’t catch on at first because of Sasuke’s introverted nature.  But soon enough, she starts to hear it everywhere.

His name is whispers in the hospital, the market, and any training ground that holds more than three shinobi.  It’s always the same when people see her.   Faces pop in front of her and start talking  to her about him simply, casually, just assuming he’s a topic of her interest.  Their faces are expectant—like she is supposed to care or something.  So Sakura gives them a trained smile and a cordial response, followed by a change in topic.  Then they give her a hideous, knowing look.  And she thinks she has never felt so naked in front of complete strangers before.

Because she does care.  She cares a lot.  But it isn’t the kind of care that people think and it sure isn’t the kind of care she wants to have.  It’s a care that carries bile—slowly building and oozing through her in a murky vortex of black and red and grief.  Sakura knows it is only a matter of time before she’s in the center of the spiral, only a matter of time before she snaps.  

She tries to prolong it.  Sakura grows uncharacteristically antisocial—orders delivery to save trips to the grocery store, wears hoods and hats or even puts on a henge on walks to work, reserves outdoor training for obscure hours of the night.  She’s pitifully grateful to be cooped up in the hospital’s poison analysis division during work.  Lab rats don’t ask her about past teammates.

And when she enters an empty lab to find a shinobi with a rabbit mask perched on the windowsill, she nearly cries in relief.  It can only mean one thing:  A mission.

If she can just get a week—just one week, she will be satisfied.  She needs to get away from Konoha.

When Sakura arrives slightly later than expected, she finds herself in a full room.  At once, she spots Shikamaru leaning against the wall on her right, with Kiba and Akamaru standing near him.  Kaito, the green haired sensor she worked with from the last mission is on her left.  Sakura looks straight at Kakashi then, who’s peering down at the staple orange book in his hand.  Something about this image is wonderfully refreshing, floods her with a hot nostalgia, despite the walls of papers on either side of him.  

Kakashi seems to finish a sentence before glancing up at her, eyes crinkling at the corners in welcome.  Sakura nods her head in return, “Hokage-sama.”

“Shikamaru and Sakura?” Kiba says then, his voice paved with awe.  “Damn, this mission must be some serious business.”  He eyes Sakura with a wide, canine grin, the enthusiasm matched only by Akamaru’s thrashing tail thrashing and labored breaths.

Sakura finds her smile is genuine, heated even, like his.  “Kiba,” Sakura greets with a nod of her head.  She looks over at Shikamaru, and can’t help but agree.  

The genius strategist himself is staring out the window, and she’d expect he’s just daydreaming like usual if it weren’t for the slight tension in shoulders, suggesting contemplation instead.  It takes Shikamaru a moment before he meets her eyes, but when he does he inclines his head respectfully to greet her.

She looks over at Kaito then, and his eyes seem to smile at her more than his mouth before he turns towards Kakashi.  “So what’s the mission?”  His is tone mostly calm, but the slightest undercurrent of eagerness is weaved in.

“We’re still waiting on one more,” Kakashi says and turns a page.  He doesn’t even look up.

“A five cell team?” Sakura asks.  

Kakashi hums in confirmation and Sakura looks over at her teammates then.  A strategist, a sensor, Kiba doubles as a part-offense and part-tracking, and of course, there is her—the medic.  This is no doubt a delicate and covert mission.  But the next nin will probably be another offense-type—a little insurance in case shit hits the fan.  

For a brief moment, Sakura hopes for Naruto.  It’ll be the perfect excuse to make up with him and maybe his endearing positivity will wedge its way into her sense of perspective.   But then she remembers how inexpicably awful he can be where stealth is concerned.  

“Looks like he’s coming now,” Kakashi says, his eyes still pasted to his book.

The next moment, Sakura is rigid.  She feels the strong, and all too familiar chakra signature approaching.  Oh gods oh gods.

Then she hears the muffled steps, shinobi sandals tapping just outside the room.  Her eyes fix on the windows, the very same white cloud she things Shikamaru has been staring at. Her heart pounds against her chest like it’s trying to bust open her rib cage.  Sakura registers the heavy creak of the door opening and closing.  And then he’s right behind her.

Her mind squeaks and whistles in disorganized panic.  Like pieces of broken glass swivelling around in a closed container.  Sakura’s eyes fasten onto the greyness of the sky and she centers every piece of will to avoid cutting herself on a thought.

Kiba whistles, loud and keen, and it almost combats the creaks in her head.  “Well fuck!  If it isn’t Sasuke Uchiha!”  He grins, facing Kakashi.  “Now I’m real excited!  This is going to be one hell of a mission!”  Sakura doesn’t dare turn.

“Kakashi.”  His voice roves over her senses with the greeting.  It’s vividly deeper than she recalls, though  it still carries the same gruff nature he always spoke with and her heart smacks against her rib cage more fiercely because of it.  With great difficulty, she retains the mask of her chakra, although the only point of it now is to conceal the uproar in her body.  

Frontal lobe.  Thalamus.  Hypothalamus.  Pituitary gland.  Optic chiasma...

Kakashi looks past her, eyeing Sasuke in acknowledgement.  She wonders if she has even an arm’s length of distance from her ex-teammate, or if he could chidori through her head right where she stands.  Stop.  Stop.  He wouldn’t do that.  Infundibulum.  Mamillary body.  Pons.  

Kakashi sits up on his chair and places his book down onto the desk with great care.  His eyes flit around the room to survey each shinobi.  They linger on Sakura’s face for a moment longer than the rest and she wonders if he can see her insides bubbling.  

“Let’s get started,” he addresses.  “First, I would just like to inform everyone here that this is an A rank mission.  It’s going to be some time before you’re actually deployed, mainly because we suspect there might be more intel coming in soon, but as of right now, this mission could last anywhere from a week to a month.  There’s a good chance you’ll be selected for a follow up mission right after you come back as well.  The only person this doesn’t entirely apply to is Sakura,” His eyes lock on her now.  “I’ve already spoken with Tsunade about the case you’re involved with.  We can talk about those details in a bit.” Kakashi then looks around the room. “But first, any objections so far?”

“Yes, actually,” Sakura is speaking before she can think, and she’s utterly impressed with how calm she sounds.  “If it’s alright, may I have a word, Hokage-sama?”

Kakashi looks almost as if he expected this, but it’s hard to tell.  He nods in acknowledgement.  “Would the rest of you wait outside for a moment?”

There’s a tense pause, and Shikamaru is the first to move, pushing off the wall and letting out an exasperated sigh.  Sakura would feel bad if she didn’t think he always sounded tired since his father died.  “Dammit, Sakura, it isn’t easy making these teams, you know.  What a bother,” he mutters.  Now she does feel bad.  

The rest of them shuffle out quietly, and she’s acutely aware of Sasuke’s chakra receding just enough for her to breathe normally again.  Then finally, the door closes behind her.

“Sensei—”

Kakashi lifts his hand, silencing her. “It’s okay, Sakura.”  He looks at her then, neither pity nor disappointment in his gaze and she’s surprised by that.  “It’s Sasuke, right?”

Sakura exhales, her arms coming around to hold herself tightly.  She wants to maintain some dignity but she’s in front of another man who’s gone through it all with her and she feels too pathetic to even stand straight.

“I’m not going to lie.  I really would prefer you to be on this mission.  I need a shinobi as versatile in combat and healing as you.  I wouldn’t have talked to Tsunade otherwise.”  Kakashi crosses his arms and sighs.  “But I suppose there’s not much we can do.”

A silence ensues, Kakashi lost in thought as Sakura nervously shifts her feet, eyes downcast. “I’m sorry, sensei,” she murmurs.

Kakashi closes his eyes, exhales.  “I get it, Sakura.”  He meets her eyes then, and she’s too guilty to find comfort in the gentleness of his gaze.  “They were his transgressions.  If you can’t forgive him, that shouldn’t be your burden to bear.”  Kakashi pauses then, and she sees the slightest narrowing of his brow and she suspects...  

“But,” he inserts.  And she’s right.  “I think you need to look for some type of peace between you two.” She represses the urge to shudder, cry, scream—because she expects it from Naruto but she hoped she didn’t have to hear it from Kakashi too. And gods it feels like everyone talks about restoration like it’s easy when it might actually just be impossible.  

“I’m not just saying that because you’re both elite nin and it would be much easier on me to not have to maneuver you two on different squads—although, that is true.  I’m not saying it because you’re an important part of the medical staff and gods know with how impulsive Sasuke and Naruto are, they’ll be visiting the hospital more often than either of us would like,” he muses, a hint of gaiety in his voice.  But Sakura couldn’t find anything less funny considering they both took each other’s arms off in the heat of their anguish and raw stupidity.  

“I’m saying this because I care about you.  You don’t have to like him.  But you don’t deserve to be tormented by the past any more than he did, Sakura.”  His voice is sympathetic now.  Sakura doesn’t know what to feel.  She refrains from chewing her lips to bloody pieces of tissue.   “I don’t think you’re giving either you or Sasuke the credit you both deserve.  You’re stronger than this, Sakura.”

Stronger than this?  Her stomach churns in indignation and bewilderment.  “But what if I’m not?” Sakura says.  “I’m not Naruto, sensei, I can’t just—”

“You don’t have to be,” Kakashi interrupts.  “It wasn’t just Naruto who kept us afloat all these years, Sakura.  You did too.”  Sakura can feel her mouth twist and she doesn’t know whether to shout or laugh at such a grand accusation.  “The three of you are the same in that way.  You’re blindly courageous.”   But that’s not true.  She was never on par with them.  And the whole world knows it.  Sakura feels wretched, unworthy, not a part of Team 7 at all and Kakashi must see this because he eyes her.  “Don’t give me that look.  You are, Sakura,” he says. “You can beat this.”

She’s rigid with upset.  And maybe she wants to believe him, his eyes shimmering with such naked faith, but she just can’t.  Sakura sighs in resignation and gives him a tired nod. “I’ll try, sensei.”

Kakashi nods back.  “I’ll take you off the mission.  You’re dismissed.”  Sakura murmurs a thank you, bows her head, and turns around to leave.  

She takes a quiet, but deep breath in preparation, tries to muster Kakashi’s imaginary perception of her before stalking through the heavy wooden doors.  Sakura walks towards the right, not even sparing a glance to her left, where the group of chakra signatures stood.  She can’t look at him, it’s too soon.  Her legs move at a calculated, measured pace and she feels Sasuke’s chakra above them all—invasive and piercing.  Sakura’s pulse quickens with every second.  “You can go in now,” she announces, her voice soft and controlled.

“What’s wrong?  Aren’t you coming?” She hears Kiba call back out to her, followed by Akamaru’s bark.

“Tch.” Her throat tightens at the all too familiar sound.  “She’s probably going to be too busy at the hospital,” Sasuke mocks with unveiled insult, alluding to his previous attempts to see her.  And his voice echoes.

Stronger than this.  Kakashi said.  But Sakura sees red, mouth twitching.  That jackass has no right.  

She considers stomping with a chakra infused leg, cracking the floor beneath his and her feet and watching the tower collapse on the two of them.  How sweet it would taste to die with him now.

But he would probably just portal to safety and she would be left to crumble in her morbid self-prescribed destruction.  Sakura keeps walking.

“Why’d you say it like that?” Kiba asks.

“Who cares,” Shikamaru’s says with an air of perfunctory.

Sakura hears their footsteps and then the Hokage’s door open and close.  She wastes no time then, bolting forward, and leaping out the closest window.

“Forehead!” Ino’s voice resonates from across the field, stilling Sakura’s clenched fist.  

Sakura studies the dented surface before her.  It once resembled an iron dummy but is now crumpled and distorted, having only maintained its metallic sheen.  She’s suddenly aware of her own soft pants and the cool air against her.  She notes how the dull throb in her knuckles helps satisfy the chafe in her head.

Sakura turns to look at Ino and is surprised to spot Hinata too.  Sakura makes her way over to them with casual steps.  She thinks she might just be exhausted enough to entertain civility for them.  She wants to try.

“Hey Pig,” Sakura greets.  “Hinata.”  Her lips stretch into a smile, and she’s pleasantly surprised it doesn’t feel forced.  “I haven’t seen you out as much lately.  How is everything?”

“You’re one to talk,” Ino jabs.  It pinches, but Sakura chooses not to dignify her remark with a response.

“Sakura-san,” Hinata’s smile is demure as she inclines her head.  She ignores Ino’s comment too, probably because she’s used to the backwards affections of bickering between loved ones by now.  “I’m doing really well.”  

Sakura can see the evidence of that statement.  Hinata’s cheeks are pale but full, and her dark tresses shine.  But what captures Sakura is the zeal in the Hyuga’s white eyes—a blinding energy that she only wishes she could emulate. “You look amazing,” Sakura breathes.

“Doesn’t she?” Ino says, awe in her voice. “I’m fucking jealous.  I better glow like that when I’m pregnant.”

“Thank you.”  Hinata looks away bashfully, color warming her cheeks.  Sakura’s lips turn into a gentle smile, only half forced.  Naruto and Hinata have come a long way, and most times it has her swelling with pride.  But today she just wants to crawl under her covers, close the blinds, and never think about love again.  

Hinata then looks at Sakura directly, “Sakura-san, I’m sorry to disturb you, but I came with Ino-san because…well,” Hinata says, looks down, searches for the words.  “…I know…Naruto-kun…” Sakura feels her stomach drop.  “He didn’t tell me all the details, but I feel awful about your argument.”  

Argument.  She wishes it felt as small as the word, and not like the only family any of them have left is being torn apart because of her cowardice.  She remember’s Naruto’s disappointment, and Sasuke’s chidori.  Sakura closes her eyes and stops herself from dry heaving in front of the two.  Her mind drips red, a liquid waterfall streaming into the bleak.

“It’s okay, Hinata,” Sakura looks away from the two kunoichi.  She pretends she’s something tangible, something that makes sense.  “You don’t have to apologize for him.  I’m sure he will on his own later anyway.  He never lets me stay mad at him.”

“What happened between you two?” Ino asks.

“Just another stupid fight about Sasuke.” Sakura crosses her arms, and tries to look more angry and annoyed than utterly defeated.

Hinata’s voice comes out shy, apologetic.  “I-I don’t know what is going on between you and Sasuke.  But I’m sure you have your reasons.”  Sakura jaw is tight, her teeth clenched behind the firm line of her lips.  Have your reasons?  Wasn’t it obvious?  “I try to discourage my husband from pushing you,” Hinata says, looking down disappointedly.  “I promise he means well though.”  Sakura feels sorry for her.

Then she sighs then.  Because of course Hinata would come out all this way just to apologize to her on behalf of her idiot best friend.  They’re both so effortlessly selfless and well-adjusted.  Sakura wishes she can be like that too.  “Yeah, I know.  That idiot always means well.”

“I thought maybe we could relax in the onsens,” Hinata says, her voice hopeful.  “And maybe get a bite to eat.”  Hinata looks at Sakura then, her eyes pleading and the pout of her mouth demanding adoration.  “You...you don’t have to worry about expenses.  I’d just really like to make it up to you.”

“Oh Hinata,” Sakura says, apologetic.  She covets the innocence radiating off the black haired beauty.  What she would do to be clean again. “That’s okay, you don—”

“That sounds great!” Ino chimes in, smacking an arm around Sakura’s shoulders, and tugging her close.  Sakura nearly yelps at the contact.  “We can all go!”

Sakura pulls away with a frustrated growl despite how pleasantly warm her friend feels.  “Pig,” she reproaches, brows drawn.

“What?” Ino asks, her tone too defensive to be innocent.  Sakura gives her an unimpressed look.  “Oh, c’mon.  Naruto’s been a pain in your ass with that Sasuke shit—you always complain about it.”  Sakura crosses her arms but refrains from huddling into herself.  She tries to vaporize Ino from existence with the heat of her glare.  It doesn’t work.  “If she wants to treat you, let her.  You’ve been too stressed out to pass up the offer.”

“Please Sakura-san,” Hinata says, her hand tentatively brushing against hers, her eyes beseeching—needy and nervous.  She sees a Hyuga boy with a wet, bleeding stump.  His eyes looked like that too as she carried him.  My hand.  

Sakura recoils from her touch, fighting the guilt.  “Okay,” Sakura acquiesces.  “I guess it’s okay.”  She nods to affirm her position, hoping to dispel that sour look on Hinata’s face.  “Can I have an hour? I—I want to get some more training in first.”  She’s exhausted and there’s a dull throb in her temples, but she needs something to focus on.

Hinata smiles then, genuine and full.  It almost makes her succession worth it.  “Of course,” Hinata responds and gives a graceful nod of her head.

“You already look half-dead, Forehead,” Ino says, delicate as ever.  “This isn’t some elaborate ruse to pass out before you hang out with us, is it?”  Her eyes study her, and she can see Ino’s mouth twist in disapproval.

Sakura grimaces.  “No, Pig, it isn’t.”

“In that case,” Ino walks out towards the field then, “train with me!” Ino exclaims.  “It’s been too long, and I want to see that monstrous strength of yours.”  

Sakura feels her chest ache.  She knows what Ino is trying to do—checking up on her in a seemingly innocuous way.  It’s not a request for a spar, it’s an interrogation.  Sakura knows this is why Naruto always engaged Sasuke’s violence when they were younger.  She instantly hates herself for the comparison.  

“You don’t have any gear with you,” Sakura says, elusive.  Ino is vigilant—sensors always are.  She hates that about her friends, all of them are great sensors, acutely tuned to her chakra.  They always know.  Especially when she doesn’t want them to.

Ino shrugs.  “You have plenty.  Toss me a pouch.”

Sakura considers protesting further, but knows it’ll give her away.  At least she’s safe from Sasuke.  He wouldn’t prey on her with Ino and Hinata around.  “Kunai or shuriken?”

Ino began to tie up her long silk strands.  “I’ll take shuriken.”  

“May I watch?” Hinata asks.

Sakura examines Hinata, and wonders if she’s in on it.  She almost immediately dismisses the idea as a figment of lingering paranoia.  Hinata wouldn’t play into these sick games.  “Of course.  Will you be comfortable though?”  Sakura asks, moving to unlatch her pouch strapped to her right thigh.

Hinata nods.  “I’ll be fine,” she assures, before moving to nest herself beside the trunk of a tree.  The sky is grey and she can hear the distant piercing cry of a bird.  Sakura scans the Hyuga over, looking for any signs of discomfort before she hands Ino a pouch of shuriken.  She’s glad her fingers aren’t shaking.

They get into position and Sakura takes a deep breath.  Then Ino bolts forward.  

Sakura starts off strong, hoping to knock Ino senseless and end this quickly.  She slams her fist into the ground, launching iron dummies, debris, and her opponent into the air.  Ino’s shoulder is bruised on one of the metal bodies, before she uses the mannequin to find her footing, propelling herself forward to dodge the others with acrobatic flips and twirls.

Sakura stomps as Ino finally lands, cracking the ground and successfully knocking her off balance, just in time to get smacked in the gut by a chunk of rock.  But to Sakura’s surprise, she quickly recovers.  

Still, Ino struggles to keep up with Sakura, who’s leveling the ground with every solid step she tries to take.  All she hears is the roaring BOOM. of her own stomps and for a moment, Sakura thinks her plan just may work.  But it only takes one shuriken flinging towards her, and she’s jerking to the side, distracted just long enough for Ino to get back on her feet.  

Sakura’s already wheezing, her limbs painfully heavy.  Fuck.  Sakura knows she is tired, but she hadn’t been expecting this.

Then there’s an entire barrage of shuriken thrown her way, and Sakura sees them coming, but her movements are sluggish and dislocated.  They whizz past her ears as she moves until a piece of metal lodges into her arm and then there are only waves of hot-white pain coursing through her.  She’s sure she cries out, though she doesn’t hear it.  

Sakura tries to recover, fingers moving to dislodge the weapons.  Her lungs protest as she gasps for air, before she looks up and sees Ino’s fist slam across her cheek.  The hit isn’t the most brutal punch she’s taken, but it still has her careening onto all fours.

“I know you’re faster than that, Forehead!” Ino exclaims, before taking Sakura’s momentary distraction to send her flying with a chakra clad foot.

Her breath escapes her when her back hits bark and Sakura chokes on a whimper.  For a moment all she feels is a ringing along her body, and she’s reflexively weaving chakra through deplted muscle, torn tissue, and bone until she can think again.  Spinal damage.  Definitely spinal damage.  She can already hear Ino’s footsteps coming closer, and while Sakura doesn’t expect any less of Ino, she wishes she had more time to recover.

Nonetheless, she somehow does.  She traps Ino in a basic and seamless genjutsu where she’s still on the ground, before breaking it with a fist to the blonde’s stomach, cracking several ribs and sending her flying.  Sakura’s panting hard, and there’s only mild relief in healing a few more of her wounds enough to continue.  Her head is heavy and aching and she’s at odds with her body.  I'm so slow.  She thought, pathetically.  When did I get so slow?  

She sees Ino lifting herself up with a groan, and Sakura remedies it with a kunai to her right shoulder with a callousness she nearly regrets.  Ino cry is loud and piercing, and Sakura cringes at the depth of the sound.  Just make it quick, she thinks.  Because she can’t keep this up.  She doesn’t want to.  And she bolts forward, determined to end this.  

Ino just manages to get on her feet when Sakura’s fist closes in on her right shoulder.  Then Sakura’s panting, chest burning, and Ino’s face down on the ground again, several yards away.

Their spar quickly spins into a taijutsu match, where Sakura easily overpowers Ino, though her body feels as stiff and heavy as the iron dummies she’d been practicing on.  Finally, Sakura settles their match by straddling Ino’s hips with a kunai against her throat.

“Not bad,” Ino groans, wheezing. “I wasn’t—” She winces.  “—expecting the genjutsu.”

Sakura tries to focus her eyes on Ino’s face but has trouble.  She moves her kunai, not trusting her fingers hold tight.  Sakura feels like she might drop at any moment.  She’s aching everywhere, and for once, she’s actually hungry.  She hopes Ino can’t tell.  

“You’re faster than I remember,” Sakura says, chakra pushing from her body into Ino’s.  “You didn’t use any jutsus.”  She can barely hear her own voice.

“You’re slower,” Ino deadpans.  “You’re not taking care of yourself, Sakura.”  Rattled as her head may be, Sakura can hear the concern in Ino’s voice.

She’s quiet, too tired to speak.  So tired.  Her head hurts.  And she doesn’t like that Ino’s shoulder is bleeding.  Sakura pours chakra into the wound assiduously.  She’s vaguely aware of Hinata approaching them from the distance.  “I’m just a little tired from training beforehand,” she says, voice monotone and head dizzy.  “That’s all.”

Ino frowns but stays quiet.

“You two were really good,” Hinata says with a gentle smile then, bending to help heal their wounds.  She’s obviously lying but Sakura doesn’t blame her.  There was nothing theatrical about their spar.  After seeing Naruto and Sasuke lunge at each other’s throats, she knows she’ll never be impressed with a shinobi again.  And she’s grateful for that.

Sakura tells Hinata to only tend to Ino, “I can take care of mine,” she says.  Because one person knowing about her body’s deterioration is more than enough.

The bathhouse is far more packed than Sakura would like, but she’s relieved to scrub off the sweat, grime, and disappointment she has collected during the day.  Tenten and a few other women are making idle chat over to her right.  Ino probably would have join them, had she not been so exhausted from their earlier spar.

Sakura notes that Tenten looks better than she remembers.  Her face is less gaunt, and her attitude is chipper.  Even the purple that once adorned her eyes is now a mere tinge of pink.  She wonders—between beats of her god awful headache—if Tenten still has to swallow the impulse to kill herself on occasion.

Ino curls around Sakura’s limp body, tiredly leaning her head on her friend’s shoulder.  To her mild surprise, the contact is welcomed, somehow making her feel lighter despite the weight.  Sakura tenderly caresses the blonde kunoichi, watching her best friend drift in and out of sleep as Tenten and another nin ask Hinata about the prospects of motherhood.  

Sakura runs her fingers through Ino’s hair and listens attentively as Hinata spares a few words.  Her responses are short, but her smile is bright and her cheeks are rosy, conveying a quiet adoration.  Hinata looks to Sakura for affirmation from time to time, and Sakura gives her a soft and encouraging smile.  

There’s so much about Hinata that is still a mystery to Sakura.  Her demure disposition leaves much to the imagination.  She’s seen her annoyed many times—but never angry.  She’s seen her very happy too, she is right now.  Still, it always comes out in a quiet mellow, softened beneath the shy quiver of her lips, and the pink of her cheeks.  But it’s there, bold and electrifying, right in the center of her eyes.

Sakura wonders if her quiet is a natural inclination towards reticence or if it’s the product of a cruel upbringing.  She often used to wonder this with Sasuke too.

Sasuke.  What a difference a few years has made, thinking of that name.  And in some ways, it’s not different at all.  Always an unnerving, ubiquitous presence in her head.

Sakura remembers all of it, the sole vivid colors of her feelings in an opaque world.  She had adored her Sasuke, loved him to her early death.  And oh, death was so unkind.  His absence—a lifelong winter.  

She remembers clinging to Kakashi and Naruto as if they would slip right from her fingers after he left.  She cried to her father.  Fought vehemently with her mother, who hated him.  More than her tousan, more than herself, even more than her, okaasan hated Sasuke.

“So training under the Goddaime, huh?” Mebuki had snarled, arms crossed.  Sakura could feel her mother’s smoldering gaze, sizing her up.  She’d had that slow simmering quiet since Sakura announced it.  Now Kizashi left the room and all Sakura had to buffer the coiling tension was the window’s view and the anxious tapping of her foot.  “What, are you trying to get in the bingo book just to get that boy back?”

“If that’s what it takes,” Sakura had snapped.  She rose to her mother’s challenges more those days.

“Sweet, sweet child,” Okaasan said, sounding as if she thought Sakura was anything but.  “You’re going to get what you deserve—choosing that nutcase over your own family,” Mebuki had said.  And Sakura longed to be somewhere else. “You should never have become a shinobi.”  

“Why can’t you just be proud of me for once?  Otousan is!”

“Your Tousan is a fool!” She cried, voice strangled.  “He shouldn’t be encouraging you!  That waif you’re chasing is a monster!  One look and I saw—”

“Shut up!” Sakura had screamed, face hot and head spinning. “You don’t know him!  You don’t know anything!”

And she didn’t.  Mebuki was wrong.  About almost everything.  About Kakashi, about Tsunade, about Ino, and especially about Naruto.  

So why couldn’t she have been wrong about Sasuke too?  Sakura hated when her okaasan was right.

But what a beautiful boy, Sakura had thought, the first time she saw him.  He mesmerized her, called her.  How could she not fall for him?  His boyish good looks, his midnight eyes, and that damned smirk that seized every piece of her being.  A cruel smile—happiness smothered by cynical despair.  You’re annoying.  He said.  

What a shitty term of endearment, she knew—but her heart sped up all the same.  At least it beats being bludgeoned to near death like he did Naruto.  Such a delusional brat she had been, falling for it all.  If only he had killed her when he left her on a cold bench.  Then she wouldn’t have nightmares about him doing it now.

Sakura hears his voice then, an echo of their earlier meeting in the Hokage’s office.  It was deep and alluring as always, but also matured somehow, despite the juvenile jab he made.  She tries to picture the last time she’s seen him, which seems far too long and still much too recent.  His hair dark and his eyes crimson pinwheels, raw and unnaturally beautiful.  His build is muscular, like any shinobi, but something about his physique and his constant, confident stature cries of power.  The stern set of his jaw as he looks down upon all of them cements the notion.  Her handsome demon.  

And with the new Rinnegan, he is deified.  The ominous purple hue and the swirl of that divine eye has her seeing flashes of Madara.  His dark incarnate—just as beautiful and painfully monstrous.  Gods the Uchiha were—here to cast judgement and claim retribution from Konoha.

Sakura is pitifully thankful she doesn’t know what Indra looks like in that moment.  She might picture him killing her then too.  The three of them would be having a dart throwing contest, except their darts are arrows of lightning and their dartboard is her head.  Their eyes bloody revolutions, their smiles keepers of grief.  Love lost to the wheel.

“Mm...Sakura?”  Ino’s voice chirps out, snapping Sakura back to the steam in front of her face.

Sakura jerks her head towards Ino.  Her best friend yawns, before pulling away slightly to nestle her head more comfortably in the juncture between Sakura’s neck and shoulder.  “You’re shaking, forehead,” Ino mumbles into her skin.  “Relax with me.”

“Oh.”  Sakura deeply exhales and she’s surprised by how much tension leaves in just that one breath.  She wraps her arms around Ino who sighs contentedly.

“I swear you two are gay for eachother,” Tenten says then.  “I’ve actually been being with a girl and we didn’t even cuddle like that.”

“Oh please, Tenten, that doesn’t count,” A kunoichi interrupts. “You two didn’t even fuck.  You were just experimenting.”  

And Sakura rolls her eyes.  If ‘experimenting’ secretly meant ‘fucked up and desperate to feel again because Neji is dead’ that statement might have been more accurate.

“Just saying.  We all know Ino’s bi, and you’ve never exactly dated anyone.”  Tenten looks at Sakura inquisitively, adorning a sly smile that was probably meant to be cute. “You sure you’re not gay?”

Sakura knows she’s teasing.  Tenten doesn’t mean to be offensive, but it feels like outsiders are trying to pry into her too much.  It’s been making her sick.  Sakura tries to keep the resentment out of her voice as she speaks. “Yes, I’m sure.”

“Oh...wait a second...” Tenten begins, the clever smile grows marginally wider.  ”Sasuke’s back, isn’t he?”  I just saw him in the market the other day.”  And while Sakura struggles to maintain composure, Hinata flinches on her behalf.  “Well?  We all know you were like in love with him.  You two aren’t…are you?”

Sakura pictures herself drowning.  Water filling her lungs and stealing her last, unwilling breath.  Okaasan probably died that way.  Suffocation.  She remembers her blue skin.  Opioid overdose tends to do that—slows the breathing until the unconscious victim is tragically dead.  Sakura imagines the clear liquid of the bath blurring her eyes until she sees only black, then white, and finally nothing at all.

Ino’s mumbles in the background of her hazy mind.  “Tenten,” Ino’s voice is drowsy, but she still answers for Sakura since she’s too busy fantasizing about death to open her mouth herself. “Shut the fuck up.”

And Tenten listens, because she never quite washed away the guilt of Jin.

#mine #sasusaku #fanfiction #ghosts #elegiesforshiva #homemade trauma soup #efs writes

[imcomedic-sans]

9. Did you ever have your heartbroken? Who was the one who broke your heart and why did you love/trust them in the first place? Were they the person you first thought they were?

Oh boy, I hope you’re ready for Tragic Backstory....

I’ll put this under the cut cause it’s a little long, and only for those who are really interested to read and know. There’s also going to be warning tags, so be aware of that.

Okay so, a very long time ago, like... six years? Maybe longer? I was 16 at the time. But there was this online game I played and it was a new experience for me. I’ve played regularly and the beginning was bumpy as far as making friends went, but it didn’t take long until I started forming my own circle and those friends introduced more friends. 

Now I can’t remember exactly how I met two of them now, but the closest of my friends were three people: Gabriel, Saffron, and Seth. 

Saffron I met first and Gabriel came along later, and it was actually through Gabriel I met Seth. We were doing a dungeon with one other person, Katie (she was dating Gabriel) and there was a system in the game that allows you to teleport to your friends. Well Seth teleported to Gabriel and- long story short- he was being an asshole. Gabriel and him ended up doing a PvP match within the game and Seth ended up winning, but shortly after the match, Gabriel became upset about something. Seth thought at first it was because he won and he felt bad for it and wanted to apologize, but that hadn’t been it. Unfortunately I couldn’t stick around to help Gabriel, and I was really worried, but Katie was still there and Seth ended up not being as bad as I originally thought and he promised to make sure things were okay. So I left.

“Why are you giving so much information Rav?” Because if I’m going to share this story I’m going to paint a goddamn picture of exactly why and how it’s affected me. 

After that incident, I started seeing more of Seth. And the more we talked, the more I realized I had misjudged him. I didn’t always see him, he just occasionally came along when I was hanging out with Gabriel. Gabriel had a lot going on and I tended to be there to help him out with the shit he was going through. Seth was also someone that helped him out, so it wasn’t weird when we would see each other and eventually he decided to add me to his friend’s list. Which was funny, I can’t remember how the exchange went, but I told him that I don’t really make friends easy and I hadn’t really trusted him yet. He sort of laughed, and said that’s okay, he didn’t either. But we could give each other a chance. I thought it amusing, and decided to add him.

Things more or less stayed the same, so I’ll fast forward to when Gabriel decided I was a godawful friend.

I’m not gonna dive into how this situation even happened, but one day I came online and Saffron sent me a message asking if I told Gabriel “go die emo kid”, or something of that affect. Gabriel did cut himself and he had suicidal tendencies. But I would never, ever tell ANYONE that. If you remember, I said I’ve helped him through a lot of these problems. So you can imagine my shock when Saffron told me this. The day before this, I actually did have an argument with Gabriel and Seth was right there, too, and it was a fucking mess. I had left and gone to bed feeling awful, and to come back online to this just didn’t feel good at all.

After I cleared things up with Saffron, she knew I would never do that and told me it was Katie who was messaging her, freaking the fuck out and making these claims. So I had to locate Katie, get her to calm down, and have her tell me what the hell was going on.

She finally tells me it was Gabriel making these claims, along with other things, and when he showed up online commence argument number 2. I was hurt. Like deeply hurt. I spent so much time and effort helping this guy, I thought we were friends, but he suddenly turned on me and did this. And I didn’t even know why. When it was finally over he wanted to make amends, but it was too late. After everything, he decided to say awful things about me and turn everyone against me while he was at it, and I just couldn’t look at him anymore. We were still ‘friends’ and we talked, but it was never the same and he knew it. Eventually he just started coming on less and less.

The person that was there with me through this? Seth.

And that’s sort of how things winded up happening. Whenever I was hurt, he was there. When I was confused and didn’t know what to do, he was there. And he just... never asked for a lot..? He was just THERE. I don’t know how to explain it. I’ve never had luck with friends. Growing up, I was usually bullied and the friends I did make in school winded up turning around and bullying me, too. But then when I go online and he sees me, he asks how I am and I was like... stunned. I never realized no one’s ever asked about my day before..? I wasn’t really sure how to take it. No one’s ever.... cared. No one cared if I was sad. No one cared if I was angry or upset. And I’ve kinda just accepted that. But then suddenly, here’s this guy who’s genuinely interested in my day. Someone who would even ask for elaboration if I just mentioned something in passing. We had a lot in common, too. He loved poems and spoke in quotes, he LISTENED. It didn’t matter how little or how long I would go on, he just listened and waited to hear everything I had to say. I was happy. For the first time I felt I had found a friend and someone who finally understood. 

....And then it happened. Seth died.

He had a little sister that came online occasionally. It was her that told us. 

I can’t.... I don’t know. I think about it now and there’s still tears. There’s an emptiness that aches. I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t know what to do. You can’t hear something like that and believe it. Because it’s impossible. It’s not fucking possible. 

The world suddenly changes. It hurts so goddamn much. And it hurt so much worse because I couldn’t properly grieve. No one in my family would of understood. I had to pretend things were okay. I had to fake through smiles and activities. Because they wouldn’t have cared. The online world wasn’t real. The friends I made weren’t real. I had to pretend things were okay. When, really, I was dying inside.

I lost my closest friend. Hell. Someone I loved. I loved him. I don’t know if it was romantically or platonic, but I really held feelings toward him that I’ve never felt toward anyone before or since. And when I came online, I pushed aside my grief because I knew I had to be there for his sister. If I was going through this, then she had to be having it so much worse. I wanted to help her. It’s what Seth would have wanted. Even though it hurt and every night I cried myself to sleep, somehow I drew the strength to return and be there for her, and I think that was the only thing that pulled me through.

Oh. And remember Saffron..? Yeah... She had a nervous breakdown in the middle of this, and removed me from her friend’s list. She ran off and nevermind me dealing with the loss of my best friend and real life chaos, but she disappears for awhile and I’m left stranded at sea without a clue which direction land is and all I want was a fucking boat and there was no one that could give it to me. But goddamn if I don’t keep my head above the water and swim for it.

 It was rough. I could never cry because someone was always bound to hear me so I had to do it when everyone was asleep or I could shower. There was this constant feeling that a part of me that was missing and I couldn’t talk to anyone about it. And even now I wondered if it was fair of me to feel, because after all, I only knew him online. But I missed him. Sometimes I still do, despite everything. 

But... things slowly started to go back to normal. I found Saffron and we were able to talk things over, and resumed being friends. I continued to hang out with my other circle of friends, and helped Seth’s sister, Julia, to be happy again. Life went on. Now and then I had to pause and take it all in, but it did go on.

Then one day my laptop had gotten a virus and I couldn’t turn it on anymore, so for three months I’ve been away. Eventually we got a new one, so of course the first thing I did was download the game and logged on. Everyone was still there! Everyone was thrilled to see me and it was super late when I finally did this so we couldn’t stay long and only two of them were on at the time, so we talked for a bit, caught up, and promised to do things the next day.

The next day arrives and Saffron sends me an interesting message...

Her: “Oh hey, by the way, Seth wants to talk to you”

Me: “Okay, sure! But you mean Julia, right?” 

Her: “.....Yeah you two should talk.”

I was unnerved. Not long after Saffron tells me this, Julia comes online and asks to speak to me. She was on her brother’s account, which wasn’t weird. He had everything, and while it bothered me because it reminded me of him, I never told her so. Besides, just coming on the game reminded me of him.

After we went somewhere private, though... She told me the truth.

She was Seth.

He was alive.

.............

.................................................

...............................................................................................................

You ever just... forget how to function.

Like everything slips away from you. Everything. Thoughts, feelings, fucking everything. You can’t even process what’s in front of you, it’s like everything just freezes yet you’re still somehow conscious. But you can’t even call it that. You’re aware enough that you’re seeing something and you should be feeling, but you can’t. 

I didn’t know what to think or feel. I wasn’t talking to Julia. I was talking to Seth. SETH. SETH!!!!!! He was right there, he was right in front of me, for months I had wished for this moment so bad, I went through my head everything I ever wanted to tell him that I thought I would never be able to again. 

I wanted the floor to swallow me. I felt sick. I wanted to know how this was possible when I already knew the answer. He’d never been his sister. He’d been pretending all along. He never died. I don’t even know if he actually had a sister ever. He made up some BS reason of why he wanted to do it. The company threatened to delete his account..?? They said they would delete all of his friends accounts????

I was furious

I yelled at him

“They’re just ITEMS, Seth! ITEMS! They can be replaced, you can’t be!” 

If even any of this was remotely believable, I wouldn’t have cared. I didn’t care about my fucking account. I didn’t care about the money spent or the time I put into it or the items I worked hard to get. None of that fucking mattered. To think he even thought that would have, IF HE THOUGHT I’D BUY THIS LIE, I cared so much more about him. 

I felt so sick

But I wanted him to be back so bad

I wanted to forgive him

I tried

I wanted to pretend that none of this ever happened and things could go back to how they were

I wanted it so bad

....But it couldn’t. As hard as I tried, it was gone. 

Things never went back to how they used to be. We talked less and less. I wouldn’t talk to him the same. He knew it, too. I tried so hard. But the damage was done.

Eventually, he stopped coming on entirely. There was one last time he did, he was rarely showing up already but he teleported to me one more time. I was hanging out with Saffron and a few others, and I was surprised to see him. He was telling me something, but I lost connection and disappeared. When I came back on, he was gone. I panicked a little. When I located Saffron, I asked what he said. If he was coming back. All she told me was that he said: “Well, guess that’s it then.”

And he left.

...I haven’t seen him since. I kept playing maybe for another year, maybe a little less, before I finally started drifting away from it, too. I haven’t really been the same since. Which is probably dramatic. Actually this entire thing must be so stupid because goddamn do I feel foolish. Like maybe I should of known. Or that it doesn’t matter because it was all fake. I should probably be entirely over it now and, yeah, I am, and yet... I don’t even know. To this day I keep asking myself if he really cared at all through all of that or it had all just been a game to him. I still don’t know why he did it. 

But then, well. I guess that’s it then. Huh?

#.: OOC :. #.: The Mun Speaks :. #.: Munday Meme :. #.: Tragic Backstory Drama :. #.: Mun Stupidity :. #.: TW: Suicide mentioned :. #.: TW: Cutting mentioned :. #.: Negative :. #((This was long but these were only the highlights)) #(( You don't have to read please don't feel obligated to)) #((It's really long)) #((And it really is just dumb)) #((I could of paraphrased it too but like)) #(( This did serious shit to me)) #(( It took years before I even remotely believed someone again)) #Anonymous

[cummunication]

The before and after of Trauma

If my life were a movie, it’d be a film where you’re brought past to present, switching between the two. 2017 is coming to an end and it was a transformative year with extraordinary breakthroughs. I’m ending on a high note, and for the first time in a long time I’ll admit, there’s not much I would change in my life. It started with a budding romance; I began dating someone from my job and we were together from January till May. Although this relationship had some triggering and conflictual moments for the both of us, I walked away with additional knowledge. Relationships help you mature, and I don’t regret any of mine since they’ve aided me in being more resilient. This year I realized not all love has to end in tragedy. I dated more this year than ever before and this is beneficial. I used to avoid dating & people in general because I felt weary of allowing anyone to get close to me. I was convinced I couldn’t get hurt if I built a high enough wall. Nothing transpired from these dates, nonetheless, it’s vital to put ourselves out there and face our fears. If we stay in our comfort zone, we prevent ourselves from reaching our fullest potential. Dating builds character so you recognize what you will and won’t accept. It also helps to come to terms with the fact there’s many fish in the sea… some are sharks while others are dolphins, you just need to find the right ones. You can try & protect yourself from heartbreak by isolating and forbidding love, yet this only makes your heart grow cold and numb. People do this because they are terrified of rejection [I would know] however when we do this we reject not only the bad but also the good. This year I got back together with my ex-boyfriend. This was unplanned and not called for. Although it took me about a year to try and move on, when I saw him randomly in June, I realized I never genuinely let go, and I wasn’t over it at all. Yes, the month or two we dated again was re-traumatizing, still, I trust the universe made our paths cross for a reason. Some may say closure; others are convinced I was just weak. Loving him was like driving lost in the dark without headlights. When you are away from a person you love for an extended period of time, you begin to miss the person you wished they were… you grieve the loss of what could’ve been. You idealize them in your mind and put them on a pedestal they may not deserve. It’s less painful to remember the tragic times & easier to imagine the good, no matter how few. It took me getting back together with him to see how much progress I’d made in the last year without him. The year without him I felt so alone, but I never felt as lonely as when we were together. Love can sweep you off your feet & before you know it, you have all the wind knocked out of you. A large portion of this year was spent depressed and enveloped in my eating disorder. Even though depression sucks to put it lightly, I know I wouldn’t be where I am currently without having experienced such lows. Currently, my depression is in remission as well as my eating disorder. I still have setbacks of course, but I’ve developed the tools to get my shit together a lot quicker. I’m a firm believer of people, places or things entering your life for a reason, to teach you a lesson or to be a guide to help you blossom. We might not see it at the time, and it’s hard to feel gratitude when we are drowning in our sorrows. It’s easy to thank God and love life when things go our way; on the contrary, it’s not as simple when things keep going wrong. We say “why me?” and doubt Gods existence because if there was a God, this wouldn’t happen right? I believed this for a while too. When I look back on my 23 years of life, it’s challenging to not view it from a “before and after” point of view. I can’t remember who I was before 21 years old. I remember things that happened; many events I wished hadn’t occurred. I used to be trusting, naive and wore my heart on my sleeve. Part of me is sad when I dwell on the innocence lost, while another is thankful. Today my mom stated I am “emotionally scarred” from the last two years. I’ve known this for a while but it’s worth mentioning; we all have scars. Some are physical & some invisible. In my experience, the internal scars have been tougher to heal than the external. Something I learned this year is that everyone has their own pace of healing, and you can’t compare your healing journey to someone else’s. Last night I was asked “what did you see in your ex?” It would’ve been faster to blow off this question, to ignore it or proclaim “I don’t know, I was young & dumb and he was a jerk” Blaming others is the easy way out. Truthfully, I don’t blame my ex for anything, even when he had no problem blaming me for everything. I hold him responsible for his actions but I also take responsibility for my role in our dysfunction. When I was together with him (for simplicity, I’ll call him Jackson here on out) I became who he wanted me to be. Often I want to bury this side of me, erase the memories of my past. It makes me feel ashamed that I let someone treat me so poorly; he treated me like nothing so I became nobody. Nevertheless, that part of me is still inside; I realized that a few months ago. We all have a side of us we hide; that is small and frightened and craves love and acceptance. We must make peace with this side of ourselves, acknowledging the wounded child within us, he or she carries the weight of the stories we tell ourselves; that the way people treat us is equivalent to our value as a person. When we quit feeding ourselves these lies, and wake up to the idea that we don’t need others approval to be worthy of love, we have a shot at self-love. Jackson and I demanded too much of each other. He wanted to control me and have complete power, and I wanted him to fill the ache inside. He used me and I guess you could say I used him too, but for different reasons. When you feel as if you no longer have a say in relationship, it’s impossible to flourish. Jackson’s rancidity spread through me like an infection; but I was willing to grin and bear it in exchange for [a false sense of] belonging. Before 2015, I was coy, always pleasant, afraid to rock the boat. I wish I could say I’m a badass who gives no fucks but who are we kidding? I’m aware change takes time. Lifelong habits don’t disappear overnight. A people pleaser inside me still lives. I continue ignoring my needs and accommodate from time to time… but not nearly as much. We are convinced if we set boundaries or aren’t a doormat maybe somebody wont love us or they’ll leave. If your opinion doesn’t matter to your significant other, it’s a blessing if they leave, trust me. There’s a quote that says something along the lines of “we don’t know a person until we don’t give them their way.” Real love is not conditional. Now, I make my desires top priority in my life & the person I look to please most is me. This year, I began to find my voice; a voice that had been taken from me and unfortunately lost. I see how you can still be assertive and a kind person. In fact, you are more capable of loving if you are willing to communicate your limits and be authentic. One of the biggest takeaways from this last year is no longer identifying as having PTSD (post-traumatic stress disorder). I do not deny PTSD being one of the worst things I’ve underwent in life. Today, I identify more with PTG (post traumatic growth). I thought my heartbreak would kill me. Some days, I wished it would since I was in so much agony. My biggest fear is loss, abandonment, the feeling of grief [this could be linked to the loss of my father]. I used to say “I would never get back with Jackson since I can’t handle losing him again” Obviously, I doubted my strength. Either way, I did lose him, twice. My worst nightmare at the time, manifested and I still survived. I trust if I can survive that, I can survive anything. Falling in love is scary shit. We hesitate to be vulnerable because it’s like we’re on a plane while your lover is the pilot. They maneuver how high we fly and if we go up in smoke. It doesn’t have to be like that though. Last night, I was on my way somewhere and I felt butterflies. It was unbelievable and simultaneously, horrifying. I hadn’t felt that way in quite a while and frankly, I didn’t wish to. But I know feelings, like anything else in life are temporary and thank god! Instead of panicking that it won’t work out, I can relax knowing “rejection is God’s protection.” Cliché, but true. I’m ending this year knowing my worth; practicing trusting my beautiful intuition which I frequently ignored. My instinct is my friend and I will not turn my back on her anymore. I advise you do the same. Others can try and tell you what’s good for you or what’s not, but you already know the answer if you listen to the voice inside. From the outside, I see my life as before and after yet I also understand my circumstances and past do not define me. We can choose to change our story, thereby changing our life. Or we can choose to own our stories, and own our lives. Either way, the choice is ours

#metoo #me too campaign #me too movement #trauma #trauma survivors #domesticviolencesurvivor #dvsurvivor #abusesurvivor #blog #blogger

[iv-kplpt]

it feels like we’re pulling teeth [grandmaster au]

~21k words (yes i do realize). rated m.  charlie and oswald are two streamers. they don’t exactly like each other. they are both going pro. they are going pro on the same team. whoops?

some notes before we begin: - this was supposed to be short and silly. it’s not. apparently i can’t be casual about anything ever. - there will be a follow-up, because i got SO invested. - i have no idea about the inner workings of programing and i firmly refused to google anything. suspension of disbelief, man. *naruto voice* BELIEVE IT. - charlie’s problems were written from experience, so jot that down.

They started out as anything but friends, really.

The year was 2017 and they were both famous for embarrassing themselves online publicly - even though the proper term for that activity is streaming.

They were both famous for playing games, basically. Sure, Charlie also had a vlog channel and Oswald was a well known foodie - but it was their gaming related shenanigans that drew people to them. They were rivals of sorts - mostly because Overwatch matchmaking system somehow always put them in opposing teams.

Also, she mained Mercy, while Oswald mained… Literally every good counter to Mercy. Roadhog. Reaper. Doomfist.

(The truth is, every character is a good Mercy counter, as long as their player can aim - and Oswald’s aim was impeccable. He was accused of cheating many times; and every times the accusations were proven to be false.)

The problem was - she was a good Mercy. She knew when to switch between healing and damage boosting, seemed to always be one step ahead of her opponents and tracked the locations of airborne Pharah and safely nested Bastion with surgical precision, always ready to fly to safety, always ready to undo enemy team’s careful planning - all while being impossibly optimistic and nice, spamming hearts on match channel and always informing the enemy team they were worthy opponents.

(Lack of capitalizations and abundance of exclamation points were a good indicator of her messages being genuine, rather than generated by game’s anti-ggez bot.)

She was absolutely unbearable and insufferable with her rezes and optimism. Every time Oswald saw CherryPop on the enemy team - he knew he just lost. No matter how long he chased her - in the end she’d always escape his flanking attempts.

At first, he hated her guts.

The feeling was mutual - seeing birdmaskguy would cause a sudden surge of anxiety to travel down her spine, making her realize she’ll have to double her efforts. He was persistent. Relentless. Calculating.

And obnoxious as hell. His quirk - a thing making him stand out, making him different from a legion of other competitive-focused streamers - was being faceless. His nickname didn’t come out of nowhere - and good grief his mask was obnoxious. Shaped after a penguin skull and so completely, absolutely pointless. He never showed his face on stream - even though he introduced himself by name more than once. Finding out what he looks like was just a simple Google search away; he was the only heir to one of the wealthiest families in his hometown. His father was a well-known businessman, and Oswald as expected to take over the family money and name one day; so naturally his face was all over Gotham news.

Except Charlie wasn’t from Gotham, and Gotham news were never big enough to make it matter on a national scale. And she was never curious enough about her nemezis to actually spend her precious time Googling him; why would she? It was only a game.

They first met during placements for season four - and they were in the opposing teams. By that time, Oswald was already a relatively well-known streamer; Charlie was just taking her baby steps, and most important of all - didn’t know anyone in the scene. No one was her inspiration - she was simply being told she’s good by strangers.

NightKnight: mercy NightKnight: do u stream

CherryPop: nope, should i? mikey1111: yeah. you’re good. CherryPop: aww :P thanks!! free rezzes for everyone!!

They met in Hanamura, under the blossoming cherry trees. Her team started out on defense, his - on attack. They had a defense McCree; and he was very persistent. In fact, he and Mercy worked like a well-greased machinery, understanding each other without a word; she always knew where is he and he always knew when she’s in trouble.

birdmaskguy’s first interaction with CherryPop was hooking her away, with intention of killing her in one shot, as Roadhogs tend to do to fragile supports; but as soon as she was hooked that damn McCree flashbanged him, effectively saving her life.

Thank you! he heard the Mercy spam, as McCree reloaded and Mercy pulled out her gun.

She spilled his first blood that match, all while spamming the I’m not a miracle worker… line and jumping around like crazy.

On her first stream, CherryPop killed the birdmaskguy; and thousands of people were watching on his end.

A lot of people lost their shit at his pathetic failure; she killed him few more times with the assistance of the mysterious McCree who seemed to prefer the crouching position. He lost the match and was very close to typing out fuck you mercy in the match channel; but he didn’t. He was better than that-

CherryPop: hey hog CherryPop: OINK OINK

birdmaskguy: >.> birdmaskguy: get fucked, mercy. CherryPop: sheesh, at least buy me a dinner first! pork maybe? :P

They kept meeting like this, and she kept getting more and more popular - first as a Mercy who destroyed birdmaskguy, then as her own - rather skilled and enjoyable to watch - person.

PLAY OF THE MATCH: CherryPop as Mercy. [5 people rez, singlehandedly undoing his quad, accompanied by Hanzo quietly taking care of their Junkrat. Or: 3 people rez immediately followed by a double kill and three last second assists while boosting Hanzo just as he was launching his dragons of destructions. Or: accidentally getting nanoboosted and promptly becoming the legendary harmacist.]

They were bitter rivals all through seasons four and five, always in the opposing teams, always bickering on match chat, her always undoing all his efforts and him fruitlessly trying to hunt her down and corner her in a dead end on King’s Row or give her a choice between an environmental death or an execution in Dorado and so on and so on. They never watch each other’s streams; partially because they usually were doing them at the same time, and partially because they didn’t want to. It didn’t matter anyway; all until one day they ended up on the same team.

They crossed paths many times earlier this week; and Oswald was as persistent as always in tracking her down and distracting her from her team. He hooked her away, he gunned her down, he didn’t let her out of his sight every time they were on the same battlefield; he pissed her off more than once that week.

(Some people on his streams were watching them both at the same time, promptly informing them what does the other one have to say; she called him an insufferable prick more than once. And a dick. And a complete and utter asshole, good lord, fuck him and his obsession with ME and FRESH TOMATOES-)

They were both very high ranking in competitive; and in that tier cooperation relied mostly on precise, clear voice communication. Built-in lines were only helpful to a certain degree, and typing was taking away precious time; but he was still a bit surprised when he heard her voice for the first time.

“Well, well, well.” she said as they were picking their characters. “That’s a new.”

Her voice was sweet and melodious and Oswald tried to imagine her spurting out series of invectives fueled by his persistence.

“So unfortunate.” she continued, picking - of course - Mercy. “It’s such a shame there’s so much bad blood between us, right, Birdie?”

“Oh come on.” he muttered, picking Reaper. “You are going to heal me, right?”

“I don’t know.” she said nonchalantly. “I was thinking about pocketing our Rein. Hey, Rein, want a pocket Mercy?”

“JAAA!” their Rein replied, doing their best Reinhardt impression and she giggled and Oswald groaned.

“You heard the big guy!”

“Come on, don’t be like that.” he pleaded as she emoted; he decided the Devil skin she had equipped was very fitting. “I’m dps! I can’t distract them if I’m dead.”

“You are pain in the ass, Oswald.” she said and his name rolling out of her mouth sounded disturbingly right and he hated, he absolutely hated this fact. “A prick. You gotta ask nicely if you want something from me.”

“Seriously?” he asked with disbelief as commenters on his stream were starting to whip out memes. “You want me to beg for heals?”

“It does sound weird when you put it this way, but yeah!” she said cheerfully as the match was starting and their team was leaving the spawn. “Beg for mercy, you pretentious jerk.”

“Oh, fuck you!” he groaned and she only laughed, flying away to take care of Rein and Zarya as he was decimated by Torb’s turret.

Finally - eight deaths later - he cracked.

“Fine!” he said, Shadow Stepping away from the payload, as she was high above the streets of Dorado, flying the friendly skies with Pharah. “Please, Mercy.”

“What was that?” she asked innocently and he groaned. “I didn’t hear ya!”

“Please!” he said desperately. “Pretty please! With cherry on top!”

“Aw, you sound so cute when you beg.” she said mockingly, flying down to him. “Got you. Now go, fuck someone up. Preferably not their Zen. He’s trying his best.”

“Thanks, I guess.” he muttered, getting back into battle.

“Aaaa!” she squealed few minutes later, frantically spamming the group up! command. “Their Harambe is after me now!”

“Their WHAT?” their Rein asked.

“The monkey guy!”

“His name is Winston, you uncultured swine.” Oswald said, getting in her line of sight. “Come on.”

“Hey, don’t be an ass to me, I’m the one thing standing between you and death!” she said, flying to him; persistent monkey followed, promptly getting stuck in Junkrat’s trap.

“And I’m the one thing standing between you and death.” Oswald said firmly as she flew away. “So you too should stop being an ass.”

“Get a room, you two!” Junkrat yelled out, 1v1ing a very foolish Widowmaker. “We have a payload to escort and a match to win.”

“Shut up!” Oswald and CherryPop said at the same time and their entire team laughed.

They won, and he got play of the match; a perfect, sextuple kill, only ruined by her tag in the corner of the screen, as she was boosting him.

(He very begrudgingly voted for her and her astounding 30k points of healing, only slightly spoiled by “40% of team damage taken”. The last number could be lower, if he spent more time protecting her feathery ass and less time being snarky.)

“Well, that wasn’t too bad!” she said cheerfully. “Thanks for the saves!”

“You have my hammer!” Rein chimed in. “No, seriously, hit me up if you ever want to queue in a group. You’re an angel.”

She giggled and the match concluded and Oswald was returned to the main screen, left with a weird, burning feeling in his chest. Heartburn? He decided it probably was a heartburn, first in years.

(He was very careful about what he ate. Not like he avoided junk food; but he was generally careful with what he was putting inside him. And thus he managed to go years without heartburn and indigestion.)

An hour later, he ended the stream; it was early Thursday afternoon and he didn’t have any plans, so he just stretched and began to mindlessly browse the web.

Eventually he found himself on her channel and clicked a random video - and for the first time he saw her face and he sighed, not knowing what was he expecting. Her smile was as beautiful as her voice and when she laughed - and he still could hear the sound of her laughter ringing in his ears - she tilted her head and her red hair would brush her long, pale neck.

She was infuriating to play against and very nice to look at.

“Well, fuck.” he muttered, watching her wink. “Fuck me, I guess.”

*** Streaming was a pleasant distraction, and so was vlogging; and she needed all the distractions she could get, to get away from the overwhelming apathy and numbness that would creep in the second she wasn’t doing something. And playing that dumb game? It turned out to be surprisingly easy, very intuitive. It was an easy sense of accomplishment, seeing gold medals and votes and SR points roll in; and people seemed to enjoy watching how effortless this seemed when she was doing it, how easy. She was only partially paying attention to the game, and yet she was winning, and yet she was doing great; it felt nice, It felt… It felt.

And then there was that one fucking guy. That asshole. That tool.

No, not her ex boyfriend; when she thought of Harry she wasn’t angry. Sad? Probably. Ashamed? Maybe. But she wasn’t angry at him; if anything, she was angry at herself for trusting so easily, for not seeing right through him.

(To be fair, he did deceive everything, her parents included. So it’s not like she was a fool among the wise men; they were all blind idiots.)

That one person able to piss her off went by the name of birdmaskguy. The name was very telling - he wore a mask when streaming, and he often joked he’s doing it to not distract people with his very handsome face.

He played like an asshole. He sounded like an asshole on those short clips she watched on tumblr. He probably simply was an asshole; and they had a bone to pick. Her initial career online was built on her killing him; sure, with time she did get a reputation for her actual skills, rather than firing some bullets into a remarkably large target, but at first she was simply a Mercy who killed birdmaskguy; and his deaths from that match made their way into a lot of “Overwatch worst fails” compilations. For a week or so he was a laughing stock; and boy oh boy was he resentful.

And people liked hearing her call him names as she was running away from him. She called him many things - insufferable prick. Fucking asshole. Unholy offspring of the monster from It Follows and Michael Myers.

(Not in his face though. On match chats she was playful and mockingly friendly; but her viewers heard her. And enjoyed every second.)

People would never guess she’s severely depressed; she was good at hiding it. On her vlogs - about fashion and food and makeup - she was bubbly and cheerful; and messy flats and poor eating habits weren’t exactly a red flag, they made her seem quirky and relatable. No one knew about hours spent in complete silence, just staring at the ceiling. No one knew about her insomnia. And about how she simply couldn’t be bothered to cook, when throwing shit into microwave was so much easier. On the surface level, she appeared perfectly fine; and no one really felt the need to get any deeper.

And that guy - that Oswald Cobblepot from Gotham, that pretentious asshat in a ridiculous mask - was one of the very few people who were capable of making her feel something. Sure, that seething bloodlust wasn’t anything good - but it was a good start. Baby steps.

At some point, she started to come across him outside the game. She was embarrassingly active on shittyfoodporn subreddit; she felt some sort of ridiculous bond with those other losers, who mostly ate junk and microwaved shit and horrifying combinations of ingredients and half-burnt food. It was comforting, knowing her dietary habits are not, in fact, an isolated case.

He, on the other hand - was active on that part of reddit dedicated to good food. Normal food. Actually edible food. birdmaskguy was a well known foodie; he often talked about his meticulously composed diet - or so her viewers were telling her in the comments.

god, i switched to birdie for a second and he’s talking about garlic bread AGAIN.

“Again?” she asked, groaning when she spotted him materializing behind her team. “That sounds intriguing.”

he never shuts up about food!! he was talking about garlic bread yesterday as well. i think he’s obsessed. what a loser.

“Well, that one thing I have in common with that asshole.” she said casually, shooting him in the face. “I also love garlic bread. It’s delicious. And cheesy garlic bread? Heaven!”

yeah, but your whole personality doesn’t revolve around you liking to eat. :p

“More like one third.” she said jokingly. “I’ll take it as a compliment.”

She knew he’s a foodie - but she never saw him in her part of reddit, reserved for loosers very optimistic about their mediocrity and disgruntled people who paid for a chicken sandwich and got a very sad chicken sandwich.

He once commented on her post; it was obvious he’s trying to pick a fight with her. Spats between streamers and high-ranking players weren’t nothing new; just last month she saw another Mercy end her friendship with another player she often queued with. He was toxic; also streamers often talked shit about each other. A fight between CherryPop and birdmaskguy wouldn’t be anything shocking, hell, it’d be something a lot of people wanted.

(According to her meticulously curated tumblr dashboard - some people shipped them. There were fanarts. She only saw one piece of art, relatively mild, reblogged by her mutual, who only did it to yell at the artist for drawing real, actual people fucking. “THOSE ARE NOT FICTIONAL CHARACTERS, YOU FUCKING CREEP” they said and Charlie couldn’t be more grateful.)

Granted, what birdmaskguy said was a harmless joke; he said her dinner looks worse than his pride did after their struggle in Hanamura.

hey, it can’t look THAT bad. :P

Oh, it does. I can’t believe you put this into your body. How are you even alive?

through sheer willpower and the knowledge i have to live to annoy you!!

He never replied and she felt something akin to disappointment; she liked teasing him. It was a fine way of working through her weird urge to strangle him.

(That one time when she made him beg? She wasn’t really feeling great that day, and she was almost glad he initially refused to play along.)

And so they lived - bitter rivals, a depressed Mercy and her food-obsessed tormentor. She’d always make him say please if the ended up on the same team; and afterwards he’d be even more determined to hunt her down - and with each attempt to put her back in her place she’d take even greater pleasure in ruining the match for him.

When season six began they were both famous, and their creepy tag on tumblr was booming.

(She sometimes wondered what does he think of all those fanarts where he was ~getting his revenge~; personally she found them creepy, those random strangers drawing her genitals in great detail.)

Their little feud was still alive and well and her depression was getting worse with each passing day; World Cup was coming up and she kept distracting herself in any way possible.

Eventually… She made her way to the American team - effortlessly. Absentmindedly.

She kinda forgot she even tried when she got the email, informing her of her success.

*** When was the moment he realized he’s in deep, deep shit? Ah, it was during a deathmatch, about two months after he ended up on her YouTube channel and saw her face.

He was taking a short break from comp and wanted to have some dumb fun; so did she, apparently.

This time he heard her insults.

“That’s for making me beg in Dorado!” he hummed. “That’s for Nepal! That’s for Eichenwalde!”

“Hey!” she said as he killed her for the fifth time. “I never made you beg in Nepal, you said please all by yourself!”

“Yeah, well, ever heard of Ivan Pavlov and his dogs?”

“What, you automatically beg as you see me?” she giggled as he was skulking around Chateau Guillard, looking for her, completely ignoring everyone else… For now. “That’s kinda sad.”

“Your life is sad.” he muttered, as he spotted her, turned with her back to him, enjoying the view as Sombra.

“That too, but yours is still sadder.” she said in an upbeat tone as he took the shot. “Oh, you prick.”

“That’s me.” he said proudly. “Prick and an asshole.”

“God, I hate you.” she said, respawning. “Alright. You want war? You get war. It’s on.”

“Alright, doll, you asked for it.” he said. “I’m going to make you regret everything. Your ass? It’s mine now.”

“In your dreams, you fucking furry.”

They engaged in a heated fight in which other players unwillingly took the role of collateral damage and innocent bystanders; and Oswald realized he’s in deep shit when he - without thinking - yelled out “IS THIS A GAME TO YOU?!” to which she for a moment stopped running away and after a brief moment said “...yeah, actually. That’s what we’re doing. We’re playing a game. Did you forget?”

She then proceeded to call him a dumb loser and he sat there, completely mortified, very glad for his mask that was hiding his face and expressions, because in that moment he realized he actually has a massive fucking crush on Charlie aka CherryPop, his bitter rival, always one step behind his quintuple kills, always one step ahead his sextuple ones.

She had a beautiful voice and a beautiful face and her personality was driving him crazy, that way she mocked and taunted him, all while being bubbly and peppy. He had a massive crush on her; and that revelation left him so distraught he accidentally let her win.

“Blow me, you furry!” she said cheerfully, after scoring the last point. “Kiss my ass!”

“I’m twelve.” they suddenly heard a very serious voice, belonging to another player. “And you two are being very sexual. Stop that.”

“You’re not twelve, you’re six.” someone said in the background and Charlie laughed and his heart skipped a beat, because he could see her laughing, he could see her tilt her head as her hair brushed her neck.

(Her neck was beautiful, as if made for kisses and bitemarks.)

“In your dreams… That is, if your diet doesn’t kill you before I get to you.” he said playfully and she laughed again.

That’s when he realized he’s in deep shit; and then he was informed he’s now a part of the American team for the upcoming World Cup.

He wasn’t too shocked when he found out she’s been accepted as well. Of course - she was skilled and driven and it was high time she really let it shine. Their team was in a good hands.

Some website reporting the latest news from the gaming world reached out to him for a comment regarding the fact he’s now going to be on same team as CherryPop; he said he’s “very pleased” and that “he believes they’ll be able to put their differences aside to reach a bigger goal”.

He wondered what does she has to say about it.

*** “I’m not happy about it, but what’cha gonna do? He did well. He deserves the spot.”

Her comment on the situation sounded harsh, but she simply couldn’t be bothered to dress the thing up in pretty words. It didn’t matter; they hated each other anyway, even if she found herself looking forward to crossing paths and deaths with him. The bickering, the taunting, the mockery - it made her feel stings of something. And it sure as hell was better than nothing.

Being on the team required her to temporarily move from New York to Gotham; by pure coincidence she was the only member who didn’t live there. Practicing with actual people on hand made a lot more sense, than just yelling at each other on voice channel.

birdmaskguy reached out to her in that matter; actually he shot her an email, asking if they can talk on discord. His email didn’t mention her harsh comment; but it did sound stiff and official.

They talked later that day; his icon was an aggravated penguin, because of course.

(Hers was her own picture; she was blowing a balloon out of pink bubblegum. It was a bit trashy and definitely sugary; she liked it. It reminded her of being actually, genuinely happy.)

“Hey.” she said with a yawn. “What did you want to talk about? Are you going to, like, threaten me with a lawsuit?”

“...no?” he said hesitantly; that was the first time she heard his actual voice, not muffled by his mask. It was pleasant; melodious, just a tiny bit raspy, energetic. Nice to listen to. “Why would I do that?”

“Assholes always find a reason to sue someone, I guess.”

“Maybe not today.” he said carefully. “Look, Cherry… Can I call you that?”

“Well, better this than bitch or stupid cunt.”

“Hey, you know I never called you that.” he said almost angrily and she sighed; he was right. He never actually offended her, always sticking to things like you ass or I’m going to kill you, then I’ll resurrect you and THEN I’ll kill you again. That was what kinda made the dynamic entertaining; sure, they disliked each other, but they were never hurtful. Almost as if he respected her.

“Fine, you never called me a bitch, I’ll give you that. Still. What do you want, Birdie?”

“You have to move to Gotham temporarily, right?” he asked; she could hear the typical street sounds in the background. “So I have a proposition for you.”

“I’m all ears.” she muttered, absentmindedly rubbing a dried-out stain on her desk; most likely BBQ sauce or ketchup.

“Come live with me.” he said casually and she froze in place, staring at the stain. “Hey. You there?”

“Are you out of your mind?” she asked with disbelief. “Did your brain turn into lettuce?”

“...pardon?”

“I’m not going to live with you! We’re going to kill each other-”

“My family has a mansion.” he interrupted her. “Chateau Cobblepot.”

“...is that its actual name?”

“...I’m going to kill you myself if you as much as make a joke about it. I’ll poison you. Strangle you. Drop my father’s bust on your pretty little head.” he threatened her tiredly and she laughed at how utterly resigned he sounded, but quickly regained her composure.

“Alright, no jokes about the dumbest name I’ve ever heard. How big exactly is that place?”

“Big enough for us to never see each other face to face.” he said nonchalantly. “Google it. Trust me, it’s better than fucking around with hotels or rental. A token of good will from my side.”

“Where’s the catch?”

“...there’s no catch, Cherry.” he said patiently. “Well, maybe except for the fact you have to take care of transporting yourself and your stuff to Gotham, but other than that… Chateau Cobblepot awaits. Free of charge, just as long as you do your job.”

“Does it mean you’ll charge me if we lose? That’s an extreme version of blame the healer, you know.”

“...let’s worry about getting anywhere first, hm?”

“Ugh. Fine.” she muttered, rubbing her forehead; truth is, the thought of actually taking care of her Gotham stay was a bit overwhelming. That’s why she stayed in NYC for so long - because her parents were taking care of everything. “I’ll take your deal. Anything I should know about?”

“Not really, no.” he said; judging by the sounds, he was crossing a street. “Just email me date and time and someone will pick you up from the airport or train station. Also… Do you have any allergies?”

“Except for you?”

“...except that one, yes.” he said, sounding almost amused. “Well, I better stop taking your time, you have plane tickets to buy. See you soon?”

“You promised I won’t have to see you, you know.”

“It’s a figure of speech, Cherry. See you never. Better?”

“A whole lot better.”

*** It worked! He couldn’t believe it actually worked. He figured he might as well give it a shot, considering his parents were taking a break from Gotham and were leaving the mansion all to himself - but he never expected her to actually accept the proposal. Sure, she didn’t want to see him - which hurt more than he’d like to admit - but the perspective of simply having her around for an unspecified period of time… Was enough. “It worked!” he announced after entering the coffeeshop where his friend - and their fellow teammate - was waiting.

“...what worked?” she asked carefully, looking up from her coffee. “What did you do this time, Cobblepot?”

“I told Cherry she can come live with me during the duration of this thing.” he informed Vicki, sitting down in front of her with his back against the wall and his legs outstretched. “And it worked! Well, partially.”

“Well, which part didn’t work?”

“She sounds very adamant in not wanting to see me.” he said lightly, masking his budding despair with an optimistic smile. “I think she actually hates me.”

“Can’t imagine why.” Vicki muttered and he scoffed. “I can’t imagine why anyone would like you, Cobblepot.”

“You keep saying that, and yet you’re sticking around since forever. I think you like me.”

“I’m programmed to feel sorry for losers.” she said, taking a sip of her coffee. “And you are a loser.”

“I still love you. No hetero though.”

“God, you’re disgusting.” she said, wincing. “But anyway, What’s your plan?”

“I don’t have one, actually.” he said, getting up. “Well, maybe except for getting a caramel latte right now.”

He returned with his coffee and sat back down.

“I guess this is a lost cause.” he said cheerfully and Vicki sighed. “What?”

“I hope it’s not.” she confessed and he blinked. “No, don’t say anything, you get to hear me be nice to you once a month. Don’t ruin it. I hope it’s not a lost cause. Remember, I’m a dick to you as well, and yet here we are.”

“Are you implying… Tough love?” he asked, tilting his head.

Vicki sighed.

“Maybe. Or maybe she really doesn’t like you. You’re… An obnoxious ass. I’d say… Fifty fifty.”

“Those are pretty good odds. And you know what they say… A drowning man clutches at a straw.”

“So you really have a crush on her. Huh.” she said absentmindedly, taking a sip of her coffee. “I guess your taste is one of very few not crappy things about you. She’s cute. Kinda too sweet for me, but… Definitely cute. And funny. Watched her video on calling people by their full name?”

“You know I did.” he muttered, looking away; Vicki snickered.

“Right. I forgot you’re a creep.”

“Those are public, Vicki.”

“I know. Still - you’re pathetic. Need a wingwoman?”

“...are you offering your services?”

“Uh-uh.” she nodded, taking a sip. “You know I have no problem saying nice stuff about you behind your back. Just try to not directly contradict what I’m saying and we’re golden.”

“Well, what are you going to say?”

“Not a word about you being a hopeless sap, that’s for sure.” she said with a smirk and he scoffed, hiding his gratitude; he knew Vicki knows he’s grateful. They knew each other for years, and had each other’s back through thick and thin.

Rest of the day passed peacefully. Charlie sent him an email asking  if he can take care of transporting her stuff from the airport; sending it few days before her trip was cheaper.

Of course he’d do that.

Well, if you insist.

i’m not insisting, i can take care of it myself. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

That was a figure of speech. Just send me the dates.

It took her an hour to reply; the message simply said thanks.

They crossed paths in the game that evening; but they didn’t talk much, except for the usual please heal me I can drop down on my knees if you want me to banter. Surprisingly, she wasn’t doing great; she sounded distracted, reacting to everything with slight - but noticeable - delay.

“Are you sleep deprived, Pop?” their Mei asked; the deep baritone contrasted with the cutesy character.

“Just tired, that’s all.” she sighed. “I’m going to stay behind this time.”

She was slurring words and Oswald felt a sting of worry.

“S’alright. We will carry, you try to not die.” he said, switching to Reinhardt. “There. One personal shelter… Coming up.”

“Thank you.” she said slowly; she sounded surprised. “Want a free solo rez?”

“So when’s the wedding?” their Bastion asked, yawning. “Rein’s shield this, solo rez that… Where’s the venom? The spite? The-”

“We’re going to compete on the same team, you dummy.” Oswald interrupted them hastily; he knew that player fairly well. They had a reputation of being rather harsh, mostly thanks to their tendency to getting straight to the raw point. “We’re practicing this whole team spirit thing.”

“Uh-uh.” Bastion said; Oswald could hear the distinct sound of crunching. “Sure.”

She went offline immediately after the match, not even waiting for the votes; he considered sending her a message to ask if everything’s alright, but he decided against it.  Pushing wouldn’t do him any good; plus it would be suspicious.

*** She had a breakdown that day, between emails. She realized she hadn’t left her flat in weeks; she was relying on food delivery and online grocery shopping. The perspective of leaving and doing stuff and actually interacting with people was… Overwhelming.

But it’s alright. She had pills to take in case of sudden breakdowns; it instilled warm, pleasant fog in her brain and dried her tears up and fought off the anxious, crying-induced convulsions. She was calm again; even if her eyelids were heavy like lead and her vision and thoughts were slightly hazy and speaking clearly required a great deal of effort - but at least she was calm.

She googled birdmaskguy’s family home; it was huge. His family was one of the wealthiest families in that part of country, and it showed; she went for a virtual walk through the gardens, leaving taking a look at people living inside the building for another day.

He seemed to be completely unaffected by her - not really intentional - harshness; she realized she’s going to have to tone it down eventually, but as for now she didn’t have the energy to sugarcoat her words.

She made the mistake of trying to play that evening; but her thoughts were clouded with the pills-induced fog and she was doing bad. Luckily her team was understanding; even birdmaskguy offered his help, without complaining or snarky remarks. It was… Surprising; that small, meaningless gesture left her feeling disturbed. It didn’t fit. It was out of place. It was out of character.

She went to bed early, setting up a series of notifications in her phone - laundry. Packing. Shipping her stuff. Shower. Another shower, just in case. The trip.

She had a sleepless night; she simply lied in fetal position, tightly wrapped in blanket, staring into darkness of her littered, slightly airless bedroom.

She shipped her things to Gotham two days later; three boxes of clothes and personal items. Her precious, stickers-covered laptop would travel with her in her hand luggage, along with her favorite blanket, a teddy bear and her documents. Taking her of her stuff used up nearly all of her energy; she was so mentally exhausted she didn’t even reply when Cobblepot mailed her to inform her her things arrived safely and were waiting for her in his home, untouched.

(She sure hoped so. Depressed or not, she wouldn’t want anyone - especially not him - going through her underwear. She had a wide collection of lace and satin; pretty lingerie made her feel a bit better.)

Finally, day of the trip had came and she sighed, looking around her flat. She threw out things that could rot, and threw the majority of dirty dishes into the dishwasher; she didn’t have plants to water or pets to feed. Once again she checked her bag - everything was there. Her laptop, the accessories, her blanket, her meds, her teddy bear, her wallet. She was ready to go, and the cab to the GCT was waiting outside.

Even though the ride would be short, she booked first class; all she wanted was some peace and quiet. She wasn’t feeling chatty and she felt she’s not going to make it through if someone decides to chat her up.

On the station - alone and tired - she felt so out of place, surrounded by lively people who were talking to each other and laughing and feeling emotions and not feeling like their lives aren’t going anywhere at all. She avoided talking to others and looked at the ground, tightly gripping her bag; and everyone ignored her, as if she was transparent.

(She’d like things to stay this way forever, actually.)

Charlie spent the ride silently looking out of the window, wrapped in her blanket, thinking about how apathetic she is to the thought of living - even if only for some time - with someone…

It wasn’t hatred, that thing she felt. It definitely wasn’t hatred; he annoyed her, sure, but she never actually wished for anything to stop, for him to disappear. It wasn’t harassment; he valued his reputation too much to harass.

Or maybe he simply wasn’t into harassing people.

Finally the train stopped at Gotham Central Station; her ride was over. Breathing in and out, her legs shaking and her fingers trembling, she stepped out of the train, looking around.

Gotham felt… Different. Something was in the air, definitely; it was dripping from the gothic architecture, escaping people’s lungs, reflecting itself in glass surfaces.

“Admiring the architecture?” she heard a familiar voice, and when she looked left - there he was, birdmaskguy, Oswald Cobblepot.

He was tall and lean and handsome, which came as a surprise. Narrow lips and very sharp eyes and nice jawline and slightly messy har; he was wearing a well-tailored suit and looked at her expectantly with a polite smile.

So that was the face of her rival. He was very nice to look at, she decided begrudgingly; and he smelled nice. Someone obviously wasn’t a skinflint when it came to cologne.

“Hey.” she said nervously, brushing her hair away from her face; his gaze felt odd, he looked at her almost tenderly.

(Or maybe it was pity.)

“You’re short.” he said and she scoffed quietly; he snickered. “Watch out, you might get lost.”

“Ha-ha, very original.” she said, looking away. “I thought we established we’re not going to see each other.”

:”A necessary sacrifice.” he said, putting a hand on her shoulder. “Want me to carry it for you?”

She handed him her bag without a word and he took it with a nod.

“Car’s parked outside.” he said, walking towards the exit and she followed, looking around. “How was your ride?”

“Uneventful.” she said, glancing at his sharp profile. “How’s… Your day?”

(It’s been a while since her last normal, face to face conversation. She felt like playing a half baked test build of a Telltale game, following an unedited script.)

“Quite eventful, actually.” he said, sounding amused by her awkwardness. “Cat got your tongue, Cherry?”

“What?”

“I’m waiting for some snark, you know.” he said as they left the building; even the air smelled different here, less like dead rats and hot dogs and more like gunpowder and herbs. “Needles and pins and harsh words.”

“Sorry to disappoint, you prick.” she muttered. “It’s easier to talk big online, you know. Face to face… It’s harder.”

“Hey.” he said softly and she blinked, not expecting such a gentle tone. “It’s alright. Take your time, get used to me. I’m distractingly handsome. I know.” he said with a smirk and she groaned and nudged him with her elbow.

(He was right - he was handsome. And nice.)

“You’re too self confident.” she said instead, looking around. “Put that mask on, before you scare some children.”

“Ouch.” he said playfully, fishing for car keys in his pocket; apparently he was driving a dark red Maserati, because of course. “Now that’s Cherry I know and… Tolerate.”

The pause before his last word felt weird, and he said it hastily, almost as if he bit his tongue to force his words to change direction at the last second.

They drove through the streets of Gotham, and she kept looking around curiously. The city definitely looked like it’s living up to its reputation of one of the most dangerous places in America; but it was still beautiful, in a dark way.

“That’s my family’s park.” Cobblepot said suddenly, pointing to a nearby place. “My parents funded it.”

The park seemed to be crowded; everywhere Charlie looked she saw people, enjoying the green grass, colorful flowers and sturdy benches.

“It looks nice.” she muttered. “Any ponds?”

The question escaped her before she stopped herself; she actually tried to drown herself in a bathtub once. She wondered if her brain is trying to suggest something.

He looked at her in silence, furrowing his brows.

“Yes.” he said finally. “Don’t get any funny ideas, Cherry.”

“Is that the Wayne Tower?” she asked a few minutes later, looking at an impossibly tall skyscraper.

“Uh-uh.” Cobblepot nodded. “What, wanna meet Bruce Wayne? I’m his friend. They’d let us in.”

“Maybe not today.” she said carefully, not commenting on his sudden eagerness. “Hey, Birdie.”

“Yeah?” “I changed my mind.” she said hesitantly, glancing at him. “About the… Not-seeing-you thing.”

(Gotham felt overwhelming; beautiful, but deadly. And she felt like loneliness might be unbearable this time.)

“Well.” he said after a short silence.

He glanced at her briefly and she looked away, ignoring the cheeky smile his lips were curled in.

“I knew you won’t be able to resist my charm.” he said finally and she scoffed.

“Your what?”

He chuckled as they drove through Crest Hill; a luxurious, suburban neighborhood outside which Chateau Cobblepot was located, not too far away from the legendary Wayne Manor.

“We’re here.” he finally announced, swiftly parking the car in front of the entrance, next to the fountain; Charlie quietly looked at the massive, gothic building that looked like a perfect setting for a Percy Shelley poem.

They got out of the car and he took her bag out from the trunk.

“Come on.” he said, walking towards the door, white gravel quietly clattering under his shoes. “Top floor of the west wing is for your disposal. I’ll show you the way.”

Top floor? She groaned quietly, thinking about climbing the stairs; due to her lifestyle her body wasn’t in the best shape.

“Something’s wrong?” he asked, as they came in; she looked around, slightly impressed with the interior design, relying on wood and marble and lots of light.

“I’m out of shape.” she said hesitantly. “Stairs are… Not my friend.”

“Well, shit.” he said, sounding concerned. “Should have guessed.”

“Oh, get fucked.” she muttered, knowing he’s referring to her abhorrent diet. “What now?”

“There is a free bedroom in my part of the building.” he said hesitantly, glancing at her. “I wanted to be hospitable and give you the entirety of our guest quarters, but since you can’t climb stairs…”

“One room will do.” she interrupted him. “Back home I don’t leave my bedroom anyway. Just as long as there are no stairs involved… I’ll be fine.”

“Well, okay then.” he said, turning right. “I inhabit the bottom floor of the east wing. I’ll show you the way, and then… I’ll take care of your boxes.”

“Don’t you have like… A butler to take care of this stuff?” she asked him, following him through the corridor; his part of the Chateau had its own small library, well-equipped gym, an office and a state of the art kitchen. The guest bedroom was at the very end of the corridor, tucked between his bedroom and the library; it was spacious, well lit, had a jacuzzi in the bathroom and the bed looked extremely comfortable.

“Our butler left with my parents.” he said, setting her bag down. “And we keep minimal staff. We do most of the things by ourselves. Keeps us grounded.”

“From the people, for the people?” she asked and he smiled.

He did carry her boxes; effortlessly, smoothly, as if they weighed nothing. He was stronger than he looked; and there was something disturbingly nice to the eyes in the way his shoulder muscles moved under the fabric of his shirt.

“There.” he said, setting down the last one. “Still sealed, as you can probably see.”

“I’d sue you if any of them were open.” she said, opening the nearest box and instantly closing it back again, as the first thing she saw was her underwear; and he did not need to see any of that.

“Well, I’ll leave you to it.” he said, walking towards the door. “Unpack, settle down, do whatever. Yell if you need something. Food, for example.”

Her stomach gurgled; she hadn’t eaten that day.

He heard it.

“...hungry?” he asked softly. “I can… Fix that. WIth actual food, instant noodles and frozen tendies have no place in my kitchen.”

“Fine.” she sighed.  “I guess I’m at your culinary mercy now. Do your magic, just… No asparagus.”

“Already setting your rules? Feisty.” he said with a smirk and left the room, leaving her sitting on the floor, feeling oddly at peace in this gigantic house.

She quickly threw her clothes into the closet and drawers and got down to business: setting a quick life update stream regarding the upcoming competition. She’s been pretty quiet about it for days; now was the time to tell the world how things were looking.

“Hey, world!” she said to the camera, sitting on her ridiculously fluffy bed. “You’ll never guess where am I.”

She was in the middle of a sentence when he entered the room, carrying a plate of what looked like pasta with tomato sauce; it smelled absolutely divine. It was obvious he used fresh herbs.

He set the plate down on her nightstand without a word and she kept on talking, only pausing once, to thank him.

“So, I’m at birdmaskguy’s home - hey, thanks! - and he just made me food. Shocking, right?”

“I don’t starve my guests, and especially not my teammates.” he said, crossing his arms on his chest. “Hey, Cherry’s viewers, you can’t see me, but you can hear me. Sorry for interrupting, I guess.”

“People on chat are saying hi.” she informed him. “One person is saying fuck you. Someone… Oh, crap.”

“What?”

“Someone warned me to not go into my tags on tumblr.” she muttered, looking at him, slightly flustered. “They say… I’m not gonna like it.”

Without a word he pulled out his phone and opened the app.

***

He never knew there’s porn of him and Cherry; he never thought someone might be fucked up enough to draw detailed depictions of two actual people having sex.

There were fanarts. There were fanfics. And he instantly spotted two most popular trends among those creepy fanworks - her dominating him and him “putting her in her place”.

(He’d lie if he said he never thought about her warm body and quiet gasps escaping her lips, but in his thoughts - it was consensual. He also kept those thoughts to himself, thoughts of her skin under his fingers.)

“Fucking hell.” he said finally, looking at her sitting on the bed in his home. “That’s… Creepy.”

“You heard him.” she said to her viewers. “That’s one thing we both can agree on. Well, okay, that and garlic bread being delicious.”

She shot him a faint smile and he smiled back, unable to take his eyes off her. In real life she seemed… More tired than on her vlogs; a bit awkward. She stuttered from time to time and had a problem with direct eye contact and made a lot of pauses, looking for words.

He thought about her freckles when he was in the kitchen, peeling and chopping tomatoes, and her soft lips and the way she scoffed at him. She seemed so lost in Gotham, so out of place; he felt as if this city might eat her alive.

In person, she seemed and sounded softer; and this softness cemented his massive crush on her, mixed up with concern for her bad shape and dark circles under her eyes and the fact she apparently forgot to eat.

“Fucking hell.” he muttered to himself after leaving her alone with her laptop; he headed to his gym, he had some steam to let out. “This is getting out of hand.”

He called Vicki and started his sit ups as she picked up.

“You’re on speaker, so behave yourself.” he said before she said anything. “Shit’s fucked, Vale.”

“Uh-uh.” she muttered; he could hear the crunching. “Why’s that?”

“A number of reasons.” he said tiredly. “Hey, is your offer still a thing?”

“Well, yeah. Why, did you fuck up so badly you need help?”

“Maybe. I don’t know.” he sighed. “Please, Vicki.”

“Fine, fine!” she said. “Remember about tonight.”

“...what’s tonight?”

“Oh my god, I’m not your secretary, you lazy bum. The icebreaker drinks at the Waterfront?”

“Right.” he said, remembering calling Fish Mooney. “Now I remember. Thanks, Vicki.”

“You’re welcome, jackass.” she said nonchalantly. “Dress up nicely. I got your back.”

She ended the call and he was left alone with his thoughts and the burning presence of Charlie on the same floor; through the door, he could hear her voice faintly. She was laughing, and it was a beautiful sound.

After the workout, on his way to take a shower he knocked at her door.

“Come in!” she called out and he entered the room and she looked up from her laptop and raised her eyebrows.

“What happened?” she asked, before he said anything. “You look… Sweaty.”

“I forgot to tell you, we’re going out tonight.” he said, wiping his face with a towel. “I made a reservation at the Waterfront. The team should get to know each other.”

“For a second it sounded really terrifying, you know. Like a date.” she said with a nervous chuckle. “Do I… Have to be there?”

“Oh, come on. It’ll be fun. The Waterfront’s a nice place. The owner is an old friend of mine.”

“Fine.” she said with a sigh. “I’ll come. When are we leaving?”

“In… Two hours, more or less. Sorry. Should have let you know sooner.”

“Yes, you should.” she said, closing her laptop, getting up and walking up to him. “Get out. I have some dolling up to do.”

She pushed him out of the room and her hand almost burned the skin on his chest, even though the fabric of his t-shirt.

He next saw her two hours later; and she wasn’t lying when she said she’s going to doll herself up. She curled her hair and put makeup on, hiding her freckles, much to his carefully hidden dismay. Her red lips were perfectly symmetrical and she was nervously playing with the cuff of her navy blue blouse.

“What?” she asked as he was staring at her “What?!”

“You look different.” he said finally and she rolled her eyes.

“That’s the point of dressing up, you know.” she said, crossing her arms and for a brief moment he saw a faint flash of her bra through the thin fabric of her blouse. “Good different or bad different?”

“Fishing for compliments, Cherry?” he asked, regaining his composure.

“Maybe so.” she said, putting her shoes on; simple, black pumps, that accentuated her legs nicely. “Anyway, I’m good to go.”

“Let’s go then. Ladies first.”

She walked past him and he smelled her perfume; fresh and fruity, with the most noticeable scent being strawberry.

He looked at her red hair and decided that of course she’s a strawberry kind of girl.

*** He was so infuriatingly nice and polite she wanted to strangle him. Almost nothing like his online persona; and his ridiculously handsome face wasn’t making anything easy. Hating him online, as he taunted and tried to kill her was easy; hating him in real life, as he made her pasta and carried her things was nearly impossible. Sure, he was still snarky; but it didn’t change the fact she felt oddly at peace in his home, in his presence, under his eyes.

(He looked almost impressed when he saw her dressed up and with makeup; that was first time in months she actually put some effort into looking nice. She was kind of glad she packed her heels and nice clothes and cosmetics; and kind of annoyed at the fact he didn’t look at her like that when she was bare faced and her hair were messy. Men.)

He looked very… Human when he knocked at her door and - sweaty, out of breath - informed her of the forgotten plan; and he looked at her apologetically and for a moment she found herself lost in his sharp, intelligent eyes.

Things were fuck, as the wise man once said. Things were fuck.

He held the door open for her, that fucking gentleman; and as they drove to the Waterfront - a well-hidden local, ran by his old friend - she was sure they looked like a picture perfect couple. His dark blue tie matched her blouse, as she absentmindedly noticed.

The club was crowded and she got anxious thinking about navigating between all those - drunk, high, chatty, happy - but he put his hand on her arm.

“We have a private room underground.” he told her, leading her towards the stairs. “You’re not the party type, I take it.”

“Not recently, no.” she muttered, wondering how it’d feel if he put his arm around her waist and quickly shaking this ridiculous thought off. “This place is… Something.”

“First of all, it’s safe.” he said, going downstairs and turning around. “Come on, I’ll catch you if you trip.”

“It’s not the first time I’m wearing heels, you know.” she muttered, slowly walking down as well and ignoring his hand he held out for her.

He only shrugged and put his hands in his pockets; finally they reached their private room and he let her in and she shuffled past him, briefly brushing his chest and inhaling his smokey cologne.

The others were already waiting for them, and Charlie recognized Theo - a pale, young man who went by the nickname XFilesTheome - and Louise, who went by RaptureFucker; she was after law school and was known for actually lecturing people about threats and offensive language; she had no idea who the other people are and if she played with them.

“Finally!” said a young woman, who was lounging on the nearby chair; her hair were tied in a ponytail and she was wearing a suit. “Took your sweet, sweet time, eh?”

“Yes, we did.” Oswald replied calmly, as Charlie awkwardly stood next to him. “There was some traffic. Sorry for not mastering bilocation, Vale.”

Vale! That must’ve been Vicki Vale - of victoriousvale - who often grouped up with Cobblepot. She was a journalist by day, and a formidable opponent by night; her Tracer was almost as relentless as Cobblepot’s Reaper.

“And you must be Charlie.” Vicki said, without getting up. “Pleased to meet you. Don’t just stand there, sit down!”

“...sure.” she said quietly as he pulled out a chair for her. “Hello.”

“Hey.” Louise muttered, not looking up from her phone. “Hold on a sec, I have to read this.”

“Fanmail?” Charlie asked and Louise shook her head.

“God, I wish. No, I’m helping a friend out with her problems.” she said, furiously typing. “You know Rocco?”

“I don’t think so, no,” she said hesitantly, looking at the last man; he was thin and had giant, dark, eyes and a soft, warm smile.

“PennyDumb.” he introduced himself and she gasped; he was one of her favorite Reinhardts and absolutely terrifying to play against. “Glad to finally meet you in person, Pop.”

“Likewise!” she said with enthusiasm. “God, we have so many hours together, I remember when we were both bronze!”

“Right?” he said with a smirk and she laughed. “Time flies as experience points come…”

“Time is but a social concept.” Theo said firmly, brushing his dark hair away from his eyes. “It doesn’t exist, but it serves.”

“...that’s a quote from children’s book.” Charlie said after a while. “About alchemy.”

“Well, now we’ve both exposed ourselves as nerds who read books for children.” Theo said with a shrug. “What can I say? It’s a nice read.”

“I’m going to order drinks.” Cobblepot said suddenly. “What do you want?”

She looked down as she remembered her pills don’t mix well with alcohol. Oswald went around, taking orders; some wine for Louise, scotch for him and Vicki, beer for Rocco and Theo-

“I don’t drink.” she said as he looked at her expectantly. “Sorry. And… Neither should you. You’re the driver.”

“One scotch won’t even get me slightly buzzed. Your pretty little head is safe with me.” he dismissed her and she scoffed; that was the second time he said pretty little head in relation to her. “I can get you freshly squeezed orange juice.”

“Alright.” she said, as Vicki was watching her attentively; she leaned in towards her as soon as Oswald left.

“How’s he treating you?” she asked and Louise rolled her eyes. “I know you’re staying with him, and I know you two are… Not on the best terms.”

“He’s decent, actually. I think he realizes people talk a lot of shit in the heat of the moment. He’s… A good host.” she said, sighing. “It’s complicated. You know how it is - you call someone a piece of shit, but it’s not like that, it’s never like that.”

“Oh, I get it.” Vicki assured her. “I call him pretentious dick all the time and he doesn’t mind.”

“I do, actually.” Oswald suddenly said, entering the room with a tray full of glasses. “I’m not pretentious. I’m eloquent.”

“Same difference, you prick.” Vicki said nonchalantly; Louise put her phone down and sighed. “Now give me my liquor. I’ve been good this week, I deserve a treat.”

“You don’t.” Louise said calmly. “You forgot to feed the cat… Again.”

“He’s a predator! He can feed himself. Besides, he’s fat anyway.”

“Keep your marital spats out of this room, please.” Oswald said, setting a wine glass in front of Louise. “I got you a whole bottle.”

“That’s one of ten bottles you owe me, big guy.”

“Give me time.” he said with a wink, turning to Charlie. “Your juice.”

He set her glass down and his hands were slightly sticky; did he squeeze the juice himself?

(It was perfect, tart and sweet at the same time, thick and delicious.)

The evening was pleasant, and with time Charlie loosened up a bit; after all, those were not complete strangers. Sure, they knew next to nothing about her as a person - but she was fine with people knowing her just on the surface level.

(No one would care about what’s underneath anyway.)

They were all nice; and she found herself glancing at Oswald from time to time, pondering the nature of her feelings for him. Outside the game, he was charming, polite, hospitable, always ready for some petty quarrel; and eventually she came to a simple conclusion - she liked that guy. Sure, it was a weird kind of sympathy, very aggressive and harsh at times; but she definitely liked him. She felt at ease around him - and she only actually knew him for a day.

Things only went downhill from there, from that moment when she briefly glanced at his relaxed, grinning profile and he saw her gaze and nodded lightly in her direction, before returning his attention to Vicki.

*** He couldn’t stop himself from glancing at her from time to time, as they were getting to know their team. At first she was tense and quiet; but after she loosened up a bit… Her natural charm came to surface and Vicki had to kick him under the table a few times to stop him from staring at Cherry.

Because good god he felt he could stare at her forever, at the way she covered her mouth when she laughed and the way she fluttered her lashes; he felt like this is the person who taunted him for months.

(Even though that anxious, quiet Cherry was also delightful. The truth was, he’d consider her a delight no matter the circumstances; he was in too deep.)

Vicki joined him when he was heading upstairs for another beer for Theo and more juice for Cherry; he glanced at her Cheshire Cat-like grin as they were walking up the stairs.

“What?” he asked and her smile grew even wider.

“She doesn’t hate you.” Vicki said finally and Oswald froze in place for a moment. “You heard me. She doesn’t hate you. I have no idea what does she feel for you, but it most definitely isn’t hatred.”

“Well, do you think I have a chance?”

“Who the hell knows?” she said with a shrug. “Maybe. Just because she doesn’t hate you doesn’t mean she’s into you.”

“No shit, Sherlock.” he sighed as they approached the bar; that night Fish herself was behind the counter. “Hey again, Fish.”

“Welcome back, boy. What will it be this time?”

“Just a beer and another juice.” he said, sliding behind the counter. “You still have those sweet oranges, right?”

“Last batch. Just for you… And that pretty little thing.” Fish added with a smirk and Oswald shot her a pale smile. “Sweet like her, eh?”

“That’s the general idea, yes.” he said cutting oranges in half as Vicki sat on a nearby barstool. “Hey Vale, want another scotch?”

“You know I do.”

“Coming up.”

“Oh, I wish I could have you here every night.” Fish sighed, watching his hands. “Why won’t you run away from home and come work for me, boy?”

“Maybe some other day.” he said, setting the glasses down on a tray. “Family business comes first. You know how it is.”

“I do, unfortunately. Anyway. Give that pretty little thing my regards, Oswald. What’s her name again?”

“Cherry.” he replied automatically and Vicki snickered.

“No, it’s Charlie. We call her Pop. You’re the only person to call her Cherry.” she said mockingly as he looked at her heavily. “Come on, Cobblepot. Say her name.”

“Charlie.” he said - softly, tenderly, lovingly. “Her name is Charlie.”

“Pretty name for a pretty little thing.” Fish said with a playful smile. “Good luck, Oswald.”

“Thanks.” he said, lifting the tray. “I’ll need it.”

“Wish I could record it.” Vicki said mockingly, walking next to him. “I bet people on twitch would pay me good money for this one.”

“Oh, fuck off, you sound the same when you’re talking about Lou!” he scoffed, but she only laughed in response.

“Yeah, she’s my girlfriend. Not an unrequited crush.”

“Well, want me to remind you how you were when you didn’t know it’s mutual?”

“You don’t have to, my facebook memories do it on a daily basis.” Vicki said grimly as they were walking down the stairs. “The point is, people in love act and sound pathetic. And as your best friend and wingwoman… I think I have the right to making fun of you.”

“Of course you do.” he sighed as she opened the door for him. “You can do whatever you want, Vale.”

“Ah! Can’t wait to use that one against you.” she laughed out as he was setting Cherry-

Charlie’s juice in front of her. She glanced at him and smiled, rubbing the back of her neck; and he instinctively winked at her, accidentally brushing the back of her other hand with his fingertips.

Finally they had to part ways; their first practice was tomorrow afternoon and they had to get some rest, and in case of Rocco and Theo - sober up a bit.

Oswald didn’t feel tired; and neither did Charlie.

“My family’s park is nearby.” he suggested as they were standing on the sidewalk outside. “We can go for a walk. Some fresh air won’t hurt.”

“Alright.” she said hesitantly, rubbing her arms with her palms and looking away; once they were alone, she got all awkward and tense again. “It’s… Kinda cold though.”

“Ah yes, nights in Gotham can get chilly.” he said, glancing at her. “Want my jacket?” “But what about you?”

“I’ll manage.” he said, already taking it off. “I kinda like cold, to be honest.”

(He lied; he hated cold - but the grateful look in her eyes when she took his jacket was worth it. And so was the sight of her briefly closing her eyes as she covered her shoulders with it.)

That time of day, the park was nearly empty; but it was still clean and well lit.

“It’s nice, I have to give your family that.” she said with a sigh, as they were nearing a pond. “Whoever designed it knew their craft.”

“That’d be my dad.” he said, picking up a perfectly flat pebble. “Hey. Want to play a game?”

“...sure.”

“I’m great at many things, including skipping stones.”  he said, glancing at her. “Make a wish. If the stone skips five times… It’ll come true.”

“And if it sinks?”

“Then we’ll try again.” he said nonchalantly and she giggled. “Come on. Make a wish.”

“Alright.” she said eventually. “I made my wish. Do your magic.”

He squinted slightly, bent his wrist and threw the stone. Plop, plop, plop-

It skipped six times before finally sinking. He turned to her, grinning.

“See?” he said proudly. “What did you wish for?”

“Victory.” she said after a short silence, looking him in the eye. “Not very surprising, huh?”

“Wishes don’t have to be surprising.” he said slowly, hearing the faintest note of hesitance in her voice. “But looks like I just cemented our success.”

“Here’s to hoping.” she sighed and suddenly yawned and he turned his head away to hide the fact his lips were curling in a tender smile. “I think now might be a good time to go home.”

“Already feeling at home in Chateau, Cherry?” he asked as they were slowly walking towards the exit.

“I’m trying to.” she said. “But basically, home is where my heart is… And I think I didn’t forget any internal organs.”

“Not even your brain?” he said playfully and she rolled her eyes, but didn’t say anything.

He bumped into her in the kitchen later that night; they were both heading to bed and he walked in as she was pouring herself a glass of water; she was only wearing a washed out tee and a pair of boyshorts and he groaned quietly, looking at her pale legs and ridiculously shapely buttocks - and when she turned around he could see the faint outline of her perky breasts through the fabric.

She nodded in his direction, seemingly unaware of the effect she had on him, briefly glancing at his chest.

“A knife fight?” she asked, looking at a scar running across his ribs.

“Yep.” he said, shuffling past her to get his own glass of water. “You should see the other guy though.”

“Mmm.” she muttered, taking a sip. “Handy with a knife?”

“You could say that. Though I prefer to limit my skills to chopping onions, rather than stabbing people.” he said, briefly glancing at her freckles; she stood in place, staring at him silently. Finally she shook her head.

“I’m going to bed.” she informed him, shuffling past; her hair brushed his skin. “Goodnight.”

“Sleep tight, don’t let the bedbugs bite…” he hummed and she snickered.

“You know, warning me of bedbugs doesn’t show your family in the best light.”

And just like that she disappeared in her bedroom and he was left with an overwhelming need for a very cold shower.

***

That night she did that one thing she never expected to ever do, under any circumstances - she got off to the thought of birdmaskguy.

He bumped into her in the kitchen, as she was trying to decide between water and apple juice; and he looked scandalously hot, with his messy hair and intriguing scars scattered across his body.

(Good boy from a good family. Where did he even get those?)

And he looked at her like he saw her for the first time; it was an awkward, tense moment, with her body slowly betraying her mind, and him slowly coming to terms with the fact she had a physical form.

They went for a walk earlier that night, through the park; it was beautiful and quiet and she felt unreasonably at peace next to him, even though they threatened to kill each other multiple times. He showed off his skill at skipping stones, and she played along.

She wished for happiness. That was her wish - to actually feel happy again. It felt ridiculous, making that wish as he stared at her expectantly, dim light of a nearby lantern illuminating his face.

As he turned around looking at her triumphantly she suddenly felt the urge to kiss him; but she fought it off. It was ridiculous and out of place and would technically count as an assault. She didn’t kiss him, instead limiting herself to simply staring at him, same way she did many times earlier that night.

And there she was, in her bedroom in his family home, the image of him imprinted in her brain, dishevelled, casual, offensively alluring, and the way he looked at her, as if he forgot she has a body.

(He looked at her same way when he first saw her in makeup and nice clothes. It was weird and complicated and she wasn’t quite sure what to make of it.)

He looked beautiful that night; he looked beautiful in a suit and he looked beautiful in his sweatpants and with bare skin of his torso and her body betrayed her with a wave of heat washing over her, finally centering between her bare thighs.

She got off to her imagination, her thoughts wandering freely, trying to figure out what would his scruffy chin feel like against her skin.

He woke her up the next morning, with very persistent knocking at her door.

“What?” she groaned, her eyes still closed, her body still curled up under the blanket. “It’s early, go away!”

“It’s nine.” he said, still knocking. “Can I come in?”

“Sure.” she muttered, grabbing a pillow. “Your house, your rules.”

She threw a pillow at him as soon as he entered and he threw it back.

“You should eat something.” he informed her, crossing his arms. “What do you eat for breakfast?”

“I don’t eat breakfast, so piss off.” she muttered, returning to her previous, fetal position and closing her eyes; but he wasn’t going anywhere. Instead he cleared his throat a few times, until she opened her eyes again and looked at him.

“What?” she asked tearfully and he snickered. “What do you want?!”

“Breakfast is important.” he said, still staring at her. “Come on. Get up.”

“But I don’t want to!”

“But I don’t care!” he replied, mimicking her; he walked up to the bed. “Come on. I’ll count to three. Get up, or… I’ll get you up.”

“Mmm. Good luck with that.” she muttered, closing her eyes and putting her head on a pillow.

He did drag her out of bed; he grabbed her ankle and pulled, forcing her to sit up. Then he grabbed her wrists and forced her to stand up.

“Come on.” he said firmly. “My house, my rules, and my rule for today is you shall eat your breakfast. Cereal? Oatmeal? Eggs? Toast? Pancakes? Fruit salad?”

“Waffles.” she muttered quietly and he snickered, opening the fridge. Of course he’d make his own batter. What an obnoxious ass.

“You should work on your sleep schedule, you know.” he said, setting a plate full of perfect, golden, crispy waffles in front of her. “Did you stay up late?”

“No, I just sleep a lot.” she muttered; she was tired a lot, no matter how much sleep she got. Sometimes she’d sleep for sixteen hours, only getting up to go to the toilet. “Old habits die hard, I guess.”

“Well, some of your habits should die quickly. You have to be in tip top shape.” he said lightly. “What do you drink?”

“I assume you don’t have any cheap energy drinks, do you?”

“No, but I have citrus black tea.” he said, boiling some water. “I have an intrusive question. May I?”

“Your existence is intrusive.” she said and he only smiled and shook his head.

“Are you depressed, Cherry?” he asked, making her tea.

It was a sunny morning in Gotham and she was eating perfect waffles birdmaskguy made her and he was making her tea and they were both in their pajamas, their hair messy and their bodies still warm from the memories of sleep; and he just asked her if she’s depressed.

Weird situation.

“Yeah.” she said, putting her fork down. “I am.”

“We have a very good psychiatrist in Gotham, you know.” he said, adding some honey to her tea. “One of the best. I can get you two in touch if you run out of medication.”

He glanced at her and she sighed, thinking about last night. Did he figure it out when she said she doesn’t drink? Who knows.

“Thanks.” she said, as he set the cup down. “But… Why do you care?”

“Because…” he said after a long silence. “I don’t want your bad mental state to get in a way of our victory. Which means… Me taking care of your sleep schedule and eating habits. Do you exercise?”

“Oh, don’t you dare-” she started, but he interrupted her.

“I’m not going to force you to exercise. What I’m saying is… Some physical activity would probably help.”

He paused for a moment and sent her a provocative grin.

“You wouldn’t keep up with me anyway.”

It worked. It was such a bullshit, obvious bait - but it worked.

“Hey, fuck you.” she said, taking a sip of her tea. “I refuse to believe you can do more than ten pushups. You sit on your ass playing games as well, how fit can you be?!”

Turned out, he is in perfect shape; she gave up after fifteen minutes. He kept on going for over an hour, talking effortlessly, and she sat on the floor of his private gym, trying to not stare at him too much, trying to not dwell on what happened last night too much.

(She was sure it was just a one time thing.)

***

It wasn’t just a one time thing.

As days passed, and he looked after her she found herself thinking about him more and more often. After a week she couldn’t remember what it felt to be angry at him; he was genuinely nice and didn’t seem to mind her occasional meanness; and she didn’t seem to be able to ignore the fact he was attractive. Depressed or not, her body still had its needs - and she had so few actual distractions from her apathy and numbness she didn’t even feel guilty when she’d slip her hand between her legs, thinking about the way his muscles moved under his skin as he was doing pushups.

And as much as she hated to admit it - his efforts in making her feel a bit better by making her sleep at regular hours and feeding her normal food weren’t entirely fruitless. She had more energy, and only had one breakdown; she knew he’d probably stop his efforts if she was firm enough in saying no, but… She didn’t want to. She knew as soon as she returns to New York she’s going to resume her previous, miserable, almost destructive lifestyle; but this thing was nice while it lasted. Kept her grounded.

She kept her thoughts to herself, even though even her viewers - because she sometimes streamed from the comfort of her bedroom in Chateau Cobblepot - noticed there’s something different about her. Her laughter apparently sounded more genuine, and her voice sounded more relaxed; some people made - rather not amusing - jokes about birdmaskguy’s magical dick.

“Ha-ha, very funny.” she said, glancing at the comment. “It’s not like that, you know. Two adult people can spend time together and not fuck.”

tbqph sex is a fun activity, so i don’t think anyone would judge you if you fucked him.

“Yeah, well, I would judge myself.” she said lightly. “He’s not my cup of tea.”

but he sure as hell is MY cup of tea. he’s hot and he cooks!

“He also spends a lot of time on reddit.”

yeah, well, no one’s perfect. okay, except for idris elba. he’s perfect.

“Hm.” Charlie pondered, cheerfully teabagging the floor with the enemy Tracer. “Yeah. That’s true.”

She wondered what’s going on on the other side, during his steams; their audiences overlapped a bit, but his was more… Typical.

She winced, thinking about what kind of jokes probably happen in his comment section.

*** “I’m going to ban you.” Oswald said tiredly, seeing another rape joke. “You know my zero tolerance policy for this stuff.”

People’s reactions to Charlie temporarily living under his roof were… Distasteful. Sure, many people took it well,  some people made mildly funny jokes about the grand finale to apparent sexual tension between a Reaper who just scored quintuple kill and a Mercy who scored a quintuple rez, and some people - who didn’t like Charlie for being annoying and squeaky - wished him luck; but some people reacted in… A truly abhorrent way.

“Stop that.” he said firmly, as another person expressed their wish of seeing him put her in her place, whatever it meant. “We’re on the same team. Sure, we have our differences, but it’s normal.”

did she suck your dick at least lol

“I’d say I feel sorry for your partner, but I don’t think you’re going to get one in foreseeable future.” he said with a yawn. “What is with you people and being obsessed with us?”

people are expecting a hatefuck.

“Well, sorry to disappoint.” he said dryly; he was never a fan of what he called antagonistically aggressive sex. It always rubbed him as borderline non-consensual, hurtful; a little bit of pain was a nice addition, but only as long as it was a path to mutual pleasure, not objectification. “But my sex life is still my own.”

are you implying you don’t think she’s hot? are you blind?

“Alright, this is enough.” he said, once again grateful for his mask. “That’s none of your business anyway.”

come on, you told us about your pierced dick! why are you suddenly so coy? hiding something?

“I was drunk!” he said angrily. “Just drop it, ok?”

A knock at the door; as he looked up, she was standing there, in a t-shirt and underwear and she looked sleepy and soft.

“You’re yelling.” she said. “I’m trying to sleep.”

“Sorry.” he said, staring at her from behind the mask. “I’ll be quiet now.”

“Are you streaming?” she asked with a yawn; she walked up to him, and - putting a warm hand that almost burned his skin on his shoulder - looked at the screen; her face was in frame.

“Hello!” she said, watching him die. “Awh. You’re terrible.”

“You’re distracting.” he muttered; he wasn’t lying. The warmth of her body was distracting.

She giggled and he groaned quietly, wondering if she’s doing it on purpose.

“Well, I’m going back to bed.” she said eventually and left and he died again, too busy staring at her ass.

wow, what a bitch.

“I woke her up. She has every right to not be nice.” he said, locking another person out of his channel. “Anyway.”

*** They hooked up between the matches, between USA vs Germany and USA vs New Zealand.

At that point, she already came to terms with a shocking revelation she actually likes him. Sure, she never told him - not after he explicitly stated he only cares about her depression because it’s a potential obstacle - but he was still a pleasant company.

He called her a tease during the match, as she was frantically flying between the teammates, trying to keep everyone alive, especially Rocco, whose shield was the one thing standing between them and certain death.

“Come on, you tease!” he called out. “I’m dying here!”

“I can’t be everywhere at once, you prick!” she yelled in response, as their teammates briefly glanced at each other with a mix of uncertainty and amusement.

But ultimately they won and he decided it calls for a celebration in form of a feast at Chateau, with champagne and everything they liked to eat.

“And you are going to help.” he said and she groaned. “What? I feed you! It’s only fair.”

“So I’m a slave.” she said and he winced.

“No.” he said firmly. “Let’s keep slavery out of this discussion, please.”

She helped him with groceries, which included a long trip to farmer’s market and a huge order at his favorite, expensive-as-fuck deli. Finally, she helped him in the kitchen - but not without loudly voicing her unhappiness.

“Oh, shut up.” he said carelessly, throwing a small onion at her. “If you really don’t want to help, you can go. But I’ll complain about it a lot.”

“I know.” she said, taking a knife and cutting the vegetable up. “Which is why this heroic sacrifice is taking place.”

“Attagirl.” he said, also chopping something; and she briefly paused her own action to shamelessly stare at the way he used the kitchen blade.

(She wondered if he’s as handy with a butterfly knife.)

Finally everything was prepared and was sure she has cumin and nutmeg stuck in her nose; her hands smelled like a variety of herbs and she had lettuce in her hair.

“Take a shower.” he said, wiping his hands in a kitchen towel; he had some yellow curry paste on the bridge of his nose, surely a result of not using a hand blender carefully enough. “And dress up nicely.”

“Yes, sir.” she said sarcastically and he rolled his eyes. “Anything else you need, master?”

She left the kitchen before he said anything, very pleased with how dumbfounded he looked, even though her cheeks were red.

She took a  - cold - shower, and put on a knee-length, black pencil dress with sheer neckline and black ankle-strap platforms; Oswald knocked at her door as she was doing her makeup, painting her lips red.

“Mmmm?” she muttered, looking at his reflection in the mirror. “What do you want?”

“Red or blue?” he asked, holding two ties and looking exasperated.

“It doesn’t matter.” she said, reaching for her eyeliner. “Blue, I guess.”

He kept staring at her without a word, so she sighed, put the eyeliner down and turned around, still not getting up from her stool.

“What?” she asked, and he blinked a few times.

“Nothing! Nothing.” he said quickly and left, leaving her puzzled.

The dinner was pleasant; everyone was optimistic and chatty and joked about how the Germans are probably crying themself to sleep or maybe cheering themselves up with Goethe or Schopenhauer.

Vicki told her something surprising as they bumped into each other just outside the toilet. She was slightly buzzed; maybe that’s why she spilled the beans.

“I promised him I’ll be his wingwoman, but sometimes honesty just does the trick, you know.” she said in hushed voice, as Charlie stared at her silently. “He’s an obnoxious ass, isn’t he?”

“He has his moments.” Charlie said carefully. “But he was raised well, I think.”

“Yes, he’s a gentleman.” Vicki giggled. “Which is why he’d never tell you half the stuff he told me.”

“Oh yeah?” Charlie said lightly, crossing her arms. “What did he tell you?”

“That you’re a tease.” Vicki giggled. “And very distracting one. He told me he couldn’t sleep the first time he saw you in your pajamas. He never got into details though.” she added, staring at her. “But honestly, I kinda feel him. You’re a pretty girl. You’re not my type, but… I definitely see the appeal.”

“Thanks.” she said uncertainly, slowly processing what she just heard. “You like… Tall girls, right?”

“Tall and dark haired and sarcastic.” she hummed and Charlie smiled palely; it was admirable how faithfully in love Vicki and Louise were. “Do you like him?”

“Are you going to run straight to him and tell him my answer?”

“You bet!”

“Then I’ll keep the answer to myself.” Charlie said, shuffling past Vicki and disappearing in the toilet.

Inside, she looked at her reflection; she looked nice. She wondered if he complained about it to anyone, if she was a distraction.

*** She was infuriating that day and he couldn’t help but stare at her helplessly, taking all her snark and theatrical complaining. He called her a tease completely mindlessly, but seemingly no one noticed; when they won she looked at him proudly and he wanted to do the most cliche things possible - raise her up and kiss her in front of everyone.

But he didn’t, instead he only winked at her; and he barely looked at her when they were cooking, instead grounding himself by focusing on chopping and measuring and stirring, painfully aware of her warm presence.

He - perhaps foolishly - decided to ask for her opinion on which tie he should wear; and her sight left him dumbfounded. That was the second time he saw her like that, and the sight wasn’t any less breathtaking - the conclusion being she looked beautiful in pajamas and elegant clothes and sweatpants, with and without makeup, with her hair messy and neatly styled.

She looked annoyed by his presence, so he promptly left, tightly grasping at the tie she picked.

She drank some champagne that night - a small,symbolic amount, because she firmly refused to let him buy a bottle of non-alcoholic one for her - and she looked at him sipping it. In fact, from certain point she looked at him a lot - did he have something on his face?

(Vicki avoided his eyes that night and he wondered how badly did she fuck up.)

Finally the people had left, and she helped him clean up, glancing at him from time to time.

“Did I do something?” he asked, taking a mountain of plates from her. “You keep staring.”

“Do I?” she replied, quickly walking away, leaving him puzzled.

(He posted a picture of their team on his social media accounts; tonight we are victorious, champagne pouring over us - one match won, plenty more to go! good job. It gathered quite a lot of attention; people were congratulating them and complimenting their bold strategy. Even busy Bruce Wayne found a moment to write an upbeat comment, congratulating Oswald on his victory and asking when is he going to bring his friend over for dinner.)

He was in the middle of a stream when he heard a knock at the door and a quiet can I come in?

“What is it, Cherry?” he asked, not looking up from his screen. “Am I being too loud again?”

“I just could use some company, that’s all.” she said hesitantly and he looked up; she was wearing the same washed out tee and boyshorts she was wearing the first night, and something about her felt… Different.

“Alright.” he said, returning his attention to the game, as she slowly walked up to him and sat on the surface of his desk, next to his monitor.

“How’s it going?” she asked, crossing her legs and folding her hands and staring at him.

“I’m mostly just fucking around tonight.” he said carefully, ignoring the rapidly popping out comments. “I’ll be wrapping it up soon anyway. It’s late.”

“Mmmm.” she muttered, still staring at him.

Finally he said goodnight to the viewers and turned everything off; she kissed him as soon as he took his mask off.

He dropped it onto the floor as she wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him closer; and initially, he gave in, only pushing her away when she pulled his hair,

“Are you drunk?” he asked, even though there was no trace of alcohol in her breath.

“I don’t drink.” she reminded him quietly, looking at him attentively; her cheeks were flushed.

“Then what’s going on?”

“Vicki told me.” she said quietly, nervously playing with her hair. “That you… Are into me.”

“Fuck.” he muttered, running his fingers through his hair.

“That’s my intention, yes.” she said with a smirk, brushing his chest with her fingertips. “What, not in the mood?”

“I’m just… Surprised, that’s all.” he said, trying to not get distracted by her touch. “I didn’t think it’s mutual.”

“Well, it is.” she said, gently nudging his knee with her foot. “So what are you waiting for?”

He kissed her without a word, getting up from his chair and picking her up effortlessly; he carried her to bed and she giggled as he slid one hand under her shirt, reaching between her legs with the other one.

“I guess…” he whispered, gently brushing her neck with his lips, squeezing her breast lightly; her skin was smooth and warm and exactly as he imagined it to be. “I’m waiting for you to say please.”

“Then you’re going to wait for a while.” she panted out as he teased her through the fabric. “I’m a patient gal.”

“Yes, but I’m an insufferable prick.” he said with a smirk and kissed her again.

She was so soft under his touch, so sensitive; she scratched his back and her moans and whimpers were like music to his ears as he kissed her neck and held her hips to keep her from moving and laughed in her face as she called him names, while pulling him closer, closer, closer.

*** She snuck out of his bedroom after he fell asleep; her heart was racing and she felt more alive than she ever did during the past year. He was so gentle; and his fingers on her skin felt right. He looked so peaceful when he was asleep; so peaceful and beautiful.

She wasn’t sure he’d play along when she entered the room; but he did. He gave her what she wanted, and more - and yet when she closed the door to her bedroom behind her she felt… Empty. It was a different kind of empty than the one she felt for months; it was painful and grey, not dull and black.

She cried herself to sleep that night, firmly refusing to take her pills, even though the bottle was there, on her nightstand, within her reach.

The next morning he didn’t wake her up at all; when she opened her eyes and checked the time it was noon. He left her shirt and undies on a chair just outside her door; and when she ventured into kitchen she found some oatmeal on the stove, and tea in thermos; still hot, sweetened with honey, like always.

(She didn’t even like oatmeal; but his was thick and sweet and rich, with freshly grated cinnamon and sauteed apples and brown sugar.)

She sighed quietly, putting some bread in the toaster. She wondered where did he go; without him the house felt cold and impersonal. Suddenly she realized she has no idea how do other parts of the building look; for a moment she considered going through other rooms, but quickly abandoned the idea of violating his family’s privacy like that.

She took a shower and got dressed, washing off the sensation his kisses left on her skin; and as she was drying her hair, she heard a doorbell.

“Shit.” she muttered, torn between pretending no one’s home and acting like a normal person. “Alright. I’m coming!” she called out, hurrying towards the front door.

Outside she bumped into Bruce Wayne himself, who was admiring the view with his hands in his pockets and his back turned to her.

He turned around and raised his eyebrows.

“Well.” he said hesitantly. “You’re not Oz.”

“He’s… Out.” she said, brushing her moist hair away from her face. “And I have no idea when is he going to be back.”

“Alright.” Wayne said carefully, looking at her. “Can I come in and wait for him, or-”

“Oh, sure!” she said quickly, moving aside to let him in. “He didn’t tell me he’s expecting someone today.”

“Probably because it’s a surprise visit.” he said, going inside and glancing at her. “You’re on his team, right?”

“I’m the healer, yes.” she said, following him. “And I’m the parasite who’s living with him.”

“That’s harsh.” Bruce said hesitantly. “I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name-”

“Charlie.” she interrupted him. “I’m Charlie. People online call me Pop. Oswald calls me Cherry.”

“Yes, he always has nicknames for people close to him.” Bruce said and her heart skipped a beat. “He used to call me Zorro… Though he stopped at some point. Now it’s just-”

“Brucie!” she heard Oswald’s voice coming from behind them; when they turned around he was standing in the doorway with a wide smile on his face. “It’s been ages!”

“Work.” Bruce said with a smile, and the two friends embraced; Oswald briefly glanced at Charlie over Bruce’s shoulder and his smile disappeared for a moment. “But I have a free afternoon, so I thought it might a good idea to pay you a visit. Catch up a bit. Check if everything’s alright.”

“Oh, everything’s dandy.” Oswald assured him and Charlie stood there awkwardly, wondering if he regrets last night ever happening. “I see you’ve met my temporary cohabitant”

“I’ll leave you two to it.” Charlie said quickly as Bruce turned his attention to her. “It was… Nice to meet you, mister Wayne.”

“It’s Bruce.” he corrected her with a smile. “And likewise.”

She hastily disappeared in her bedroom and opened up her laptop to catch up with the latest drama on tumblr.

Oswald knocked at her door some time later.

“You should eat something.” he said calmly as she looked up from her screen. “I threw some pork into a slow cooker before leaving. Interested?”

“I’m not hungry.” she said, despite actually being hungry. “But I think we should talk.”

“Alright.” he said indifferently, playing with his wristwatch; and his indifference hurt. “Let’s talk.”

“What happened last night…” she said carefully. “I’m… Sorry. I’m not sure what had gotten into me.”

“So it was a one time mistake.” he said, after brief silence. “Right?”

“Right.” she said slowly, trying to look beneath the surface of his calm, trying to find the man who kissed her back.

“Everyone makes mistakes, Cherry.” he said and she felt like she’s suffocating. “It was fun, but it’s not going to happen again. Curiosity sated, and so on.”

“Right.” she muttered. “Well… Well said.”

“You really should eat something.” he said before leaving, looking at her over his shoulder. “I worked hard on your new dietary habits. I’d hate to see my efforts go to waste.”

She flipped him off and he laughed and for a moment it felt like nothing had happened between them, like last night was just a figment of her imagination.

***

When he woke up, she weren’t there; only her clothes on the floor signalized last night really happened, that she really came into his room, that they really… They really…

He lied in bed for a while, trying to process what happened. The warmth of her skin, and the way she reacted to his kisses, and the way she looked at her with her eyes half closed; it was magical.

But - she wasn’t there when he woke up, she snuck out when he was asleep; maybe she regretted it. Maybe she was ashamed.

He got dressed, made breakfast and left the home, without waking her up. He went to Vicki’s place; it was eight in the morning when he knocked at her door.

“Do you know what time it is?!” she asked angrily after unlocking the door, but softened after noticing how miserable he looked. “...what happened?”

“Can I come in?” he asked quietly and she let him in; luckily she was alone that morning.

“Coffee?” she asked, yawning and locking the door behind him; he shook his head, knowing she’s drinking cheap, instant coffee that had nothing on what he had back home.

“You look like a kicked puppy.” she said, making herself a cup of that cheap monstrosity. “What happened?”

“I fucked Cherry.” he said as she was pouring some milk into her cup; she sighed and set the jug down, but didn’t turn around to face him.

She knew.

“She came to my room last night…” he continued, staring at the back of Vicki’s neck. “...and told me you told her I have hots for her.”

“I didn’t think she’d do anything about it!” Vicki said, finally turning around. “What’s the deal anyway? That’s what you wanted, right?”

“You know it’s not!” he blurted out. “You know damn well it was not about getting her to spread her legs for me.”

“...you’re right.” she said after brief silence, avoiding his eyes; he looked at her coldly, remembering the time when he helped her with Louise. He thought he can count on her to repay the favor. “I messed up.”

‘We both messed up.” he said softly, his anger gone. “In fact… I think all three of us messed up.”

“Maybe it’ll clear some air between you.” she said; she was clearly forcing herself to sound optimistic. “How about it?”

“Maybe.” he said, deciding to let it go; there was no point in blaming Vicki for his own actions. “Sorry for waking you up, Vale.”

“You can redeem yourself by going out and getting me bagels.” she yawned. “You know what I like.”

When he returned home some time later, Bruce was there, talking to Charlie; he looked at her as he was hugging his old friend. She looked surprisingly miserable, and excused herself as soon as it was possible; he followed her with his eyes, before returning his attention to Bruce.

“You look good!” he said. “Alfred’s taking good care of you, I presume?”

“Alfred is doing his best.” Bruce said with a smile. “How are your parents?”

“Oh, they’re doing great. Their anniversary is coming up, so they went to Bahamas for two months.” he said with a smile.

“So.” Bruce said after a brief pause. “That girl… Are you two…”

“It’s not like that.” Oswald interrupted him hastily. “She’s a teammate. Just a teammate.”

“A live-in teammate.” Bruce pointed out with a playful grin and Oswald rolled his eyes theatrically.

“Yeah, well, we’re both responsible adults. Tea?”

“Always.”

After Bruce left, he went to her room to talk; in the meantime he made a decision. She snuck out; maybe she wasn’t interested in anything bigger. So be it. He decided to give her all the space she needs; she herself said she has no idea what gotten into her.

When she flipped him off his heart skipped a beat, because it was as if they erased the previous night altogether. Nothing ever happened between them; and nothing would happen ever again.

***

They kept on winning; their team was like an unstoppable force of nature. They knew all of each other’s tricks, after hours spent on playing against each other; they knew all the tricks - and were quick to find ways to assist each other with them. They thought on their feet, abusing slight glitches and the physics engine, and worked like a well-oiled machinery; they won with New Zealand, Australia, Sweden, Japan, Poland.

(Though the last one wasn’t too difficult; a short clip of CherryPop’s Mercy hustling among the corpses of the enemy team with Another One Bites The Dust by Queen playing in the background quickly became a hit.)

And what happened that one night - didn’t happen again. She was sure Vicki knows; Vale looked at her oddly and anxiously. It didn’t seem like the others found out; good. There was no reason for them to know.

(Even though she was sure there’s something going on between Theo and Rocco; but it was none of her business.)

She still got off to her imagination from time to time; but it just didn’t feel good anymore. What she felt during that one time - it was more than just pleasure. She felt at peace, almost like happiness was within reach; almost as if he genuinely cared about her as a person, and not just a teammate. He was so tender, so gentle; a real fucking gentleman.

But it was just a one time thing; even though… Even though she wouldn’t mind it happening again. And again, and again, and again. It was a scary thought; it was not all what she wanted to feel, and she despised herself for it - but the heart wants what it wants and it cannot be reasoned with.

And the internet was buzzing - the word had spread that CherryPop visited birdmaskguy one night and sounded… Weird. The fact some people were bored enough to gossip about streamers was odd and a bit sad; but they did. And she let it slide, not debunking or confirming anything. There was no point in doing so; it simply didn’t matter.

He resumed taking care of her diet and sleeping schedule, and she resumed being unhappy about it; but it felt fake. She was conflicted, more conflicted than ever; lost and confused and yearning for more - but she couldn’t bring herself to talk about it - and nobody knew. Not their teammates, not her parents; and so she had nobody to complain to, nobody to consult.

(Her parents were convinced she’s doing fine, way better than in New York; new diet and regular sleeping hours were actually making wonders. So did the occasional exercise - but she started being sneaky about it, using the gym when he wasn’t around; she simply couldn’t bear looking at him like that.)

She developed a crush on him, on Oswald, on the way he treated her and the way he always rebuked her offenses and the way he once refused to hand her a jar of Maraschino cherries and held it above her head until she promised to pocket him the next match. She developed a crush on him, a crush she most definitely didn’t expect when she first met him on Hanamura, under the cherry blossoms between the objectives. She developed a crush on who he turned out to be under the mask, under his obnoxious quirk; and she wished she could turn back time and refuse his offer. Sure, she could simply pack up and move to one of Gotham’s many hotels - but he’d ask why.

And she wasn’t so sure she has the strength to lie.

***

It was painful, having her so close and not being able to treat her the way he wanted to - with love. When she asked him why he cares about her depression he lied through his teeth, and she accepted his answer; when he gently gave her a way out their bedroom mess - she took it. She wasn’t giving him a chance, she wasn’t giving him false hopes; he held his head high and kept on telling himself it’ll be over soon. Soon she’d be gone, out of his home, out of his sight; and he was sure with time she’d be out of his heart as well. What the eye does not see the heart does not grieve over, and so on.

So he kept on his facade; until everything went crashing down, thanks to his own obtuseness and the Russians.

(The Russians. Of course. In Gotham it’s always either Russians or Italians; almost as if those two nations personally cursed the city. Fuck you, Putin and Berlusconi.)

At first, everything was going well on their part; they were in good moods and well-rested and Charlie was begrudgingly munching on celery sticks he suggested her in place of tortilla chips.

(“...you do have lettuce instead of brain.”

“Ah, but what fresh ideas I have thanks to it! Come on, open up. Eat your veggies… Or else.

“Corn’s a vegetable though. So technically, tortilla chips…”

“...eat your celery or I’ll strangle you in your sleep.”)

The Russians were playing dirty and had no honor - he expected that much. He knew part of their team, he crossed paths with them a few times; and unfortunately - they weren’t exactly on speaking terms.

(He reported some of them for… Distasteful threats.)

Their Mei was constantly on Charlie’s ass, so their attention was divided between making sure she’s making it out alive, and taking care of their Slavic opponents; not an ideal scenario, but they could work with that.

Eventually though, their Mei managed to sneak behind them.

“Fuck! Someone help!” Charlie called out, frantically jumping around, trying to stall the enemy for as long as possible.

“Coming!” he said; he was on his way back to spawn anyway. He had to switch; they had to try something else if they wanted to have any chance at all at winning.

He hooked the Mei away at the last second and killed her in one shot, as Mercy ran to the nearest health pack.

“Thanks!” she said, for a moment looking away from her screen to shoot him a grateful smile; he blew her a kiss in response.

Her face turned pale and she looked away from him, staring at her screen again, even though her eyes seemed… Unfocused.

‘The fuck are you doing?” Vicki muttered to him, gunning down the enemy Zenyatta. “Again?”

“Shut up.” he muttered equally quietly in response, carefully glancing at Charlie; her lips were pursed and her eyes were squinted and she seemed angry.

They managed to score one point. No big deal; they simply had to stop their opponents from scoring any point at all to win. Or they could always get a draw; that’d call for a sudden death. That was a valid option as well.

Charlie disappeared somewhere during the short break between the rounds; and when she came back she was slurring and seemed lubberly. She seemed relaxed - too relaxed.

“Shit.” Oswald muttered as she walked up to him. “Are you alright? Cherry?”

“I had to take my anxiolytic pills…” she muttered, looking him in the eye; she cried. Her eyes were red and puffy and there were traces of tears on her cheeks. “I’m sorry…”

“What’s the problem?” Louise asked, walking up to them; rest of the team followed.

“We have to go on without her for a while.” he said calmly; she shrugged and looked away. “Carry until she wakes up, basically.”

“Maybe an energy drink?” Rocco suggested hesitantly. “I have some Red Bulls in my bag.”

Charlie nodded; but Oswald shook his head.

“Out of question.” he said firmly. “Mixing medicine with whatever’s in that shit… It’s not going to do her any good. I’ll get her some cold water, but that’s it.”

“You’re throwing a match, Cobblepot.” Charlie said calmly, looking at him; her eyes were hazy and she was shaking slightly.

Was she out of her mind? Her health was at stake - and all she could think about was a game?

“We still have a chance.” he said, keeping his concerns to himself; they could wait for another time. “I’m going to get that water. You try to keep her awake.” he said to rest of the team and walked away.

Round two was effectively a 5v6, due to Cherry’s state; they held the Russians off for as long as they could - but they didn’t stop them from getting the first point.

In the meantime, Charlie got better and left her hideout; but it was too late. The Russians got bold; they dealt tons of damage and hurled their abilities carelessly.

It was all over before they knew it; they lost 2:1, Mercy’s rez at 80% as their screens went black.

They lost; they were out.

***

She was doing fine; all until the moment he blew her a kiss in front of everyone, as if that was a normal gesture for them, as if he’d kiss her if he could, as if she wasn’t the one who kissed him first during that night that never happened.

What was he trying to accomplish? She had no idea; probably nothing, she told herself - but it was too late. Seed of a breakdown had already been planted; she excused herself during the break and cried in a bathroom stall, and - without thinking - swallowed a pill, first one in a long time.

It worked… Quickly and powerfully - maybe her organism grew disaccustomed. Maybe her brain was simply too tired to fight it off.

“You’re throwing a match.” she told him, desperately hoping to hear something like you’re more important than any match; but instead she only heard they still have a chance.

(Of course. She wasn’t important as a person, but as a teammate. The surface level was important; no one cared about what’s underneath.)

“Give me that Red Bull.” she muttered to Rocco after Oswald left; but he shook his head.

“He’s right, you know. It’s not wise.” he said and Charlie groaned. Vicki looked at her hesitantly, looking as if she wants to say something; but she didn’t.

(Maybe for the best.)

The ice cold water did wake her up a bit; but it wasn’t enough and it happened too late and they lost and it was all her fault; she knew it, she felt it in her bones.

“We did good.” Theo said optimistically. “We got far. Also, you guys are cool.”

“Right?” Louise said with a sigh. “Shame we mucked it up, but hey, we didn’t go down without a fight. It could be way worse. We could go down same way Poland did.”

Everyone laughed; except for her. Even despite the medication she wanted to cry; and when they weren’t looking - she simply sneaked out, got into a cab and drove to the train station, where she bought a return ticket.

Oswald could take care of sending her stuff back to New York. She was sure he’ll do it gladly, after all that mess that transpired between them.

Few hours later she was back in her stuffy, messy flat; she didn’t even bother to call or text her parents before curling up on the bed and bursting in tears again.

***

“Hey, where’s Pop?”

Theo asked the question - and Oswald realized he doesn’t know the answer. She vanished, plain and simple; and in her state it couldn’t possibly mean anything good.

“Maybe she went home?” Rocco suggested hesitantly. “Your home, I mean.”

“Maybe.” Oswald said, forcing himself to be calm. “I’ll check there. Then I’ll check the train station. Then… I guess I’ll panic. Just a bit.”

On his way home, he checked the Gotham-New York timetable; previous train left fifteen minutes earlier. The next one would leave in thirty minutes.

She wasn’t anywhere in the Chateau; and he checked every single room, even the locked ones. Everything was the way she left it; she didn’t even bother to come back for her laptop.

She wasn’t on the train station either; but when he asked, a woman working at the ticket office - a kind, old woman - told him that yes, indeed, a young woman with hair so red it almost looked fake bought a ticket to New York. The train departed shortly before he got there.

So she went home - and he didn’t have an address. There were many ways of solving this problem - but he decided to settle on the… Most Gotham one.

He called Vicki on his way to the police station.

“She went back to New York.”

“Well, fuck.” Vicki said; he could hear Louise in the background, talking about how McDonald’s french fries are so much better than Burger King ones. “What now?”

“I have to talk to her.” he said. “And Jim Gordon owes my family a favor.”

“I’m not turning the Bat-Signal for you.” the tired commissioner told him. “It’s out of question.”

“Please.” Oswald pleaded, feeling helpless. “It’s a matter of life and death!”

“No, it’s not.” Gordon said impatiently. “Look, kid, I’m sorry, but I can’t help-”

“But I can.” they both heard Bat’s one of a kind, gravely voice; Gotham’s protector stepped out from the shadows in the corner of Gordon’s cluttered office.

“Batsy!” Oswald said with joy, looking at the grim vigilante. “A sight for sore eyes, truly.”

“I heard it’s a matter of life and death, Cobblepot.” Batman said, staring him down. “Stop wasting my time. Cut to the chase.”

“You seem to know everything about everyone, somehow.” Oswald said hastily. “I know you hacked at least four federal databases. I need an address… Of someone not from Gotham.”

“The girl.” Batman said grimly, doing something on the computer built into his gauntlet. “Is she in danger?”

“I don’t know.” Oswald said quietly, as his phone buzzed; the Bat sent him Charlie’s address. “Wow. That was quick.”

“Don’t blow me any kisses.” Batman said as he was leaving. “It never leads to anything good, it seems.”

He didn’t have time to wonder how the hell does Batman know what exactly happened; he had a trip to New York to make.

He only stopped once, to get some gas; he reached her address just before the dawn. She lived in a modern, expensive building; and the receptionist who also doubled as security wasn’t too eager to let him in.

“She said she doesn’t want guests, except for food delivery.” he repeated tiredly. “I can’t let you in.”

“Yes, you can.” Oswald said firmly. “I’ll pay you, alright? It’s a matter of life and death.”

They argued for some time; but then one of the other tenants came home and the receptionist opened the elevator for him and Oswald hopped in, right before the door closed again, leaving the tired man behind.

He rang the doorbell and knocked, over and over again; it took him about fifteen minutes to get a reaction out of her.

“I don’t want to see anyone.” she said faintly and his heart broke a bit; she sounded so tired, so resigned. “Please, go away.”

“Cherry, it’s me.” he said; silence. “I’ve been worried.”

“Why are you here?” she asked tiredly, as if he hadn’t just told her. “We lost. It’s over.”

“I’ve been worried!” he repeated, frustrated. “You disappeared!”

“I went home, because my role was over.” she said. “I fucked up. So I left.”

“Yes, without a word.” he said, resting his forehead against the wooden surface of her door. “So I looked for you.”

“But why?” she asked again and he blinked; he told her already. Was she even listening?

“Because…” he repeated slowly “I’ve been worried. I’m having a deja vu.”

He took a step back as he heard her unlocking the door. Finally she let him in; and he sighed deeply seeing the state she was in. Well, she and her flat.

She was wearing the same exact clothes she wore when he last saw her, and her eyes were red and puffy and the floor was covered in garbage; candy wrappers, empty chips packets, soda cans.

“Good lord.” he muttered to himself, stepping over a small pile of Twix wrappings. “What happened here?”

“Depression.” she replied, wrapping herself in a blanket. “Well, now that you know I’m alive… So you can leave me alone.”

“Fine.” he said after a brief silence. “But only if you look me in the eye and tell me you really want me to leave.”

She raised her head a bit. She looked him in the eye.

“Please don’t go.” she said tearfully. “Leave. Stay? Fuck.” she muttered. “I have no idea what I want.”

“Which is a good reason for me to not leave you alone.” he said softly, carefully sitting down next to her. “I can take you back to Gotham. The others are worried as well.”

“I fucked up.” she muttered. “Big time. I fucked up… Everything. We lost… Because of me.”

“It doesn’t matter.” he said firmly. “Cherry, I lost plenty of times because of you. Doesn’t matter. None of it does. It’s just a fucking game, after all.”

“But-”

“No buts.” he interrupted her. “It’s a game. Period. We can try again next year.”

“Alright.” she said hesitantly. “Take me… Take me back. I won’t run away again.”

“You can run away as much as you want, just let me know beforehand.” he sighed, getting up. “Come on, Cherry.”

“Can you help me up?”

“If you want me to carry you, just say the word.” he said and she smiled faintly.

“I’ll consider it.” she said and he helped her get up and took her outside, to his car.

They were back in Gotham just when the city was starting to wake up.

*** He came; but why?

She couldn’t comprehend why he’d came - which was a bit sad, considering it was one thing she so desperately wanted. Even as she fucked everything up for everyone, even as her role was over - he came. She couldn’t believe her ears when she heard his voice outside; but there he was, looking more determined than ever.

He took her home; his home started to feel a lot like her place, like she belonged there, like she was meant to be there. She felt more at home there than she did in her own flat in New York; especially when she took a shower and put on some clean clothes and went to the kitchen, where he was making pancakes.

“How are you feeling?” he asked as she sat down.

“Weak, but I’ll live.” she said, playing with her hair. “I… Cried a lot.”

“Well, in that case it might be a good idea to take a nap.” he said, setting a plate down in front of her and sitting down with a cup of coffee for himself. “But first you have to eat.”

“Thanks.” she said quietly, picking up a fork. “Maple syrup?”

“Oh, good idea.” he said, getting up and opening a cabinet. “Some sugar might help.”

He handed her a bottle and she gently brushed the back of his hand with her fingertips and he froze in place, staring at her.

“Sorry.” she said, looking away. “I… I’m not trying anything, I swear.”

“No?” he asked, as she was pouring syrup all over her pancakes.

“No.”

He nodded quietly as she finished eating.

“Go to bed.” he said, not moving from his spot. “Get some sleep.”

“And what about you?”

“I just drank a pitch black coffee.” he said, looking up. “I’ll manage.”

“It’s not healthy.” she said and he snickered, shaking his head; and when he looked at her - softly, tenderly - her heart skipped a beat.

“Get some sleep.” he repeated. “You know where to find me if you need anything.”

She fell asleep almost instantly; last thing she heard before drifting off were his footsteps outside.

***

She let him take her home; that was good. She apparently wasn’t able to figure out he had been worried sick; that was… Less good.

His phone was buzzing; others were worried as well.

Got her.

is she alright????? She’s asleep now, but she’s alive.

[praying emoji]

He wondered what’s next; it was obvious she shouldn’t be left to her own devices. It was also obvious he’s still hopelessly infatuated with her; even after a night of crying she looked beautiful, with those red rings around her eyes and matted eyelashes. There was a lot of beauty in her sadness - but it was also painful; both to look at and to bear.

She woke up in the late afternoon, as he was napping in his bedroom; a hesistant knock at the door woke him up.

“Come in, come in…” he muttered, rubbing his eyes. “Hungry?”

“A bit.” she said, shuffling inside. “Oh… Did I wake up?”

“S’alright.” he said, yawning. “I’m a big boy.”

“What now?” she asked, standing in the doorway. “I mean… With us.”

That question awakened him faster than any cold shower ever would.

“What do you mean?” he asked, staring at her. She sighed, crossing her arms.

“Can I be honest?” she asked and he nodded, preparing himself for a figurative kick in the ass-

��I like you.” she said arduously, avoiding his eyes. “I’ve been trying to not, but… I do. I like you. A lot. And I… Know it’s not mutual.”

Had it not been for him being in a state of deep shock - he’d probably throw something at her.

“Wow.” he said eventually. “You are… Not the world’s greatest detective, huh?”

“...what?” she asked faintly, as he started to count on his fingers.

“I offered you a stay here. I took care of your abhorrent habits, I whined to Vicki enough times to finally make her crack, I went to New York just to check if you’re alive, I brought you back to Gotham because I was worried-” he recited, not taking his eyes off her. “And you think it’s one-sided?!”

“But I thought-” she said faintly, but he interrupted her.

“Thought?! Please!” he scoffed, waving his hands angrily. “If anyone here had a reason to think it’s one sided - it’s me!”

“Oh, woe is you!” she replied angrily. “You called that night a mistake!”

“Yes, because you snuck out and locked yourself in your room!”

“I was confused!”

“Newsflash, you asshole!” he shrieked. “I’ve been confused for weeks!”

She laughed, and she laughed so hard she actually snorted - and it was the most endearing sound he had heard in a long time.

“Oh, my god.” she said finally, wiping her tears. “This is incredible. If only we talked like normal people-”

“Drama is more important.” he interrupted her. “Come here. I want to kiss you.”

“And I want to eat something.”

“Ah, alright.” he sighed, getting up. “It’s… Late afternoon. Breakfast food is-”

She threw her arms around his neck as he was walking past, and pulled him in and kissed him; and he gave in, until he heard the sounds her stomach was making.

“Good god.” he muttered. “Do you have a Reaper inside you?”

“Maybe.” she said with a shrug. “Come on. Feed me.”

The Aftermath

Things were going decent, for both of them; even though it took the world some time to get used to the fact they got together. Many claimed it’s just a publicity stunt; some were disgusted and disappointed, some were saying it’s probably going to fall apart in two months.

Charlie decided to actually move to Gotham; she made friends there, and had someone who seemed very determined to keep an eye on her. Not all the time, naturally - just during bad times. Someone to force her out of bed and to take a shower. Someone to keep instant noodles as far away from her as possible.

(Suddenly everything made sense. Suddenly the way he looked at her made sense.)

But first - she had to come back to New York to pack up her stuff. Her parents offered their help; but Oswald was ridiculously disconsolate.

“I’ll be fine!” she said, and he only muttered and kept hugging her, resting his chin atop of her head. “You know you can’t watch over me all the time. I don’t need a nanny.”

“No, I just grew very used to your presence.” he mutered. “I’ll miss you.”

“It’s just a month, Oswald.” she said softly. “Say hi to your parents from me. You sure they don’t mind?”

“The house is huge, you saw it yourself.” he sighed, finally letting her go. “The more the merrier.”

She kissed him one last time and entered the train; she had butterflies in her stomach, the good kind. The kind that came from gestures of tenderness from someone she loved.

*** Without her, his home felt so empty; his family was back, so the rooms were filled with familiar warmth - but he missed her. And it’s only been a few hours.

“Oh, you fucking sap.” Vicki muttered to him over the phone. “Chill out, have some faith, she’s gonna be fine!”

“Yeah.” he sighed, standing in front of her bedroom. “I hope so. Otherwise…”

“There will be no otherwise though. She’s gonna be fine. She spent the majority of her life without you.”

“Yeah, and she developed depression and anxiety.”

“And you are not a cure to her problems.” Vicki said firmly. “Look, Oz, love is a wonderful thing, but it’s not a miracle cure for anything. Her problems are not your fault, neither they are yours to solve. It’s admirable you want to help, but… You gotta let her live.”

“Jesus, Vale, chill out with the preaching.” he muttered. “Would ya?”

“I’ll consider it.”

He saw her online that evening; she posted something on r/shittyfoodporn, for the first time in many weeks.

McDonald’s for dinner. Of course.

Oh come on. he commented.

kfjgjskfjgjdkfgjgjf let me live!!

I’m just joking.

<3

you two are absolutely fucking disgusting. by all means, keep doing whatever you’re doing, but you’re disgusting. keep that relationship shit away from us pathetic lowlifes. ps - fuck, i want a cheeseburger.

Three weeks flew by; she seemed to be doing well - he watched one of her streams and she was bubbly and chatty and a delight to look at.

(She got adorably distracted when a comment from him popped up, and blew him a kiss.)

People seemed to not remember what happened during their last match; or maybe they remembered, but simply didn’t care. There were more important things in the world; life went on, after all.

They crossed paths in game one evening; they ended up on the opposite teams, because of course.

birdmaskguy: hey, mercy.

birdmaskguy: i have a deal.

CherryPop: ?????

birdmaskguy: let my team win, so i’ll be nice when i come over next week.

strawpuff: DUDE, HAVE SOME DIGNITY.

CherryPop: that’s precisely why i won’t let you win. :P i like it when you’re not nice!!

strawpuff: …

Bolero: ……………………….ew

dijkstra: :D omg

(She liked it when he was acting like an asshole; she liked when he was taking advantage of being taller and when he was taking his sweet time with her body. Gave her a reason to call him names; for her it came easier than an I love you - and he understood, after years of being close with Vicki. She’d call him a prick - but then she’d run her fingers through his hair, all while complaining about how infuriating he was.)

*** She missed him more than she thought she would; and eventually she literally provoked him into coming over earlier than planned. It involved internet connection, some boiled - and unsalted - pasta, a jar of Nutella and her phone’s camera.

She posted the photo of noodles mixed with chocolate-hazelnut spread online, implying she’s going to eat it; he texted her few minutes later.

That’s it. I’m coming.

nooooo, she texted back with one hand, pulling out a spare blanket for him with the other one. i was just joking!!

Mm-hm. I don’t believe you. I’ll be there today.

nooooo!!!

:(

hey, i was just joking. come over. i miss you.

<3 <3 <3 <3

He brought a few things with him - clothes, his favorite spatula, a bag of fresh vegetables and a giant jar of tomato sauce he made at home.

“You can’t be serious.” she said, looking at it. “What am I supposed to do with it?”

“Eat it.” he said, setting it down on the kitchen counter. “Better safe than sorry, that photo… Almost gave me a heart attack.”

“Fine.” she said with a theatrical sigh. “But tonight I want pizza.”

“Just as long as it won’t turn out you only ate pizza few days in a row. That didn’t happen, right?”

“And what if it did? You’ll punish me?” she asked playfully.

“No, I’ll look at you sadly.” he said. “Come on. Order up, I’m hungry. Just pick a good place.”

“I know, I know, only highest quality ingredients find their way into your body. The usual spiel. Got it memorized.”

“Mmm, I’m letting it slide tonight. After all, I haven’t seen you in weeks…”

“...are you implying what I think you’re implying?”

“...the inner machinations of your mind are an enigma, but probably yes. Could have worded it better.”

“Asshole.” she muttered as he pulled her closer. “Insufferable prick. Douchebag.”

“I know. I love you too, Charlie.”

“Ndjhfhsjhgjd.” she muttered, as she always did when he called her by her name and he smiled, thinking back to that time he kinda wanted her dead, but not really, because who the fuck would take a game this seriously?

#telltale batman #ff #oc #eng #pinnguin

[soobadnoonecanstopher]

2AM - part 6 (A Minseok Series)

Genre: Angst

Characters: Minseok X You

The soundtrack and inspiration this chapter is Happier by Ed Sheeran.

2AM [M] - part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6, part 7, part 8, part 9, part 10, part 11, part 12

You awoke some hours later alone with memories of your breakdown in front of Minseok, his reaction, his tearful apologies that faded as the grief and pain in your heart took over.

You’d let him see just how badly his actions had hurt you and as your eyes adjusted to the light your ears caught a sound in the distance. Somewhere else in the home you could hear voices.

What time was it? It had to be late morning by now.

You sat up on his bed, pushing off the covers that he seemed to have thrown over you in the night, and your feet sank to the floor, resting over a pair of slippers carefully set just where you would be sure to stand and walk.

Had he done this? Your toes touched along the softness of the slippers. They felt warm and you wanted to give in and slip inside, hating the way this tiny gesture of thoughtfulness felt so welcome and yet so foreign at the same time. Your friend..the man who had been such a great friend to you for so long would do these things for you. Yet with these gestures you always felt a pang of pain in your gut as you were reminded over and over just how far you had fallen. Just how in love with him you grew with each passing second and how impossible that was.

The balls of your feet pressed down onto the bare floor and you slowly and silently made your way to the closed bedroom door of Minseok’s room. Up close to the door you could hear the voices much louder and you touched the handle of the door, carefully turning it so not a sound was made.

Any sound that came from you sneaking out of his bedroom would have been instantly lost in the sound of the discussion taking place outside of this room because as soon as you pulled the door open you heard the intensity of it…the volume was loud and the voices were rough and stubborn sounding as they discussed something…no, argued about something.

You instantly recognized the two.

Minhee and Minseok were fighting.

You took a few steps toward the sound, moving silently, you hugged the wall and your heart raged against your rib cage at the sound of genuine anger you could hear in MInhee’s voice.

Your legs stopped their slow and steady steps when you heard your name and your breath caught in your lungs as you leaned against the wall, well out of sight of either of them, but you were definitely the topic of their heated discussion.

“I know!” Minseok shouted out just as loud in response to Minhee’s harsh words and you heard a growl from his chest. Frustrated and angry, nearly out of control and hoarse from last nights drinking.

“I fucking know it! Don’t you think I fucking know that? I feel like shit enough about it already I don’t–” a guttural growl sounded out, “I don’t know what to do. I don’t fucking know.”

There was a sound of something thrown. Minseok’s anger and frustrations brought into the physical world as he hurled something across the kitchen. You heard a splash and a clatter into the sink. Whatever he’d thrown, it use have been plastic as there was no glass shattering or mental clanking.

“S-She…she hates me. She has every right to– I..” from the muffled quality of his words, he seemed to be covering his face as he spoke now.

“You are an asshole Kim Minseok.” Minhee bit back fast and you furrowed your brow, hating to hear your friend speak so harshly to the brother you knew she loved so dearly. The pair rarely fought. In fact you couldn’t even remember a single time they had been anything but a supportive and loving pair who teased and joked around with each other, not since hed moved out and joined the company. The times he was home was usually full of fun, laughter, and happiness – but this…

This was awful. There was a genuine sound of pain in both voices and you could tell by the sound of the trembling in Minhee’s voice that she was close to tears brought on by her anger at her brother.

From this short bit of their conversation you were certain Minhee knew about the relationship between Minseok and you. She knew and yet she…she seemed to be mad at him more than any anger she must have felt for you. Although you hadn’t seen her face yet, you hadn’t had the chance to face your best friend and see if she was mad at you as well.

You took another step. This could not continue. You couldn’t allow them to fight to harshly because of your choice to pursue this inappropriate relationship with Minseok. While he was to blame for recent upset in mood, you were an adult and you knew what you were getting into when you opened your door for him over and over and over again.

“I knew, I fucking knew you would do this when you told me. All those years ago, when you were about to sign with EXO and you told me that you were in love with her… This, this right here is why I told you no–” Minhee’s voice broke through again and halted your steps as your mind blurred when you registered her words.

He…told her what?

“Why I told you that you didn’t have my blessing and you told me you wouldn’t. You said you’d take care of your own feelings and you’d leave her alone and now?”

You lifted your hand to cover your own mouth and sealed tightly over your nose and your parted lips. The hiccuping gasping way your lungs were behaving was making too much noise for your eavesdropping and you would surely be discovered soon if this continued.

“…but…but f-friends with benefits Oppa? You didn’t even have enough fucking decency to confess and do it right, you had to…do that to her?”

There was a sound in Minhee’s voice that told you she was crying now. You knew your friend well enough and you were sure her anger would bring tears that she would swat away at in frustration as she tried to get her words out.

“If you were going to do it anyway, you should have done it right.”

“I couldn’t…I can’t,” he agonized and Minhee scoffed a dry humorless laugh in response.

“I couldn’t do that to her… I couldn’t let her be with someone like me.”

“Oh please, you fucking coward, just admit that you were selfish and you were the one who didn’t want to commit, you used her. My best friend in the fucking world, the person I love the most, you just used her.” Minhee responded and you felt her words hit you hard. You could feel the sentiment in her words rush through you, bringing along the affection you felt for her.

You had to stop this. You couldn’t let this argument continue any longer and your legs were moving as you entered the room and placed your hand on Minhee’s shoulder, making her jump and turn to look at you with wide eyes, tears wet her cheeks and her nose red and flushed. You heard her startled gasp and she whispered your name. Her eyebrows furrowed and she looked toward her brother who was yet unaware of your presence in the room.

Minseok was facing the kitchen sink, his hands gripping the counter so hard his knuckles were white and his shoulders hunched over himself. He looked so tense and agitated you wondered how badly his head must be aching from the pain of his hangover and the shouting match they had just endured.

The discord in your mind yelled at you to go to him, to wrap your arms around his shoulders and soothe the pain you knew he was feeling. Comfort you knew he needed from you, yet the rational part of your mind warned you off. Told you to cut ties with this man once and for all. This man who had no idea what he wanted, even when the obvious stood in front of him time and time again begging and pleading for him to accept it.

“I couldn’t let her be with me because I love her too fucking much!” Minseok raised his voice in defense at being called out on his sins and he spun on his heels, speaking to Minhee and coming up short as soon as he saw your face. His eyes were wide, his mouth open and his trembling hands fell limply to his side as his startled face froze on yours. His stunned response so strong and telling you could practically see the panic taking over his body.

He was caught. You were here and you had heard it straight from his lips. The sober truth that had he had managed to conceal for so long now echoed out in the silence of the kitchen and you felt Minhee tremble below your hands, which had wrapped tightly around her shoulders.

She was crying and she angled her face down away from you.

“Y-You knew?” You whispered to your best friend who wiped her tears and sniffled as she nodded her head.

“I knew how he felt. But I didn’t know about all of this.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Your question was small and curious. Lacking in any judgement for her silence. She kept her mouth shut when he knew her brother had loved you for years. She kept that secret to herself, scared that you would only be hurt by this man.

“Why didn’t you?” Her question was black and blue. You could feel the pain in her voice and the hurt you saw in her eyes as she looked up at you and you felt flooded with regret.

“You could have trusted me enough to tell me. You know that I’ll always love you no matter what.”

The guilt settled over your head, heavy and suffocating the longer you looked at your best friend’s face. You reached for her, needing to touch her warmth suddenly and she leaned into you as you wrapped your arm around her shoulder.

A high pitched ringing filled the room, bringing your eyes away from Minhee’s and Minseok’s attention was pulled from the daze he had been stuck in. His movement was sluggish and you recognized the ring tone of his cell phone as it lit up from the far end of the kitchen counter where it had been plugged in to charge the evening before, most likely by a fussing Mrs. Kim as she took care of the belongings he had left strewn about the home.

You watched Minseok’s face as the spell broke. He lifted his brows as he reached for his phone and your heart ached as you replayed the words he last spoke.

…because I love her too fucking much

Again and again, this man admitted to what you knew deep down inside. Minhee had even said it herself, that he had been in love with you for years.

But what good had it been?

The friendship you shared with the man had showed hints of his love but what had he actually done to show it? Abandoned you? Refused to acknowledge you to his family and friends. Ignored you again and again for weeks while he denied to himself what was actually happening here. That you were in love with him, as much, if not more so…

”No, I’m home. At my mom’s place.” Minseok’s voice sounded gruff into the line as he spoke to whoever had called him and you saw his shoulders stiffen up as his head lifted, a look of surprise on his face.

”What? Here..but how…” He was walking quickly out of the kitchen, leaving you and Minhee behind in confusion as he went to the front door of his home.

You heard a new voice at the door, a chipper sounding man who was familiar and you felt Minhee stiffen slightly under your arm.

Was her reaction merely due to the visitor’s bad timing?

Minseok silently made his way into the kitchen, limping on his injured foot followed by Jongdae, his band member and very close friend and you couldn’t quite bring the smile to your face that matched the brilliance of his.

He looked between the three of you and you saw his bright smile flatten and his eyes lingered on Minhee for a bit before he looked back at Minseok.

“Yah, what’s with the mood in here?” His voice was light. Forcibly so and you wondered if you could excuse yourself before you were forced to socialize with Minseok’s friend.

Minseok had a cup of coffee in his hand and set it on the kitchen island counter in front of where Jongdae stood like an investigator examining a crime scene in front of him, reading the mood, staring between everyone’s faces until you felt like you might just melt under his fierce gaze.

“It’s nothing Jongdae.” Minseok mumbled as he took a drink of his own coffee, “How did you know I was here?”

The subject change was swift and a classic Minseok move and had Jongdae been less…less of a friend, less intelligent, less intuitive it might have worked.

“Did you and Minhee fight? That’s not like you two, you never fight.” Jongdae had not taken the bait and you felt Minhee take a step away from you, wrapping her own arms over her chest. Although she was already uncomfortable with the fight and the ground opening revelation that led to the fight, she felt…off.

She felt more uncomfortable with Jongdae’s presence and your mind whirled.

“What do you know about how often Minhee and I fight? Maybe we fight all the time. How did you know I was here?”

Something was happening here that you couldn’t understand, but Minseok had a point. If he hadn’t called Jongdae there was no reason for him to be here. It was their day off and Minseok must have stumbled here drunk and alone, without any other members knowing of his location, yet here Jongdae was with a bag of what seemed to be breakfast and no response to the question Minseok had asked twice now.

“He isn’t here for you,” Minhee whispered and Jongdae’s head turned fast enough to snap his own neck as he looked into her face. His eyes were wide in an instant and all traces of that smile were gone with Minhee’s next words.

“He knows that you and I never fight,” she said a little louder and you saw Jongdae take a step in her direction with his hands outstretched. His face betrayed panic and you saw the redness in his cheeks.

“M-Minhee–” Jongdae said quietly, a near begging tone on his lips but you felt it.

The truth.

The realization surged forward through your mind and your eyes turned quickly to Minseok.

His focus was steady, looking deep into his sister’s face as she spoke her confessions.

“And he knows what I like to eat for breakfast.” The paper bag in Jondgae’s hands fell hard onto the counter like he had just been burned by it and you saw him look forward into the room, beyond the room, beyond what had just been revealed about his relationship with his best friend’s little sister. His chest rose and fell quickly and his posture sagged against the counter before he rubbed his face roughly.

“Minseok I–” he said quietly, looking into the direction of his friend.

“You’re…sleeping with my best friend?” Minseok wasn’t talking to, or even acknowledging Jongdae in the room, his question was for Minhee and for her only.

She laughed once. Loud, bitter, humorless and the room spun as your eyes bounced around, unsure who you should focus your attention on.

“Look who thinks it’s a good idea to be a hypocrite,” she sneered and Minseok closed his eyes slowly, swallowing away the argument he knew he didn’t have a right to make.

“I’m in love with her.” Jongdae spoke out loud. Minseok’s eyes remained closed and he tilted his head back, chin up into the air as he inhaled a deep breathe. His face twitched and a pained grimace appeared for a second before he blanked his expression and opened his eyes to look into his best friend’s face.

“Hyung…I’m sorry, I never meant–” Jongdae began, speaking faster now that he had Minseok’s attention on him now.

“How long?” The quiet cold in Minseok’s voice felt so familiar. You knew this voice. This was Minseok trying to control himself, trying to control his temper and his emotions again. Jongdae’s rapid speech that had been so willing to explain the situation faltered and stuttered and you saw the clench in Minseok’s jaw before his eyes widened in anger.

“How long have you been fucking my sister Jongdae?”

“Hyung…” “Oppa…” Both Jongdae and Minhee spoke at the same time and you wondered how much more of this day you could take before you crawled out the back door and slunk back like an alley cat back to your house, away from these bombs that kept dropping around you.

“He’s good to me Oppa. He loves me and I’ve never once doubted it. Not once, not during the long tours, not when he’s away for months…he comes back as good to me as when he left.” Minhee’s words sounded like the double edged sword she meant them to be and you saw the wound they made into Minseok’s chest.

He lifted a hand to cover his wound and you felt your own insides being ripped apart.

Someone else…someone in the exact same position as you and Minseok had been in had made it work.

And they had love, but unlike the love you and Minseok had for eachother they also had the guts to dive in head first. Claiming the relationship despite the odds, they were the shining example of what you were not. They had won…and you had lost.

You felt something wet on your face and you lifted your hand to wipe at the tears you felt there, washing down your face, the tears came in waves and you sniffled as you turned around.

You were done. Hadn’t you been done with this mess already? Yet again and again you had been pulled back into it. Into him and his world and his mess and uncertainty. You were leaving now. Your feet were carrying you quickly toward the door to this home that was not your own despite how much love and comfort you felt within its solid oak doors.

Your hand reached for the knob only to feel the warm flesh of another hand in the spot where cold metal should have greeted you.

“D-Don’t leave like this.. Please–” It was Minseok’s hand and Minseok’s trembling voice whispering into your ear that had stopped you.

The hand under yours had turned and he grabbed ahold of your hand, holding yours tight between both of his hands, but his voice sounded wrong. He sounded weak…a broken weakness that sounded so unlike him you had to see what was happening to warrant such a voice and when you looked up into those eyes you saw a raw desperation that didn’t fit him at all.

This should have been the asshole who didn’t care where you went or who you fucked as long as you opened the door for his two soft knocks at 2am. Who was this person and where had he been for the last two years as your heart ached and bled for him to simply spend one fucking night with you, or introduce you to just one other person as the one he loved.

“Please don’t leave like this…d-don’t leave…me like this.”

Your words had failed and all you could do was stare ahead at the man.

“I’m sorry, I fucked up..I hurt you…I can see that now.”

From your peripheral vision you could see Jongdae’s face, eyes wide, mouth open and he watched with a face that told you he understood now why Minhee had called her brother a hypocrite.

“Minseok, I..can’t,” you said.

You felt too broken. Your soul, too wounded to continue any of this, wanted peace and quiet. But his eyes looked so broken and vulnerable watching you, begging you not to go. Could you really do this? Could you leave once and for all and move on with your life? Could you find someone who could make you happy instead of constantly feeling unwanted and unloved?

He exhaled with your refusal and you felt him sinking lower. Gravity claimed him, knees banging hard against the hardwood floors, his hands gripped your own tighter, pulling against you with his descent.

“Please please baby…I– I need you in my life, please don’t do this.” His face twisted down and away from you, a quiet sniffling told you that he was crying. The wetness below his eyes adding evidence to the sight you had never before seen with your own eyes.

This pain…had this pain been inside of him this whole time? Had this man been capable of feeling this? The very thought of it hurt your soul. The desire to comfort him was stronger than any instinct you had in you and you knelt in front of him on the floor. Your movement had surprised him, making his eyes open back up as he looked at you. Their redness accented probably by the hangover he was silent as you moved and you felt his hands release their death grip he held you by.

You wiped at his face, removing those tears that had no place on that pretty face and his eyes blinked fast as he watched you in a sort of broken confusion.

His hands fisted themselves in his lap and you wrapped both arms around his shoulders pulling him into you. Perhaps if he knew that you didn’t hate him…perhaps this would be easier.

“Please,” he whispered against your ear and he felt the soft head shake you gave him in response. He felt it against his cheek and registered it. You heard the hiccup in his chest, a quiet sob of defeat.

“I love you Minseok. I always will.” You said as you felt the crumbling of his shoulders. His hands that had lifted in hope had fallen and the slapped against his legs noisily when he fell back onto his butt and you pulled yourself up quickly. Before you looked back into that face and lost the forward momentum you had worked so hard to build up to.

The click of those big oak doors behind you brought you into the light of the world outside of that home.

The birds were singing their morning song.

You walked forward. Your legs moving themselves required no brain power and a child cried in the distance as people went about their day, oblivious to the earth shattering pain you felt inside your chest that was trying to pull you inside out. Had your outside shell not been so tough you were sure you would implode on this very spot where you waited for the light to change.

—————————————————-

The next month was a dream.

You were vaguely aware of some things. Oblivious to others as you merely lived. You had no choice. You had a job and bills and responsibilities and if only you could go one day without seeing his face somewhere you might have fared better.

You didn’t hear from Minseok. Minhee didn’t mention him. And you couldn’t bring yourself to ask after him.

Had he asked her about you? Was he curious? You were dying to know how he was doing. Did his own curiosity burn as badly as yours did?

You distracted yourself with Kim Kwangseok. Your blind date turned on again off again casual something special who was actually sweet to you. He was successful and charming and despite your gloomy attitude most of the time, he seemed to like you. At least that’s what you could gather from the flowers you had just received at your office from him.

He was harmless and even a little bit fun. The card tucked inside brought a smile to your face. A cartoon kitty with a pun that made you groan at how much you liked it. I would say yes if you asked meowt. The back of the card had two words written in his hand writing. ”Hint Hint”. This man…

You pulled your your cell phone and keyed in a quick text message, asking him to meet you for drinks tonight at a bar close by.

”Thank goodness you asked, I was getting thirsty.”

The bar was quiet with plenty of dark corners to steal away with a date for some quiet conversation over overpriced drinks and you caught his height as he walked through the door a half an hour later than the time you told him to meet you… his eyes searching for your familiar face. You placed your pleasant smile on your lips and his own smile felt genuine yet apologetic as he found your eyes and made his way in long strides to the table you occupied in a corner.

You already had a drink your hand, not quite in the mood to draw this out tonight. A news story about CBX’s debut single flashed Kim Minseok’s face on one of those digital billboards outside and from your seat you caught it. It was on a loop it seemed and you had already seen the stringy green hair they had given him in the music video that gave him a somewhat sexy, yet greasy feel the more you looked at it.

You told yourself you wouldn’t watch the new music video when you got home.

Kwangseok took the seat opposite of yours and you pulled your attention away from Minseok’s singing face flashing on the screen outside of the window.

Why had you picked this bar again?

The door opened and a hooded man walked in, heading toward the bar and Kwangseok was speaking to you.

“–late, court ran long…the judge–”you only half listened, as rude as it was your heart wasn’t quite in it to listen to his court stories. You didn’t understand most of the legal terms and you drifted as you looked around the room, finishing what was left of your drink in front of you with an apologetic smile. Perhaps you could smile your way through this date and get drunk enough to not care that the size and posture of that hooded man at the bar reminded you of someone who seemed to be everywhere.

“I hope you didn’t wait too long,” he added with his eyes down at your empty glass and the one next to it on the table.

“It’s fine. I had something to occupy myself with while I waited.” The waitress was attentive and she caught your lifted eyebrows the second you made eye contact with her. She was at your side with a fresh drink right away before she turned to Kwangseok for his order.

Her smile and body language leaned into him and you watched as she smiled just a little wider, lingered just a little longer at his side and giggled at the polite joke he made about the drink’s menu. You knew he was attractive. You’d been struck with this fact the first time you met him and yet date after date with the man, you always found yourself with the same reservations. Not quite ready, not quite invested enough to fully commit to anything beyond the small kiss on the cheek he’d given you once. The kiss you stiffened at and pulled away, mumbling some excuse about having to feed your cat as you pushed him out of your doorway.

That small kiss had burned against your cheek. What was that feeling? It didn’t feel good and the longer you lingered on it, the more you wanted to wash your face of its trace.

It felt wrong.

Yet the waitress clearly saw it. She side eyed you for a little while, probably taking in your stand offish posture and the way you downed the drinks quickly. Was it obvious to her too? You were still in love with someone else and this handsome perfect man in front of you was working too hard toward a goal that was never his to have.

By the time the third drink was down you felt warmth all over and a sudden shift inside you. Minseok’s face still flashed behind his head and you had enough of that as you abruptly stood and moved across the table to sit in the booth next to him.

You saw his eyes widen at your sudden approach and his hand moved behind where you had plopped down, whether he did it on purpose or not, you found yourself up close next to him and his arm was awkwardly pinned behind you

His eyes were cautiously amused and you moved even closer to him, feeling the warmth of his thigh against yours as you pushed against him.

He didn’t move though, except to move his arm down and around your shoulder.

Up close he really was handsome. He smelled great and he was tall. You actually had to look up into his face unlike a certain somebody who needed to stop popping into your mind already.

“Why hello there,” he said quietly against your face, his voice in full on flirt mode with your sudden burst of courage…or was it desperation? Either way you were curious…about him and about yourself. Perhaps you needed a test. Something to see if any of this was even worth it.

“Kwangseok,” you whispered against him and you could see the bob of his throat as he swallowed.

“Hmm?” His hum was deep and resonated inside your chest with his proximity.

“Will you kiss me?”

He blinked once slowly as he watched your face and you felt the breath from his nose against your face as he leaned in without a single word of question or request for clarification from his lips.

His lips were soft. Of course they were. The taste of his mouth was nice, and his tongue pushed in between your lips as he leaned in, giving in to the desire that must have been there for a while you felt the breath he inhaled into your parted lips and you returned his kiss lazily.

While it felt nice, physically… your mind winced and protested at the contact and after a few seconds you turned your head, breaking the kiss abruptly.

You rotated, ready to bolt. Ready to leave this booth and this man’s lips that felt wrong with your heart in your throat and you felt a warm hand on your wrist. Not roughly, just lightly grasping you, Kwangseok held you still for a moment until you worked up the nerve to turn and face him.

“I’ll wait… You aren’t ready, I know that. I can wait.” His voice was soft and pulled your eyes open to look into his.

How? How could he be so sweet and so understanding all the time? Wasn’t he sick of your shit by now? It wasn’t that you didn’t like him. You honestly did. But this was fast for you and maybe just a little bit of time was really all you needed.

You lifted your hand to run along his cheek and he watched your eyes, steady as a pillar holding up a ceiling.

That pillar of strength pulled you into him like a magnet, drawn to the sweetness and pushed along by the alcohol you leaned in again, capturing his soft lips with your own.

He was steady this time, not pushing, not demanding or wanting he merely let you kiss his lips with a small smile when you pulled away from him.

“See, I can behave myself.” He wrinkled his nose with a cute pout on his lips and you laughed out loud, grateful for the emptiness of the bar around you and the few patrons to disturb with your laughter.

You excused yourself for the ladies room, feeling the effects of the drinks on your bladder.

With clean hands and a wardrobe check in the mirror you exited and made your way through the hallway back to your own little dark corner as you watched the bar with the corner of your eye for that familiar feeling hooded man.

And you saw him, still hunched over an empty bottle in the corner but he was no longer alone. Next to him stood a tall man whose lips and laughter you had shared all night, Kwangseok motioned for you as you walked by with a bright smile on his face and you felt a chill of unease run down the back of your neck.

“Look at who I found,” sweet Kwangseok smiled wider and you saw that face again and again, the one haunting your dreams and replaying on all the tvs in the country.

“Minseok–” his name on your tongue felt like home. How long had it been since you’d said it outloud?

The blank controlled look on his face lasted for a whole second before you saw him shift and a bright friendly smile broke out across his lips. Crooked and gummy, his eyes unaffected by the smile of course, but he sure tried to sell it as best as he could.

“Hey…Attorney Kim said you were here.” Minseok sighed out into his empty bottle of beer in front of him and you noticed how he refused to say your name with his own lips. “L-Long time no see. How have you been?”

“I was just telling Minseok about us,” Kwangseok said in your direction and your face was frozen with your wide smile as you nodded in agreement to whatever the man was saying.

How had he been? You saw just the one beer bottle in front of him….was that really all he had to drink tonight? The clarity of his eyes made you think that was a possibility.

Had he been sleeping well? Had he rested enough after his schedules or was he hitting the gym obsessively like he tended to do to deal with stress?

Had he eaten?

You felt Kwangseok’s hand against the small of your back and he leaned in. Minseok’s eyes followed every movement, “I’ll give you both a moment to catch up..excuse me a moment, Minseok it was so nice to see you again.” Kwangseok made his way to the back restrooms where you had just emerged from and you turned back to face this person…

This person..your person.

“Have you been well?” You said and you saw the tick in his eyebrow as he bit down on his lip lightly with a small shrug of his shoulders.

He didn’t answer your question.

“You seem happy.” He said after a pause of silence and you saw him reaching for his wallet in his back pocket. A few bills tossed onto the counter in front of him and he was leaving. You knew the signs.

His hand lifted, nearly reaching for you, nearly reaching your shoulder but stopping short you felt the absence of contact harder than you would have felt the burning warmth of his hand.

“I hope you are….you know…happy. I really do.” His hand rested on his own chest instead and your eyes followed him as he left the bar, letting the door slam noisily as he left.

2AM [M] - part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6, part 7, part 8, part 9, part 10, part 11, part 12

#exo #exo fanfiction #exo smut #exo scenarios #exo angst #minseok #minseok angst #minseok fic #minseok fanfiction #minseok scenario #minseok scenarios #xiumin #xiumin fic #xiumin exo #xiumin fiction #xiumin angst #xiumin fanfiction #xiumin smut #minseok smut

[deathbyvalentine]

Lance&Astrid Prompts

(Inspiration Here)

1. “Shh, it’s just me.”

Lance awoke from a dream of dark water. They weren’t even nightmares anymore, their frequency lending them a familiarity that could be mistaken for comfort. His breathing was as steady as the ocean waves he had just emerged from. The cabin was dark, lit only by the floor lights, casting everything in odd shadows. Astrid was asleep beside him. Both of them were still in their uniforms, having fallen asleep talking, inches apart. Funny how little things changed - he remembered sugar crashes and sleep overs from their youth. He took the opportunity to study her without the distraction of eye contact. With gentle fingers, he straightened the lapel of her shirt. She stirred, opening her eyes, still clouded by sleep. He curled his arms around her, not wanting to wake her truly. Their breathing synced up, slow and steady, both of them falling back into dreams.

2. “Well you can’t have me.”

He wasn’t sure if she was angrier at him or angrier at the statement. One thing he had learnt about Astrid was that she was entirely capable of holding several reasons for rage within her at any one time. And basically nothing made her as angry as being conflicted. He reacted as he so often did, with a shit eating grin, a look that told her he knew better. It was perfectly calculated to wind her up further. When she was angry at him, he felt like he was the only person in the sector who mattered. It was almost addictive, the rush of attention. A bit of victory was tainted with her parting blow however and the click of the door shutting behind her.

3. “I don’t need you.”

Technically true. They didn’t need each other. They would exist perfectly well if they never knew the other. They had talked about this at length. And frankly, Lance looked down on people who relied on others in any capacity. The only person you should need should be yourself. But he knew that only with Astrid he was at his most brilliant. He was cleverer around her, sharper, better. They through each other into sharp relief, made all their extremes more extreme. Probably not great for everyone around them. But fun for them.

4. “Flight, head west.”

They were still figuring out their working relationship he guessed. It was easier on the Chaser compared to in the field, the normal navy trappings not the absolute pressure cooker of an Inquisition mission. The surroundings helped, the distinct job each of them had. The crackle of the vox was comforting as he went about his business, Recce occasionally calling him in from the deck to meetings with the other officers. They didn’t cross over much, but the competition was still there. He knew that no matter how much he loved the Chaser, if Astrid decided to move ship, he would too.

5. “...”

I want you to pick me. I want you with me. Don’t love anybody else. Don’t leave me. Don’t be normal. Don’t be one of them. Please. 

6. “Do you think navigators know all the stars on all the planets?”

The stars on Lerwick were pretty, even the planet-hating Lance had to admit. It was cold enough his breath misted in front of him and the grass beneath his hands felt crunchy. He was wrapped up in several layers, a scarf pulled up over his nose and mouth. Astrid only had on a light jacket, used to how frigid her planet was. It was a stupid statement to make - planets didn’t need navs and besides, they used warp bullshit. What he meant was something along the lines of is there anyone that knows all the constellations in the sector but that sounded too cheesy, too wistful. The last thing teenage Lance ever wanted to do was appear sincere. Astrid threw him a scornful look but answered his question all the same.

7. “Right, look up in about... three and a quarter seconds.”

Rare shore leave that wasn’t on some hive world. Rare leave where he wasn’t scrubbing some floors or spending time in some fellow officer’s bed. So he was using this to his full advantage. He coaxed his Lightning lower, very almost skimming the waves. He could almost appreciate the beauty of the planet like this. The blues and greys and whites rushed by and he almost wished he could skim his hand in the sea. Devout purred, pleased to be stretching herself for the first time in months. Lance pressed a button at the side of his console, patching him through to Astrid. Hey, Dunkeld. You at home? I’m here for a visit. He glanced at the readings, the city speeding towards him. When? Well...

8. “What if she’s dead?”

He was convinced this holiday was because his father couldn’t stand to look at him. He saw his grief reflected back at him. Together, they were so obviously unwhole. They missed the sun around which they both revolved. Without her, they span out. Lance was unusually subdued around all the usual welcome formalities.He behaved himself, shook hands, said thank yous. It was when they were alone that he popped a dose of opia on his tongue, curled up on her bed and told Astrid his mother was officially recorded missing, after so much time of silence. That wasn’t unusual. His mother was ‘important’ after all. But now the communications had been sent and it was real. They thought she wasn’t coming back. He couldn’t admit it to himself. He wouldn’t. He’d find her one day, or she’d find him. She had to.

9. “They love you.”

Noble families fucked you up. Didn’t matter if you were sector or planetary or vassal. They fucked you up. Lance had lucked out with his parents. The rest of his family were exactly as dreadful as one would expect, but his parents were different. Lance wasn’t so sure about Astrid’s. There was a steel core at the heart of them and Lance wondered if it was as cold as the planet they hailed from. He saw the pressure heaped on Astrid and personally wondered if being the family fuck up didn’t come with some serious benefits. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders, pulling her close. Even if it was a lie, it was what she needed to hear.

10. “I want to marry her.”

This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. It was him and her against the world. Against everybody else. He genuinely had no idea what she was seeing that he was not. He had no idea what she was thinking and after so many years of knowing her by heart, this was terrifying. The only thing he could think to comfort himself was the knowledge it wouldn’t last. Esme would show herself to be just another citizen, not exciting, not sharp. Unless that’s exactly what Astrid wanted? The one thing he could never give her, now more than ever was normality. Throne. He felt more than upset. He felt wounded. And he refused to hide the ugliness of that wound, the pain and betrayal. Let her see what she had done.

11. “We’re gonna get married, and travel the sector, and I’ll inherit - “

They stumbled into his room, still laughing. Lance placed the bottle on his nightstand and began the struggle to get his boots off. He fumbled over the laces, finally giving up and just flopping back onto the duvet and wiggling to free himself from his formal jacket. He had been in top form all evening, charming and cheeky, stealing drinks from senior nobles and flirting with all the grandmothers. He had only tripped up one rival and the stitches would be out in a week so no harm done really. Astrid listened to him ramble, a smile playing on her face as she leaned against the door-frame, nowhere near as drunk as he was. Each time he got drunk it was another grand fantasy. He’d become the head of house. She’d make planetary governor. He’d own an Emperor class warship. He’d become an admiral. He’d say fuck it all and liquidate all his assets and go on a decade long binge on Monacus. They’d marry someone rich, murder them then marry each other. He made each one sound like a certainty. She supposed he needed something to keep him going in the mess that was his life.

12. “Oh ‘Trid. What are you doing to me?”

It was rare she fell asleep first. Lance had always been the more manic so the more easily worn out, on his worst days not even bothering to change from his clothes. So when he thought she was asleep, he was careful. Quiet. He draped a blanket over her, switching the light on her desk off, making sure not to disturb her paperwork. Leaning down he placed a glass of water beside her, mag-locked. And looked at her for just a moment before he left her to it. His voice was made of a thousand aches and a thousand fondnesses. 

13. “Kill me now. Seriously. It would be the emperor’s mercy.”

Astrid’s cook rolled his eyes, more than used to the Durovera heir’s hyperbole. Lance rested his head on the table. Astrid arrived a moment later, cheefully slamming a mug on the table to make him jump and hold his pounding head, cursing. She grinned, looking bright as a daisy as a plate of food was placed in front of her that made Lance turn an interesting shade of pale. He lit a lho stick, breathing it in as if he was drowning. Good night, they both agreed, when they finally spoke.

14.  “Really Lance?”

His eyes widened with hurt, a breath away from her laughing lips. The next changes happened so quickly it was almost imperceptible. He closed his mouth, pressing his lips into a tight line. His eyes shuttered off, the vulnerability there a moment earlier suddenly nowhere to be found. His shoulders straightened out as though his tutor was there, smacking his hand with a ruler and telling him to fix his posture. It was impossible to tell that a moment ago he had kissed her, softly. Even as a kid, he was a hell of an actor. Without another word he stood and stalked from the room. Down the hallway, a door slammed with the finality of a tomb.

15. “....”

Dunkeld, Hope you don’t mind me sending this postcard the old fashioned way. Didn’t particularly want one of your mothers ending up with my sordid tales and I can’t remember which astropath likes me. Luckily, Simmons is visiting family on your planet and offered to pass it on. It was also a chance to practice my calligraphy - I can see my old tutors shuddering in horror now. Already got my damn sleeve soaked in ink and I’m not even drunk yet. Find enclosed; some picts of my recent travels, some tattoo designs I’m considering and the blueprint of the fighter I might be getting assigned. It’s rather small, made mostly for atmo fighting. We’ll see how we get on, I haven’t enjoyed the Thunderbolt at all. Wonder if I have somehow been deemed unfit for void combat - wouldn’t surprise me, this CO has it out for me ever since he caught me with my pants down - literally - in his office. Oh well. I gurantee he’ll be gone within the year. He’s going to have a heart attack from all this outrage. Anyway, I must be off. The mess amasec calls. Miss you, Lance P.S. Simmons is quite pretty, no? Consider her a gift. Don’t ever say I don’t get you anything.

16. “You should see the other guy.”

She wasn’t a sympathetic medic. She poured on the disinfectant dispassionately. Lance, for his part, barely winced. His entire body was tense, like a coiled spring. He hadn’t said a word since they had gotten back. His eyes (were they darker than usual - ) were fixed on a spot in front of him. He flexed and unflexed his bruised hands, open closed open closed. She leaned in close to look at the dark gash on his shoulder, gained from tumbling to the floor straight onto broken glass. He didn’t seem to even notice it. It was when she pressed the gauze on that he snapped out of his reverie, expression uncharacteristically serious. I wanted to kill him. I know. No, I mean, really kill him. Hurting him felt - Good? Yeah. How did you know? Because you always enjoy the things that are worst for you Durovera. Is that fucked up? Yeah. But it’s okay. You’re okay. He breathed out, shakily. His violent tendencies had been getting worse. Everything had. His drinking, his drugs, his restlessness. But if she wasn’t running, how bad could it be?

17.“You were dead for eight minutes.” 17.“I’m surprised your father hasn’t disowned you.” 17. You won’t get the benefit.” 17. “I’m joining the Navy.” 17. “I’ll probably marry some fucking Di Firro - “ 17. “Let’s play with poisons.”

I’ve lost count of how many times we’ve hurt each other.

18. “I could kill you right now.”

His body was almost flush against hers, his arm placed firmly and squarely on her throat. The sparring had gotten out of hand, each round getting more and more vicious until the blows were no longer pulled. Lance ached all over and Astrid could not have been faring much better. Sometime around round six, Lance had stopped playing. He had become sharper somehow, laughing both when he landed something painful and when he was hit. He had finally managed to gain an upper hand and slam her against the wall. His head was tilted to the side, his eyes (were they darker - ) distant somehow. Like he was examining her. He didn’t move. Neither did she. He couldn’t tell how long they had been standing there when he finally dropped his arm. Again?

19. “Go on. Tell me the story again.”

Seriously? You don’t know it by heart by now? Pass me the bottle and - Okay, okay. So they have this skin right? That if you steal it, they have to stay in one form. And they always want the sea. No matter how much they love someone. No matter what life they have. It calls to them. It’s like... Well. Like the void to you. How would you feel if somebody told you you could never fly again? Exactly. It’s like that. Now, you tell me one of your horrible little ghost stories you’ve picked up. What was the one from Olethra?

20. “My mother would have liked you.”

It was almost a murmur, said as he finished pulling up the zip of her dress. Looking in the mirror, they looked spectacular. Another day, another ball that Lance would detest compared to his hive outings or officer parties and that Astrid would be more occupied with gathering intelligence and connections. It occurs to Astrid later that she sincerely doesn’t know if Lance meant it as a compliment or not.

21. “Happy Birthday ‘Trid. Did you think I’d forget? This is the right dateish? I’ve completely lost track of my subjective-objective times -”

The view of her world from above was admittedly spectacular. Definitely worth using up some of his precious hours. It was a flying visit, literally, but he was still pleased at the result. The ship he was on had stopped on Lerwick to pick up a few supplies and he had been unable to resist giving her a trip up in his Lightning, followed by drinking on the observation deck of the cruiser. Tomorrow, he’d be off to some battlefront. Maybe Persephon. He was remarkably blase about the entire affair, but perhaps that was the opia he was so clearly riding on. Opia could take you to your grave with a smile. 

22. “Did you just hit on an astartes?”

Even Lance was somewhat stunned as they got back on the Chaser. Too stunned to even take the piss out of Astrid immediately. Both from the amount of information he had just had presented to him in such a short space of time and also from the presence of something so much spiritually and physically bigger than him. Astrid broke the silence and he blinked. Another moment and he burst into peals of laughter, the tension breaking. Through watering eyes he nodded, wiping a hand across his face in disbelief at his own gall.

23. There are too many things I want to say.

#lance #dud #prose #prompts #holy fuck this was an undertaking. i think i'm proud of the results???

[adambstingus]

6 Backward Ideas Hollywood Still Has About Men

Men are complicated, nuanced beings. No two men define masculinity the same way, and each of their boners hides its own precious secret. Many are desperate for every woman to love them, while at the same time compelled to explain their own jokes to them on Twitter. But despite the vast and wondrous spectrum that is man, Hollywood seems to have extremely specific ideas of what a man is supposed to be. And it’s not super great.

6

If You’re Less Than 6 Feet Tall, You’re Not A Real Man

You can be the most handsome, witty, charismatic male on Earth, but if you’re one inch below average height, then tough shit. Hollywood will desperately avoid revealing that awful truth to the audience, lest they vomit in the aisles with disgust. Such is the life of a short action star.

If shortness is acknowledged on screen, it’s as a punchline — a hilarious inadequacy that either leads to constant, desperate attempts at comedy or a life of crime as a bad guy’s sidekick. Movies would have us believe that short people live a life of existential struggle, that they are nothing more than incomplete souls crying out from children’s clothes.

The average height of an American male is 5 feet 9.5 inches tall. (Strangely enough, surveys reveal this is the exact same length of the average American penis.) Tom Cruise is famously 2.5 inches shorter than this average, but we only know that because our own insecurity demands we find a flaw, any flaw, in this 54-year-old man with 2 percent body fat and chiseled features that become only more handsome with age. Yet you’d never know he was a tiny man from watching his movies. For example, Ving Rhames is over 6 feet, but he’s shorter than Tom in that picture up there. How? Is he sitting down? Forty yards behind him? Take look at another shot from Mission: Impossible …

Mark Whalberg is 5’8 and Zac Efron is 5’8. Sylvester Stallone is barely two apples high. And yet every time they’re in a movie, they are looking all the normal people in the eyes, filmmakers forcing them to stand on little boxes to hide that they are grotesque, undersized genetic failures.

And god forbid we reveal that the 5’9 Robert Downey Jr. is in fact 3 inches shorter than Chris Evans. We could do this all day!

Question: Do you think this weird prejudice is with filmmakers or audiences? Do you really think we’d refuse to be inspired by a hero who possesses every other positive trait on Earth — courage, humor, charm, muscles, wealth, confidence, sexuality — if they can comfortably ride in the back seat of a Civic? It’s not like we’re expecting the hero to solve every mystery and defeat every bad guy with slam dunks. Although now that we think about it, that sounds like a pretty sweet goddamn movie.

So if you’re a short (or even average height!) male watching, then guess what: The only trait that apparently matters is the one you can’t do anything about.

5

You Can’t Just Be Smart; You’ve Also Got To Kick Ass

Back in the 1980s, we didn’t care if our burly action heroes could say anything coherent. Arnold Schwarzenegger talked like a moose trying to describe the peanut butter in its mouth, and Sylvester Stallone sounded like that same moose gently lowering itself onto a whoopee cushion. We didn’t care, though, because their swollen pecs and rattling M60s did all the talking for them.

“Aarraragaooooaaahhhh!!!” — John Rambo

In an ’80s action movie, diplomacy was a dick-measuring contest with a stick of dynamite, and Jean-Claude Van Damme always won. Heroes weren’t paid to be smart; they were paid to strangle mooks and walk silently away from exploding gas stations.

We’re obviously so much more sophisticated these days. The good guys in movies can’t be musclebound meat sacks anymore — they have to hold multiple PhDs and have a particular set of skills for every occasion. Ethan Hunt can speak 75 languages while maintaining the sexy abs of Instagram’s douchiest bro. Jason Bourne can predict his opponents’ every move ten steps in advance. Even the biggest, dumbest superhero, the Hulk, spends most of his movies as one of the planet’s leading scientists.

Marvel Studios To be fair, this is a pretty smart way to take down a fighter jet.

It would be nice to think that the message is “Even nerds can be cool!” But these guys don’t win by being nerds. In nearly every case, the real heroism comes in the form of a punch to the throat.

Remember those Robert Downey Jr. Sherlock Holmes movies, in which Sherlock uses his brilliant mind to beat the shit out of guys in shirtless pit fights? That was weird, right? But at least it shows him fighting as a hobby, to get good at it — the BBC version also wins every fistfight he’s in and can easily out-dive exploding bombs. You also might remember in the new Star Trek movies, wherein Mr. Spock uses his Vulcan logic to form plans like “Hold my beer, I’m going to go fuck that guy up.”

Warner Bros. Pictures “I can tell by the speck of paint on your shoes that your face is quite susceptible to temple punches.”

Take Tony Stark out of the Iron Man suit, and he can still beat the hell out of a mansion full of henchmen in Iron Man 3. When Transformers 4 needed a nerdy inventor protagonist, it cast this guy:

In fact, if you’re in a Hollywood film and you realize you’re only brilliant, we have some bad news for you: You’re not the hero. In fact, you’re probably the obnoxious sidekick nerd. Check to see if you’re Simon Pegg or Seth Green. If you’re not, we have more bad news: You’re probably the villain.

The message is clear, boys: Brains are fine, but only if you use them to invent better punching. And if you use your mind exclusively for non-punching endeavors, you’re either ridiculous or evil.

4

Broken, Tortured Men Are Sexy

There’s something sexy about a dead-serious man willing to do anything to get the job done. The Batmans and Liam Neesons of the world, men who ruthlessly cut through criminal organizations while brooding about the atrocities they’ve been forced to commit. Even the supposedly goody-two-shoes Superman now scowls as he struts out of exploded court houses filled with charred corpses and jars of pee. Is any of this sexiness getting you hot and bothered yet? Too bothered?

They are almost never seen eating, but always drink. If they’re in bed, they’re having nightmares about those they’ve lost (or, you know, having sex). They are emotionally cold and distant when they’re not being glib. This is all done in the name of emotional complexity, but can we still call it that when every character is the same?

For example, why does Hollywood refuse to accept Superman as simply a morally sound hero who genuinely wants to help people? Struggling to protect those weaker than him is a perfectly legitimate problem. Did they think we couldn’t relate to him unless he cried in an ice cave like he’s in an Evanescence music video? Did they think he’d look like a “pussy” if he didn’t destroy an entire city and snap Zod’s neck in front of two children?

Every action movie and show seems to be in an arms race to give their stars the most severe PTSD or the highest number of dead loved ones. It used to be we that showed how grizzled a cop was by how old the Chinese takeout was in his filthy refrigerator. Now it’s measured by how many times he flashes back to his family getting tied to chairs and set aflame.

It’s not like this is making these characters more relatable to young males. (“See, he has problems just like you!”) After all, it’s not like they are heroic despite their tortured psychology, or that it’s something to overcome. The psychological damage is the source of their power — John Wick is a boring retired dude until a pair of tragedies utterly destroy his life, at which point he expresses his grief through numerous therapeutic sessions of gun-fu. Mad Max’s defining character trait is that he never smiles, jokes, or shares anything about himself — telling a comrade his name is treated as a shocking breakthrough.

At every turn, the message is the same: You’re not a true, sexy badass unless you’re a tortured shell of a man.

3

Movie Princes Are Non-People

A lot of analysis has gone into movie princesses, specifically the ones Disney has been cranking out for most of a century. That’s because for decades, they were the only lead female characters in kids movies, which put a lot of pressure on them to be positive role models. They taught young girls how to believe in themselves and be courageous, but also that a woman’s greatest virtues are good looks and shutting up.

We’re not paraphrasing; that’s literally a verse in a Disney song.

Still, no matter who you are, there’s a solid chance you can name ten Disney princesses off the top of your head. On the other hand, can you name more than two or three Disney princes? Probably not, because most of the movies don’t even bother giving the poor bastards names. The characterization of the princesses might send mixed messages, but the princes are forgettable handsome shells containing zero personality and a fetish for teen girls. They exist only to rescue the women.

Cinderella’s dream husband? He doesn’t have a name. Beast from Beauty And The Beast? Aside from that mean nickname, he has no actual name. Snow White’s prince? Maybe he’s a Trevor? Could be a Graham or a Tony. We’ll never know, because the writers didn’t think the character was worth naming. These movies give names to the horses and the mice, but not the princes.

The main characters are supposed to spend the rest of their lives with these guys, and the only thing we know about them is that they’re single, heterosexual, and not child molesters. Except wait — we don’t know any of that. The only thing we know about Disney princes is that they fall in love easily and have no problem putting their mouths on sleeping strangers. Finding a girl in the woods and licking her awake isn’t a great contribution to a relationship.

The point is that when it comes to royal romances, a princess brings dynamic character and a sense of adventure. A prince is handsome and has nothing better to do. We suppose the rebuttal is that these are fantasies for little girls and not boys, but that doesn’t make it any better. What’s the message for them? “Some day you’ll meet a walking mannequin who will be perfect for you for one reason: He’s a prince.“

2

Prison Rape Is Hilarious

Jokes about female rape are still circulating out there (though not as many as were a few years ago), but it was always rare, if not unheard of, to see a movie play a violent male-on-female sexual assault for laughs. But if the victim is a male and doing time? It seems there is nothing funnier.

It’s this reprehensible nightmare of a thing — the worst thing happening in the worst possible circumstances — yet Hollywood cannot get enough of prison rape jokes. To show you how easy going we are about it, realize that every time anyone ever joked “Don’t drop the soap!” they were hilariously referring to a criminal raping you. Jokes about it are so acceptable they show up on SpongeBob SquarePants. They refer to it in Naked Gun and Guardians Of The Galaxy, and they hang the entire plot of Get Hard on it. If Will Ferrell and Kevin Hart had negotiated their contract to get paid $15 per rape joke, they could have tripled their multi-million-dollar salaries. This is a real, horrible phenomenon that’s happening to someone, somewhere, right now.

The unspoken implication is that these victims deserve it. Really? Is that what we’re going with — that our civilized society has built a justice system in which one of the punishments for selling weed or stealing a car is the possibility of being violated? Even if Congress codified that into the law, even if we decided that rape is a suitable punishment for tax evasion, it would still be super weird to joke about it. And if the victim is himself a rapist, so what? You’re trivializing the very thing he’s guilty of.

This is, in fact, part of a larger trend …

1

Men Are Cannon Fodder

In the real world, human life is a precious thing to be protected by all means. In a movie, lives are snuffed out as punchlines. Human bodies get blasted into pieces any time a film needs to pick up the momentum, and when we say “human,” we specifically mean “men’s.”

Yeah, we talk about how filmmakers and moviegoers are desensitized to violence, but that’s not true — it’s only violence against men. Let’s look at an example. In this fleeting moment of awesomeness from Batman v. Superman, Batman bursts up through the floor and pounds the shit out of a group of thugs.

He’s still working through the sting of not getting a Best Director nomination for Argo.

It’s pretty fun, right? Now imagine it was a warehouse full of women. Everything else is the same. They’re still armed, still up to no good, but every time Batman crushes one of their collar bones, it’s a woman’s voice screaming out in pain. Turn up the sound on that clip — imagine every painful grunt is a female voice. Imagine if the heads Batman smashed into the floor had ponytails and eye shadow.

We’re not even sure that sequence makes it into the theater — somebody at the studio would get Zack Snyder some counseling as soon as they saw the script. It’s not because women would be no physical match for Batman; nobody is a match for Batman. He is tearing through those guys like a rat terrier loose in a hamster cage. The fact is, that kind of violence toward women would hit you in the gut. When it’s dudes, it’s either awesome or hilarious.

You can do this with any action movie. Imagine watching Return Of The Jedi, only every time a Stormtrooper head is bashed in by an Ewok, you hear a female scream. It would be chilling — the cops would kick in George Lucas’ door and assume he has a crowd of female corpses in his freezer. It’d be equally weird if he had, say, given the battle droids in the prequels Jennifer Tilly’s voice. And remember in The Two Towers when Legolas and Gimli are whimsically counting out their kills? Can you picture that being the same kind of fun if those were female orcs?

In fact, find any movie in which a human death is treated as slapstick, make the victims female, and you are left with a video suitable only for a serial killer’s crawlspace. Indiana Jones once comically shot three Nazis with a single bullet:

If you can’t watch the clip, there’s a little comedy music cue that plays as their bodies slump aside. Imagine all three are women; at the very least, it becomes deeply uncomfortable. (“Uh, was Spielberg going through a rough divorce when they made this?”)

And no, we’re obviously not demanding Hollywood show more women getting butchered to make it equal. We’re not demanding they show us fewer dead dudes. We’re just saying that we’ve definitely been conditioned to react a certain way to on-screen brutality, and the difference between dread and hilarity is usually whether or not the victim has a penis.

That’s weird, right?

Guy Bigel is a professional flute player, and he uploads fun arrangements to his YouTube channel. Check out his stuff here. Jordan Breeding has a blog, a Twitter, and wishes Hollywood would portray him as a super nerd with biceps the size of basketballs.

For more horrible ways Hollywood influences us, check out 6 Obnoxious Assumptions Hollywood Makes About Women and 6 Insane Stereotypes That Movies Can’t Seem to Get Over.

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from All Of Beer http://allofbeer.com/6-backward-ideas-hollywood-still-has-about-men/ from All of Beer https://allofbeercom.tumblr.com/post/176405958897