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sundaysundaes · 4 years

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Our First Time

Mark Lee X Reader, ft. Johnny | Smut, Fluff | 4.6k | College AU

Summary: Considering your boyfriend never dares to take the initiative to go further than your usual make-out sessions, you have to do the part to actually be in charge of the relationship.

Warnings: Smut, unprotected sex, Mark Lee losing his virginity while being extremely awkward and utterly cute about it, oral sex, fingering, failed fluff (idk man this is just basically me being a thirsty hoe over morkly)

“Remember the suit you wore when we went to your aunt’s wedding?”

Your boyfriend, who has been together with you for almost a year by now, hums in response, not really giving you any glance as he’s busy tapping his pen to his lips, thinking about writing the next lyric for the song he’s composing. Mark Lee has his chest pressed against his acoustic guitar, his hair’s a bit messy and slightly parted to the side, showing his forehead. Considering how close he’s sitting on the floor next to you, you can tell how half of the collar of his washed-out denim jacket stands up, brushing against the end of his dark hair.

“Yeah, what about it?” He continues asking when he notices that you’re waiting for a proper answer. He slips his guitar pick back between his fingers and tries a few chords to match his lyrics.

“I just dreamt about you fucking me from behind while wearing that suit.”

Mark strums his guitar too hard out of shock, making his instrument flies away from his lap, hitting the marbled floor with a sudden loud noise.

“What?”

Still having your head pressed against the table with your right cheek glued to your abandoned college papers, you flatly repeat, “I dreamt about you fucking—”

Mark stands up so fast, you can tell he’s having a slight headache because of it. “No. No. I heard what you said, I just—” It’s a fact that Mark blushes rather easily, but he has never blushed this hard before. “What—why—telling me so suddenly like this—you’re—”

“Mark, you’re rambling.”

“Why are you so calm about it?!” He walks away to pick up his guitar, unconsciously stomping a little bit like a fuming child as he does so. “And why are you lazing around like that? Didn’t you have some assignments to do?”

You finally straighten yourself up, looking at the textbooks you need to read and suddenly feeling like you’re dyslexic from birth. “I dozed off a bit, I guess. I just woke up from that dream where—”

“OKAAAAYYYYY!” Mark scrambles back to your side, crossing his legs and shushing you down by covering your head with your hood until you can barely see anything. The grey hoodie you’re wearing—his hoodie, actually—is already oversized when Mark is wearing it, so it’s basically a dress when you’re wearing it and the hood is big enough to cover your entire head.

You pull your hood away, your hair looking like a mess and by then Mark still has his cheeks rosy from your words and you wonder, whether it really was too much to talk about with your boyfriend?

You have never been the one who gets easily embarrassed about sexual stuff—or about anything really, because you’re a pretty blunt person. It’s his job to get embarrassed about things—even the ones that came out from his own mouth. Mark can be so confident and so awkward at the same time that it doesn’t make sense but you find him to be cute that way.

“Mark.”

“If you’re going to talk about that dream again, I am going to yank my hair out of my head.”

“But—“

“And I’m going to yank your hair out of your head.”

“But then we’re both be bald.”

“That will be your fault.”

You huff, unconsciously pouting, before you finally let go and head back to your papers. You try to hold your concentration longer than a few minutes, but when you hear Mark going back to his guitar, humming a few notes here and there, you just give up because there’s no way you’re going to finish your thesis when your boyfriend is singing so angelically like that.

“New song?”

“Yeah.”

“Sounds nice.”

“Thanks. It still feels a bit weird on some parts though, but—” Mark stops talking when you walk on all fours toward him, pushing the guitar out of his hands and crawl onto his lap. “Babe?”

You sink your face against the crook of his neck, hands going down and circle their way around his back. “Ssshh,” you say, exhaling all of his scents and thanking whoever it is that invented his perfume because goddamn, Mark smells like cinnamon and chocolate and everything that is good in this world. “I’m out of battery. I need to re-charge.”

Mark spends two seconds in silence before he blurts out laughing, “What are you even saying?” He protests but doesn’t push you away. Instead, he rests his chin on your shoulder and cuddles you closer into his chest.

“You’re so warm,” he murmurs, almost lazily as if he’s a few seconds away from sleeping. You answer by placing a peck on his neck which makes him jolt a little in surprise but not breaking away. The silence between you two is comforting but the way Mark’s jeans are pressing against your bare thighs is not so you move around, trying to find the most perfect comfort zone on his lap—not knowing that it is becoming a new kind of torture for your boyfriend. It’s until you feel something growing underneath you that you begin to halt your movements.

“Mark—”

“I know, don’t say it—”

“You’re kinda… hard.”

“I said, don’t—” He lets out a whine, slamming his temple against your shoulder. “Look, I’m sorry, but you keep moving your butt and it feels like you’re not wearing any pants—“

“I am not wearing any pants.”

“Fuck.” Mark is not the kind of man who curses a lot—he only does it when he’s surprised or when he panics as he tries to process what he’s saying next, so the fact that he’s cursing now can mean he’s feeling one of those things or both or for a whole other reason.

“I mean,” you try to explain, “I’m not trying to seduce you or anything. It’s just your hoodie is way too big for me so I thought why bother? It’s not like we’re going somewhere. We’re just hanging out in my bedroom after all.”

“Oh my God,” Mark groans, throwing his head back as he leans against your bed. “Just give me some time to calm down.”

He really looks like he’s trying to will his boner to go away, what with the way he furrows his eyebrows and keeps his eyes tightly closed in concentration. Mark is too much of a gentleman to ask for your help but you’re willing so it’s more like he’s giving one by providing the chance for you to ravage him.

Just gotta play it cool, though.

And by cool, you mean pressing your palm against his groin when he’s not expecting.

“Yo, what!” He jumps like a scared little cat and honestly, he’s too cute—so utterly cute—that you begin to lean up and kiss him square on the lips. “Mmph!” His protest is muffled by your mouth and the way you entangle your fingers around the back of his hair, pulling him close. He stiffens for a few seconds before he finally lets go, melting into the kiss and you know the next one is going to be your favourite part.

See, the thing with Mark is, he acts shy and awkward most of the time but when the moment is right, he can be passionate about things. Like when he’s playing music. Or writing his raps during his free time.

Or kissing you.

“Mark—“ It’s funny that you initiated this, but it’s you who’s losing your breath. Mark takes your hand when you’re about to fall off his lap, pulling you with enough force to make you tumble back to his chest, and slips his tongue inside your mouth as you gasp. His kisses are deep and fast, almost like he’s in a hurry to kiss you before you disappear from his life forever. You never peg yourself to act like a thirteen-year-old virgin—because you’re certainly not—but when Mark kisses you like this, you feel like you’re acting worse than that.

You can feel one of his hands on your thigh, holding you tight to the point it feels like it’s going to bruise. You push his denim jacket off his shoulders when he kisses your neck, lips hovering hot against your sensitive spot, making you say his name in the tone you’ve never made before.

“You,” Mark whispers between kisses, “have got,” another kiss, his teeth nibbling against your bottom lip, “to stop teasing me like this.” Another slip of his tongue, meeting yours for a split second before he breaks off the kiss. “Or else, I’ll go crazy. I am going crazy because of you.”

“Then why are you stopping?” You ask, breathing a little bit heavier. You cup one of his cheeks, leaning up to kiss him again but he pulls away, hesitating. “Mark?”

“I don’t think we should go any further.”

“You don’t?” You grind your hips against him again and his lips part slightly, trying his best to contain his moan. “Even though you’re this excited?”

“That—” He hisses, gripping hips with both hands to keep you still. “Stop it, you’re not being fair.”

“I’m being honest,” you correct him. “What’s wrong? What’s stopping you? What did I do wrong?”

You can tell he feels sorry for making you feel like this and he’s really contemplating whether he should tell you the real reason or not, so you squeeze his hand and smile at him. “Let me know, please?”

He licks his bottom lip nervously before he sighs. “It’s dumb but…” He looks away, trying to hide his face but you see how the tips of his ears are turning scarlet. “You’re Haechan’s ex and I know he can be a little bit, umm… wild.”

It takes a few seconds for you to process. “So you’re afraid that you’re going to be worse than him in bed?”

“No, I mean—“ He seems frustrated and ashamed, like a child being caught with his hand in a cookie jar. “Okay, yes, I guess you’re right. I am. But it’s more than that.”

The way he fidgets and rambles is just so cute—everything about him is cute—but you never say that out loud because he hates being called cute. He always says you’re cuter than him. “Mark, I don’t care about what happened with me and Haechan. I’m dating you now, aren’t I? You’re being jealous over nothing.”

The way he pouts indicates that he doesn’t particularly agree with your words, but he lets it go. “Well, there’s also one other thing.”

“What thing?”

“You know,” he shrugs, hiding his doe eyes behind his bangs. “That thing.”

“What? What is it? What thing?” Then you open your mouth in realisation. “Oh Mark, baby, I don’t care if you have a small dick. Size doesn’t matter.”

“What—NO!” He shrieks, face in flame. “I mean, not that I regularly measure it and compare it to other guys—I have never even seen another guy’s dick—not that I want to—”

“Mark, you’re rambling again.”

“I DON’T HAVE A SMALL DICK!” He exclaims and you hold back a laugh when he adds in a murmur, “At least I don’t think I have.”

“Okay, my bad.” You massage his shoulders, kissing the corner of his mouth. “Then what is it?”

Another silence, then. “I’ve never done this before.”

“What, sex?”

He weakly nods, teeth nibbling on his bottom lip worriedly, and you feel something warm growing inside your chest. The fact that he’s never been with anyone suddenly becomes the highlight of your life, and if you can be his first then you can just die from happiness by the end of the day.

But it’s because of this very reason, that you have to become very careful.

“Okay, then, let’s just take it slow?” You offer and he seems conflicted about his own expression. Part of him looks relieved but the other part of him looks disappointed.

“Why do I feel like we have our roles in reverse?” He asks, somewhat annoyedly, as you settle yourself better in his lap. You let out a small chuckle in response. “Also, your brother is downstairs.”

“He has his AirPods on.”

“How do you know he has his AirPods on?”

“Johnny always has his AirPods on.”

“But—”

“Mark,” you whisper, closing your eyes as the tip of your nose touching his, “Don’t you want me?”

He lets out a shaky breath, having a hard time trying not to stare at your lips that are becoming even more irresistible by the second. “You don’t even know how much I want you.”

“Then just let go. Just give in, Mark.” You press your temple against his and within this close proximity, his scent is intoxicatingly amazing.

“Okay,” he finally whispers back, but since he still sounds somewhat unsure, you add, “Look, we don’t have to do this if you don’t want to. Just stop me whenever it gets too uncomfortable for you, okay?”

“Okay now we seriously have our roles in reverse. Should I be handing my dick to you now? I think you’ll make better use of it.”

“That sounds like a great idea only if it’s possib—” The rest of your words is replaced with a yelp when Mark suddenly pushes you down onto your back, your head hitting the floor too hard and now he’s yelping.

“Oh, shit—fuck!” He scrambles with his words and with his hands, trying to help you get up and check on your condition at the same time. “I’m so sorry! I was trying to be sexy and be in control or something like that—shit, it just looks way better in my head—I—Why are you laughing?!“

You can’t help it. This is all too ridiculous. Almost refreshing for you, even. You never compared Mark with your ex-boyfriend Haechan before because Mark is way, way better than he’s ever going to be but you remember that with Haechan, things were wild. So wild, that you constantly got caught off guard, not having enough time to focus on your feelings or your own pleasure and just fulfilling his, and his only. With Mark, you feel like you have so much more to give. So much more new experience. So much laughter. So much fun.

“Oh my God, Mark,” you cackle, wiping away some tears from your eyes, “I love you, but if you don’t stop acting so cute, I am going to ravish you myself.”

“What?”

You blink in realisation. “Sorry, that was too much.”

“No, not that.” He knits his eyebrows together. “You love me?”

You feel your heart drops to your stomach. You can’t believe you just said that. It’s not like you didn’t mean it—of course, you mean it. But you’ve tried your best to wait so you can hear him say it first. You are a woman, after all. And to think that you just said it randomly at times like this? After your boyfriend knocked your head against the floor for trying to be sexy? Not really the way you imagined it to be, that’s for sure.

“Umm,” you fondle the hem of your—his—hoodie. Great, now you’re nervous. Suddenly, those papers you have scattered on your table don’t look so bad. “You’re right, I do have some assignments to do. I’ll just get back to—“

Mark grabs your hand, holding you right on your spot. “You love me?”

You can practically hear your own heartbeat in your ears and it’s really fast. “My thesis—”

“Babe, I need to hear you say it.” The way his doe eyes are holding yours seems unfamiliar. His gaze is firm, unfaltering, and you give in because what else can you do? It’s really how you feel after all.

“I love you, Mark.” You can hear the shyness in your own voice and you curse inwardly because where did your confidence go? You were acting so superior before!

Mark doesn’t say a word and when you feel like dying is a better option than standing awkwardly in front of your attractive boyfriend after your stupid unplanned confession, he suddenly lifts your entire body with both hands and lays you down on the bed.

“Mark—“

He kisses you like he needs it to keep himself alive, and you find yourself closing your eyes shut, moulding your lips against his until you can taste the mint flavour from the candy he ate earlier. He tangles his fingers around your locks, the other hand cupping your cheek to angle your face better so he can kiss you deeper. You can’t help but to arch yourself closer to him, chest meeting chest, hips against hips. You can no longer tell whether the moans come from you or him but everything feels hot and going so fast, like you’re free-falling from a skyscraper.

Perhaps he feels the same way because he gradually slows his pace until he finally parts his lips from you. One look at your disheveled face and messy lipstick smeared from your mouth to your cheek, and he goes back to staring at your lips again with want. He mutters, “Fuck” under his breath, almost inaudibly before he crashes his lips against yours, but slower this time, just carefully savouring every taste and breathing in every scent of you.

Mark pulls away only to grab the hem of his white Van Halen shirt, pulling it over his head and tosses it somewhere without care and you have to remind yourself to breathe because fuck me, that was hot. His hair’s a mess—even messier than before and you think that’s just as hot as he can get but then he pushes his hair back with his hand, forehead showing as it glistens with sweat, and says, “I’m not going to hold back anymore.”

Again, fuck me, that was hot.

Mark seems brave enough to finally just let go and consume you in the way he has been wanting to for a while, but you can tell he’s also nervous from the way he fumbles every now and then, especially when he tries to unhook your bra without looking. He has no problem tossing your—his—hoodie away, but when he keeps his eyes closed as he kisses you, it takes a good minute for him to finally unclasp your bra.

He’s momentarily in awe when your naked breasts come into view but he wastes no more time trying to please you with both his hands and his mouth.

It’s good. He’s good. If he’s this good his first time, you can’t wait to see what happens next. You’re too busy losing yourself in his touch until you feel his length pressing against your thigh. By instinct, you press it harder against his groin, eliciting a surprised moan from him.

Goddamn, why is he so hot?

That voice of his; you want to hear it more and more, so you bring his mouth back to yours, align your hips with his and unzip his jeans. Mark is swearing again, but the more he swears, the breathier he sounds and when you rub him over his underwear, his moans are delicious.

“Feels good?” You ask and he kinds of scowl at you because what do you think?

Surprisingly enough, he pushes your hand away from his crotch and when you raise an eyebrow asking why, he kisses your body lower and lower until his face is hovering above your panties.

“Mark,” you call out, “Don’t try to be sexy and pull my underwear down with your teeth or something. You haven’t reached that level yet.”

He responds by tickling you hard on the sides of your stomach and you almost kick him in the face from laughing beyond control.

After all joking has receded, Mark swallows his breath nervously and kisses you on the inside part of your thigh, slowly creeping down to your heat, mouthing against it from over the fabric.

“Want me to take it off?” He asks in the cockiest way you’ve ever seen him do and you wonder who’s the virgin one in this relationship.

“Depends. Do you want to have blue balls for the rest of your life?”

“I’m kidding, geez,” he says, chuckling a bit but it sounds more nervous and he probably is nervous since he’s never done anything like this before.

“Don’t worry, I’ll guide you,” you assure him and he looks like he wants to retort with something clever and snarky but he also kind of needs your guidance so he keeps quiet and just pulls your underwear down and tosses it away.

Mark knows how to use his tongue, he just doesn’t know where he should use his tongue. That’s when your guidance comes handy, you suppose.

“A little bit lower, Mark.”

“Here?”

“Lower.”

“Umm… here?”

“Whoa, too low!” You spring up from the bed, pressing your thighs together so he won’t lick anywhere weird. “Okay, Mark, there’s my vagina and there’s my ass. Some girls like to have their asses eaten, but not me.”

“Right,” he says awkwardly, cheeks burning bright. “Sorry.”

“No, don’t be. Umm…” It’s so awkward and you both kind of just sit on the bed not knowing what to do so you ask, a bit unconvincingly, “Try again?”

To your surprise, Mark nods rather excitedly, like a child eager to learn and that’s cute and all but in this context? Not so much.

But wow, Mark learns fast.

It’s been more than a year since someone has touched you like this and it feels like it’s your first time again, so you’re quickly reduced to a whimpering mess when Mark kisses and flicks his tongue against your private part. And when he sucks at a particular spot, you’re practically screaming his name.

“S-sorry, did I hurt you?” He asks, pulling away, eyes shaking in concern.

“God, no.” You’re this close to shoving his face back to your crotch. “Don’t stop, Mark, please.”

“But if you’re in pain—“

“Mark,” you can practically feel your patience throwing itself out of the window. “If I’m in pain, I will kick you in the face or tell you to stop, so if I don’t do any of that, don’t fucking stop.”

You know you sound a bit desperate. Or a lot. But is there any girl out there who’s not going to sound this desperate when Mark Lee is using his mouth to utter nonsense when he just did a perfectly good job over there?

Lucky for you, Mark actually listens and doesn’t stop going even if you’re mewling his name, to the point of almost sobbing even, and continues to please you until your thighs begin to tremble in delight and you fall back to the bed with the biggest content sigh you’ve ever made in your entire life.

“How was it?” He asks with a little bit of teasing in his tone because he can see how good it was. You can tell he wants to hear you praise him.

“You, Mark Lee,” you breathe out, looking at him with stars in your eyes. “Are the most talented person in the world and I’m not just talking about your talent in music, but in everything.”

He chuckles. “That good?”

You pull him down by his belt, until his chest pressing against yours again. “That good,” you agree before you crash your mouth against his in the most consuming way you’ve ever kissed someone.

Mark eventually has his pants off and you switch positions when he’s finally stark naked. He’s so shy about the whole thing that he barely keeps eye contact with you, and he stutters hard, asking where the condom is when you begin to position yourself on top of him. You shake your head, telling him that you don’t have one and add, “Just tell me when you’re about to come so you can pull out just in time.”

Mark opens and closes his mouth like a fish gasping for air, probably about to protest but can’t come up with any better solution. Besides, he basically just throws everything out of the door when you sit down on his lap, your walls stretching against his length in one swift motion and he throws his head back.

“Fuck!” He breathes heavily, looking at you specifically at the part where you both are connected. “You’re wet—how are you so wet—and warm—oh my God—I’m—“

“You’re rambling again.” It’s the third time you said that to him in the last hour, which must have been some kind of a record. Not important right now, though. You’re focusing yourself to adapt to his length—because he’s nowhere small, it turns out—and slide up and down when it stings less.

“Okay, shit, wait—“ Mark sinks his nails on the sides of your hips, making you wince a little and he pulls back, muttering “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, but I feel like I’m going crazy. Can we stop?”

“Too much?”

“Too much.”

You tease him by clenching your walls around him and he just groans loudly in the sexiest way you’ve ever heard a man groan. “Babe, please,” he begs, eyes half-lidded in lust. “You’re not being fair. It’s my first time.”

“So?” You can’t help it. You’re having so much fun. You rock your hips against him again and he just loses it. Mark grabs you by the waist, bringing you back down to the bed and muffle your laughter with his mouth.

“Since you can’t stop teasing me about it,” Mark says, spreading your legs apart by instinct and seeing him between your thighs is just the sexiest thing you’ve ever witnessed. “I’ll take control from here.”

Mark moves rather awkwardly, and sloppily from time to time but he is hitting the right spot. He’s too enthusiastic though, which doesn’t make him last long. He comes undone soon after, dripping liquid onto your stomach before your own orgasm can hit you but he doesn’t spend his time lying beside you on the bed. Instead, he quickly inserts one finger into you, then two, pumping in and out as he analyses your expression—making sure that he’s doing right and not hurting you in the process. You clutch your fingers around his bicep, urging him to go faster with your mouth parting halfway in pleasure and he smiles proudly at the sight. Smirking, he brings his mouth back to suck on whatever that is that makes you feel like the world is ending and you don’t fucking care because of Mark, oh yes, Mark!

When you’re done, he pulls his fingers out and licks the tips. He’s probably not trying to be sexy but more out of curiosity or just trying to imitate some dudes in those porn videos he watches from time to time, but goddamn, please do that again.

“Sorry for making such a mess,” he says, pushing the bangs out of your eyes, “I’ll go grab some tissues to clean you up—”

You bring him down to kiss him, senselessly, longingly, and languidly. Just enjoying the moment as you come down from your high. “You know,” you say, “I don’t know if I’m a good teacher, or you’re just one hell of a student, but that was amazing.”

Mark blushes but he grins like a child. “Am I better than Haechan?”

“I hate you for bringing him up because he no longer exists in my life but I bet my ass he’s never going to be as good as you. Our first time is ten times better than my last time with him.”

“You’re being honest?”

“Ten thousand percent.”

Mark plops down on the bed next to you, punching the air in a winning pose. “Hell yes!”

“Mark?”

“Yeah, babe?”

“Let’s take a shower together. You see, practice makes perfect.”

As he’s busy trying to wash the blush away from his face, there’s a loud knocking sound coming from the other side of your door.

“Have you two bunnies done fucking each other’s brains out yet? I need to take my AirPods you borrowed.”

Mark stares at you in horror when you finally remember that you, indeed, borrowed Johnny’s AirPods this morning.

You begin to sweat. “Oops?”

***

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chainofclovers · 3 years

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Ted Lasso 2x6 thoughts

I felt like the physical embodiment of a series of iconic reaction GIFs while watching this episode. I felt like Higgins gagging on air and right and wrong choices. As an invested, non-casual Ted Lasso viewer, I feel quite absorbed in the experience of every episode, but I’m not usually a LOUD non-casual Ted Lasso viewer. At one point last night, I shouted “This is the wackiest show ever made!” at @bristler, and that doesn’t even sound like something I would say. And by “wacky” I just meant “all the emotions are happening at once.”

This episode was absolutely great and I knew that every single Rebecca Welton feeling I have would intensify because of this episode and that is exactly what happened.

This is me bravely writing down my episode thoughts after only one viewing (just like last week) and a bad night of sleep! Copious spoilers and emotions ahead...

This show goes all in on hats! A lot of bad hats for giving bad relationship advice and making bad decisions! Feel like you’re gonna do something correctly? Just put on a bad hat, that’ll snap you right out of it. Just had a revelation that you are almost certainly in an abusive relationship? Your girlfriend is hiding in the parking lot with a terrible hat for you! (I love this show.)

Dark forest dark forest dark forest dark forest.

I truly, truly, truly do not mean this to sound judgmental of any other fan, but it’s taking everything in my power not to just type “dark forest” in the comments of every person who is outraged that LDN152 is not Ted.

Gonna get my initial thoughts on the Sam=LDN152 reveal out of the way. I honestly like this choice.

First, I like this choice because of who LDN152 isn’t. I think about how awful it would be if she’d matched with Rupert and realized she’d been manipulated by him and charmed by him all over again, and how, when she gets the same reveal the audience already has, she would end up retraumatized by having been charmed and taken in by Rupert all over again. I think about her matching with Nate (if he’d redownloaded the app) and the inadequacy of her assertiveness advice and how Nate is one of the only non-Rupert characters who’s used sexist language against her and how Nate’s insecurities would be like water trying to co-exist with the oil of Rebecca’s insecurities. Nate and Rebecca are fond of each other and seem to want to be in each other’s lives, but a romantic squishing together via dating app would set them both back lightyears. I think about her matching with Ted, a man currently on a parallel-to-Rebecca trek through a very painfully dark forest, a man swinging wildly between performative attempted wit and utter panic. A man she trusts with her professional and personal challenges. [Her challenging mother comes to town and Keeley and Ted are the people she wants with her at lunch.] Ted and Rebecca, with all their current limitations, and with all the ways the forest obscures the view, are trying to be there for each other in their real, non-romantic comedy versions of their lives, and the discomfort of matching on an app seems like the kind of thing that would make them rear back from each other instead of bringing them even closer together. It is not time. It is so profoundly not time that I would have been furious if the writers had continued the “maybe it’s Ted?” line of thought for another second longer than they did.

Second, I like this choice because of who Sam is. I know. He’s not an appropriate match for her. The power dynamics are all messed up and their ages are all wrong. But this does introduce a potentially interesting parallel between Rupert and his younger women and the scrutiny Rebecca would risk herself and Sam experiencing if she goes for it. Rebecca seems to have tried to put away her Rupert-related trauma, but the specter of Rupert is lurking, and I do see that being a good person making an ethically complicated decision with another good person is very different from being an abuser setting out to take advantage of multiple people...but there are parallels she might have to reckon with. Also, Sam is a kind person with a strong ethical center and a well-documented interest in Rebecca. He and Ted helped each other feel more at home in London during a time of deeply missing other homes, and Sam has internalized a lot of Ted’s ways of living in a way that might genuinely appeal to Rebecca even if she doesn’t fully realize why. The writers on this show don’t write messes for the sake of drama. They write messes because life is painful and complicated and also very funny. I’d be shocked if, however this Bantr thing plays out, it isn’t painful and complicated and also funny.

(I am already a little worried that whatever happens next is going to activate some very ironic fan reactions given this is a show whose thesis statement is about withholding judgment. This fear is based not on Ted Lasso-specific knowledge but on unfortunate patterns of fandom, but...you can fear the impact of racist, sexist, and ageist tropes on two beloved characters without embodying those tropes as a viewer. You can watch characters make decisions that could subject them to harmful scrutiny without performing that harm yourself.)

Ted Lasso is a fictional character who tweeted about the joy of eating out (you know...at the Crown and Anchor) the day before 2x6 launched and during 2x6 Rebecca invited him to eat out at the Crown and Anchor. (I love this show.) I am so, so, so fond of all the little lunch-y things in this episode. Ted can’t bring Henry his lunch because he’s “at work” aka living in London. Ted and Beard surprise each other with secret sandwiches on Fridays. Rebecca is overwhelmed by her mother’s visit (her mother’s performance of a harmful pattern) and wants Keeley and Ted there. The scene at the Crown and Anchor, as painful as all the divorce/separation feelings were, was also so homey and lovely in terms of these characters being friends, being at home in a place despite the very not-at-home feelings emanating from Deborah. The Bake-Off viewing! Ted being the designated driver (probably a good thing on this particular day)! Rebecca feeling discomfort but not shutting down! Also cute British pub feelings. Evidence that Rebecca has talked to her mom about Ted! About personal things about Ted!

Naaaaaaate. His bursts of confidence and insight. The pain and insecurity and anger almost literally bubbling under the surface.

I cannot say enough good things about Higgins. He’s grown so much, and his decision to be honest with Beard regarding his concerns about Jane was absolutely impeccably done. Many, many trusted people in Higgins’ life told him not to do it. They are all good people, and they were all wrong. Sometimes one human being’s honesty makes the difference for someone who is struggling, and that’s exactly what happened here. Beard truly heard Higgins. And of course he didn’t immediately break things off with Jane. But he heard Higgins, and when Jane showed up Beard’s face looked different than it ever has, and Higgins words are with him as he walks off into the night with Jane and that might save him. And Rebecca witnessed it.

And I’m so glad she witnessed Higgins’ choice in the midst of this very difficult experience of a) trying to find Ted because she knows he’s in pain and being unable to and b) watching her mother repeat a pattern that Rebecca herself was able to break. It taught me so much about Rebecca. The way she was punished (and described the experience using the language of punishment) for having an honest reaction to her mother’s decision to leave her father the first time. The way she was taught that love is conditional, that love and reconciliation are things you can purchase with gifts. The way her mother uses the language of self-help without internalizing what it would take to heal, and probably has little use for actual therapy. The way her mother drinks alcohol as a way to feel free.

I don’t even know how to think, much less write, about everything with Roy’s coaching and his image and how Ted feels about it and all the fatherhood things Jamie brings up and all the fatherhood things Ted is missing w/r/t Nate and everyone except for Rebecca taking at face value (or willfully deciding to take at face value) the idea that Ted’s panic attack is actually just him needing to go barf up a fish pie. Ted hugging his backpack in Sharon’s office. Rebecca trying to find him, and Sharon being the one who does. The words “I wanna make an appointment” being the words that conclude the episode at the exact midpoint of the planned-for show. Halfway through the middle season. The moment Ted realizes he’s never going to be okay if he doesn’t give therapy a try.

I also can’t say enough good things about the moment with the team and Sharon, the way she agrees to one drink, the way it’s clear that she adores them all. Sharon is exacting and professional without being cold and calculating, and everything she does in this episode is such a gorgeous model of assertiveness, patience, and moderation...three things Ted struggles with the most.

What a dark forest. What an excellent group of humans.

#ted lasso #ted lasso s2 spoilers #ted lasso 2x6 #meta by me #a lesbian watches ted lasso

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sabraeal · 3 years

Note

Consider: Obi is green-red color blind

A Color by Any Other Name

Written for @aeroplaneblues for a surprise birthday gift! Many months ago she mentioned wanted to see a colorblind Obi, and I said, WELL WHAT A GOOD EXCUSE TO WRITE THIS PROMPT JOANNA GAVE ME. I hope your birthday is a good one, filled with a lot more nice surprises!

“Are you ever going to introduce me to your guard friends?” Suzu asks around a mouthful of dumpling. “Or are you embarrassed?”

To say Obi is unprepared, would be an understatement; there’s a pork bun lodged between his teeth, his gloves not only coated in pig grease but also far less effective against steam than he’d thought they’d be back when he’d just grabbed a plump little blob off the stall. He’d laughed off Suzu’s concerns about protective equipment; after all, if smiths use leather gloves, they’ve got to be just as good as an oven mitt.

They aren’t. Not to mention the roof of his mouth starting to have a real good think about peeling off and having a vacation. Maybe even with someone who doesn’t eat entire dumplings straight from the basket.

“Wha?” he manages eloquently, nearly drooling spicy meat drippings onto the street.

“I know I’m not cool like they are,” Suzu continues, warming to his new thesis. If his sudden flush of confidence is any measure, he’s spent more of time composing his arguments for this than Obi’s ever seen him work on his actual defense. “And I’m no good with a sword. Or fists. Or really any implement that isn’t a scalpel, and any opponent that isn’t already anesthetized. But I am very smart.”

There’s a thoughtful pause before Suzu adds, “Some people do enjoy that, you know.”

What Obi knows is that this kid tried this conversation on for size in front of Yuzuri, and she didn’t even bother to warn him as a courtesy. See if he buys her any more meat-on-sticks when she’s ‘left her purse in the lab’ now.

“That’s not--” he takes a hurried minute to swallow-- “not what’s happening. I didn’t...”

Even know you knew I didn’t work for the pharmacy. His teeth clamp shut around that winner, and its friend, I didn’t think you lot would want to hang out with a bunch of men without degrees. Not only would that encourage Suzu to make a scene right here, right now, but if it got back to Jirou-- well, if he thought Suzu could turn any day into a disaster, the lieutenant would make that seem like a vacation.

“I didn’t think you wanted to,” he settles on instead. Similar enough in feel, if...creatively edited. “You scholar types tend to flock together.”

“Well, sure,” Suzu murmurs, stymied, “but we’re friends too, aren’t we? If all my friends are your friends, then all your friends should be my friends.”

Only an academic could talk about arithmetic with that amount of confidence, especially the kind that involved transitive properties and letters, and all sorts of things that made Obi’s head spin.

“Well,” he hums, one boot scratching his calf. “You would know.”

Suzu whirls on him, staring down his long fox-snout of a nose. “You mean it? You’ll really...?”

“Sure. If that’s what you want.” He twitches his shoulders, more casual than he feels. “It’s fine if it’s you.”

There’s always been a lazy lilt to Suzu’s eyes, but it disappears now, all the sleepiness gone to surprise. “Me? You wouldn’t want to bring anyone else?”

“Well, definitely not Kazaha.” The glares he’d get bringing that twiggy pedant into the guardhouse might be enough to drop him dead on the spot. “And Yuzuri would be too popular.”

Suzu grimaces. “The number of admirers she’d get from a wink alone...she’d be unlivable.”

He can see it now, her ponytail bobbing with a buoyant glee, giggling through every painstaking penned line from her fan club-- “Think of all the bad poetry.”

“Honestly, that might make it worth it. At least I’ll feel better about not knowing the difference between a quartet and a quatrain.” Suzu takes a thoughtful bite of him bun. “And you couldn’t bring Shirayuki, of course.”

“Right.” Not a one of them could be trusted to keep their lips sealed; she’d hardly have to take a breath and someone would call her Obi’s lady, or ask how they met, or whether she’s still Mistress behind closed doors--

But Suzu wouldn’t know any of that. “Wait, why?”

“Well...” He has the grace to look chagrined about it, whatever it is. “You know. Her hair...?”

“Oh.” Obi shrugs. “Sure, I guess.”

“You guess?” Suzu stares. “Shirayuki has a non-zero amount of stories about being kidnapped for looking like a candied apple, and you guess there might be a fuss about bringing her ‘round to the guardhouse?”

“Well, none of you acted weird about it,” he snips, hiding his annoyance behind a bite of dumpling. “There’s no reason they will.”

“Of course no one at Lilias acted weird, Obi!” he squawks, arms flailing as he talks. “You couldn’t pay them to look at anything but their own project. But when a bunch of normal men with eyes and, uh, other working appendages see a cute girl with red hair and a soft voice, they’re gonna go crazy!”

His palm hooks around his shoulder, thumb digging into the hard knot at his collarbone. “Aw, come on. It’s not that special.”

“Not that--?” Suzu whips around, eyes round as dumplings. “Obi, she’s the only person I’ve ever seen with red hair.”

“You don’t get out much,” Obi deadpans. “No offense.”

“That’s not--” Suzu grunts, throwing up his hands-- “She’s the only person anyone’s ever seen with red hair!”

“Her dad’s is kind of red.” That observation wins him an unimpressed look, one that says you’re missing the point. “And Yuzuri had blue hair when I met her. That’s way more interesting--”

“It was dyed!” Suzu wobbles over to a wall, sitting with his head in his hands. “Shirayuki has a hair color so rare that the birth records in Clarines haven’t noted it in more than fifty years! And you think Yuzuri dying her hair with woad is more impressive.”

“Well, even her natural color is brighter than Miss’s. Not--” he waves a hand between them, quelling-- “that Miss’s hair isn’t nice enough. But I’d think that people would pay more attention to that.”

“...Brighter?” Suzu murmurs after a long moment, stilted. “Obi, could you tell me what color that sign is, right over there?”

“The one for the tea shop?” He wrinkles his nose. “Why--?”

“Just...indulge me for a moment.”

“All right.” He squints up at the moon cresting over a wolf’s head. “Blue.”

“Right, and, um, that coat over there.”

“Yellow.”

“Right.” Suzu’s voice is tight, stressed. “And what I’m wearing?”

Obi squints. This one’s a little harder, but he’s confident when he says, “Green.”

“Ah, right.” Suzu stands, a unsteady on his feet. “That would explain that, then.”

Obi blinks. “Explain what?”

“Obi,” Suzu begins, with all the gravitas of both a grim prognosis and a terrible joke. “You can’t see colors.”

It’s not the first time Obi’s played hound to his prey’s fox, but there’s something distinctly unsettling about it being Suzu that leaves him lagging behind, unsure of himself. Especially with the way he scurries through the concourse, bounding toward the mess hall with this idea caught between his teeth like chicken feathers.

“I can see colors just fine,” Obi informs him with far less confidence than he’d like. “Some of them are just hard to tell apart. Weren’t you and Yuzuri arguing yesterday about whether salmon is orange or pink?”

Suzu waves a hand at him, dismissive. “That’s different. Salmon’s both orange and pink, and what color it looks most like has to do with the composition of your eye-- and it’s pink by the way, with orange undertones--”

Between the two of them, Obi knows who he’d trust to know their colors. “Uh-huh.”

“You can’t make out red and green, which is different entirely, and--” the doors to the mess burst open beneath his hands, a noise lost in the din of a hundred scholars trying to share the same table-- “YOU GUYS WON’T BELIEVE WHAT I JUST FOUND.”

The whole of Shidan’s lab-- minus the man himself-- have taken up right by the door, bags and coats piled to save them their places on the bench. Suzu makes short work of the pile on his seat, haphazardly shoving them to the floor as he sits.

Kazaha peers at him and ventures mildly, “A new way to avoid finishing your thesis?”

“No,” Suzu hums between his grit teeth, “but I have found out--”

“I don’t think we need to do this,” Obi murmurs, handing Miss her muffler. “It’s not--”

“Obi,” he intones with far more gravitas than his name has ever strictly deserved, “can’t see colors.”

“Not at all?” Kazaha turns those sharp eyes to him, like he’s a specimen under glass. “Just black and white?”

“I can see just fine,” Obi huffs, tossing Yuzuri her coat before he slides onto the bench, knee knocking into Miss’s in a way that puts his heart through its paces. “Suzu is just making a mountain out of a molehill.”

“Is that so?” he hums with a grin. “Then what color is Shirayuki’s hair?”

He stifles a sigh. It’s best to put all this to bed now, before he’s stuck playing what’s this color for the next two years. “Red.”

“What’s the point of this?” Yuzuri yawns, already bored. Obi shoots her a grateful look, glad that at least one of them isn’t going to play Suzu’s game.

It’s too bad he’s already puffed up with unearned confidence, like an evolutionist at a botany lecture. “And what’s the color of Ryuu’s cloak?”

He knows it by heart-- how could he not, when the two most important people in this city wear matching ones-- but still Obi glances up, anticipating a trick. Ryuu stares back, confused and guileless. “Blue.”

“Great, good.” Suzu’s grin stretches from ear to ear. “Now what color is your scarf?”

Obi’s fingers knot in the fabric, the weft tickling the pads of his fingers. “Well, it’s...sort of reddish, isn’t it?”

This is the wrong answer.

“It makes so much sense,” Yuzuri murmurs in wonder. “You really don’t know how ugly Suzu’s outfits are. That’s why you still hang out with him.”

“Hey!” Suzu pouts. “That’s not very nice.”

“No, that has nothing to do with color, it’s the cut.” Anxiety spikes through him. “But wait, it is red isn’t it? My scarf?”

“No,” Miss murmurs at his side, cheeks flushes. “Obi, it’s...it’s green.”

He stares down at it, trying to imagine what that might look like. “Green.”

“It looks very nice on you!” Her small fingers wrapping in the fur at his elbow. “It’s your color, really.”

“Oh, sure,” he murmurs, faint. “I guess it matches my eyes.”

“Hey, what do you mean ‘it has nothing to do with the color?’“ Suzu’s hands fly to his hips, brows drawn tight over the long line of his nose. “My clothes are just fine.”

“They aren’t.” Obi leans in next to him, grin feeling thinner than it should. “But I hang out with you anyway, which means you know we’re really friends.”

Kazaha rubs at his chin, where his ode to Shidan’s goatee is failing to thrive. “You know what this also explains?”

Obi blinks. “What?”

“All the black.”

It’s not Kazaha that says it, oh no. That would be too merciful for a mortifying moment out of his life. Instead it’s low and feminine, and when Miss Kiki leans out from the other side of Miss, it’s like a siren emerging from the depths, teeth bared to tear a man to shreds. “What an interesting thing I’ve learned today.”

“Miss Kiki! How--?” He gulps. “Why--?”

“I came to deliver a message from Wirant,” she drawls, too pleased. “And it seems I’ve earned myself a fine tip.”

“No,” he breathes. “You can’t-- you’re not going to tell Master, are you? Or Sir?”

“Oh,” she hums, looking particularly hungry for manflesh. “I certainly will.”

“Oh, there there.” Miss pats his back, the sensation lost among the dozen layers of clothing between them. “I’m sure Kiki won’t tell them, not until you’re ready! You asked her not to.”

“I think that just means,” Obi mutters, voice muffled by his arms and the wall he’s throwing himself over, “that she’ll just enjoy telling them more.”

“Ah...” He doesn’t need to see her to know her grimace. “Yes, that’s...probably right.”

He lets out a heavy, dramatic sigh. It helps a little. So does a bit of flailing.

“They won’t make a big deal out of it,” Miss says, changing tack. “It hardly changes anything! I’m sure they’ll just forget as soon as she tells them.”

He peeps one eye over his elbow. “That’s easy for you to say, you haven’t spent the last half an hour playing What’s That Color.”

“Well,” she wheedles, “they are scholars.”

Obi groans, loud and long, which doesn’t help; but it echoes out over the rooftops, returning back to him, which does.

“How...?”

Miss hesitates, a gloved finger pressed to her lips. He sighs, already braced for the onslaught-- how didn’t you know? how did you go so long without knowing your colors? how do you find people if you can’t even tell what hair color they have--?

“How did you notice?”

Obi lifts his head, unblinking. “What?”

“How did you notice?” Miss repeats, more firmly this time. “You’ve spent your whole life this way, haven’t you? It must have taken something really special to realize there was more than what you see.”

“Uh.” It’s nice that it’s darker here, that it’s cold. He has perfect legitimate reasons to be flushed. “Well, it was Suzu really. He mentioned that--” his teeth clamp down around his words, not letting them out without a hasty edit-- “that people think your hair’s pretty special, and I said I didn’t get why...”

Miss stiffens beside him, a statue that breathes, and he hastily adds, “Not that you aren’t special, Miss. It’s just, the red...”

“Right.” The words comes out stilted, strange. “You can’t see it. You actually...haven’t ever seen it.”

A silence settles on them like a wool blanket; not one of those nice ones at the castle, or the fleecy ones Miss stockpiles like one day the North might run out of sheep, but the itchy, coarse-woven ones of his childhood. Uncomfortable and smelling faintly of animal.

“So,” he coughs, fixing his gaze out over the city. “What did Kiki want?”

“Oh...” Miss shifts, mouth pulling into a guilty grimace. “She came to tell me that the Queen Dowager has invited me to dinner. Tomorrow night.”

His brows raise. “Well, well.”

“Don’t,” she murmurs, head giving the barest shake. “It’s not like that.”

“Are you sure?” He shouldn’t press, but if he doesn’t, no one else will. “After you told Master--”

“I told him a list of reasons why I thought I would be a better ally as a friend, and not as a...” Miss loses steam, letting her words sigh into the air. “I’d like to believe this has to do with my work with Phostyrias.”

He watches her, careful. “But do you?”

“I don’t know,” she says, which is as good as any no.

Obi’s barely stepped into the Protector’s solar when Master asks, “What color is my jacket?”

His head swivels, delivering a glare so flat carpets would be jealous. Miss Kiki only hums, shoulder lifting in a disinterested shrug. “I said I was going to tell them.”

Fair enough.

“It’s blue,” he deadpans, flopping onto the cushiest divan. He’s too long for it, his boots spilling off one arm a idling over the floor. “Apparently I can see that one just fine.”

According to Miss, at least; she’d unearthed a slip of a book from the university’s library, outlining the limits of his sight. Little Ryuu had pored over it for a day before showing up at his door, flushed faced and nervous.

Garrack always told me I had nice eyes, he’d admitted, lingering at the threshold. I was hoping you could see them.

Cross as he is about the whole thing, Obi can’t regret that. He might not have Miss’s hair, or Suzu’s coat-- thankfully-- but Ryuu’s eyes would always look true to him.

“But not red.” Master’s mouth twitches, far too entertained. “Or green.”

“I do see them,” he protests. “They just...don’t look very different to me.”

Just another shade of yellow and brown, if those books are right. Which they are, since he’d always thought so. Subtly different, like the way Suzu and Yuzuri fought over salmon, or Master and Miss Kiki would dither over chartreuse. Just enough that he’d been able to eke by on keeping his mouth shut and a fondness for black.

Still, there’s nothing worse than finding out something new about yourself this late in the game. Especially when--

“What about the curtains?” Master inquires. “Can you see those?”

--Especially when it’s so endlessly entertaining to everyone else. “I can see them,” he grumbles, sinking further into the cushions. “Just because I can’t see some colors doesn’t mean I’m blind.”

“Then what about the note?”

Obi rolls his gaze to where Sir perches at his desk. “Huh?”

“To our red-haired guest.” Sir coughs, a flush working its way up his neck. “It’s just-- you wrote that.”

“Oh, His Grace told me that one.” A lifetime ago, it seemed. “‘The red-haired girl, you’ll know her when you see her, I’m sure.’“

Master winces. Obi can admit his talent doesn’t lie with impressions, especially ones of dour old men.

“Right,” Sir presses, voice oddly tight. “But you don’t see-- I mean, how could you find a girl that looks just like everyone else?”

“Ah...” He grimaces, scrubbing at the top of his head. “Well, I just looked for the girl who didn’t belong. It--” he hesitates, suddenly aware of Master’s eyes on him-- “didn’t take very long.”

Master’s frown belongs above one of those prie-dieu, to remind penitents that forgiveness isn’t absolute. “What is that supposed to--?”

“So what does she look like?” No one could say that after a decade of dedication, Miss Kiki doesn’t know how to do her job; she deflects Master’s brewing sour mood with the ease of a professional. “What does her hair look like to you?”

“Uh.” He clears his throat, tugging at his collar. “I wasn’t lying when I said I bought my scarf to match...”

There is a stillness to the room that is too much, too pitiful. Much as he hated it, Obi would much rather be a joke than a charity case.

“Huh,” Sir grunts, gaze still fixed to his neck. “Now I wonder what we all look like to you.”

“Well, I sort of wonder what you all look like to yourselves.” Obi let a sigh float wistfully through his lips. “At least I know that me and Miss still have the same eyes.”

There’s silence again, but this one buzzes, filled with words no one dares to say.

“What?” he laughs, nervous, pulling himself upright. “Don’t we?”

Sir grimaces. “Ah, Obi...”

Miss is quiet when they walk the walls home that night, the winter stillness making the silence and heavy as any drift. Her mouth is pursed, not with anything like anger, but something closer to consideration. As if there’s words back there she’s sorting through, trying to compose a thought that just won’t come.

Well, she should know: she won’t get anywhere if she doesn’t air a few of them out to look at. “Something wrong, Miss?”

She blinks, shaken out from wherever she gone away. Her mind palace, maybe. Suzu’d told him about those once, with busts and painting and curtained alcoves. What she’d do with a place like that, he couldn’t imagine, but if anyone asked, he’d put his money on hers having apothecary drawers instead, and gardens too. The kind with half crumbled walls, ivies curled around every stone. Cluttered desks piled high with books, and one of them with curtain drawn to let its owner nap the afternoon away.

“Oh,” she breathes, finally. “No, no. Nothing’s, um, wrong. I was just...thinking.”

He lifts a knowing brow. “So something is wrong.”

“That’s not what I said,” she informs him, primly. “I was going over my meeting with Haruto, and...”

Her lips snap shut around the words, distress narrowing her eyes. “And...?”

“She didn’t know about my work,” Miss huffs, arms wrapping tight around her chest. “Or, she did, but only what Zen had told her. Which...”

Was far less than the whole of it. He’d heard that part of her argument that night, try as he might not to. “So she invited you as Zen’s ally?”

“No.” The word is colder than any he’s ever heard fall from her lips. “That I wouldn’t mind-- I’m still trying to be his ally, after all, and if she saw me as an asset...” She shook her head. “No, she wanted to meet his...paramour, even if she didn’t say as much.”

Obi grimaces.

“And even that wouldn’t be so bad if...” Miss took a deep, steeling breath. “When I came in, after all the curtsies and pleasantries, she said, your hair is just as red as he said it was.” Her knuckles are white where they wrap around her elbows. “All those years, all those letters, and the only thing he thinks to tell his mother is that my hair...”

The rest is lost in a sigh, a cloud of mist swirling off the wall.

“It must really be something,” Obi deadpans, gaze following it off the edge. “Since it makes all these people forget how smart you are.”

She’s watching him; he can feel it as she sidles up to where he stands, hands unclenching from her arms and splaying on the crenellations instead. “Obi, you really can’t...?”

Miss hesitates, falls silent. He lets her; she’s put enough words in the air to sort through, and now all she needs is time. Obi’s happy to give it to her.

Especially since there’s a rabbit down there in the dark. A small one, moving slow, hind legs churning like clockwork winding up. It’s nose digs into the snow, snuffling around, searching--

“Can you really see better?” Miss asks, startling him back to the wall. “In the dark, I mean. That book said you could.”

“Well, after the past couple days, I’m a little shaky on what’s normal.” He jerks his chin over the edge. “Can you see the rabbit down there? Right by that sapling?”

She blinks, pressing in close. “The what? It’s just...dark out there.”

“Well,” he says, grin tight on his lips. “There’s your answer.”

Miss settles back on her heels, one hand already cupping her chin. “It makes sense. Without the distraction of color, your movement tracking must be much more acute...”

Obi only half-manages to stifle a laugh. “Seems like it definitely distracts everyone else.”

Miss goes quiet; almost too quiet, enough to make his teeth sit on edge. The seconds tick by, and Obi might play at patience, but it’s not in his nature. He glances down, just from the corners of his eyes, but Miss is already watching him, eyes strangely shuttered.

“Obi,” she says, so clear his name rings in his ears. “You don’t...? My hair, it’s not...” Her mouth works, quiet, before she manages, “It’s not anything to you?”

Anything special, she means. Because that’s what he said so stupidly last night, nothing special.

She’d tied it up tonight, finagling the strange looping knots that were partial to the queen’s court, but already some of it’s worn loose, slipping from its pins. “It is,” he murmurs. “I like it.”

She huffs, unimpressed. “But you can’t see it, not really.”

“Of course I can see it,” he laughs, weary. “Maybe not the color, but that’s fine. I like it because it’s yours.”

She ducks her head, and Obi might not be good at colors, but he can see her cheeks flush in the lamplight.

“Miss.” Her gaze lifts to his, no longer shuttered, just full. “Can I ask you something?”

Her breath catches. “Anything.”

“Be straight with me,” he pleads. “We do have the same eye color right?”

“Obi!” Miss‘s laughter bubbles bright with betrayal as she hops down the stairs after him. “Obi, please--”

“Let me grieve, Miss,” he grumbles, hands shoved in his pockets. “I’ve been a real champ about the rest, but let me have this.”

“Obi!” She catches him round the wrist, mouth twitching as she turns to him. “Is it really so bad that they’re gold?”

“No,” he mutters sullenly, shoulders slumped enough that with two stairs between them, they’re nearly the same height. “It’s just...”

Her eyes flutter wide with curiosity. “Just...?”

“It’s fine enough that they’re unique.” He spits the word with more venom than it deserves. “I just I wanted this one thing in common.”

“In common?” Miss blinks. “You mean, me and...?”

Obi would lay down his life for his mistress, but even she can’t ask him to do this, to lay down his pride for her to walk on.

“Oh!” She flusters, limbs fluttering in the air between them. He’s half-tempted to turn away again, but she grabs his face and holds him steady, her cold, slender fingers caught behind his jaw. “Just-- just one moment...”

“Miss?” he wheezes. This is entirely too close, too much--

“Yes!” He breath flutters over his lips, her own parting in a celebration of teeth. “That’s it. I see it. There’s a little, right there.”

He blinks. “A little what, Miss?”

Her teeth flash around the word, “Green.”

It’s cruel to throw a starving dog a bone, but he snaps it up anyway, heart nearly clogging up his throat with hope. “D’you mean it? You’re not just saying that to make me feel better.”

“Really,” she promises, her nod serious and officious as any she might give Little Ryuu. “There’s a thread, right around the middle. Green. Just like mine.”

“Oh.” His own hands raise, leather muting the feel of her skin, but-- Master always told him about the red thread that bound him and Miss together, that drew them toward their fated meeting, but this-- Obi will take this too. “Thank you, Miss.”

She smiles, eyes shining bright in the lamplight. “No, Obi, it’s my pleasure.”

Not much different between green and red to him, anyway.

#obiyuki #akagami no shirayukihime #snow white with the red hair #my fic #ans #this request has been sitting in my box since 2017 #when i FIRST started joking about this au #and i always meant to get around to it #but obviously my last few years have been filled with some things that have perhaps kept me #from being able to do all the things I meant to 🤣#but once Anne brought this up again #I knew i had a very good excuse to finally get this thing out in the world #AND HERE IT IS #it takes place some amount of time after the current arc

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tracybirds · 3 years

Text

I was very determined to finish something today :D Yo all knw I’m back in lockdown which like... bro every time I try to write a thing that seems to happen so I’m snowed under again......................... Anyway, decided to finish up the exhausted Virg fic I began on Friday the 13th of August and how has it nearly been a month of lockdown already?? anyway I’m reposting the first bit with this, but wanted to say thank you to everyone who left comments on that snippet and encouraged me!! And big thanks to @gumnut-logic who read the first, slightly sleep-deprived first version of this before it underwent edits

It’s 11:30pm, my brain is no longer functioning, anyways, enjoy <3

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

Virgil drags his leaden feet across the floor, still pink from the hot water, barely acknowledging Scott and Alan, chatting lightly together as he walks past them.

He’s not ready to sleep, but he’s not much good for anything else either.

He’s tired from the ground up. The exhaustion is only in his feet, his calves, his thighs, but it reaches up into his mind all the same. His shoulders ache, but it’s from good work and kind deeds, a balm for any residual overthinking.

He did good today, he knows it, can feel it in every torn muscle fibre.

He’ll just rest for a moment or two. Debrief can wait. John’s probably already written up most of the report.

He collapses onto the nearest sofa, but it’s more muscle memory than aim that lands him safely amongst the cushions.

“Cannonball!” crows a voice from somewhere above him, followed by a sharp yell of “Gordon, no!” and a crash that reverberated through his skull.

Then it hits him, and he launches himself sideways.

Gordon dives onto the sofa, arms and smile wide, as though he hadn’t just come off the same seven-hour mission plus bonus two-hour administrative argument with the nearest hospital who had just had their landscaping done.

And now, incidentally, redone.

Virgil glares from the floor.

“How’s it going, V?” Gordon says, still grinning.

“Ow.”

“Did you fall off the couch? You’ve gotta be careful about these things, you know.”

Short, sharp, monosyllabic words might be enough to fend off some lower forms of life, but Gordon is rather like moss, clinging to hard rock. Virgil opts to ignore him instead as he picks himself up with a groan.

A strong, sure hand grasps his arm and he accepts the extra leverage gladly, hauling his stiff muscles upright and stretching them carefully. He can see the chair Scott had leapt from halfway across the room. Alan isn’t even pretending he’s not laughing, the jerk.

Gordon is nestling, smirking as he burrows down into his cushions.

“Let it go,” he mutters, his hand now resting on Scott’s shoulder. He can’t handle a shouting match now, jackhammering into his brain after a day filled with enough pain.

Scott settles for pulling the cushions from under Gordon’s head and he falls back onto the hard frame with a squawk.

Alan’s laughter erupts again and Virgil doesn’t bother to smother his own smile.

Gordon sits up and his eyes are shining.

“Fine, fine, I deserved that,” he says, grinning up at Scott. “Now, get lost and put the large lump to bed, I checked the stats. There’s fifteen miles registered on his pedometer and he basically hauled three tons today.”

“Not all at once, Gordon, stop exaggerating.”

Gordon shrugs.

“I know the medical studies as well as you do. Sure, they might not think rescue work counts as overtraining, but science doesn’t lie.”

“But, people do,” Virgil says, scowling at him. Each word ripped more energy from his depleted stores. “And I was resting, thanks.”

Gordon lifts a finger, waggling it with a half-smile.

“A couch isn’t a substitute for a bed,” he says, dropping his voice to mimic Virgil’s own. “How many times did you say that to me?”

“When you had a broken back!”

“Right, that’s enough.” Scott steps forward between the bickering brothers. “Decompression time for you both.”

Virgil blinks, realising that he was stooping to an argument with Gordon. Gordon, who always fought dirty, twisting intent and laughing in a way he never could manage. He must be tired.

“Virgil, can you get up to your rooms alone?”

“Yeah,” he says, holding himself upright against the sudden wave of exhaustion. It was as though in remembering he was meant to be tired, his body had decided to lean into that realisation.

“And Gordon…” Scott pauses, eyeing Gordon who was still fairly vibrating with energy even after nine hours in the field. “Go watch a fish or something. Just stay away from each other.”

Virgil is already halfway out the door and his ears have been stoppered by weariness, the external world becoming fuzzy. He doesn’t hear Gordon’s quick reply.

He doesn’t hear Alan’s sharp cry either, doesn’t even register the way the world is tilting sideways.

He merely crumples on the floor in the hallway.

***

Virgil wakes slowly, awareness seeping into his bones and spreading outwards. His neck is propped up at an awkward angle; he’s resting on the pillows that he rearranges around him every night and they are much too high.

He moans a little as he shuffles, his neck creaking as it falls back in alignment with his spine.

The gulls call from outside his window, a high and keening cry. He can hear the light whistles of forest bird. The low murmur of voices unable to pierce the early fog of morning.

He doesn’t remember making it to his bed, but nor does he intend to rise from it.

He wants to cling to slumber, doesn’t want to make conversation or move. But he’s already lost the game of sleep and settles for burrowing further into the light cotton comforter that had seen him through every summer of his life.

A rough hand on his shoulder greets him instead and he groans a warning as it flips him onto his back.

“Come on, Virgil, we know you’re awake.”

The voice floats down from above him. He grumbles deeply, unintelligibly, and turns his back on the inhumanity of it all.

A sharp poke pierces his clouded thoughts and Virgil growled as he opened one bleary eye.

“What?”

“Gentlemen, he lives,” crows Gordon, arms wide and ready to receive undying adoration for his proclamation.

“It’s been fourteen hours,” Scott says, grimly. “Time for a check-up.”

Virgil wonders at that. Fourteen hours of sleep, while rare in their home, was hardly reason for medical concern. He suspects though, that Scott already knows this, and doesn’t resist for fear that he’ll be forced to leave the warmth and comfort of his bed.

“The air’s stale in here,” he says instead. “I don’t sleep with my windows shut.”

“Arm,” orders Scott, and Virgil lifts it automatically, puzzling over his last memories which certainly don’t involve him shutting his windows. Or entering his room for that matter.

“I fell asleep?” he asks, suddenly.

“Right in the hall,” Gordon says, his eyes dancing with half checked laughter. “You went down like a ton of bricks.”

“It wasn’t funny.” Scott’s manner is terse, his shoulders tight and the deep crease between his eyes growing as he turns to glare at Gordon. “He could have seriously hurt himself.”

“He didn’t though.” He whips around to face Virgil. “And you’re welcome, by the way. I convinced Scott to let us put you here instead of the infirmary. Even woke John up to back me. I risked the wrath of John for you, he said you were physically fine otherwise you’d be waking in that cold infirmary and Scott would have a back spasm from sleeping in those terrible chairs. All for nothing too because you’re fine.”

Virgil stares at him.

He wants to argue with Gordon, the necessity of rules made for their safety niggling at the back of his brain. He wants to roll his eyes, tell him that the infirmary beds aren’t that painful, that the fluorescent lights that blink and buzz might be made for suturing and not sleeping but that they held their own kind of relief, of comfort.

He wants to thank him, for giving him this moment where he could wake slowly to the sounds of birdsong and crashing waves, unheard in the depths of the island. For that moment where he could lay still as the sun streamed in with warmth and good cheer.

He has a thesis of carefully memorised protocols warring with pure sensation of soft coziness and the luxury of a brother who loves him.

He isn’t sure which instinct is winning when he opens his mouth.

“You made me sleep on two pillows.”

The room blurs as the soft mound beneath his head is ripped away at lightning speed. Virgil hardly has time to hear the whirl of rushing air before the pillow connects with his head with a dull thud.

Gordon jabs at his arm.

“No appreciation, I tell you.”

“Gordon! Out!”

Virgil throws the offending pillow after him, chuckling at the sharp laughter that pierced the slammed door.

Scott isn’t smiling.

He pulls the sphygmomanometer tight around Virgil’s arm.

Virgil winces slightly, but says nothing. Not yet.

Scott’s movements are precise and ordered, with nothing to suggest he isn’t conducting a normal check-up at all.

But Virgil knows his brother.

“Hey,” he says softly, watching Scott stare at the dial. “I really am okay.”

Scott’s not listening to the blood pounding through his arteries, not even in pretence. Still, he ignores Virgil and pulls up a new medical report so he can stare intently at that in place of his brother’s gentle eyes.

“Scott,” says Virgil, leaning forward and placing a hand on his shoulder.

Scott shoves it away, his eyes snapping to Virgil’s.

“Why didn’t you call for backup?”

“You were off duty.”

“I don’t mean me,” Scott growls. “I mean, I do, I would’ve been there in a heartbeat if you’d asked. But you didn’t, did you? Not even Alan. Not even John.”

“John was helping,” says Virgil, sharply. “Just because he wasn’t on the ground, doesn’t mean he wasn’t working that same stretch of time. Why do you think Gordon had to wake him?”

“Stop side-stepping my point,” snaps Scott. “We’re a team, Virgil, you can’t work yourself to the point of exhaustion like that.”

“What choice did I have?”

“I should’ve been there, I could’ve-” began Scott, but Virgil merely raised his own voice.

“You couldn’t, Scott. What you’re angry about, I could turn right around and parrot back, you know. Don’t be a hypocrite.”

He fell back against the headboard, wishing he hadn’t woken up. Or at least that he wasn’t having this argument, not here and now.

And he recognises those eyes, the burning frustration at one’s own limitations and the rising fear for a brother mixed with torn compassion and understanding.

He’s mirrored Scott all his life, and it’s startling to see his own familiar expression on Scott’s face.

“Please, Virgil.”

He doesn’t say anything. He can’t make that kind of promise to Scott any more than Scott could to him. Not without breaking it.

Scott smiles sadly as he stands, accepting the silence.

He knows.

“Don’t even think about moving from this room for the next twenty-four hours. Just... get some rest, will you, Virg?”

He thinks he will.

#virgil tracy #gordon tracy #scott tracy #thunderbirds are go #i make no apologies for my rambly nature but also i'm about to fall asleep and that makes me chatty xD #also i get my first covid vaccine tomorrow viva la modern science get vaccinated kids #and adults i'm just used to only speaking to children sorry folks #ANYWAYS AGAIN THUNDERBIRDS AMIRITE :)#sometimes i fic

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saby-chan · 3 years

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Why the ATLA comics fail when it comes to Zuko and his family

To whom ever took their time to actually stop and read this post, thank you in advance for not skipping my post and willing to stay and read my humble opinion! I hope I won’t disappoint you!

As a relatively newcomer to the ATLA fanbase since 2020, I’ve come across a lot of interesting debates, comments and rants about the show, characters and fandom in general, but nothing has captivated me as much as the dumpster-on-fire that are the ATLA comics, more specifically: The Promise and The Search.

On one hand we have the hardcore fans who want them to be animated or serialized into the Netflix live action, praising the comics for the new views and subject matters they’ve brought into the show’s lore, while on the other hand we have the furious Azula fandom who is really angry for the fact that best girl didn’t get the redemption arc she rightfully deserved so much after the painful event that was the Last Agni Kai and the even more angry fans of the Urzai ship (yeah, the people who actually ship Zuko’s parents unironically) who hated the retconning of the show’s cannon since the comics basically took a huge fat dump on what was previously established as official cannon, when the Search entered the scene, but between these two sides, who has the more valid point? In the end, are the comics good cannon or bad written fanfiction?

Well... Here are my two cents on this matter since I myself happen to be an Azula and Zuko fan and had huge expectations from these comics (since I wanted more from my fave hot-headed fiery siblings duo) but ended up disappointed: the comics are indeed a huge mess and actually bad written fanfiction when it comes to Zuko and his family! Don’t click off yet, because I actually documented the reasons why exactly the comics fail in this area:

1. The author of these comics is not part of the BryKe duo

Yes, I would like to start with the fact that if you actually take a second to look up who in the heck took the time to write these two books, you won’t find Bryan, nor Mike, but a fellow man named Gene Yang. This is important because while the wiki of both The Promise and The Search state BryKe as the creators, that doesn’t mean that they were the actual minds behind these comics, but rather because ATLA is their “baby” and these comics involve their characters, over which they have copyright. Mr. Yang here is the actual brain behind the plot, as the main writer, which explains why we find huuuuge inconsistencies between the show lore and the comics, especially Zuko wise.

My main issue with Mr. Yang isn’t that he isn’t BryKe specifically, but because he did an unforgivable mistake in his writing process: He projected himself into Zuko’s character, based on the relationship Zuko had with his father. This is a documented fact from an interview in which he explains that he sees himself and his dad’s relationship into Zuko and Ozai and used that when writing their interactions and built Zuko’s character in the comics. And this is wrong because when you have an already very developed and complex character such as Zuko, you can’t just come in and be like “Oh, I was an angsty teen just like him in my teenage years, fighting with my dad and whatnot, so he must have the same thought process as me!”. NO! This is bad fanfiction writer behavior! Zuko has his own personality and philosophy, which he developed over the course of 3 seasons and is not defined by only 1 unfortunate aspect of his past, so you can’t just base his whole mindset and actions off of your own personal experience just because you had the same daddy issues he had!

2. The whole “Promise that you will kill me if I turn out like my dad!” nonsense in The Promise

Reason number 2 why these comics fail and go under the category of “bad fanfiction” is because they fail to convey the core essence of the source material. The whole point of Zuko’s redemption was that he realized the wrongdoings of his ancestors and his own mistakes. He outgrew his desire of gaining his father’s acknowledgement in favor of choosing his own destiny. Having him worry that he’ll turn into his father is utter nonsense and feels like poor angsty drama material for the sake of angst. At this point in time, Zuko has overcame that obstacle in his life a long time ago and should be at the level where he himself is the “Uncle Iroh” for other people and in no way someone concerned of becoming their own worst enemy!

Not only that, but the whole point of Aang’s journey and the story of the show as a whole was to teach us, the viewers, the importance of forgiveness, empathy and love in life. Aang didn’t spare Ozai, aka “the ultimate evil” just to flex in front of his pals or because he is a “ 12 y/o vegan pacifist monk kid”, but because he knew that killing someone, no matter of what they did or wanted to do, wouldn’t restore balance into the Universe, on the contrary, him killing the villain would have meant perpetuating the “endless cycle of hate” that plagued the world. So having Aang promise to kill his best friend in case “they turned into an evil maniac like their dad” contradicts Aang’s whole character and it’s a nonsense that throws into the trash what we’ve learnt throughout the entire TV series.

3. Azula deserved (and was supposed) to have a redemption ark

This might still be pure speculation, but I count it as a documented reason because I’ve heard quite a few people saying that there should’ve been a book 4 in the show, aka “Book 4: Air”, and no, it wasn’t The Search, but actually Zuko and Azula’s journey as Zuko helps his younger sister heal her broken mind by being her very own “Uncle Iroh”. Sure, they prolly were going to end up looking for Ursa, but the journey should’ve ended with them actually being happy and a family again and not the bs we got in The Search where a still very unstable Azula runs away and becomes the “Next Joker”! The only problem is that M. Night had to pop up and curse the world with his movie, which forced BryKe to delay the project (and eventually abandoned it in favor of Korra).

All in all, either if BryKe had this preplanned or not, it made sense for Azula to get a redemption ark, she deserved it because she was just a broken 14 y/o child! If Katara’s mom’s murderer deserved to be forgiven, so did this poor child who had no fault for what happened to her since she had a dysfunctional family! What Gene Yang did in his poorly written fanfiction was to just antagonize a broken child, turning her into a monster for the sake of friggin angst!

4. The Search is the worst of the two, being flat af character wise

And finally, getting to the point that I personally find the most annoying about these comics: The Search. This one... This one is a mess on a hella lot many levels, and just to list a few: characters are flat as fudge, being either black as vanta black (like Ozai and Azula) or pure white like Gene’s Gary Stue OC, Mr Ikem (or how I like to call him, IKEA man) and his ‘victim’ rendition of Ursa, Azula gets to suffer more for no reason (see reason number 3 to why I find this as a no no), Ursa’s whole character sucks ass (man, I could write a whole thesis on why Yang’s version of her is terrible and doesn’t match the strong woman we got in the show) and Zuko does morally wrong stuff (my man literally used his unstable sister to bribe their dad into spitting info about Ursa... Show Zuko would never do that!;-;)

Oh boy, as a person who’s seen a ton of anime and other media and read many books, I can’t begin on how much I despise this type of writing: flat characters are the worst!

ATLA characters in the show are nothing close to being flat! What I mean by that is that none of them fall perfectly into pure white (aka goodest of good characters with no imperfections) or vanta black (aka lowest and darkest twisted monsters out there), each of them are various shades of grey (like Aang who is a very light grey because despite being a very kind and nice character, he still isn’t a “perfect hero” since he ran away from his duties, practiced tax fraud with Toph, had insecurities and even threatened to kill people on ocassions like with the sand benders who took Appa) and this is a good choice because that prevents them from becoming what’s globally known as Mary Sues and Gary Stues (aka those either “perfect” characters with no flaws and/or unlimited power, or the twisted monsters full of flaws).

And the other reason why many other people hate The Search: it literally negates previously established cannon. And here comes my short essay on why this comic fails Zuko’s family (since we’ve already talked enough about Zuko himself).

In cannon and even interviews with BryKe, it was clearly stated that Zuko’s family was “once happy”. Where is this “once happy” family in The Search? All I see is pain, deception, lies and betrayal, nothing close to anything that resembles happiness. Okay, some of you might come in and say that “It’s because it was never the case! It was only lies and Zuko trying to convince himself that he didn’t live in hell forever!” and here is WHERE YOU WERE ALL WRONG! And why? Because, my dear fella, where were depicted the flashbacks of Zuko’s “happy family” in The Beach? Ember Island. And what do we know and had been even quoted in the show? "Like waves washing away the footprints on the sand, Ember Island gives everyone a clean slate. Ember Island reveals the true you." (direct quote from the show). Exactly, no matter who you are or how hard you try, you can’t hide your true self when you are on the Ember Island, best example being Azula, who’s impenetrable though shell cracked and revealed the true vulnerable child that was underneath. If Azula couldn’t resist the “spell of the island”, no one can. So this means that Zuko’s family was indeed happy once and yes, Ozai wasn’t always the douchebag we got to know in Season 3 (I have a whole nother essay on my theories regarding what could be his real past story and why he’s actually the “Zuko” of his generation, based on stuff I gathered from old wiki entries and character analyses I made, but that’s for another time, lemme know if ya’ll are interested).

And what I guess is the biggest proof why The Search did this family’s past trash is comics Ursa herself. My dude, if this woman were indeed the victim of years of endless abuse and never loved her husband, I guarantee you that she would’ve been closer to what we saw in Todoroki’s mom from BNHA and Zuko would’ve gotten that scar or even worse long before the Agni Kai, not from his “daddy dearest”, but from “mommy dearest” herself, because no sane woman would be soo affectionate and attached to a child that’s the perfect copy of their abuser, sepecially appearance wise (again see Todoroki’s mom’s case from BNHA because the stories are really similar) and in no way would’ve she been willing to sacrifice her life for said child’s sake. With this ocassion, I remind ya’ll folks that according to the ancient ATLA cannon wikis on Nick’s site, Ozai was designed with Zuko’s appearance in mind, being meant to be like a “grown up scarless version” of Zuko. So yeah, remember this with a grain of salt that whenever you simp over grown up Zuko, you involuntary simp for Ozai too.

So yeah, I guess this kinda concludes my “not so short” rant about why the comics fail and are bad fanfiction. Lemme hear your thoughts in the comments and if you agree, feel free to leave a like and even reblog.

Bye bye and remember that Momo is the true strongest character of the show!

Saby out.

#atla #avatar the last airbender #atla comics #zuko #azula #ozai #ursa #fire siblings #the promise #the search #atla rant

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tundrainafrica · 3 years

Text

Title: A Tale of Two Slaves (15/17)

Summary: “Soulmates don’t exist. Fate doesn’t exist. Everything is a choice.” And Levi could only watch as she made the choice for him.“

Reincarnation AU. Levi remembers everything from their past life. Hange doesn’t.

Note: Feedback is very much appreciated!

Link: AO3

Other Chapters: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14

“Belated happy birthday.” That first greeting was underwhelming in the deafening silence.

The room had been strangely quiet and it had been that way since he first entered, a far cry from the air during their past sessions. Shela should have waved one hand as he closed the door behind him. Even before he got to the seat, she should have been throwing multiple questions in succession.

What else did you get written?

Anything happening in school?

How’s Hange?

Oddly enough, Shela had only followed him with her eyes as he entered the room. The silence had felt like something pounding in his ears and her gaze had become something worth trifling his own consciousness with.

To top it all off, it had ended so anticlimactically with one greeting that Levi was left utterly confused as he sat on the chair in front of her.

What do you want her to do? Levi found himself asking silently as he matched Shela’s stare with his own.

Her blue eyes though were still warm, her eyes wide with what could have been curiosity. Levi started to suspect that it had all been a figment of his imagination that only a while ago they were watching and observing. Even as he settled on his seat, he sensed there were still questions up in the air that Levi could have grasped if he reached hard enough.

“Is that why you called me here? A free birthday session?” Levi asked.

“I just thought it was a good first greeting.” Shela’s voice was casual, innocent, and almost annoying.

Something wanted to burst out from inside him. That excuse of a greeting had only done the bare minimum to help it. In fact, it had done worse. It poked at him, whispering to him to figure out for himself what the hell that something was..

He was in no mood for a guessing game though. And he hadn’t been for the past few weeks. “Then why did you call me?” He asked. It had been a tall order to match her gaze, to come up with the right answers to questions she hadn’t even asked yet.

Shela shrugged. “I just wanted to check on my favorite patient.”

“I haven’t been your patient in a while.”

“We had scheduled sessions. You just didn’t go to them.”

“I was busy…. Besides, don’t you have anything better to do than chase one patient?”

Shela raised one eyebrow. “Don’t you have anything better to do than to come here? You had a choice to answer that message and believe me, you’re free to leave if you want to Levi.” She gestured her hands towards the door in one long exaggerated movement.

One movement that only served to sink Levi deeper into the sofa chair. In those few seconds as Levi leaned back, he saw once again the gradual shift in her gaze from something innocent to something cold and observing, and it was as if she was studying some sort of a specimen. And he was the specimen.

He was certain that was the exact same gaze he felt as he went through the door. But it wasn’t at all unfamiliar. Those had been the eyes she gave after all when she had asked the precise questions that broke the icebergs inside him into chunks instead of winnowing through the hard surface.

Why did that gaze in particular have him tense up at that exact moment? Levi didn’t have to wait too long for an answer though.

“You haven't written in a while,” she said.

“I deleted it.”

Shela didn’t look too surprised though. “Why?” She asked.

“It just seemed like a useless thing to do.”

“Why would you say it was useless?

“I was wasting a lot of time with it.” “So you did continue writing after our last meeting.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“Just a guess… You only deleted the file a few weeks ago so it must mean you were thinking about it.”

Levi’s eyes widened and soon, he was starting to rack his brain for an explanation. “I don’t remember sharing you the file…”

“Hange told me what happened.”

“So you asked her about me?”

Shela shook her head. “No Levi, she approached me. She was worried about you.”

Hange. Levi found himself taking a glance at his phone in the silence that followed, the third message from the top of his inbox. Last touched weeks before.

He had decided to spend the holidays and his birthday back home. He liked to tell himself that he had only done that because with his hectic student-athlete schedule the past few years, he never had the chance to spend more than three days worth of holidays back home. When at home though, all he had done was lock himself in his bedroom for days on end.

Levi couldn’t convince himself for long. He had only gone home to avoid Hange, to avoid any reminder of the past few months and to avoid the almost nagging regret at having deleted the file.

With the file gone, he had felt like something was missing, painfully missing.

“And I’m concerned about what’s going on between you two,” Shela said.

“You’re paid to be concerned.”

“Oh? So you think I only became a therapist to get paid? Believe me Levi if I didn’t care I wouldn’t have called you here today. I could have gotten another patient and have been paid this extra hour.”

“Then why are you here? Why did you ask me to come here?” Levi felt stinging behind his eyes and a knot in his throat as he spoke up. A part of him actually contemplated leaving at that moment, yet it had been brushed away so quickly by something else, an odd feeling of desperation. He wanted something from her. Hell, he wanted something but he couldn’t for the life of him figure out what it was.

“I told you, I was worried and I wanted to make sense of this with you,” Shela answered. The answer had been underwhelming to say the least especially with the way she narrowed her eyes at him.

And if Levi hadn’t been so desperate for any sort of closure, for that particular reaction he so looked for, maybe he would have just stood up and left.

Shela wasn’t done though. “Are those memories trapping you?”

Memories? Since when had it been about memories? “What memories?”

“Memories of Commander Hange. Captain Levi,” she said confidently, as if they were her memories to begin with. She spoke in such a way that she could have even been talking about real people. Very real people.

Such confidence, such forcefulness and her attempt to shoehorn all that into his reality sent a sudden sting through his chest. If Commander Hange was real, that meant she really died, that meant she really burned alive up there in the sky.

Levi would have preferred that image to have just been a figment of his imagination. “They’re stories.”

“Yet for a while you wanted to believe they were memories right? So what happened in between Levi? What did I miss?”

“I realized… They weren’t real…”

Shela let out an exasperated sigh. “You’re still trying to deny it huh? You’ve always been difficult to crack…” She cleared her throat. “So, Hange told me, the commander died. Then you deleted the file and now you don’t wanna talk about it right?”

Levi didn’t reply.

Shela continued to speak, seeming unfazed. “Here is something I noticed about you. When you injured your knee, your first instinct had been to insist you’re okay then soon you shut up and find something else to cling to--- writing. When writing started to hurt, suddenly you decide to delete the document then tell me everything’s fine. What are you gonna do now? You’re gonna find a new hobby?”

Academics, jumping. He thought to himself. Levi had spent the past few days isolated in his room back home, finishing his own thesis and following the jumping tournaments of his own teammates. As if there was much else to do anyway.

Shela rested her chin on her hands and stared straight ahead. Her eyes seemed to focus on something behind him, as if the answers were found beyond the wide window behind him. “I started to think to myself… Why did Hange’s death of all things hurt you enough to cause that same grief? I read your story, you could have mourned Erwin’s death, you could have mourned your Petra's death, mourned Isabel or Farlan’s death. Why Hange’s? Why did she push you to the edge enough to delete the file?”

“It built up,” Levi answered. That was the most natural explanation right? Or at least the most natural he could think of.

Shela nodded, seeming satisfied with the answer. “Let’s move on to the next question then. Do you think that Hange’s death was any special? If there was something that made it the tipping point in the first place?”

“Can’t a tipping point be something small?”

Shela shook her head. “Tipping points can be small I agree but remember, when you told me you weren’t going to write anymore? It was as if you knew what would be happening next. You looked terrified.”

Somewhere along the way, the remnants of Shela’s gentle facade had completely fallen, replaced by something stone cold, yet confident and almost mocking. Levi was starting to get a little more irritated at such assumptions. Regardless of whether they were true or not.

“So tell me Levi, what makes Hange so special? What made Captain Levi so hesitant to write the next part? Then what made this Levi here want to delete it soon after writing it?”

Levi only had to look behind him, at the sky just outside the window to articulate it for himself. It was surprisingly easy to grasp. It was a simple feeling after all that never left. “It hurt,” he admitted. He could have said more but he had found himself at a loss for words a second later as he imagined the rumbling before him and that one silhouette that disappeared into the blue.

“And if you’re that invested in Hange’s death. I’m sure Erwin’s death, your special squad’s death, should have hurt as much right?”

“They hurt too,” Levi added. He started to become a little more aware of himself. They hurt too but as much as Hange’s death? Not enough for sure to even have him consider deleting the file.

“Then why didn’t you delete the file if they hurt? From what I could tell Captain Levi was inseparable from Erwin.”

Levi let his eyes fall to the empty coffee table in front of him, searching for something worth a distraction among the pockmarks of the wood. Shela’s eyes were getting sharper by the second.

“I’ll ease you into my theory slowly and feel free to tell me if I’m wrong...you and Hange were inseparable right?”

Captain Levi and squad leader Hange Zoe. They were from different teams but they did hang out a lot together. With that quick recall, Levi nodded.

“And you lost a lot of people in your life… So I started to wonder, if Captain Levi spent so much time keeping his distance, being aloof, completely aware that the everyone could end up dead, why did he cling to Hange?”

“Captain Levi cared about a lot of people.”

“I wasn’t denying that Levi. I was asking you, why did he cling to Hange? Why were they inseparable? Attraction? Mutual Support? Love? All three at once?”

The last three words had been things Levi found himself musing over as she continued to talk. But then, he couldn’t figure out for himself the answer. “We couldn’t fall in love. There was a war.” Those words had come out on their own. He only realized seconds later that it didn't answer the question.

Shela gave him a cat-like grin. “We? Huh?”

Levi cleared his throat. “They---,” he corrected.

“Okay, you’re beating around the bush a little too much. I’ll tell you my theory and if you don’t make the effort to figure it out for yourself, this will be my assumption. You didn't think she’d die. You didn’t expect her to die so you took her for granted. Am I wrong, Captain Levi?”

“Took her for granted…” Levi almost spat out those words as he said it. “You can’t just assume that…”

“By take for granted, I meant ‘I can get past pain, death, loss, as long as she’s there’ and for what? You just assumed she was immortal didn’t you? That she couldn't die, since she's always been there. And so the moment she died, suddenly grief hit you like a bus.” She straightened herself up on the seat. “Maybe you thought you would have died first?” Shela pressed.

“I was dying in the woods. I thought she’d be the one to survive the whole time.”

“But you know, it’s not uncommon for people to be this way. To have this person there and just assume that person's immortal, or to think ‘as long as this person is here’ I’ll be okay. It’s only natural that humans find hope in the living. For example,a lot of parents do that too with their own kids and that’s why parents losing their kids are one of the most devastating cases of grief I’ve encountered…” She trailed off. “But I digress, There’s one question about you I’ve been exploring for a while and I’ve always wanted to ask. You might not know the answer yourself but it’s worth a try.” Shela paused and looked at him expectantly.

Even when he sat on her chair, frozen by her cold stare, he still managed to force a nod.

“Why do you remember? Why is Captain Levi forcing his own memories to live on? Unless he had some unresolved feelings right?”

Attraction? Mutual Support? Love? You took her for granted.

Even when moving, Levi let those words, those suggestions run free in his mind. The feeling, the ache in his chest, the weight on his shoulders and the knot at his throat that only evolved into some tremble in his lips. It was everything at once, Levi was sure.

Maybe, I took her for granted. Maybe I should have stopped her. Levi thought to himself. But he wasn’t going to say it out loud yet.

“And something tells me you don’t regret much Captain Levi Ackerman,” Shela said. The gentleness in her face was back. “But maybe if you allowed yourself to regret back then, maybe all these feelings of regret, grief… They wouldn’t have bundled up now, you wouldn’t be hurting like this. You didn't let yourself experience grief and loss… You didn’t let yourself regret even in your deathbed. Now, everything just comes pouring out in your next life because you just let it build up inside you?” She had phrased it as a question but as Shela enunciated those words, Levi couldn’t help but see deep thought in them, as if she had discerned and answered the question for herself already.

“How can you assume that?” Levi challenged. It was a weak attempt, at that point he was starting to get more and more convinced. It had just been a matter of reality pulling him away from an almost ethereal concept.

Soon, he did grasp it, the thing he had been looking for, that one feeling he had been desiring since the start of the conversation.

It manifested first as a knowing smile. And before Levi could respond, grip on to some decent comeback to her long winded tirade, he found himself hesitating, focusing instead on how his shoulders dropped and how the wind was knocked out of himself slowly and the quick movement as he shifted his weight to his hands pressed on the sofa.

“I’m not assuming how you feel. I’m laying out some information, coming up with a theory and leaving it in the air for you to decide whether it’s true or not.” She didn’t continue from there. Instead she dropped her clipboard on the table and walked towards one of the bookshelves, pulling out a blue binder.

“What if it's too detailed to pass up as a reasonable theory?” Levi managed to say. He found himself counting the lines on the wooden table in front of him. In a daze, he had been too distracted to reorganize for himself, Shela’s theory. And he started to even doubt his own ability to respond.

“I’ve been seeing other patients, I think I’ve encountered enough to make some fair guesses. Besides, I told you I’ve been studying reincarnation for a while.” She dropped the blue binder in front of him on the table. “But you still think it’s too detailed to be believable huh? What if I told you I experienced it too? That's why I know the details."

Levi could only stare at the blue binder. He only got so far as to hover his hand over it before he hesitated. He looked up at her, following her as she sat back on the chair in front of him.

“What are you waiting for?” She asked.

“Should I open this?”

“I wouldn’t have put it there if I didn’t want you to read it Levi,” She was looking at him expectantly as if she was excited for him to see what was inside.

Levi started to wonder why he even hesitated. Regardless, he still went at it slowly. The plastic cover on the binder was warm to the touch and for a second or so, he allowed himself to pinch at it, see where the plastic would give into the pressure.

Maybe he had been on that for a second longer than he should have. He was still hesitating. He was still nervous.

“What are you scared of? It’s a binder,” Shela said.

“What’s inside?”

“It’s my research on reincarnation.”

“For your PhD?”

Shela paused for a second before answering. “I created two pieces of writing for my PhD, something stomachable by the scientific body and something just for myself,” Shela explained. “Because I honestly don’t think anyone would have believed it either if I was telling them I was seeing very clear visions of a past life.”

Do you really believe these were memories from a past life? Levi muttered. For a second, he had wondered if he had said it loud enough for her to hear. But when he opened the binder, he quickly realized he didn’t need an answer.

The title of the work was generic, easily forgettable. But the subtitle underneath and the author’s name spoke to him in ways Levi couldn’t fully comprehend just yet. Comprehension came quickly after running his eyes over the title then the subtitle underneath

He read her name out loud. Her first name settled at the back of his mouth and he couldn’t be too sure if he had pronounced it correctly. But when he said it a second time, the name rolled off his tongue too easily, as if it was all too familiar. His mind had just taken a split second longer to process it.

From my past life? Levi thought to himself. At that point, he couldn’t be too sure. It had seemed like too distant of a memory. He never had to use her name with her after all. He only remembered her having taught him to pronounce it eons ago.

Her last name next to it was all too familiar, yet surprising. And Levi had little to no problem, saying it for himself, even when still recovering from that small bout of surprise.

“Ackerman’s my maiden name,” she explained. “And I’m sure you saw it already, my first name is a little old fashioned.” She didn’t seem so self conscious though, as if she was aware that many lives ago, she had been teaching him to say it back when it had been just the both of them in the underground city.

Levi said her whole name out loud again. As soon as he looked back up at her, putting name to face, he found himself transported back to that small room, running his hand over her curly black hair and locking gazes with those piercing cold blue eyes. Then, they were his only source of comfort, his sanctuary.

And he never did figure out if he said it right back then in the underground city. Just to make sure though, he read it aloud in front of her again, willing himself to say it clearly and firmly.

“Written by: Kuchel Ackerman.”

***

Bookends. That’s how it seemed at least. Levi had two pages written out by that night.

He had his earliest childhood memories up there, everything as visceral as possible from the sights, to the scents, to her touch. With not too much context though, his earliest memories stuck to him as comforting sensations more than anything. Within an hour of writing, he gave up and concluded that he never did remember much of it.

Right under those early childhood sensations, articulated to the best of his capabilities, were memories after Kuchel’s death, training to fight in the underground. Then, written below that were narrations on life after the war, his remaining years on a wheelchair, travelling around Marley, joining the peace ambassadors on occasional trips.

There was no transition between them, nothing more glaring than paragraph breaks.

They were two sections with little to no connection to each other. But Levi at least knew for himself, that in-between would have been those long winded narrations on his life in the survey corps and his life during the war against Marley.

For some reason, he wasn’t too bothered about the missing parts though. As if he had already accepted for himself that he made the decision to delete it.

Finishing what he started. That’s what it felt like and that’s all there was to it. Reading Shela’s own work after all had him somehow accepting that they were memories more than dreams.

Something that had to be immortalized somewhere/ The acceptance though that the grief, the loss and the pain were memories not dreams was slow going. The dreams had been painful, realizing they were someone’s reality, only aggravated it.

Kuchel’s words echoed in his head. The last questions she said before they separated that day. Back then, she had escorted him to the door of her office and they had stood there for a few minutes before parting ways.

Can you let it go?

I don’t even know what I’m trying to let go of. For all he knew, something died in him back in that day in Odiha. Consequently, there were emotions he couldn’t even access, as if part of life had ended for him in that single moment.

You can’t access or comprehend those emotions because you didn’t let yourself feel it. You didn't ride through it.

And she had pointed it out then. Captain Levi had never been the most emotional person because he had never allowed himself to feel.

That’s your homework. Ride through the pain, the loss, the grief, the regret. And when the time is right, you’ll be able to let it go. I know you will.

Opening the laptop wasn’t easy. Staring at the blank document sheet and deciding for himself the first words to say took ages longer than what he would have liked.

As soon as he had decided for himself that he was going to write though, everything came out so seamlessly. He only had to hover his hands over the keyboard, feel for the right keys, for them to start moving on their own. It turned out writing with little regard for grammar and punctuation or for unwelcome emotional reactions, was oddly liberating.

He had started off with bullet points but soon enough the sentences were too long and the bullet points were rendered useless. Eventually, he scrapped the bullet points altogether.

“There was a peace treaty,” Levi said aloud as he typed it out. “Armin and the others, they became peace ambassadors…”

“And Mikasa…” Levi trailed off as he remembered. She was back in Paradis, back in their old town of Shiganshina where Eren’s head was laid to rest. He thought back to Mikasa and for a second he almost felt guilty for even questioning her decision to stay with Eren. “If this was how it felt for you, I wouldn’t be surprised why you’d be hesitant to leave him,” Levi said, he leaned back on his chair, stretched out his good leg and stared blankly at the ceiling above him.

The pain was similar, he was sure. He had seen flashes of visiting an empty grave as he wrote. The white ceiling above him and the contrast it provided made those dark memories all the more vivid.

The face he had been longing to see though, as he stared at the grave then, was just a phone call away. And before he even noticed it himself, he had reached for the phone next to his laptop, turning it screen up.

He had no one else to call so her number and their message thread was still one of the first on his inbox. Even if he hadn’t opened it in weeks.

Of course, it would. Hange had sent messages multiple times the past few weeks..

December 23 8:15 AM

I heard you went home.

December 25 12:01 AM

Happy Birthday! :D

January 1 12:00 AM

Happy New Year! Wishing you a bright new year and a speedy recovery

January 3 6:21 AM

Wanna talk when you get back?

January 5 2:23 AM

Hey, I’m sorry about everything. I should have been more sensitive to your needs. Even if you don’t wanna meet after this, it’s fine. I had a great time working with you and I’ll remember these past few months :D. I’m just sorry I couldn’t be more helpful.

Just assure me please. Did you get to talk to someone? I hope you did. I was just concerned. But it doesn’t matter too much now. As long as you’re okay.

Levi didn’t scroll up past those last few messages. The rest had been paragraphs worth of apologies even he didn’t want to ponder.

Besides, there were more important things to him then, like finding the right words to say as a response to that latest message.

He sensed closure there. Yet, he wasn’t ready for closure. His mind was scrambling for some way to reopen the conversation then.

It was late at night though. Levi was exhausted and impatient. He was sure if he sent something and slept it off, he should wake up to a message the next morning.

So the message he sent then had been automatic, typical. It didn’t require too much thought to compose.

January 9 11:17 PM

Hey, when are you free to talk?

He decided then, he could leave it to his future self to come up with another response in the morning.

***

Levi’s sleep was light, light enough that the quick ping of his phone was more than enough to wake him up. He was awake enough to reach for his phone on the side table, pull it under the blankets with him and open his messaging application.

It wasn’t Hange who had messaged.

“Coach?” Levi muttered as he sat up in bed.

Sorry if this is pretty last minute. Mikasa agreed to meet at the track today this afternoon around 3-3:30. You think you could make it?

Levi typed a short text accepting the invite and sent it out.

He pulled at the curtains of his window. The sun was out already. He stared back at his phone at the upper right of the screen.

9:23 AM.

He was oddly disappointed. Other plans meant he didn’t have to think about the ignored message at the top of his inbox. He had sent the message at eleven last night. It had been almost twelve hours since then.

Was she taking a really long slumber? Or was she just ignoring him?

Nothing much to do until three so Levi opened his laptop and worked on his own thesis. Working on something as utterly boring and monotonous as a school requirement though didn’t make time run faster.

Levi was sure he had gone through at least fifty articles of doping cases among professional athletes. When he looked back at the clock though, he saw only two hours had passed.

He ordered lunch. Time went notably faster when he was just scrolling through his social media, yet excruciatingly slower still than what he was used to. And the main culprit? Hange’s online status and her activity on social media.

Hange was still liking photos which meant one thing: She was ignoring messages.

He went down to pick up his delivery from the dorm lobby and on the way up, he took a detour. All the way to Hange’s room on the other side of the building, a five minute walk for most people. For Levi it could have been ten minutes or it could have been ages. He still had that awkward gait which made the journey all the more frustrating.

The hallways were quiet but it wasn’t unexpected. School didn’t start for another two weeks. Hange’s room was along the quiet hallway and Hange had always been loud. So the stark contrast had been unsettling to say the least.

What do you expect her to do? Run down the halls screaming your name? He thought to himself. For some reason, that was what he was expecting and that was what he would’ve liked.

He took advantage of that silence. He padded lightly through the hallway, attempting to segregate the sounds of the creak of the floorboard with whatever he sounds he could make out from the rooms.

Nothing much. All silence. Of course it would be silent though, that wasn’t Hange’s room yet.

Her room was towards the end of the hall, the third to the last door to the right. Eventually he got tired of keeping his footsteps and his awkward gait light and he found himself scurrying--- at least to the best of his own injured abilities--- towards the door.

He willed himself not to make a sound. He wasn’t sure though if he had been the sneakiest.

He was still quiet enough at least to hear something. He had to press his ear to the door to hear it clearly, the rhythmic clacking of the keyboard, the sound of books hitting the desk and a loud yawn that had been very much Hange’s.

The loud yawn in particular sent a twinge up his spine and an ache in his chest and Levi had to swallow hard to get his bearings. He missed her.

He knocked on the door once. Then twice to make sure she heard it. Then he waited five long seconds for any response.

There was no response. He slapped the door. Still no answer.

Within a few seconds more, he started to get self conscious. She didn’t reply to his messages while being glaringly online. She was blatantly ignoring his knocks on the door. Did she actually want to see him?

And Levi was starting to notice the growling of his stomach. It was enough of a reminder that he hadn’t even had breakfast that morning.

A little disheartened, he made the journey back to his room.

***

The coldest point of winter was coming. Levi would have noticed it by just looking at the calendar. It had been a while since he stood outside long enough to let the cold sink deep under his skin.

And he was only reminded of such weather patterns when he stepped on to the open air track which was understandably empty. Two in the afternoon shouldn’t be too cold but that day in particular had Levi shivering, his teeth chattering in such an unfamiliar way.

That would have been expected. He didn’t spend much time outdoors anymore, Maybe that had explained that sudden, unfamiliar susceptibility to the cold. He could never be too sure though.

He scanned the field for any sign of Mikasa or his coach. What first caught his eye then had been the horizontal bar, set up where it always was. He hadn't returned to the field since his injuryand seeing the bar like it always had been, sent a wave of nostalgia and longing through him.

For a while, he was fixated and for a few seconds more, he vacillated between sitting on the bleachers or walking to the middle of the track where it was set up. Alone in the field though with nothing much else to do though, he opted to pass the time reminiscing

The bar was set high enough for Levi to have to reach up but still low enough for him to be able to grip it hard. It was cold to the touch. It was a fair distance away from him and it hovered over him, masquerading as something almost unattainable.

But maybe it was unattainable. Levi found himself strangely sad at the distance, still unable to fathom that only a few months ago, that bar had been a very easy height to clear.

“Hey… Your coach said you’d be here.”

Levi quickly turned towards the voice.

Mikasa stood before him in joggers and a sweatshirt. Her hair clipped back, red blotches on her cheek. Levi only had to listen to her breaths and notice the way she curled her lips as she took steady breaths to conclude that she had been running.

“Coach is training you now? In the middle of winter?”

She shook her head. “No, I wanted to try out your track for myself. He left the club room and the equipment room open and told me to just try it out while he goes out to check on your team.”

“What made you change your mind?”

She avoided his gaze. “To be honest I’m still not completely sure about this yet. Your coach knows I’m not. But I thought I’d try it out, get to know your school more.”

“It’s a good choice,” Levi said.

For a second, the two were silent. Levi chose that moment to look back up at the bar in front of him but he could see from his peripherals, Mikasa still hadn’t looked away from him. So he waited.

She spoke up eventually. “Hey, about what happened at the diner… I’m sorry about that. I know I shouldn’t have said those things to you. I heard about your injury a while back, even before we met. Even if I don’t like jumping that much either, I think it would have hurt too…”

I’m fine. That had been his first instinct and he had opened his mouth ready to say it.

That’s your homework. Ride through the grief, the loss, the pain. Kuchel’s voice tore into his train of thought.

Will that actually help? He had been riding through that grief last night as he wrote, he had let it wash over him then. If he had been a little more introspective, he would have realized although it did hurt, it wasn’t a heavy, crushing type of hurt. It was a pain that still allowed him motions.

It granted him enough control to still function as a person. “Yeah, you’re right. I’m not.” But it was still hard to admit. “It takes time,” Levi added as he looked back up at the horizontal bar and behind it the clear blue sky. The color blue was bright, warm yet melancholic.

Mikasa didn’t reply. Her stare though seemed more focused. When Levi looked at her, made eye contact, comprehension washed over him. He knew she understood. And he caught that comprehension quickly like some contagion.

He spoke up again. “Eren means a lot to you huh?”

“We grew up together, lived along the same street. We went to the same school since kinder. And since we were young, he'd get agitated a lot, pick a lot of fights and I always had to look out for him.” Mikasa put one hand behind her neck and craned her neck to look up at the sky. “I almost hesitated to even try jumping since I wouldn’t be able to protect him as much anymore…”

“Why did you start jumping then?”

“After I got scouted in sophomore year, Eren convinced me to try it. He was the one who wanted me to widen my world.”

“And he talked to you again about this?”

“He and Armin did. They told me to consider this.”

“Then it should be an easy decision.”

Mikasa smiled. “I know it’s supposed to be an easy decision. But how I feel about Eren doesn’t make it easy.. I’ve known Eren my whole life and don’t get me wrong, I’ve never lost him but... Somehow, I can imagine how it would feel like to lose him. So I don’t wanna let go.”

“But losing people, losing things that are precious to us is a fact of life. We’re gonna deal with it anyway. Besides, you’re not losing him, he’ll make college in a year or so.”

“He won’t make Paradis University.”

“You’ll have him on the weekends.”

“But will I be able to handle that set up?” Mikasa met his gaze again. She never lost Eren or so that was what she said.

Will I be able to handle it? Yet why was Levi seeing grief in her eyes? Why did such a strong wave of comprehension hit him almost violently in that moment where their eyes met?

Empathy? It was an easy answer to pick up for himself. But maybe it ran deeper than that, because suddenly, Levi was aware of the ground under him, the cold air caressing him, the loud rustle of leaves. He was feeling everything at once. And with it, he felt the twinge in his stomach, the pang in his chest, the knot in his throat.

The grief never left. The loss never left. And the pain gripped him tightly then. Letting himself feel it had left him with a strange bout of confidence, and a wave of liberation that seemed to stick and when Levi spoke up again, he wondered if he was speaking for himself or for her.

“You won’t know if you can handle it until you ride through it yourself.”

Mikasa seemed convinced.

His coach had arrived a few minutes after the conversation, incessantly apologizing about the traffic. The usual pleasant exchange followed.

“How are you?”

“Slowly learning to walk again, focusing on academics.,” Levi answered. “How’s the team?” They were preparing for nationals. He didn’t need an answer. There were still things his coach knew though which couldn’t be researched and he was still invested in any response his coach could give.

“They’re preparing for nationals, training in the indoor gym.” The indoor gym a few minute car ride from their campus. Levi had been training there every winter and it was easy to picture the drills they were probably doing then.

It soon evolved into some unnecessary athlete propaganda which Levi surmised was to entice MIkasa.

“The scouts for the national team have been watching Elijah closely. He’ll probably be getting an invitation soon after nationals are over,” he said, soon after the pleasantries had died out into an awkward silence. Greg turned to Levi. “They were asking about you too. You’d have gotten the invite. No one’s forgotten about you.”

Was that for Mikasa? Or for him? Soon, Levi started to ask. Was that supposed to cheer him up? Levi couldn’t gauge intention though and he found himself looking away as he started to feel the beginnings of a loss of control.

Mikasa may have sensed it. Or at least sensed that moment as a good time to speak up. “Could you tell me more about your athletics program? Levi told me a lot about his experience here and I think I might just be interested.”

The digression and the exchange that followed was quicker and more enthusiastic than something Levi would have easily caught on to. Suddenly Greg was shifting between enthusiasm and relief. And it evolved to some offer to tour her of the school. Then some mentions about dinner.

Levi though was making excuses. The campus was too wide for him to walk through injured. It was getting a little too cold. And with the peak of winter nearing, it might just even get dark in the next hour or so. His main reason for staying wasn’t among those though.

He had been sneaking glances at the bar and at the blue sky behind it. While the field was empty, while the school was lifeless and while the bar and the equipment was set up in front of him, he realized he might just have some unfinished business on the field.

“You guys go ahead. I’ll fix up the equipment here.”

“You sure?” Greg asked as he looked pointedly at Levi’s knee.

“It’s the least I can do. Besides, it won’t be too heavy after I disassemble it.” Or at least it wasn’t so heavy when Levi had carried it before. He turned to Mikasa. “Go ahead, enjoy the day,” Levi said, nodding his head reassuringly.

It didn’t take them much convincing. Greg was too excited and Mikasa started to seem eager as well to see the school.

And Levi wanted them to leave. Alone in the empty field with the equipment all set up, brought forth within him some unwanted feelings yet feelings which Levi wanted to process for himself one last time.

That’s your homework. Ride through the pain, the loss, the grief, the regret.

He was riding through it already and he was at least trying to find hope in that dreadful journey that left him almost desolate. Along the way, as he started to process the emotions, he fixated on the view of the bar, and maybe just a flicker of someone flying through the blue sky behind him. He soon stumbled upon one conclusion, one conclusion that Kuchel had suggested yet he had never really thought too much for himself until that moment.

At that moment, Levi let the emotions speak for him.

Regret is an emotion. Even if you say you don’t regret, even if you come out as the type not to regret, for sure you’ve regretted things right? It was a feeling you willingly chose to brush away. Kuchel had said then, as they had gone through her case study.

Levi had done his part to brush it away, to find something else to entertain him and to only hope that the emotions leave. But they never left. The aches that came with the view in front of him only proved it to him even before, and in that moment, it continued to prove it to him much faster and in more numerous ways than he could count.

So how do I stop feeling this?

You don’t. You can’t control how you feel. You can only control how you process it. The emotions leave when they want.

But when the time is right, you’ll be able to let it go...Before you know it, you’ll find closure.

Around that time, she had mentioned the word 'closure'. But closure had always been a vague word. It manifested as something different for everyone else. Levi soon realized as he started to move, it was a word that could never actually be contained to a black ink on white paper, or to spoken word.

For Levi, it had manifested at something he only sensed as something hazy. He thought he had control of his body then but along the way, it had felt like his body had assessed it for himself, the circumstances that he could only take advantage of at that moment.

He was alone in an empty field, the empty field he hadn’t visited in ages. The equipment was all set up for him. And if he closed his eyes then, allow himself to ignore the biting cold wind, the bare trees. If he just focused on the bar and the blue sky behind him, he could pretend it was summer again and before that, spring, and before that the last summer… Every single season—hell—every single day he had spent jumping over the bars.

His body was moving on its own, as if it understood the concept of closure before he did. He made his way to the clubroom.

I never did clean up after the injury. Levi thought to himself. His spare clothes, his spare pair of shoes and his face towel were all still in the locker, as they had been every time before. It was surprising, he had assumed someone would have cleaned it up.

He didn’t think too much of it though. There were other things he was raring to do. At that moment, he was just grateful nobody had half a mind to remind him, or he probably wouldn’t have been able to go through with his plans.

Levi put on his shoes, his right then his left. He changed to jogging pants and to the sweatshirt left in his locker. And for a second he did some test movements with it.

It was baggier than what he would have wanted, but he wasn’t in a competition, Levi could be as lenient as he wanted about it.

Beggars can’t be choosers. Levi thought to himself as he rolled up the jogger on his left leg and stared at the braced knee underneath. He could walk, he was sure. Yet just imagining himself removing the brace, left an unsettling feeling inside him.

He ended up pondering it for a while, a while longer than he was aware of. Soon enough, he decided on wearing it on the way back to the track, to just give his knee time to prepare.

On the way back, he passed by the equipment storage and he found himself thinking a lot harder about it. He looked back to the equipment in the field. Mikasa had mentioned setting it up. She had set up the pad underneath, but it had been an incomplete set up. Or so that was what Levi recalled.

There’s supposed to be a pad on top. Levi recalled. He opened the storage room to see the weather cover and the top pad, strewn on the side.

Lugging both the weather cover and the top pad would take two trips. Levi approximated. But did he have the time for two trips?

His coach was unpredictable. And just the idea of them coming back to catch him attempting such, was something Levi didn’t want to imagine then. So he folded up the weather cover and dragged the mat behind him, ignoring the uncomfortable twinge in his knee.

“Hey, you need help?”

Levi hadn’t expected anyone to be there. And of all people, Armin? “What are you doing here?”

“Mikasa told me she’s going out to dinner with your coach so she asked me to pick up her things from the club room…” Armin started. “I was here on campus already so…”

Levi softened his gaze, only realizing when Armin had trailed off quickly, avoiding his stare that he had probably been glaring. “You’re meeting Hange?” He asked, willing his voice to mellow.

“She’s been busy with thesis and I offered to help her out… So I’m picking up the stuff and will be meeting her soon after,” he explained. “But I arrived a bit early and I have some extra time." He offered his hand out to help.

Armin was extra hands. Extra hands meant time could go faster. And for sure, he could get Armin to hide his next set of plans.

“So, why are you bringing this to the field?” He asked, as they walked along the dirt path to the field.

Levi shrugged. “I guess I wanna try jumping one more time before I leave it for good.”

“But…”

Levi didn’t have to look at him to know what he wanted to suggest. “You’re thinking about my injury huh? It’ll be fine. I just wanna get a few jumps in.”

“It might be better to wait a few months?” Armin suggested.

“The team is training outside. The field is empty. The equipment is all set up and I’m graduating soon. When else but now?” Levi asked. Thinking back to it soon after he asked though, he could have waited a few months, maybe go back to school to just try it out one last time. But as they turned the corner and as the field opened up before him, Levi only had to look once again at the pale blue sky that stretched endlessly behind the field to be reminded, it ran deeper than that.

“You can wait a few months… I’m sure your coach---” Armin started, as if he had read his mind.

“When else, but now?” Levi pressed. The sky was starting to make its slow transition to purple, then. Orange and bright red were the next colors beyond that. And Levi started to see some of the steam, the colossal titans that marched forward slowly but surely. That one flicker in the sky though, caught his attention. She was concealed behind steam, and flashes of orange and bright red.

How much time did he have?

Armin took a deep breath. “This might sound weird. I’m probably the last person you wanna get advice from… I’m younger than you… and we just met… But Hange probably just rubbed off on me but you know, I guess I’m worried. I heard about your injury months ago, before we even met, Mikasa told me… It was in the rumor mill of the high jump community.”

So what?

“It must have been devastating huh? To lose something like that... Something that has been a constant in your life for five years even ten years…”

Devastating. Was that the right word?

“You must have regretted a lot…”

Did I let myself regret it? He willed himself not to regret then. It was a conscious decision to let the emotions flow free. Soon he had to admit— albeit uncomfortably— he regretted it.

“Then I thought of Mikasa. I actually talked to her about this, about Eren. And you know I was able to convince her that there is a life beyond Eren.”

“So let me predict, you wanna say there’s life beyond jumping?” Life beyond Hange?

Armin nodded. “I know it sounds generic. You probably heard it a million times before but… That was what Hange told us when you left…”

Levi didn’t have to listen to Armin quote it to hear it in her voice.

But… You understand, don’t you? Everyone you meet will be parted from you one day. I know it’s difficult to accept. It’s hard to stay sane, living like that. It’s painful. So painful. I know that.

But even so… We need to move forward…

Armin continued. “Move forward… because the world was wider than Eren. And I guess in your case, the world is wider than jumping. Now that I think about it, maybe you and Mikasa were facing similar things.”

It’s hard to stay sane, living like that. It’s painful. So painful. But we need to keep moving forward.

“Keep moving forward… But that’s what I did,” Levi said.

“But when Mikasa brought up the injury, I noticed it and i saw it still hurt you a lot— I’m sorry if I’m just making wild guesses here. I might be wrong.”

“What else did Hange say?” Levi asked. “After ‘keep moving forward?”

It was easy for Levi to imagine her saying that.

There is liberation in riding the pain through, accepting it will happen and just believing you can get past it.

There is liberation in everything. It’s just a matter of believing that happiness will come again.

“I reflected on it too, with Mikasa…” Armin added as they settled on the lowermost bleachers, closest to the bar. “And I thought of something… What if, the reason it’s so painful is because a part of us dies when we lose something. If Mikasa decides to leave Eren, part of her will die, the part of her that clung to him, her childhood, being with him everyday. They might just fade into distant memories the moment she decides to go to university. But there’s a life beyond him. And exchange for whatever part dies with her, her world widens..."

Levi nodded, glancing subtly at the view of the horizontal bar, the sky was shifting to a bright red behind it.

“Something inside her will be reborn. Maybe like reincarnation? There’s our college life waiting after high school, then our work life after that our family life, then retirement then maybe even other lives after that… Maybe even after we die... There's another life waiting for us.”

Levi shrugged. “You might be right,” he said. There was nothing much else to say. He stood up again and approached the landing pad, dragging that extra pad behind him.

“That’s it. After jumping, after whatever we’re doing now, we’re gonna graduate, move on to our next life. Then we just trust that things will get better, we encounter new things, new people to keep us going. We’ll find something else to keep us going.”

Then an old part of us dies and we’re reincarnated as a new person. That was the last sentence, Levi remembered Armin saying, or so that was the message he remembered.

He couldn’t be too sure about Armin’s exact words. Armin didn’t follow behind him either and his voice started to fade into the background.

Even before Armin’s words could whittle into nothing though, the orange sky started to scream at him, the horizontal bar, only nearer, started to goad him in. “That’s why I wanna enter that new life with no regrets,” Levi said.

Eventually Armin gave up.

Or Levi might just have gotten better at ignoring protests. He got better at creating that world, that consisted of just him, the field, the horizontal bar and the sky. The sky that was still a bright orange, the last flash of light before night blankets it. He didn’t have much time.

So Levi gave up on putting the pad on top. He gave up on the weather cover. He unwrapped his brace and threw it towards the side of the field..

Just one jump. The inhibitor within him promised. It sent a buckle through his knee and a light twinge of pain. It could have been stronger than a twinge, but Levi refused to feel it..

There’s just one thing I need to do for myself and I’ll close this part of my life for good.

Captain Levi never regretted. Or so that was what he had willed himself to do before. But everybody would regret even at least once in their life. Levi was part of that everyone and he had kept his own regret mum inside him. It festered into a wound, then to a scab and eventually it grew to shackles that kept him from moving freely, from moving on.

Ride the pain, the loss, the grief.

So he let the shackles do their work, he let the weight slow him down as he walked towards the starting line.

For a few seconds more, he found himself having to catch his breath as the sun made its way down from the horizon. It glowed a bright red, and along the way it released flashes of orange and yellow.

Soon enough, it was just him and the sky. Then him, the sky and someone else.

“Commander Hange Zoe,” he muttered quietly, yet still loud enough to hear it himself. That word, that name, only made that flicker up in the sky a little more lucid.

The silhouette that flew up in the mountains. The silhouette that flew past the buildings and up at the colossal titans.

That silhouette that burned into nothing up in the sky.

The rustle of the leaves, the biting cold and the distant footsteps though still threatened to pull him out of that world he created for himself. With the sun starting to disappear before the horizon, before the bright red--- the flames--- burned through the flicker. Before the flicker fell to the ground and burned out, Levi knew he would have to move.

Why don’t you want to jump? Levi asked himself. His knees were still buckling. The footsteps were still moving. He could get caught soon if he didn’t do it then.

When else will I be able to do this? Levi pressed, an attempt to push his body forward. His body was starting to disobey, or at least the scabbed knee, his joints, the remnants of bruises in his neck from each painful fall that led up to his injury. The biting cold and the pain at his throat from breathing the dry winter air made him even doubt his ability to run.

Certainly, he was in no shape to jump. But he wasn’t giving up just yet.

Eventually, he did find the right question, the one that had him recalling, then feeling everything at once. And it got his body moving.

Why did you start jumping?

I had dreams. I dreamt I could fly and when I jumped, there was this sense of nostalgia…

Letting himself name the emotions for what they were, he soon realized, the comfort that came with jumping wasn’t borne of nostalgia. It was borne of regret.

Captain Levi had one regret which he never entertained. One regret that ran so deep it could never be summarized with a single question.

Should I have stopped her?

Should I have run after her?

Should I have fought with her?

Back then, he never did go after her. so he never found answers. But in that split second flying feet up in the air with just the view of the blue sky above him, he always found hints to it.

So he continued to jump, higher and higher.

You won’t find the answer, no matter how high you jump. Something inside him nagged.

But I wanna leave this part of my life with no regrets. “I wanted to save you,” Levi said. It was only himself who could have spoken or heard him. So maybe he had said it a little louder, he couldn’t tell.

The flicker in the sky started to burn and like the many times he had envisioned that scene, he expected it to fall over soon. He was certain of that.

I should have tried to save you.

Trying never guaranteed success. But trying always had that special ability of just cushioning a fall, protecting against the impact of regret that followed.

And maybe that was the right thing to do. That alone had been enough to send a burst of energy through him, to bring back the muscle memory that got him succeeding at each height, winning competition after competition.

He wanted to fly. So he ran, like he had done many times before. He let his steps bounce, ignoring the pain in his knee.

The horizontal bar was nothing but a convenient silhouette, a guide towards his actual goal.

If I tried to save you, would things have ended up different?

Commander Hange Zoe was the source of energy that got him bouncing on that knee. It got him ignoring that white flashes of pain that followed. She was up there in the sky, fighting the colossal titans and Levi was determined to fly after her.

He positioned himself to jump in that split second, like he had done many times before. As his body turned to his side though, he saw another Hange Zoe.

She wasn’t a flicker nor a silhouette though She was clearly there, chestnut brown hair, bright eyes, like she had been in every single one of the competitions. He needed a split second more to process her. He was pressed for time though so he opted to look straight ahead, to focus on the jump.

“Levi!”

Levi was already up in the air when he heard her call out, when reality gripped at him and attempted to pull him back. Suspended up in the air, floating, it had been easier to pull away.

That was his last jump, his last attempt to save Commander Hange Zoe and he would see it through

There were things though people can will with all their minds, yet their body would still choose to disobey. If the body hadn’t been such a limiting factor, maybe everyone would have been an Olympic athlete.

Levi only had that crushing lesson on reality, hit him hard when he landed painfully on pad, the bar underneath him.

The flicker that he could have sworn was Hange faded into the sky. Or maybe it had fallen over too quickly, in the few moments it took Levi to blink.

The sky shifted into a deep blue. It would shift to a darker blue, then soon, the sky would be painted black. It took the flicker in the sky that had been Hange and soon it would be taking his surroundings with it.

Right after taking her? He would have wanted to ask. He had learned it before already, reality was cruel. There was no use bargaining with it.

It was starting to get cold. The heat in that moment as he made the jump and the heat of the fiery death he had witnessed, waged war with the winter chill that was starting to eat at him too.

Too many discomforts to process at once and in that second, Levi was almost grateful for the desolation, the disappointment that was also nagging at him then.

So he gave it some traction and soon, some place in reality. “I’m sorry, I can’t fly anymore,” he whispered. Those words should have been between him and whatever flicker had disappeared in the sky.

There had been an intruder though and Levi was slow to notice it. “Levi! What were you thinking?” she asked.

Gentle hands ran through him. Familiar hands pressed at his knees, at his arms. “Just thought I’d try it one last time.” Levi answered as he turned to the voice.

Hange’s face softened as they made eye contact. “Levi… you know the momentum comes from the run… With your injury, you wouldn’t have been able to even jump heights less than two meters..”

“I wanted to. Just one last time.”

Her hazel eyes were on him again, and they could have been glistening, illuminated by the already dim light as the winter sun shone with its last few rays.

“You don’t need to...” She helped him into a sitting position and Levi followed suit, surprised out how his body was still obeying him

Need to what? He hoped to seek clarity in the seconds that followed. Shaken for sure by those bursts of movement, the pain that came and the pain he had expected to come, he found himself unable to speak.

But it turned out, he didn't need to. He couldn't speak so Hange spoke for him. “If you don’t want me to, I won't leave you,” she said.

A minute ago, it had been hot. A few seconds ago it had been chilly. When she wrapped her arms around him though, the war between hot and cold ended with a comfortable compromise. Her tight embrace was lukewarm. “I’m right here… And I'll be right here for as long as you want me to be."

#levihan #levihan fanfiction

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mcfiddlestan · 3 years

Text

Fic Writer Questions

I'm bored and this was in a note on my phone from forever ago, so I must have been tagged at some point. Apologies to whoever tagged me. 🥴

1) How many works do you have on AO3?

52. Though, I used to have a few more. I deleted a few fics some years ago bc I hated that they were just sitting there unfinished. I was going through a particularly brutal bout of writer's block that affected both my fic writing and my RP writing.

2) What's your total AO3 word count?

720,782. And I was stressing about a 30-page thesis. 😂 (which ended up being over 15,000 words)

3) How many fandoms have you written for and what are they?

I started writing fic in 2000 with *NSYNC, Christina Aguilera, and Backstreet Boys fics. I stopped writing a bit around 2004-2007 (because of a stupid boy) and picked it up again in 2012 after reading some awesome Cherik fics and wanting to write my own FrostIron College AU when I read one that was good, but kind of disturbing. I think I write for one fandom -- Marvel -- but, like different factions of it. FrostIron and WinterFrost mostly, with a dash of Stucky, ThunderFrost, DashingFrost, and WinterIron.

4) What are your Top 5 fics by kudos?

Black Light Special (WinterFrost) - 628 kudos

Can I Bum A Ride? (WinterFrost) - 425 kudos

Empire State of Mind (FrostIrom) - 420 kudos

Dark Side (FrostIron) - 398 kudos

A Worthy Collection (FrostIron) - 309 kudos

5) Do you respond to comments, why or why not?

I really do make an effort to respond to every single comment, even the not-so-nice ones. I want people to know I've seen and read the comment they took the time to post, so even if I just thank them for reading and commenting, I respond.

6) What's the fic you've written with the angstiest ending?

Considering it features two -- count 'em, two! -- major character deaths, it's definitely Empire State of Mind. Though, I'd argue Dark Side is a pretty close second.

7) What's the fic you've written with the happiest ending?

Probably Ghosts That We Knew. It was the final fic in the trilogy that is the Picture Perfect Series. It follows Loki and Tony from when they meet in college and ends 30+ years later.

8) Do you write crossovers? If so, what is the craziest one you've written?

No, not really. And I rarely, if ever, read them. There's no real reason behind it other than I've just never come upon one and thought "ooh I need to read that."

9) Have you ever received hate on a fic?

Yes. I got a lot of hateful messages after I completed Empire State of Mind. People were really angry at me for killing off two major characters. I mean, a lot of the messages were "omg I hate you but I loved this!" kind of vibe. But there were a few that cussed me out and called me names for writing it.

I had some chapters of a Fools Rush In FrostIron AU posted a while ago, in which Loki was a female, the only daughter in both the Odinson and Laufeyson families. Following the storyline of the Matthew Perry/Salma Hayek movie, Loki meets Tony Stark in a bar and gets pregnant from a one night stand. Anyway, I got a lot of messages telling me that Odin's misogyny and mistreatment of Loki was unrealistic -- even though I had literally modeled his behavior after the movie that inspired it. 🤷🏽

I have some prompts done for the 100 Ways to Say ILY writer's block challenge and for one of them, I borrowed the storyline from an episode of Will & Grace when Will's father dies of a heart attack after they have a bad argument where his father basically admits he wished Will wasn't gay so he could have had an easier life. In the epsiode, the fight starts because Will's parents gift his baby blanket to Grace, who is pregnant with her ex-husband's child. Will takes offense, they don't understand why bc he never mentioned wanting children, and a fight ensues. Similarly, in my fic, Frigga and Odin offer a pregnant Natasha (his BFF) Loki's blanket. Some readers did not like this and did not understand why I would write it. In another prompt, one that was literally how my last relationship ended, got some harsh critiques. Those ones hurt especially bc it was such a personal experience I wrote about.

And I actually got into a fight -- like a screaming match -- IRL with my best friend's boyfriend at the time. One of my bestie's friends asked about my fanfiction and I gave them the gist of one of my stories where Loki has a brief relationship with Sif that results in a child and later reconnects with Tony. Later on, Sif offers to be a surrogate for Tony and Loki and eventually births three more children for them. Bestie's boyfriend could not fathom why a woman would purposely get herself impregnated and then give the child away. I tried to explain that this was a thing that a lot of women did IRL -- and some don't even use their own eggs, but the eggs of a woman who cannot conceive; Sif used her own eggs so that all four children were half related (two by Loki, two by Tony). But he just did not believe me and told me I must not be a very good writer. Worst night of my life.

10) Do you write smut?

I was just telling @teadrinkingwolfgirl the other night how when I first started writing fic I did not write sex scenes. It was always inferred or glossed over. When I started writing again in 2012, for FrostIron, it was my first time writing more detailed sex. I cite Jackie Collins as my smut-writing mentor. I've written almost exclusively M/M smut.

11) Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not that I know of.

12) Have you ever had a fic translated?

Yes! Which is like the best thing ever! A couple of my older fics have been translated to Russian. I have one *NSYNC fic that was made into an audio fic. And someone recently messaged me on ff*net to ask to translate as many of my fics as they can to Spanish. :D

13) Have you ever co-written a fic before?

No, not technically. I've gotten a lot of prompts and ideas from friends and mutuals, and I started reformatting my WinterFrost RP with my ex from 2014-2015 into novel form a while ago. That's tecnically the only thing I've written with someone else and published.

14) What's your all time favorite ship?

I have two that will always, ALWAYS, have my heart and attention. FrostIron (Tony Stark/Loki) and WinterFrost (Bucky Barnes/Loki). They are the two ships that I write the most, read the most, and seek out fanart for the most.

15) What's a WIP that you want to finish but don't think you ever will?

Probably The Flame. It's a fic that starts out ThunderFrost (not related; Asgardian Prince Thor semi-rescues an imprisoned Jotun Prince Loki) but eventually ends up FrostIron. It's the only fic I've ever written that features Loki with both male and female biology. I have a few chapters done but I haven't worked on it in years.

16) What are your writing strengths?

I like to think I write realistic relationships. And I think my dialogue is also realistic and easy to grasp. And I put a lot of humor in between all the angst and hurt.

17) What are your writing weaknesses?

I think I get too detailed with background. I just reread my Picture Perfect series (which I do like once a year), and there are literal paragraphs of background that in Google Docs is like pages and pages. But I want to make sure people understand my characters! LOL

18) What are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic?

I'm a big fan of it. I featured a lot of Norwegian in the Picture Perfect series. And French. I think as long as it flows with the storytelling and it's not forced on the characters it can be really cool. It should be natural. I always leave a translation list at the end of the chapter or explain in-text what was said. Which I think most authors I've read do.

19) What was the first fandom you wrote for?

The Backstreet Boys. LOL. Don't judge. I started writing my own fics after discovering BSB fanfiction written by an author named Mistress Lynz. She wrote a lot of fics about bloodletting, but I really enjoyed the fics where the guys were hooking up with each other behind the scenes, LOL explains why I write mostly M/M now. 😂

20) What's your favorite fic you've written?

They're kind of like my babies so at different times different ones are my faves. But if I really had to pick one, I would say Stay With Me is my favorite. I got some of the most amazing comments on this story from people that found meaning and themes in the story that I didn't even realize I'd put in there. It was one of my first WinterFrost fics I'd posted and the response was more than I could have asked for.

And now I have to tag people! @teadrinkingwolfgirl @incredifishface @incubigirl @rabentochter @marvelswinterfrost and whoever else feels up to it.

xoxo

#fic writer meme #fic writer questions #all my fics #my writing #frostiron #winterfrost #stucky #thunderfrost #winteriron #dashingfrost

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bitchiha · 4 years

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hii can you write some detailed nsfw headcanons for kakashi or just write a smut fic i love your writings so i wanted to ask if u could do it or not!

Is it wrong to pick up strange girls at a bar? (Kakashi x Reader)

A/N: you asked and you shall receive! The setting is based of A Little Death — the Neighbourhood. Just cause I liked the idea and I wanted to go with it, here’s a link to the song. The reader is basically a Kakegurui character but make it sexual intercourse <3 Kakashi wasn’t originally supposed to be a sub but I wanted to write sub naruto boys at some point so here it is.

Summary: Kakashi meets a mysterious stranger at a bar and things escalate quickly and he takes her back to his motel. After all, is it wrong to pick up strange girls at a bar?

Warnings: drinking, NSFW, sub!Kakashi, dom!reader, harsh degradation (male recieving) so i re wrote this five million times and I can’t torture myself with doing another edit of it so let’s say it’s edited half assedly

In the shitty little town you lived in the only exciting thing it had to offer was the bar.

It was a town used as a resting stop for travellers. People stopped for the night to recharge before continuing on their way to their actual destination in the morning. Many interesting people came in and out, but all the boring ones stayed put. There was no excitement in your family, in your friends, in your neighbourhood… the only time you ever felt even a lick of the feeling was when you were in that bar.

Not a lot of locals drank there, to them the idea of a public drinking place was disgusting and avoided it like the plague, even going as far as to try and ban the joint. To their disappointment, the bar was the main attraction to the travellers, making it difficult to shut down. The frequent travellers insistance to keep it open was solid proof for your thesis; it was the only good thing about this place.

You were one of the few locals that didn’t avoid the bar. How could you when the only exciting people you met were from that joint? Like that woman obsessed with being a bride, or the Taijutsu master in the green stretch suit, or that boy who declared to you that true art was an explosion!

Those were the kind of people you met there, the kind of people you wanted to be with. The only ones who could make you feel like you were breathing, feel like you were human — if that was even possible anymore. God, it felt like every day you spent in this town you lost a little more of your sense of self...

You’re sat there now. In the dim light of the bar on one of the cracked vinyl stools, toying with your empty glass. The bar tender would shoot you a look in a few minutes grunting to “either buy another drink or get out,” but if you were being honest, you didn’t have that much cash on you right now and you hadn’t intended to buy another glass. You see, you had planned to leave earlier with someone new you’d meet at the bar, but no one had yet to ignite that bubbling excitement within you.

You were beginning to get impatient, there was an undeniable need growing in you and it was clawing at your insides, begging you to give it a release. But Monday’s were always slow and you were starting to realize that you may have to wait a little longer than you could bare-

The door to the bar opened and your heart lurched with that desperate craving upon the sight of the man walking through the doorway. Just when you were about to lose hope, you were given your wish. Your body instantly perked up, drinking in that cool manner that he walked with; like he new he was something special, in whatever aspect that may be. He wasn’t flaunting it, no— rather he was just conscious of the fact. Confident.

He had unruly silver hair and the same green vest plastered to his body that the Taijutsu master you met did. He also had a headband on his forehead concealing one of his tired eyes. Upon further inspection you declared that the insignia was the symbol of the Leaf — so he was a shinobi then... He sat down a few chairs away from you.

Quietly, you counted four vinyl coated barriers between you and to your dismay, he had yet to notice you. Instead, he slumped against the table and mumbled an order to the bar tender. You turned your head to look at him again, your fingers tapping against your empty glass. Oh boy, just looking at him made your entire body thrum with that feeling, that exhilarating eagerness pumping through your veins… excitement.

You felt that familiar intoxicating passion swimming through your body a hundred times stronger than you’ve ever experienced before. There was that familiar bitter feeling between your legs and you clenched your thighs together. He was handsome — anyone could agree on that and you just couldn't wait to toy with him.

Shifting like a curious cat on your barstool, you studied the stranger further. Your movement finally stirred his attention and he turned his head ever so slightly, looking at you for the first time that night. His expression echoed your own curiosity mildly before the bartender slid him his drink, ice clanking in the cup.

You were never one to be shy around strangers, that’s something everyone in the town disliked you for, among other things... But you didn’t think about that as you slid a seat over, giving him a cat-like grin. You chose him for your entertainment tonight, wanting to toy with his cocky attitude until you could swat him around with your paws like a ball of yarn. Like you did with all the ones before him.

“So you’re a Leaf Shinobi, huh?” You asked, taking advantage of his attention, watching him stir his drink. You perched your elbow on the table and balanced your chin on your palm.

“Yeah,” the silver haired ninja smirked a little at your interest, “why so curious?”

You shrugged, “You said it yourself, this bars the only exciting thing in this town. A girls gotta find some kind of amusement, don’t ya think?”

“So I’m amusing to you?”

“Mhm,” you chirped, glad he was entertaining you— albeit a little disinterestedly, but you could work with it... “now go on, what’s it like?”

He was silent for a second. Contemplating before dodging your question, coming off a little distant. “How ‘bout I buy you a drink?” He slid a seat over.

You took his suggestion with a grin, brushing off how he ignored your previous sentence, “Oh! What a gentleman!” You beamed before turning to the bartender, “a vodka and sprite.”

The bartender sighed defeatedly, unable to kick you out of the bar now that the stranger offered you a drink. You were always too damn chatty. The silver haired man snickered at your choice of drink, causing you to gasp at him in mock offense, making him crack the smallest smile.

“What are you laughing at?” You scoffed playfully, once again sliding a chair over. Your arm gliding against the sleek wood table as you did so. Taking your seat, the bartender counted a single chaired gap between his two customers.

“And what are you drinking?” Your voice teasing as your fingers wrapped around his cup and before he had the chance to process your actions you brought the liquid to your lips, tasting its contents and wincing dramatically, “God. Who let you drink that?” You sent an accusing glance at the bartender, who was working on your own drink.

He heard the accusation and lifted a finger with half hearted annoyance, “You’re dangling on my last nerve, y/n.”

So that was your name. Y/n. Kakashi decided he could have some fun real good fun with you tonight. From what you’ve told him, you’re a local in this town, but by the way you dressed he could tell you weren’t like the other people in this place. Wearing that tiny jean skirt and that little top, you were definitely just twenty-one, or maybe twenty-two and certainly not as conservative as the other villagers.

He let himself wonder, as his fingers soaked into the condensation of his glass, how any of them let you out in an outfit like that. Perched a barstool with your leg crossed lazily over the other you looked more dangerous than any enemy he had encountered today.

Before he knew what he was doing, his body was moving him to close the single chaired gap between you two. Sitting on the cracked vinyl, sliding his drink over with him, he simply shrugged at your question and deflected it with a new one.

“And who let you out in that little skirt?”

The two of you maneuvered through the damp halls to whatever room number was engraved on the rusty key Kakashi held (you finally learning his name after some prying.) He slurred something stupid to you as you stumbled along and tilted your head to laugh.

After some drunken fumbling, your beloved stranger managed to unlock the door, pulling you inside in the process. The room was as clean as expected for a cheap room in a shitty motel, but you didn’t bother studying it. You’ve been here countless times before.

You found yourself being pushed up against the door, as Kakashi reached for his headband, pulling it off as you worked at pulling his mask down, your painted nails grazing his skin. Once you tugged the fabric down and his headband clattered to the floor, you marvelled at the sight of his face in its proper glory, burying your hands in his hair as you did so. It was even more alluring in its barest form and there was another wave of excitement surging through your body.

Licking your lips you leaned forward, hands tangling in his hair to connect your mouths for the first time. Teeth grazed against teeth and tongues clashed against tongues in what seemed to be an equally matched fight for power. It was a breath stealing, desperate kiss that lasted for what felt like hours, but could have only been a minute. The kiss had been so invasive that there were sleek strings of saliva connecting your lips, but neither of you moved to wipe them away.

Instead you leaned your head against the wall, his face barely a hair from yours as you both panted. Then in a matter of seconds you were on eachother again, this time the man took to taking your clothes off. Slipping your top off as you began to climb out of your shoes, him doing the same. Leaving you in a bra and your skirt, he started grabbing at your thighs, hoisting them up as he began to move you to the bed. What an eager boy.

When he felt his knees hit the beginning of the mattress, he let his grip on you go, causing your body to fall back. Your arms still around his neck taking him down with you, your back falling onto the mattress as he towered ontop of you. He removed his lips from yours as he began to trail kisses up to your earlobe, tugging at it firmly before licking right up the shell of it.

“How many people have you done this with?” he spoke into your ear, it was a question he was dying to know. Was he gonna be the first? Maybe the second? He liked that idea, liked the prospect of using an all too curious girl for his own pleasure—

“Lots of ‘em, too many to count... but dont take it personally.” What.

He scoffed surprised at your statement, lots? How much is lots? Kakashi felt his ego take a little hit, was he just another person you used for your own desire... He had used many people for his own sake, but he had never had the tables turn on him, until now of course. “The hell is that supposed to mean?” The sound echoed through the shell of your ear and you giggled at the feeling and his voice came out more hurt then upset, which pissed him off even more. Oh how adorable, was the big, strong shinobi’s ego getting hurt?

“Well, You like excitement dont you?” You waited for him to nod an annoyed yes, “Good boy, so we’re on the same track here... Do you know what that’s like to live with a bunch of fucking prudes?” This time you didn’t want for a response, “None of them would even step foot in that bar. Not people like you though and when I saw you I could just feel it... the good fuck could get out of you. I’m gonna have so much fun, we’re gonna have so much fun.” He gave you a surprised look, your mask was slipping and your true colours were shining through and his reaction only egged you on to continue. Did he really think this was some sort of spur of the moment act, that coming here with him was spontaneous.. something special? Oh God, what an idiot..

You pushed at his shoulders, causing him to fall onto his back, allowing you to crawl on top of him. Straddling him, you let your hand to push underneath the fabric of your jean skirt. He stared wide eyed, shocked at how your demeanour was slowly changing. Is the idiot finally getting it now, is he finally understanding his place? “They would never do this. They’d never touch themselves, not like this...” Your fingers dragged along your slit, preparing to access your digits to access to your dripping slit. “But it’s so much fun isn’t, oh and it just feels so good.” As your digits slipped into your enterance your mouth fell open, letting a small moan carelessly fall as you began to push in and out of yourself.

All Kakashi could do was stare up at you. Holy fuck. Were you masturbating ontop of him? The motel room, the look you made, the lewd sounds, all of it.. all of it was like something straight out of the books he read and the fact it was happening to him in real time was beginning to make him short circuit.

“What, You really want to act all shy now, what happened to practically sucking my face off? You brought me back here to fuck, not to blush at me like a virgin.” You said, lifting your skirt with your free hand, giving him a picture to go along with the sounds he was hearing. Upon that sight he made the discovery that you weren’t wearing any panties. “I bet you think about this shit all the time, don’t you? Ngh — You like thinking about girls like this, huh? If you didn’t bring me back here with you, you’d probably be jacking off to the thought of me like some kind of pervert...”

He couldn’t help the red colour invading his face. When he was in bed with girls he was usually the one saying all the dirty stuff, so having you spew all this vulgarity at him was shocking. But what was even more so was the twitching of his cock in his excruciatingly right pants.

He could tell by the face you were making that you were getting close to your own release, the look of embarrassment on his face only fueling your desire even more. Fingers curling and filling your pussy fast and eagerly, thumb moving to flick at your clit. Your tongue was starting to slip out of your open mouth now and he watched the little dribble of saliva coursing down it, your eyes starting to lull to the back of your head — it was that look. That fucking look that he read a hundred times over in the pages of his novels. He felt like he was going to cum just staring at you. But, oh god — were you gonna cum? By yourself? Right now?

Finally being able to move his body, he grabbed your wrist from under your skirt, the lewd sound of your digits leaving your soaked core made his mind all the more foggy. You didn’t complain, the pleasure built up in your core was only intensifying with the anticipation that he was going to be the one between your legs now.

But you wouldn’t tell him that. No, it was too fun to toy with his confidence. “Huh, You think you can make me cum better then my fingers? Hm, Let’s hope I’m not disappointed.” Those words definitely pricked at his ego, but he didn’t have time to mull them over as you began to crawl towards his face.

“You know, you don’t really talk too much, or maybe it’s just cause your a fucking pussy whipped whore...” Kakashi’s face gets redder at the insult. Did you just call him a whore? And why did he like it?

Your breasts bounce in your bra as you moved further up his body. “Lets just see if your mouth is good at something.” You said with dramatic exasperation and before his brain could process it, your thighs were straddling the sides of his head, pushing your core right onto his face.

Kakashi’s reaction was a bit delayed, it was only when your skirt fell over your thighs, trapping him in like a curtain, that he registered the fact that you were now sitting on his face. That and the fact that your pussy was practically suffocating him with your impatience.

He had never felt this much desire to please a woman. You were being so intoxicatingly rough with him that he found his mind only swimming with thoughts of you. Y/n, y/n, y/n. The strange girl he met at a bar. The girl who fingered herself ontop of him and was moaning like a pornstar. The feeling of your wetness already dripping down his chin, ready to be tasted... All of it was tattooing itself into his subconscious.

“Do you need me to say go?” You spat impatiently in the most tantalizing tone, it caused Kakashi’s cock to stir again. However, the words snapped him out of his frozen state and he began to desperately suck at your clit, the wet sounds echoing off the jean curtain and he felt his hips involuntarily buck into the air at your taste.

You felt the movement of his bucking hips and it his embarrassment you refused to let it go. “Oh! So you are a pussy whipped slut? You act so confident but the minute I sit on your face you lose control, just like a good whore.”

As if insulting him turned you on, your mouth began to flow with the most sinful noises and for a second Kakashi thought he was trapped in some fucked up porno. When I’m reality that excitement that had been building inside of you had been finally getting an appropriate release and you were never one to hold back your pleasure.

It felt like your veins were gushing at this point, so much so it felt as though they could burst at any second. You were just so excited and his tongue was so good.. The muscle pushing in and out of your hole, his tongue brushing against your clit as he wriggled as far as he could into your pussy.

Faintly, behind the throbbing in your ears you could hear frustrated fists against the door. They were undoubtably an angry guest that had been awoken by your loud noises, probably a pervy old man too. But you didn't give a fuck and Kakashi was too busy trying to make you cum to care either. Soon enough the banging had either blended into the noise you two were already making or the perv gave up to go jerk himself off.

“You’re licking me like a fucking dog, you’re so desperate to make me feel good.. its fucking sad.” There was no mistaking the vibration of the mans mouth on your clit, he had just moaned. As if that weren’t telling enough you could practically feel the embarrassed heat of his face on the squishy flesh of your inner thighs.

After another sinful noise barged past your lips you found yourself hurtling quite quickly towards your climax. Losing the little ounce of pity you had for mercilessly using Kakashi’s face, you began to grind onto it. Everything was beginning to feel more heightened now. The booming sound of your heart slamming in your chest, the throbbing of your veins, the feeling of Kakashi’s mouth sucking at your clit.

You didnt even bother to heed the man a warning as you came with a loud moan, all over his face. He wasn’t shocked, afterall he finally seen your true colours and he wouldn’t have put it above you to enjoy his surprised face flushed with your own juices. He felt his arms move from their position on your hips to snake under your skirt and wipe it off—

“Don’t fucking wipe it off.”

After catching your breath, you climbed off his face and stared down at the mess you made. Your hair began to fall over your features, but he could distinctly see the sick smirk on your face before you lent down and licked a line from his chin to his cheek, collecting some of your slick off of him. Then you moved back up again, watching his still blushing face stare at you with wide eyes.

“Y/n-“ But you weren’t listening as you climbed off the bed entirely.

Though your own excitement had been suppressed, you weren’t going to leave Kakashi to finish himself off. You liked to consider yourself a good girl, at least a little bit..

“You were so well behaved, weren’t you? Do you want to cum too?” Were you really about to make him beg? Yes you were. “Come on, use your words little shinobi, why don’t you tell me what you want?” The way you spat that word out belittled him in ever sense and he couldn’t help but buck his hips again.

He felt so embarrassed, but the nights events have had him desperately straining his pants and his normal thoughts were in a far away land. The only thing he could process was the bitter ache in his pants and the sticky substance on his face.

“I-I want to cum too.”

You smirked at him from the edge of the bed. You usually expected a please at the end of the sentence but you weren’t gonna make him suffer anymore. You pat the edge of the matress as a sign for him to shuffle down. He did so eagerly and you began to fumble with his zipper.

“Be a good boy and I’ll let you.”

#naruto shippuden #naruto #naruto headcanons #naruto imagines #naruto x reader #kakashi hakate #kakashi headcanons #kakashi x reader #kakashi fanfiction

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steve0discusses · 4 years

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Yugioh Ep 34 S4: The Boys (and Mai) are Back in Town

OK, back to the writing table! It’s been a while! So I made the mistake of like...scrolling down on the playlist when I realized...

This duel is like 6 episodes long (7 even? It’s a lot) and like...yo I have no idea if we’ll finish this season in 2020! Damn you 2020. Damn you.

But wtv, what I like about this side project of mine is that I don’t have to rush things, and I can really spend the time with each episode and just...enjoy the moment. So often I watch a whole series in like half a week and then it’s like...I don’t get to enjoy it. This series I’ve enjoyed for years now. That’s kinda neat. So...we’re gonna be slow...but lets just enjoy this weird ass anime moment together. 2020 deadlines are all fake anyway. I’m not even sure if 2020 was a real thing that happened or like...an alternate universe opening a door and letting through just so many terrible ghosts. We might never know.

Last we left off, everyone has decided to hallucinate Dartz’ terrible backstory.

Unfortunately we have NO darts in the past. Was really hoping to see at least one darts reference in this entire season, just one darts board on his wall. But alas, we will not have a Season Zero death darts match with Dartz. (Man I need to get back to Season Zero. And FMA. And a lot of things)

I feel like if I watched the original version there would have been some things different. First off...what ocean? Second off...well, we’ll get to that. There’s some things I think were changed for English TV.

Including censoring the nude people like it’s James Cameron’s Avatar.

Fun fact did you know that James Cameron’s Avatar was supposed to be ass naked and that they were supposed to have like 8 cat nipples? Yeah.

Man, that movie was a mistake. I’m so glad we all decided to collectively forget James Cameron’s Avatar.

(read more under the cut)

The actual locations of anything in Atlantis does not match up with it when it’s zoomed out. We have giant cities, we have sprawling wheat fields, and we have...THIS situation. This active volcano next to...pine trees?

I feel like they wanted it to feel vaguely Pompeii, since I know people like to put Atlantis in the Mediterranean. Maybe? Maybe that’s what they were going for here?

One of my top ten favorite Yugioh plot twists ever was finding out this episode that this snake who has no limbs somehow created these...rocks...that all of our main characters have been wearing and obsessing over this entire time.

And so this is my theory, this is the thesis of my Yugioh college paper. These rocks are turds. There’s no way these rocks aren’t turds. There’s no way this snake didn’t poop out a bunch of glowy magic stones and then stuff them into a volcano.

THE ROCKS WERE TURDS THE WHOLE TIME.

God bless, Yugioh.

Seto spends this entire episode groveling that he isn’t playing cards that will absolutely kill him. Like Mokuba, Seto isn’t happy until he’s cheating death.

(I really wish we got more super past future tech. I love that type of concept art. Instead, we just got a lot of flying boats--the same boat that I think the team flew on in S1 when they went to Seto’s video game universe.

So those boats are 10,000 years old? They existed in the 10,000 year old Pangea, huh?

Neat.)

Anyway, lets take a gander at Princess Zelda circa Ocarina of Time.

SUPER princess Zelda, and I know it’s not 1:1 but damn it feels so much like a late 90′s Princess Zelda outfit to me. Check out that PURPLE. That low poly circlet. The random ass sword. The thick ass belt.

Also check out this super dead family.

Yo so this is a 00′s thing, a period of time where we liked to tell stories like LOST, with just a bunch of random ass plot twists in flashbacks instead of just...telling a story from start to finish. And can be a great and fun way to do it--but at the sacrifice of actually making me care about these characters while they were still alive.

Like I would have maybe cared about Chris and Ironheart dying if I had known that Dartz was killing his whole family? With...lightning strikes? But alas, these dumbasses decided NOT to tell us they were royal. It’s so strange both from a logical perspective and a storytelling perspective.

Man...missed opportunity, IMO, but I can see why they did it. The wanted the ‘Gotcha!’ I feel ambivalent about it, honestly.

And who am I kidding, people are still doing unpredictable plot twists this. It’s a way to tell a story. Is it the most impactful way? No. It’s...it’s a gotcha!

It’s at this point in the story that things start ramping up, but it’s not clear if it takes place over years or just a couple hours. People just start going a little cray and turning into Monsters.

Straight up, though--did they turn into monsters that already existed and are modern Duel Monster cards, or are the monsters from modern Duel Monsters cards actually descendants of Atlantis who were once human?

They don’t say, actually. Maybe...maybe every card was a human once. That would be a freakin weird Yugioh twist if Kuriboh was like a 45 year old dude.

PS Dartz was married...soak that in.

ROMANCE ON YUGIOH ALERT.

Love it every time. She was there for like...half a second, and Dartz was like throwing so much shade about how “only the people with evil in their hearts were turned” and it’s like...

...dude that’s your wife? OK then. I can see you guys got along real well.

Anyway, so long to the ship of IonaxDartz, you were here for even less than the amount of time that Seto dated Blue Eyes White Dragon in a hallucination, which kind of sets a new record for us.

This might be the shortest-lived ship in all of Yugioh and they have a 12 year old daughter and what I assume was a 12 year marriage for that entire time.

that is if they...HAD the concept of marriage 10,000 years ago on Atlantis Pangea island. Maybe?

I mean they might have not had the concept of dating and marriage yet because he gets over this like immediately. The show will never hover back to that time Dartz watched his own wife turn into a creature. We have no idea if he was like “OK honey lets uh...let just get you a haircut and maybe no one will notice?” We have no idea how long he was desperately trying to remain married to the beast that was no longer human and was also trying to eat everyone else in his court. We just don’t know.

Dartz just had a lot of other things to think about. He’s been King for like...a year...he’s only 21...he’s just doing a bad job at everything.

(Biden opens Pres Trumps bedroom in the White House come January and it’s juts full of glowing green evil golf balls) (OK that was my last 2020 joke I swear to you)

Anyway, Dad is here, but it’s a little too late to really do anything with the situation. Everyone is worshiping little snake turds. What can you really do about that?

One eye golden, the other eye, the color of a glistening Leviathan turd.

After the rest of the surviving royal family was chased out of the castle, Dartz decides to just wave his hands around a lot.

I’m not entirely sure what Kings do...never really had one...but I think they’re supposed to do more than wave their hands at a crowd like the Pope. Like...everyone’s dead right? Like everyone?

Who’s he talking to?

Meanwhile, Chris and Ironheart decide to revive some monster tablets to get some real actual duel monsters to do their bidding.

So apparently some monsters are in the tablets, and other’s have just always been here...and...

They didn’t know violence but they did have the cards?

There’s a lot of vague stuff they didn’t feel like ever writing, because it would have probably been boring to write about. I guess we’ll just let our imagination fill in the rest and ignore all the inconsistencies. It’s a kid’s anime. well........kind of a kid’s anime. A lot of people have died this episode and I don’t even know how to add it to the death count.

How many people live in Atlantis? I dunno.

Are the inhabitants of Atlantis even dead, or are they just turned into Monster cards? I dunno. Clearly the Great Leviathan wasn’t awoken this first battle so...did all those souls get returned? I dunno.

Either way I’m not gonna bother the death count about it because I just do not know if they died, and since it was neither an implied death or an on screen death...I dunno.

Just feels like a bit of a translation snafu--where maybe they couldn’t kill that many people on English TV, so they were like “AND IT’S A DRAW!” but also...it could be canon to both versions. The leviathan didn’t work the first time, maybe no one died? I dunno.

In this shot, PS, Raphael just gently backs up out of this flying plane, and it looked really funny to me. I probs won’t cap it because it’s split between two other cuts, but just...they just kind of moved that sprite to the right really slowly, no animation, it was great.

Dartz decides to end the backstory hallucination, and we get introduced to a new twist--a better twist than that last one, that’s right, all our boys are cards!

Including this asshole!

Been a while since our boys have been cards! Man, I miss Bakura!

Yes, I looked back to earlier episodes this season to see what was going on with Pegasus’ new look. I think what happened is that it’s always been this shade of gray purple--but when you put purple next to it’s opposing color (which is yellow colors) it looks even MORE purple. It’s just how color works. Love color theory. mm. Good stuff. Good purple hair.

I can’t wait until Yami kills Yugi for the 3rd time in one season.

Anyway, that’s all for now, and like always, here’s a link to read these in chrono order.

#ygo #yugioh #yu-gi-oh #recap #photo recap #episode recap #yami yugi #seto kaiba #Dartz #I don't know if he has a last name or if they were invented yet #Dartz' hot wife #Yugi muto #Joey Wheeler #Mai Valentine #maxamillion pegasus #Raphael #s4 #ep 34

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morningfears · 4 years

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Television Romance [Chapter One]

Rating: PG-13 (some swears, nothing major)

Summary: Natalia Adler is a stressed out grad student who attempts to escape the noise of her office by visiting her favorite coffee shop. However, instead of a few hours of writing, she gets a lap full of coffee and a date with the most gorgeous guy she’s ever met.

Word Count: 3.4k

Chapter Two

The graduate student office was usually busy, bustling with activity and overflowing with graduate students working on various research projects or grading coursework as well as undergraduate students seeking assistance with assignments. It was always difficult to concentrate among the din, there was always some conversation or another taking place that was much more interesting than writing yet another proposal, but Tuesdays were the worst.

On Tuesdays, the graduate teaching seminar met in the student office. For an hour each week, the teaching assistants dragged whatever chairs they could find to the center of the room and formed a circle to discuss problems that had arisen in their classrooms, questions they had about university policy, and an article on teaching practices they were assigned to - but never actually did - read. The class was supposed to be useful, a way for them all to prepare for their futures as academics, but it usually turned into a shouting match as the stronger personalities argued over one another about best practices in classroom management. And after, when the dust settled and the faculty facilitator was gone, students who didn’t have a one o’clock class stuck around to catch up on whatever departmental gossip they’d missed throughout the week.

Most days, Natalia was able to tune it all out. Her desk was in the corner, hidden behind a flimsy partition, and her noise cancelling headphones worked wonders to drown out the arguments. She didn’t love catching snippets of pointless conversations about which departmental policies were outdated - they all were - or which graduate students were sleeping together but she made it work. However, today was not one of those days.

She had several important deadlines looming over her head - conference submissions, revisions for a potential publication, the first draft of her thesis proposal, all due within days of one another - and she was feeling overwhelmed. The argument as to whether the department was too hard or too soft on students - or whether professors played favorites - was only making things worse. Instead of subjecting herself to two more hours of torture, she decided to pack up her bag and head to the coffee shop across the street. Even if it was loud, it had to at least be less hostile than the office.

She stood, satchel slung over one shoulder with her cellphone and headphones in hand, and glanced over the top of her partition at the girl who sat across from her. Nicole, like Natalia, wore headphones whenever she worked in the office and only glanced up when Natalia tossed a paperclip at her.

“I’m going to Molly’s,” she announced when Nicole pulled her headphones away from her ears and glanced up at her. Natalia struggled to keep her voice quiet in an attempt to avoid drawing attention to herself, though she was half certain she could yell and still not be heard over her colleagues. However, she remained cautious as the last thing she wanted was for anyone to join her. “You want anything?”

“A new job, a better salary, a husband who takes out the trash… I could go on,” Nicole answered, rolling her neck and grinning tiredly at Natalia’s deadpan expression. “I’ll settle for a caramel latte, though. With almond milk and extra caramel, please. I’ll Venmo you.”

“I’ve got it,” Natalia assured her with a wave of her hand as Nicole reached for her cellphone, “you got me boba last week. You have class at three, right?”

“Don’t remind me,” Nicole sighed as she dropped the device, straightened up in her chair, and pulled a face as she glanced at the syllabus tacked to her partition wall. “We’re going over how Marxism influenced Burke today. I think I’d rather chew off my own foot than try to teach a group of undergrads about either Marxism or Burke.”

“I know the point of college is to make kids think,” Natalia began as she hoisted her bag a little higher on her shoulder and ambled around her partition to stop beside Nicole’s desk, “but I’m glad I got the class that’s a little more, ‘well, duh,’ than that. We’re going over how fundamentally fucked the US healthcare system is today.”

Nicole paused for a moment, staring at Natalia with a look that reeked of both annoyance and exhaustion, before she dropped her head to her desk and asked, “Is it too late to drop out?”

This was a conversation they’d had at least once a week since their first semester of graduate school and Natalia bit back a laugh as she nodded. “Yep. You’re halfway through your thesis proposal, no quitting now,” she pointed out as she nodded toward the stack of books on religious rhetoric that Nicole had stacked on her desk. “Anyway, only eight more months until we’re free.”

“I’m three pages in,” Nicole informed her, a pitiful whine erupting from her throat as she lifted her head and ran a hand through her unwashed curls. “This is going to be a long semester.”

Natalia, who had been under the impression that she was impossibly behind although she only lacked a completed methodology section, grimaced upon learning just how far behind Nicole was. She gave her friend a gentle pat on the shoulder and, although she had her own deadlines to meet, offered her assistance. “I’ll probably be sticking around after class tonight,” she informed her as she thought about the papers she still needed to grade, “if you need me to help with anything, just let me know.”

“Thanks,” Nicole sighed as she turned in her chair and smiled at Natalia, the exhaustion evident in her features although they were only a month into the semester. “I’m thinking about a writing party on Friday so that people can submit conference papers and then go get hammered after. You in?”

“Always down for drinks after opening myself up for rejection. You can send out an email and maybe follow up with a GroupMe or something. Your husband won’t mind you spending Friday with us?” she asked as she glanced over at the group of students, now talking instead of arguing, that still remained in the room. Although they got on her nerves sometimes, she had grown to love most of them.

“He’s going to a football game with some friends. If I stay home, I’ll just end up falling asleep in the tub with a glass of wine. I’ll send the email after class,” Nicole answered as she grabbed her headphones and moved to reposition them onto her ears. “Go, get out of here before someone stops you. You’ll be back by three?”

“Yeah, I’ll be back before you have to leave. I’ll text you when I’m on my way over. See you in a bit,” Natalia hummed as she tapped the top of Nicole’s partition before maneuvering around the group that crowded the doorway and stepping out into the hall.

The building itself wasn’t that busy, it rarely was, but campus was teeming with students as Natalia stepped outside. They typically opted for afternoon classes rather than morning ones and it was obvious that classes held after lunch were the most populated as she watched students wander from building to building. Her own undergraduate experience had been very different - classes as early in the morning as she could get them and work in the afternoons until late at night - but she understood the desire to take advantage of the opportunity.

As a graduate student, her schedule was a little different. She was usually the first one to arrive in the office, just to get a little work done, and held office hours during lunch. She was a TA for a class that met on Tuesdays and Thursday at three and had her own classes to attend, with each of the three meeting once a week, starting at six p.m. and ending at around ten.

She was busier than she had ever been, even busier than the two years she spent working two jobs and overloading her class schedule. It was harder and lonelier than undergrad had been. She had little time to feel human or socialize without anyone outside of her program, however, she told herself that it would all be worth it when she finished and had a master’s degree under her belt.

Natalia made the most of the few minutes it took her to walk from her office to Molly’s, the closest coffee shop to campus that wasn’t the always crowded Starbucks in the library. She rarely got to enjoy her days. They were usually spent locked in the office or cooped up in the library, neither of which had enough windows. Although it was September, fall still seemed a lifetime away.

She could still smell summer as an occasional ocean breeze wafted through campus. The sun was bright and high in the sky and the air was warm. It felt like the height of summer, as it usually did in Los Angeles, and she was grateful that she’d chosen to wear a dress instead of pants as the slight breeze kept her from overheating as she entered Molly’s.

The little coffee shop was every Instagram obsessed student’s dream. The exterior was nondescript with plain white walls and a small patio with string lights and a few small tables, however, the interior more than made up for it. There were walls covered with ivy - though Natalia didn’t know if it was real or not - and neon signs littered around the space. There was also a loft with tables and chairs that always seemed to be quieter than the rest of the shop.

It had all been too much for her the first time she visited. It seemed gimmicky, not the kind of place she wanted to frequent even if it was convenient, however, her opinion changed the moment she tried the coffee. Her predecessors in the program hadn’t been wrong in telling her that it was the best coffee she could get and that it served as a good hideout when the office got to be too much to handle. She understood why it was frequented by both students and the outside community, even if it took them too close to campus.

Although the coffee shop was bustling with students rushing in and out between classes, filled with the sounds of conversation and the excitement that came with a new school year, it still seemed quieter than the office. After ordering her iced coffee and settling into a table near the entrance, Natalia slipped her headphones back on and bit her lip in concentration as she opened her laptop and began working on the revisions she’d gotten back from her co-author.

It was difficult, not paying attention to the patrons that entered the shop as she loved people watching, but Natalia kept her eyes on her screen and typed away. If she had glanced up, she might have seen the looks that people threw one another as two men entered the shop. She might have seen how a few snuck pictures with their cellphones or how others whispered excitedly as they passed them by. But she didn’t. All she saw was the cursor on her document blink as she tried to string together a coherent sentence.

She focused on typing a new explanation for a concept she thought she’d covered well enough to need no further explanation, a metaphorical dark cloud hanging over her head as she let the reviewer’s comments weigh on her pride. However, as she got into a groove, her word count quickly climbing, she felt something cold splash against her right side.

She sat, stunned, for a few seconds, before she pulled her headphones off and blinked at the coffee that stained the right side of her dress and dripped from her skin. Ice cubes gathered in her lap, cold seeping through the fabric of her dress as she attempted to process what happened. It took a few more seconds of staring at the mess before she picked up her laptop and held it away from the growing pool of coffee. Ice cubes clattered to the floor as she stood and she grimaced as she watched them fall. She looked over the computer, sighing in relief when nothing appeared to be wet, before she lifted her head and looked at the person responsible.

Any other time, her attention would be on how beautiful the man in front of her was. He stood a head taller than her, easily, with broad shoulders and a surprised expression that she was sure matched her own. His blonde curls had fallen into his eyes, obscuring the blue slightly, and his cheeks and upturned nose were tinted pink in embarrassment as he looked over the damage he’d done.

They stared at one another for longer than necessary, his eyes lingering on her face just as hers lingered on his, and she was glad that he at least had the decency to stare at her face instead of the wet fabric clinging to her. The man beside him, slightly shorter and more amused than embarrassed, nudged his friend who moved as if he were a video that had been taken off pause.

“I’m so sorry,” he breathed, his words rushing together as he watched her place her laptop on a neighboring table to keep it out of harm’s way before she reached for a few napkins. “Fuck, here, let me help you with that.”

His hand bumped into hers as he reached for more napkins and began wiping at the table and, as cliche as it was, she felt a jolt of something shoot down her spine as she quickly pulled her hand away. It was easy for Natalia to ignore the feeling as she watched him make matters worse. She tried to hide it, however, she couldn’t help but grimace as she moved her bag away from the table, slipping it over her head in an effort to avoid him sweeping coffee inside it.

She shook her head at his apology and reached for another handful of napkins. “It’s okay,” she sighed, not wanting to be rude even though she knew she’d have to take time she was planning on using to write to go home and change before class, “at least it was iced coffee.” She tossed the soaked napkins into the trash and bent down to pick up the ice cubes and cup from the ground. “What happened, anyway?”

“He tripped,” the shorter, dark-haired man informed her before he took a sip of his coffee. He still looked amused, positively delighted as he watched his friend struggle to find the right words to say, and Natalia bit back a laugh as she realized everyone had a friend like him.

“I didn’t trip,” the taller man defended with a roll of his eyes, cutting his eyes at his friend before returning his attention to Natalia. He met her eyes sheepishly, the embarrassment softening his features as he explained, “Someone bumped into me on their way in and I, uh…” He trailed off, clearly having planned on saying that he tripped, and dropped his gaze to the floor as Natalia laughed.

“Tripped?” she finished, a smile on her lips despite the situation. When the taller man grimaced, bringing the hand not full of soaked napkins up to rub at the back of his neck, she laughed once more.

“Fine, I tripped,” he acknowledged, “but it wasn’t just being clumsy. Someone really did bump into me.” He gave his explanation more to his friend than to her and she wondered how often he found himself tripping over thin air. He looked solid, like he wouldn’t be the type to trip over his own two feet, but looks could be deceiving and she knew from personal experience how annoying it was to be the clumsy friend.

“It’s okay,” she assured him, a little more sincere in her assurance this time as she offered him a genuine smile. “Nothing spilled on my laptop and it wasn’t boiling so, worst case scenario was avoided. I think I’ll just not sit near the door next time, though.”

“Yeah, that’s probably a good call,” he agreed. His lips were quirked in a smile, grateful that she wasn’t yelling at him, and he still held the soaked napkins in his hands. “I still feel bad, though. Can I make it up to you; buy you a coffee or something?” he asked, a hopeful lilt to her voice that told her he wasn’t just looking to make up for spilling coffee on her.

As much as it pained her to turn him down - and it hurt quite a bit as she found him to be beautiful, even in basketball shorts and a t-shirt - she didn’t have time. “That would be great,” she began, a rueful smile on her lips as she grabbed her laptop and slid it into her bag, “but I have to run. I need to go get changed before class. It’s really okay, though. No big deal.”

She didn’t miss the nudge his friend gave him and raised an eyebrow as she watched him swat at his friend’s elbow. “I, uh, how about dinner, then?” he asked, his eyes meeting hers.

He looked so earnest, his skin still tinted pink and his eyes wide, and she felt a giddy excitement bubble in the pit of her stomach. He was gorgeous, the kind of guy she never imagined would be interested in her, and she wanted to give him a chance. She didn’t know him, didn’t know if that chance would turn into a disaster, but she found herself wanting to take that risk.

“I have class until ten tonight,” she told him, biting back a coo when his face dropped at what he assumed was her rejection, “but if you tell me your name, I think I could free up my Friday night for dinner.”

He blinked, surprised at how her sentence ended, and smiled at her. He had a unique smile, his teeth on full display and tongue pressed to the back of them, and his eyes brightened as he nodded his agreement. “Right, yeah. Luke,” he introduced, moving to offer her his hand before realizing he still held the wad of napkins. “This meeting isn’t really going that well, huh?”

“I’d say it went south when you dumped coffee on her,” the friend commented, not even bothering to hide his grin as he watched the interaction unfold before him. “All downhill from there, mate.”

“I’m Natalia,” she introduced, pointedly ignoring his friend’s comment with an amused glance in his direction. “I’ve had worse first meetings, don’t worry. My freshman year roommate opened a door on me and gave me a concussion. You just stained a dress.”

“Oddly, that makes me feel better about this, thanks,” Luke laughed as he reached out and dropped the napkins into the garbage. “Can I get your number? That way you can go change now and we can make plans later,” he clarified, smiling at her as he offered her his cellphone to put her number in.

She felt Luke’s gaze on her as she put her number into his phone and she offered him a smile as she handed the device back. “I have one request for Friday,” she told him as she grabbed her own phone from the table and grinned at the text he sent her with his name, “no tables near the entrance.” Luke laughed at her request, a sound that she found endearing, and Natalia grinned at him. “I’ll see you on Friday, then.”

“See you on Friday,” he confirmed, grinning as he watched her step around him.

Natalia and Luke maintained eye contact for a moment, each giddy and grinning as they felt the butterflies of something new on the horizon, before Natalia bumped into something solid on her way out and made a face before quickly turning to apologize. She tossed Luke a wave over her shoulder, her own cheeks burning in embarrassment, as she heard his friend mumble, “Wow, she’s perfect for you.”

As she stepped out into the world once more, she grinned at the encounter. It made her lose an hour of writing time - and ruined her favorite dress - but maybe this wasn’t such a bad thing. She’d been single for years and hadn’t had any luck with dating apps. She knew that a boyfriend wasn’t the most necessary thing in her life, however, it might be nice to be the girl with a date for once. And it certainly didn’t hurt that Luke was gorgeous.

Whatever the future held for them, she found herself looking forward to it.

____________________________________________________

Author’s Note: If I try to start another series, someone fight me. Like, actually, genuinely fight me. I’m focusing on Rose Tattoo, These Violent Delights, and this. (And MF if I get inspiration but those updates are more sporadic, never meant to be regular, sorry. :() I want to write a few one shots but they’ll likely be shorter and just fun, you know? Not super plot heavy. I may or may not update the next chapter of this sooner than a week because this is kind of short. But, hey, I’ve got all the time in the world because after I defend next week, I’m done with grad school and that’s mildly terrifying. Anyway. Here we go.

Tag List (like this post or message me if you want to be added!): @toolazymyguy , @irwinkitten , @jamieebabiee , @glittersluke , @spicycal , @lusbaby , @everyscarisahealingplace, @brokenvirtualheartcollector , @if-it-rains-it-pours, @blisshemmings , @calumscalm , @lovemenowseemenever , @ijustreallylovezebras , @rhiannonmichelle, @p0laroidpictures , @tomscuddles , @loverofmineluke , @harrytreatspeoplewithkindnesss , @blueviiolence , @loveroflrh , @empathycth , @luckyduckydoo , @tobefalling , @bandsandbooksaremykink , @watch-how-she-burns , @megz1985 , @wokeupinaustralia , @lucidlrh , @canterburyfiction , @cal-is-not-on-branding , @t-i-n-y-d-i-n-o , @jaacknaano , @findingliam-o , @old-zeppelin-shirt , @idk-who-i-am-anymore1 , @sammyrenae68 , @flowerthug , @calumsphile , @caitdaniels, @drummerboy794 , @writingfortoomanyfandoms , @x-lover-of-mine-x , @miliefayy , @sunaaii , @canterburyfiction , @sebrox40 , @nati-nn , @opheliaaurora23 , @bitterbethany , @sunnysidesblog , @333-xx

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livesincerely · 3 years

Note

I’m very sorry for all of the asks Madam Sincerely, but I’ve just recently gone on a binge of all of your fics, and I don’t think there’s any more questions on the ask game, so can I ask here: Do you have any ideas on future works that you haven’t started writing yet? If so, can we hear some? I was scrolling back through your tumblr to cheer myself up yesterday (my country’s gone back into lockdown) and saw you mentioned a few ideas, like the one in the SubDavey ask? Sorry, just curious <3

No need to be sorry, the asks are lovely! I’m sorry to hear that things have shut down where you are, I’m sure that’s incredibly difficult. Sending all the positivity your way 💕💜✨⭐️💕💜

The Domestic au is the QUEEN of inspiring random story ideas and dangling plot threads. There’s several floating around in the domestic au/ideas for later tags but if I was going to narrow it down to a handful of ideas that have a good chance of existing in the near-ish future, then I’d say 1) the Jack and Davey preparing for college fic 2) the Davey picking Race & Charlie up from the elementary school because Jack’s sick fic 3) the Race and Charlie needing a cuddle pile fic and 4) the bedsharing fic where Jack is struggling under the pressure of fighting for custody and needs some comfort.

I’m just in the mood for some stuff set in the high school/college era of that au, probably because ‘it’s beginning to look a lot like...’ has got me in the mindset. All of these would be one shots, just showing more landmarks in the boys’ history since ‘it’s so easy (too easy) to love you’ sort of just drops you right into the ocean as far as circumstances lol. And also, there’s a lot of family building that goes on before Jack and Davey get together that I’m very interested in exploring! I think Race describes it as ‘eight years of waiting for Jack and Davey to get their shit together?’ Yeah. So definitely lots of domestic au in the upcoming year.

I’ve talked the tiniest bit about ‘there’s you and me (and everyone else)’ and ‘a few letters off’ but after doing the first bits & bobs for each of them, I got distracted by other projects as I so often do, 😅 so I’ll talk about them here. Actually, I’m not even sure if these had working title ideas last time I mentioned them here, it’s been that long lol.

Anyway, these two fics are very similar, but just different enough to need separate fics. The first is a modern, high school au that features different examples of Jack and Davey being the accidental co-parents of their friend group while obliviously pining for each other. I’m thinking it will be individual scenes tied together by the theme; I’ll put the original idea post here and the bits & bobs here. Besides what I already talked about, I also think I want to include a scene where Albert and Crutchie are going on a first date (a pairing that is absolutely inspired by @agentsnickers, you’ve converted me) and they both separately approach Jack and Davey for advice on what to do/wear/etc. Like, a total ‘our-kids-on-their-first-date-get-the-camera’ type thing, plus Jack being an overprotective older brother and giving Charlie a curfew because he’s ridiculous.

“Be home by nine,” Jack says, a little surly. “Nine?” Davey asks, incredulous “They’re seventeen not seven. Eleven o’clock.” “I’m supposed to trust Albert with my baby brother at eleven o’clock?” Jack asks, scowling. “That’s just asking for trouble.” He says trouble in the sort of ominous tone other people reserve for imminent nuclear meltdown or battlefield heart surgery. “What do you think Albert’s gonna do, stick his hand down Crutchie’s pants the moment they walk out the door?” Davey says with a scoff. “It’s Albert.” “Ten-thirty,” Jack eventually offers. Davey nods, then looks back at Albert and Crutchie, who have been following this exchange like a tennis match and are both now a little pink in the face, and shrugs, trying to convey something like ‘pick your battles’. “Great!” Crutchie squeaks out, sounding absolutely mortified. “Great, ten-thirty it is, oh my god, Albert let’s go before theykeeptalking—“

Oh! And I want Davey to full name someone in the ultimate you-fucked-up-and-mom-is-pissed move. I even went and made full names for everyone just to be prepared 😊

Then, ‘a few letters off’ is the Jack-and-Davey’s-friends’-perspectives-on-the-nonsense-that-is-Javid fic. I’ve basically finished the Buttons scene, but I’m also hoping to include one each from the povs of Katherine, Crutchie, Racetrack, Spot, and Albert at minimum.

I’m thinking:

Katherine - catching Jack painting/drawing Davey while Jack tries to cover and deny

Spot - The aftermath of him and Jack getting into a fight with the DeLancey’s and him watching Davey fluttered worriedly around Jack, scolding him for being a reckless but still dabbing carefully at his injuries.

Racetrack - comes home to find Jack and Davey watching a movie, except that Jack’s fallen asleep halfway through, head in Davey’s lap, and Davey is adamant that Race doesn’t wake him.

Crutchie - watching Javid eating lunch together and noting how totally domestic it is: stealing food from each other’s plates, Jack gives Davey his extra fruit cup then swipes his milk carton and Davey doesn’t even say anything because it’s so routine, and how they’re able to move in and around each other effortlessly while eating and holding two separate conversations.

Albert - watching Jack and Davey flirt/bicker from the backseat on the drive to school.

And then some sort of culminating/getting together scene at the end.

There’s the infamous quarantine fic, which I waxed poetically about for all of two seconds and then never expanded on. (Here and here) The reason I haven’t done anything with it yet is because it will be a multi-chapter and between tie fic, take a shot fic, and now the domestic au holiday fic, I’m really at my limit for multi chapters at the mo’. But I do still want to do something with this once I finish tie fic and DAUHF, as take a shot knows no bounds and cannot be quantified by earthly means.

Then, as for the idea I mentioned in the sub!Davey post.... I think I’m going to be able to repurpose the general scenario/concept I was imagining for the final, E rated chapter of Tie Fic, so I don’t think the original idea will ever make it to a final cut. (I won’t say never because anything’s possible lol) But, I’m happy to put the bit I have here! Things don’t quite get E rated in this excerpt, but they’re definitely a solid M. This would’ve been an addition to the Tease series and I think this has been sitting in my drafts for almost as long as the letterman fic, and it hasn’t been edited in at least two years, so yeah 😅

00000

“I really wanted to work on my thesis proposal, that’s why I was in the library most of the day,” Davey says suddenly, pushing Jack down against the couch and straddling him, his voice light and conversational. “It was nice of you to check on me so often, though I’m sorry I wasn’t very good company. I was trying to stay focused, you know how it is.”

Davey looks at Jack expectantly, making it clear that he’s waiting for a response. Jack stares up at him, his expression equal parts confused, transfixed, and aroused. He swallows heavily, then nods.

“But I did warn you, didn’t I?” Davey continues, bracing himself with a hand on each of Jack’s shoulders, rolling their hips together as he presses closer. “That I had a lot of work to do? That this paper is really important to me and that I wanted to get a head start? That I really needed to focus and didn’t want to be distracted? I distinctly remember warning you about all of that.”

He nuzzles down the curve of Jack’s jaw, then nips at his neck. “But you didn’t listen,” he says against Jack’s pulse point. Davey smooths his hands down Jack’s chest, then back up to his throat, tugging at his collar. He unbuttons the first few buttons of his shirt.

“In fact, one could argue that you did the exact opposite of what I asked you to do,” Davey says, working his way slowly through the buttons on Jack’s shirt. “Trailing your fingers across my arm, rubbing a thumb across the nape of my neck, sneaking a hand up my shirt… I would call all of that distracting, wouldn’t you?” He finishes unbuttoning Jack’s shirt and pushes it off his shoulders, admiring his muscular chest.

Davey glances up sharply. “Answer me, Jack.”

Jack blinks himself out of his daze. “I-uh, what did you ask me?”

Davey leans forward. They’re so close that he can feel the warmth of Jack’s breath against his face. “I asked you,” he starts, wrapping his arms loosely around Jack’s neck, “whether you thought constantly caressing someone while they were trying to work would distract them.”

It takes Jack a long moment to respond. “Yeah.”

One of Davey’s hands trails up the back of Jack’s neck. “You agree that doing something like that would be impossibly flustering?” Davey asks in that same, unaffected voice—as if clarifying a statement for a news article—threading his fingers through Jack’s hair. “That it would thoroughly divert that person’s focus? That it would leave them feeling unbalanced, frustrated, and downright agitated?

He leans impossibly closer, so close that the barest tilt of his head would press their lips together. “That it would drive them so crazy that all they could think about was how desperately they needed to be fucked,” Davey growls out, and his voice low and rough.

“Christ, Davey,” Jack groans, his pupils blown wide. He leans up to kiss him, but Davey anticipates this and tugs sharply on his hair, holding him in place. “So, we’re in agreement?” Davey continues in his casual voice, letting go of the dark strands and pulling away slightly, ignoring Jack’s groan of disappointment, “that all of those actions would, in fact, be extremely distracting.”

He trails his hands lovingly across Jack’s shoulders and down his chest, his movements unhurried. He licks a hot stripe up Jack’s neck, then sucks hard at a spot just under his jaw.

“Considering both of these facts, I can only conclude that you were distracting me on purpose.” Davey presses a line of kisses along Jack’s collar bone, delighting in the moan that tears its way out of Jack’s throat. He scratches lightly at the tanned skin of Jack’s chest, then sucks a bruise just above his collarbone.

“Were you doing it on purpose, Jack?” he asks, then before Jack can answer, rolls his hips hard and slow against Jack’s, grinding their erections together. Jack’s hands spasm, then tighten, clenching hard against Davey’s sides. Davey continues his ministrations, circling his hips against Jack’s, teasing him with the friction. Then, just as Jack seems to catch on to Davey’s rhythm and starts to move with him, Davey stills. “Were you teasing me on purpose?”

Jack’s mouth opens and closes, his throat working furiously. “I-yeah.”

David hums in acknowledgment, then continues his slow perusal of his boyfriend’s chest. He nibbles lightly across his sternum, then draws the flat of his tongue across one of one Jack’s nipples. Jack arches into him but Davey pushes him back, using his leverage to hold Jack down against the couch cushions. He sits up, admiring the mess he’s made of Jack’s neck and torso.

Jack stares up at him, chest heaving, waiting for Davey’s next move.

....

Davey runs his hands down Jack’s stomach and between his hips, fingers brushing gently against the front of Jack’s jeans.

Jack lets out a guttural noise. “God, Davey, let me—“ he starts, one hand slipping back to kneed at Davey’s ass, the other inching towards Davey’s fly.

“No,” Davey says firmly, moving Jack’s hands back to his waist. “This is what you wanted, isn’t it?”

00000

That’s all that comes to mind at the moment! Oh, and the Brooklyn Davey AU idea, but I got a different ask about that, so I’ll just link it. (Here)

@saysflora

#*editor's note #*ask #ideas for later #*the writing desk #this was a lot but hopefully it was interesting!#thank you for the ask #blessings and good vibes on your house

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poeticblissme · 4 years

Text

Open up

Pairing: Min Yoongi x Reader

Genre: Fluff, Mild angst, Smut

Prompt: After months of dating, you finally tell Yoongi exactly what he means to you.

Word Count: 4,781

Warnings: Mentions of depression, fingering, cl*t licking,

A/N: I have been home for a while, and my responsibilities can finally take a break. I can write again, free of all this stress and let me say it feels so good. I hope you all like this, I have not written in so long so it may be a bit rusty around the edges.

Feedback appreciated.

It truly was interesting, the aspect of having someone to confide in when things are too tough for one to handle. No matter what the circumstance, you tried to be that person for all those who were close to you. You were their shoulder to cry on, the one they came to for advice on any and every situation, good or bad. You were the one who everyone trusted to make them feel better when they felt like nothing, or when they just simply needed a friend.

Maybe it was the fact in your own life you never really had that type of support system. Though you were well provided for physically, with a welcoming home, a good paying job, and pleasant memories of friends and family, it did not change the fact that when it came to your emotional well being, you were just not as provided for. Whenever you tried to confide in anyone, they seemed to either blow off your concerns, not really receive what you were trying to convey, or not care about what you felt at all. It seemed as if, no matter how much you were there for others, there was little to no care for your own well being.

It was not that you were bitter about it, or that you were expecting everyone to return the favor for you being there for them, that was not the point of your kindness at all. It was more of a personal wish to have someone understand that even though you will happily make anyone see the light in their dark situation, you were a human being who had problems too, even when you don’t physically show that there was anything wrong.

You truly felt it was a wasted effort, but not because of anyone else. Truthfully, you knew deep down that it was your own fault. You were an introvert, and unfortunately for you, the guilt you felt when even thinking of your own issues made it close to impossible for you to open up to anyone without feeling unworthy, or wrong for sharing what made you feel so rotten, if you could even pinpoint why you were feeling so down.

These constant thoughts of inadequacy and unworthiness were the very reason you had so much trouble opening up to your newest boyfriend, who was only the second one you have ever had. The first did not work out, because, well to put it plainly, he was too clingy. You valued your individuality, and being around people too much was very draining, it was nothing personal, and you did like him, but he wanted to much from you that you could not give him. You were not ready to just give yourself to someone so fully and drastically, and to stay with him to sort out your own personal grievances, all the while not giving him his own emotional needs was is no way fair to him. So, with a heavy heart, and a guilty mind, you let him go.

When Min Yoongi first appeared in your life is was completely by accident. He had been going to walk out the door of the cafe you were in, most likely going to his morning job, when someone bumped into him, sending him backwards toward your table. The coffee he had in his hand slipped and spilled, marking your paperwork that you had spent countless hours perfecting in large dark brown splatter patterns along ever inch of the printed paper.

“You have got to be joking!” You screeched, your hands going to your hair in shock.

You eyed your work in disbelief, there was no way you could turn this into your boss now, this was no simple stain on the edge of the paper. No, the brown liquid basically covered each page through and through! This meant you would have to retype everything, every single detail you had foolishly deleted from your saved files on your laptop because you did not want any clutter.

“Oh shit, I am so so sorry miss,.” Came a voice from beside you. It was deep, husky even. The first thought that came to your mind was how if whoever it was speaking to you had his own radio show, the ears of whoever chose to listen were in for quite the treat.

You looked up, a small sigh leaving your lips as you finally gave yourself a chance to breathe. Your eyes focused as you finally had a face to match the mystical voice that rang through your ears. The gentleman was average height, at least to you. He had short blonde hair, the edges covering his forehead completely, and his eyes only slightly. His skin was a delicate creamy color, carefully accentuating the brown of his delicate eyes. He wore a long black overcoat, followed by a black turtleneck, which was proper for the current cold that graced the town, along with dark blue jeans, which were held up by a tight freshly bought black belt.

“No, no don’t worry.” You started, forcing yourself back to reality. Had you been staring to long? You reached to the side of the table, grabbing the few loose napkins that remained from your breakfast to begin wiping up the spill. “It’s not that big of a deal.”

“Those papers looked pretty important, considering how hard you were starring at them.” He noted, his brows creasing in concern. He handed you a couple napkins, all the while behind down and helping you wipe the last of the coffee from the table top.

He was watching you? Well, you shouldn’t be shocked. It is common for others to people watch while waiting for their order. Or maybe he was talking about when you helplessly watch as the large quantity of coffee spilled all over your precious papers. “They are just papers for my job, I have a thesis to give to my boss in the next couple days.”

“How long have you been working on this?” He asked, taking the napkins off the table and disposing them in the nearby garbage can.

“A couple you weeks.” you admitted with a sigh, looking down at the drenched papers. If you thought about it, maybe this was karma, you would not put it past the magic of the universe to come back and bite you for something, it seemed to do that more often than not these days. “I was almost finished with it, but I’ll have to retype everything now.”

“I really am so sorry about this.” He spoke sitting in the chair across from your own. “Someone bumped into me and I lost balance-”

“Really, it’s no trouble, I was not completely happy with what I had anyway, this way while I do the retypes I can take more time and make it even better than before.”

You looked up at him and smiled sweetly, trying with all your might to subdue the negative thoughts circling in your head. He returned the gesture by giving you the most adorable gummy smile you had ever witnessed. Wow, what a beautiful human being.

“Well, is there anything I can do to make up for this terrible circumstance Miss?”

“Y/N, please. Miss is a bit to professional for my taste and unless you have a laptop on you to help me revise and fix these rewrites, I am okay.”

“Well, Y/N, you can call me Yoongi, and as luck would have it, I actually do have a laptop in my car.”

You looked at him in shock, not sure how to handle the situation put in front of you. Could he not see that you were joking? You were not really trying to force him to help you over something so small. You really have to work on the tone of your voice when you speak. Now you have made the poor guy feel obligated to help you.

“Oh Yoongi no, I was totally kidding you don’t have to-”

“Nonsense.” He spoke, with a wave of his hand. “I made the mess after all, the least I can do is help you retype a few papers, besides, I am pretty good with words myself, so I can help make the paper even better than you originally planned, I’ll be right back.”

With a small wink in your direction, he sat up from his seat and made his way outside. He came back within what seemed a few seconds, with a small black laptop in hand. Perching himself across from you, he plugged the charger into the outlet and took a few of the coffee stained papers to turn in his direction.

You eyed him with such surprise it made him question if he has something on his face, to which you shook your head. What was he doing this for? it was not like he forced the guy to bump into him, accident happen. You should know.

“Okay, so, I will need a little bit of a background on what you are writing about, that way I know how to give proper advice how how everything should flow, you know all that good stuff.” He spoke, his gummy smile returning once more, as he began to type the first page in his grasp.

After a few hours of collaboration with Yoongi, you exchanged numbers, his excuse being he wanted to hear the official results of your paper. You could only imagine his state of happiness when you texted him three days later, explaining to him how your boss had practically leaped with joy at how much detail and work that was put into everything he had reviewed. Yoongi was quite pleased with the result and in turn asked you out to a celebratory dinner, his treat, you accepted without a moments hesitation.

Eventually, one date turned into three, those dates turned into house visits and movie nights, and now, after eight long months, you were in a very balanced relationship, one you had no idea would mean more to you than life itself. It was weird, your last relationship had lasted about two months before you had called it quits, and even in that time frame, you had so many doubts about where it was going if you truly liked the person you were with, and if it had been something your heart and mind truly wanted.

With Yoongi, it was so much more. He gave you space when you needed, and you gave him space when he needed it. He was there for your lowest points, and you were there for his. It was a steady flow of support and balance that you never thought you would feel in your life. Perhaps it meant that much more to you because this was a gradual change. He had given you the time you needed to truly start opening up to him. He knew what it was like to be shy, to hold parts of yourself from the world in fear or hidden guard. You could see in some ways that you were the same in that regard, which is probably why he knew about your mental needs and wants more than you had expected.

He was always so patient with you, willing to wait for when things were acceptable on your time, and you gave him that same respect in return. If he wanted to talk, you would listen, if he was not in the mood, you would not push unless needed. With time, being neglected was no longer apart of the norm, that feeling of indifference and seclusion was now filled with love and openness. You found yourself wanting to share more with him, to let him into your life, to share the burdens you have felt for so long without feeling guilty. Yoongi, whether he realized it or not, made you feel good enough.

That feeling of never ending appreciation and fondness, was what brought you to this very moment. You had texted Yoongi, stating how there was something you needed to share with him over dinner, something important. How important it was was supposedly a matter of opinion, but now that your mind and body have built this line of trust with him, it was only fair to him that you share your true thoughts on how much this relationship has affected you, how it continues to affect you.

He of course agreed to your little date, and once the day finally came, you did anything and everything to make sure that the night was perfect, not only for him, but for your own state of mind. You made his favorite foods, you wore the tight red shirt and black jeans he said he loved to see you in, you even went as far as to light some candles (nothing wrong with setting the mood right?). Everything was catered to his liking, everything you chose to present to him tonight was something that made him happy, and seeing him happy, made you happy.

You sat next to each other on the couch in your apartment living room, sharing the meal you had prepared. By the way he was silently eating on the plate in front of him, you could tell he thoroughly like what you had made. If he was silent during the meal that meant he was completely focus on the food in front of him, which is something you did as well. Nothing like good food to bring a comfortable silence to the table of lovers.

“Okay, consider me officially spoiled.” He spoke, wiping his mouth with his napkin. He places the used paper on the plate that rested on the table in front of him. “This was delicious, I also see your wearing my favorite outfit.”

You smiled, a small blush spread across on your cheeks as you responded. “Yeah, I know you like this outfit best, so-”

“Well I do love it.” He responded, turning to face you. “Tonight has been perfect Y/N, Seriously. Now, the anticipation is killing me, what did you want to talk about? By the way this night has gone I am hoping it is good news.”

“Well It is!, I mean- Well I hope so, I mean- It....I mean it can be, it is for me anyway-” You stuttered, trying to find the words you had practiced over and over again.

“Welp, I am full on food and ready to hear it, take your time.” He spoke, leaning back in his seat. You smiled to yourself, like always, he was giving you time, and not dwelling on the fact you seemed to have lost a bit of your confidence. Always so patient.

“Okay so....well, It’s been eight months since we started dating you know?” You asked, to which he nodded, letting you continue. “Which I have to say is really crazy! I mean, I have only had one other person before you and that did not work out...as I told you.”

He smiled, seemingly enjoying how you began to ramble on.

“And...Well, during these last few months I have not even had one thought about breaking up! Which is totally a compliment by the way. You are always so sweet to me, and so patient and trusting and I just..... I just-.....I just wanted to do something for you that shows you how much I appreciate all this time you have given to me.”

“Y/N...” Yoongi started sitting up once more. He turned his body, causing his left knee to bump into yours. He took your hand in both of his, the smile he sported still on his face. “You show me that every day-”

“No..let me finish, otherwise I’ll never get this out.” You interrupted. With a small sigh you looked into his eyes and pushed the last bit of confidence you had to the surface.

“I know we shared I love you’s already, but this is different. I don’t...I don’t open up to people often. Not in the way I have opened up to you. It is hard for me to express my emotions so freely. Whether it’s my parents or old friends, its hard to give your love to someone, only to be broken by them....not purposely of course! but in ways they may not understand because they don’t live inside my head. I can’t make them understand how I feel, not when I can’t even explain it myself.”

You could feel the tears start to bottle up in your eyes, the weight of your confession was becoming to much, but you wanted to continue, you needed to.

“Look, I just....I need you to understand that I love you, Yoongi. I truly, deeply, love you, Everything you have done for me, the time you have given me to open up with out judgement, to being the listening ear that I have always dreamed of having, you have done it all, and that has changed my entire life. It is not often I feel so accepted and love.....I don’t think I have ever felt that way, not fully at least. With you, I feel complete. These last few months have changed me for the better and i know that is because of you, I would not be where I am without you, and...I needed you to know that.

The look in Yoongi’s eyes was unreadable, much like most of the time when he was processing his own emotions. You knew him however, and you could tell by the way his hand squeezed yours tighter, how his eyes searched yours for whatever he was looking for, that he was touched by your confession.

“Y/N...” He finally whispered, pulling his right hand from atop yours to wipe away a tear that had suddenly fallen from your right cheek. “Baby, My precious Baby I love you so much. Neither of us show our emotions outright, but just know my gentle flower, the feeling is forever reciprocated.”

He leaned in, no longer able to keep a distance from you. His lips met yours slowly, as if you were to delicate right now to touch, which in some ways you were. You responded to his touch as if by instinct, leaning further into him to have more of his mouth pressing onto yours. You could feel heat growing in your chest, a sudden feeling of desperation and want clouding your insides. You knew what this was, you knew were this was leading, as you had done it many times before, but there was something different about tonight, there was something deeper, more powerful than about the process leading to the inevitable.

Your hands detached from each other, the need to touch each other far to mighty to ignore. As your hands went to the back of his hair, and to the side of his left arm, his hands tangled into your hair and to the top of your left hip.

The kiss began to gain a natural heat, tongue dived into each other, now dancing a beautiful ballet with one another. Hands clasped tighter, doing whatever it took to bring you both closer together. The tug you felt at the back of your head, caused a breathy moan from your lips, forcing you to accept the oxygen you had no idea you were being deprived of.

“Yoongi..”You moaned again, trying to gain his attention.

“Baby, I want you so bad,” He spoke, pulling away from your lips to look into your eyes. you could see the lust circling in his eyes, the darkness of his iris's no doubt matched your own. You wanted him too....scratch that... You needed him too.

“Yoongi I need more..” You whispered, looking down to his lips. “Please...”

“Your room, come on.” He commanded, shooting up from the couch. His touch left your body, much to your dismay, but you quickly complied, sitting up from the couch and making your way to your now shared bedroom.

Time seemed to be going a lot faster than you had originally anticipated, you were not able to predict the time it took you to get to your room, nor the time it took for you to strip yourself of all of your clothes, seeing as he always loved it when you were bare before him.

“Always so beautiful.” He commented, shutting the door behind him.

His stance turned into the confident predator that he became during times like this, his walk toward you held nothing but power and determination, the type that had your knees weak and your breath short.

You body was craving his touch, more so that usual, and you knew why. After making yourself so vulnerable, which was something you never did, you needed reassurance. You needed him to show you that what you just did was okay, that he would accept the heart that you had so willingly given him access to. You needed to know that the love was returned.

He now stood right in front of you, his eyes gliding up and down you naked form in what seemed to be complete adoration. With a small smirk, and click of his tongue, he spoke, “Lay down, and spread those pretty legs for me baby.” He nodded his head to the bed behind you, and as always you were quick to comply to his wish, your ability to resist or play stubborn a mere passing thought in your mind.

With your legs spread apart, and elbows holding up your upper half, you watched with deep interest as Yoongi eyed your core, his tongue darting out to lick his lips and making your stomach clench in anticipation, sending a wave of wetness to your core.

“I can see how wet you are.” Yoongi commented, his focus turning to your for a split second before returning to your wet heat. “I haven’t even done anything yet, how could you possibly be this wet?”

“Guess you just have that affect on me.” You spoke with a smile.

“Then you should know how hard I am right now then, seeing as you have the same effect on me, princess.” He called out, making your eyes rake down to his lower half, and sure enough, through the fabric of his black jeans was his erection, in it’s glory, growing in front of your very eyes.

You found it sweet that even now, your reactions to each other doing the bare minimum, was as strong as when you had first engaged in sexual activities. It was like your bodies were addicted to one another, and the very idea of getting to touch each other in even the simplest of ways, was enough to have your body aching for more, no matter the circumstance.

“I’m going to devour this sweet, sweet Pussy, would you like that baby? You want me to suck up these sweet juices?” He asked, his voice low, sweet and tempting. He slipped his shirt off in one swift motion, throwing it to the floor to an undisclosed location. He loosened the button on his pants, letting the fly now hang freely open giving him and his crotch the air it needed.

“Yes Yoongi..... Yes, please, I want your tongue in me so bad.” You answered, your voice rushed. “

He smirked as he took his final steps to the bed. He spread your legs while lowering his body, making sure to keep eye contact with you as his face reached closer to the are where you wanted him most.

“It makes me so happy to know that this is all mine.” He spoke, his voice low and seductive. His lips touched upon the skin of your inner left leg, the feeling nothing more than a light peck. “To know that I am the only one who could ever touch something so precious, it drives me wild.”

You whimpered as his lips traveled lower as they remained on your skin. You could feel the lingering feeling of his luscious lips of every piece of your thigh that he touched, only making you crave more than he was currently giving you. You knew he was doing this on purpose, he wanted to tease you, to make your body ache for him, to make your body push hard to earn what he would give you.

“Yoongi..” You whined, your hands clenching on the sheets below you. You were about to complain, to use whatever was left of your voice to explain how much you needed him, but it turned into nothing more than a exasperated moan, as his tongue finally came into contact with your soaking core.

You knew in reality that by the way his fingers slid up and down your thighs, the way he light kissed the insides of your trembling legs to calm you down, you didn’t have to say a single word.

He breached your inner walls, curving his wet tongue to reach the places he knew would have you squirming and begging for more. His mouth collected your wetness, using it as a lubricant on his desperate lips. He sucked and licked slowly and thoroughly, finding any and every place he could.

“Fuck..” You began, arching your back. “Fuck, fuck yes Yoongi right there, oh my god yes, yes right there, please keep going, right there, right there, right there keep sucking me.”

“Mmmhm.” He responded, knowing this would be your response. He raised his right hand in the air letting your eyes note the two digits that lowered slowly until found its way to your aching lips. With studied precision, he entered you, his fingers sliding in and out your wet walls. He made the process agonizingly slow, pulling in and out at the slowest pace he could muster. The rough edges of the tips of his fingers continuously sliding in tune with your movements, making you cry out in want and desperation. You needed him to go faster, the need to have him pushing you to your absolute limit was now a must, he felt to good, he felt so right, his fingers were so powerful you were not sure how you ever went without them for any part of your life.

He hummed once more against your cunt, sending even more powerful vibrations from his mouth to your throbbing clit. The mixed physical sensations caused your body to twitch in eagerness. Did you forget to mention that he felt so good? Did you forget to mention how much you needed even more of him? You could not remember the thoughts you had conjured up before. You did not know how one man could make you feel like you were on cloud nine whenever he touched you, how one man could use his tongue and push your mind to forget the difference between reality and fantasy.

Your clit was pulsating with every suck, your pussy was clenching with every touch. The way his fingers entered you over and over again, taking only a few moments to exit your cunt to collect the wetness your body continually produced was driving you crazy. Your stomach was clenching more and more, indicating how close you were to your first real release since all this agonizing teasing began. All you knew was that you were on the edge, and that you needed your daddies permission to let you climb over the edge, just once. If only you could let go for only a moment.

“Yoongi, Yoongi baby please I’m gonna-”

“Gonna come for me, my precious flower?” He asked, lifting his mouth from you, but not letting his fingers stop their fast paced in and out motions in your cunt. He knew how much your body could take, he knew what your body needed. “Gonna let me feel you come over my fingers before I fuck you into oblivion? You want me to feel your delectable pussy clench on my fingers?”

Your breathing began to race at his words, you could feel yourself on the edge, you could feel your body begin to let go.

“That’s right baby, come for me, let me see those sexy fuckin pussy lips tighten around me. I want to suck your sweet cum juices until you are completely dry baby, I want to show you how much I love you and your body.”

You could not hold the moan that escaped your lips as you came, the feeling of euphoria washing over you and your desperate body as Yoongi continued to push in and out of you, allowing you to ride out the high he had graciously given you.

Yoongi watched as your breathing began to steady. That was how he knew what state you were in, and he knew that you, as well as him, craved more, no matter how much you may have liked what he gave you.

“I am not done with you yet princess.” He spoke, making sure your attention would go to him, despite your tired state, and of course, it did.

“Oh?” you answered, a small smirk on your face. “What else do you have for me.?”

“Something you know that if I wanted, I could have you begging for.” He answered, his tongue licking his lips as he did before.

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phynali · 4 years

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I don't know if you're apart of the Supernatural fandom, but if you are, could you do a speech analysis for Dean Winchester? Thank you.

I am! I’ve fallen into (back) into SPN hell recently and gotten a ton of feels I did not expect, thank you very damn much. But anyway, yes I am happy to oblige.

Dean’s voice is very distinct, but I can see why it’s hard to grapple with for many writers because very seldom does he say what he means and very often when he does it’s wrapped up in humour or pain. It’s often quippy as a means of deflecting emotion or maintaining a status quo or emotional handle over a situation. He uses commands and charm and pop culture references but he’s a very complex character so sometimes that all disappears and he’s open and vulnerable and raw, and those lines can be hard to draw.

Notes

To understand Dean’s focal speech patterns, we first to recognize that we’ve known Dean for 15 years, and that people’s modes of speaking can and will change over time. We’re gonna focus on things that have stayed more or less consistent over time, and his ‘base’ speech patterns that make his dialogue him. I’ll mostly shy away from different eras but may highlight a few things, and the same goes for who he’s talking to because he’s pretty similar with his only major differences being a function of closeness. He’s not much of a conversational mimic so we don’t have to worry about that.

We’re also gonna state the obvious and contrast the type of conversation he might be having - whether he’s tied up or in danger vs. expressing emotions vs. focused on the job. That’s probably where the meat of this is for people who are interested in these kinds of analyses anyway :)

Also - this is 4200 words so I’m sure there are typos so just acknowledging that up front.

Sentence Style

Let’s start with overall style.

Dean’s speech is generally straightforward (when he’s not being referential) with a low proportion of adjectives and a decent amount of degree modifiers (more on that below). He uses simple sentences with clear statements, though will add clauses to clarify, reference, or add degree fairly frequently.

For example:

”Like you said” is acting here as a way to refer back to a previous conversation. Dean does this more when he’s stating something not about himself/his subjective experience, but stating an absolute (or at least something to be taken as absolute).

Also something to point out about this example: like I said he uses shorter, simpler sentences. While that isn’t always true of course, it definitely it is the case that he doesn’t tend toward long, breathless sentences. Even here he could have said this in one sentence and instead split it into two concrete points. A person could transcribe it differently (”Like you said, we’re family, and we don’t leave family behind.”) but he tends to speak in this manner that implies full stops between these separate statements.

(Later I’m gonna completely contradict myself by talking about his longer statements btw. He tends to use longer sentences in more serious conversations, and includes clauses that qualify the statement).

Declarative I-Statements

Dean uses a ton of declarative sentences starting with I. Like - a lot of people do. But Dean’s iconic quotes are often “I”, and a large proportion of his sentences are declarative sentences in the active voice centring around him, his opinion, or his experience of the world. From “I think he wants us to pick up where he left off - saving people, hunting things, the family business.” to “I think I’m adorable”, Dean likes to tell us what he thinks and what he is.

You can also extend this pattern to other sentences that might start with different words but carry the same thesis “Demons I get - people are crazy.” It could be reworded just as simply as “I get demons - people are crazy.” But if Sam were the one saying it? “People are crazy” seems just as likely (although I’d put my money on “what is wrong with people?” as Sam’s most likely statement if he were trying to get the same sentiment across). Sam would express it as an absolute about the world or a rhetorical question, rather than one focused around his view of the world. Which doesn’t make Sam less self-focused or idiocentric than Dean, but their speech patterns express different modes of seeing the world, and in some ways Dean’s vocal patterns do more to acknowledge that his view of the world is subjective (but also that his subjective view is all he really cares about anyway).

(see all the other gifs here. Think “I’m proud of us” and so many other lines. So many I-statements).

Imperative and Commands

Dean speaks in a lot of commands. Idk what else to tell you. He’s a natural leader and he takes charge of situations, so it’s just kind of a natural facet of his speech.

He does this with humour:

And without (”He asks, you answer! Then you shut your hole” for example).

Telling people what to do isn’t always met kindly, of course:

And although not an imperative sentence, he also is comfortable using speech to demand compliance:

Word Choices

One thing I like to always examine is word choice, contractions, and negation, so let’s dive in to that.

Diction

While Dean doesn’t flower up his language much in terms of verb and noun choice, that isn’t because he has a small vocabulary. I’d wager it’s a choice to being unpretentious because of the world he lives in. He never has any issue pulling out technical or clinical language:

(Also seen here: he tends to be very pithy and flippant, especially when he’s unimpressed with someone or with a situation, or wants to express annoyance and frustration. It’s his first-stop for “I dislike this”.)

We’ve seen him use words like Achilles’ Heel and describe how he made an EMF using technical language, so there’s no hesitancy to drop these terms, but for him it’s a matter of expressing what he wants to in a manner that will be easily understood by the person with whom he’s speaking.

Negation

For how he uses negation - Dean doesn’t say “ain’t” and he seldom said “[x]’s not”. His typical negation is “isn’t”.

(Not “this ain’t the Scooby Gang” and not “it’s not / we’re not the Scooby Gang”. Isn’t. And yes, the line “there ain’t no me if there ain’t no you” bugs the hell out of me for this specific reason. When else have we ever heard him say ain’t? “There is no me if there is no you” is way more in keeping with his usual negation style.)

He also negates using the word Never. “I’ve never had anything this nice.”

Like this. And like this:

This is interesting because it fits into Dean’s pattern (discussed below) of using words (adverbs and swears alike) as ways to modify the intensity of his sentences. A lot of people use qualifiers to create this sense of degree (words like “really” and “very”). While Dean sometimes uses or combines those words with others (”really freakin’ hate this”), he does something that very few people do, which is use the qualifying word ‘never’ to express an absolute quality. Most of us can’t say we’ve never done something. We might say we “didn’t” do something, but we don’t express it as absolute as “never”. Dean does. Dean makes it clear what things simply do not get to be attributed to him or are not to be counted within his sphere of existence.

(He says it under less extreme circumstances too though...)

Contractions

Dean is liberal with his use of contractions and word shortenings. I’d recommend writing his use of words like “freaking” as “freakin’” “nothin’” and so forth. Can’t, not cannot.

Gonna, wanna. You are going to want to = You’re gonna wanna. (Also “you’re gonna have to trust me”. He tells people what they’re gonna have to do a lot).

He uses other shortenings like “y’know” and “’cause” as well, when he’s relaxed at least. Like all of us, if he’s emphasizing those words he’ll enunciate fully, so try to match the contraction use to what you want to emphasize and to the tone you want to convey.

Addressing Others

I wasn’t sure what else to call these (linguists might have some idea), but I’m talking about the use of words like “man” “dude” and “y’know” (and even his “Listen Velma” above). He uses these words like we all do - to ensure the person we’re talking to is clear that we’re addressing them directly, calling them into the conversation. Dean uses ‘dude’ a frequent amount for Sam (and others) but also “Man” at times (especially when annoyed). He uses “brother” for Benny as well in S8 in the same manner.

Conversely, “y’know” tends to come up when he’s being sly or pithy. He doesn’t really use ‘Buddy’ except for strangers (but not like Sam who essentially uses it as a threat) and I can’t recall him saying ‘pal’.

Positive and Negative Words

Some generic positives: awesome, super (often sarcastic)

Some recurrent negatives: ugly, bad, douch-y

“It ends bloody. It ends bad.”

Expressing Emphasis

Look - Dean doesn’t use a lot of adjectives, but he does use a lot of degree modifiers/adverbs. One of those is “just”. “Just do [x].” “Just so you know.” Just.

(Even here, “I just”).

He also does a very neat thing with the word “Uh.” It’s used not to hesitate or equivocate, like most people might use it, but instead to increase attention to what he’s saying. A false-hesitancy which tends to both emphasize and diffuse what he’s saying a bit.

(It’s so neat!)

Swearing

There is absolutely no doubt that Dean is an avid curser. There’s an excellent 4th-wall-bending implication from 3x13 (Ghostfacers) where we see Dean (and Sam) dropping f-bombs and other swears that get bleeped out in the Ghostfacers documentary. Which allows us as the audience to realize they’re swearing all the time, but that the network doesn’t allow that kind of swearing, so we see a watered down version of their dialogue on screen.

Dean says “freaking” a lot, and I feel like we can assume that 9 times out of 10, he’s dropping an f bomb. His favourite exclamation is “son of a bitch”, but when he’s really pissed off, we get a “motherf*cker”. Seasons 4-8 his favourite thing to call people is a douche or douchebag if he looks down on them. In general my advice to authors would be not to hesitate to have Dean swear, but make sure you’re using them right.

While many swears are just exclamations or word replacement (”kicked my ass” instead of “kicked my butt”), a lot of the swearing that Dean does is specifically to increase emphasis to something in his speech. Adding in freaking/f*cking as an intensifier is probably its most common use for him.

For the record, he uses “hell” in a similar fashion. What the hell, how the hell, where the hell - etc. Expressing intense emotions via swears that increase the degree/magnitude/intensity of the statement.

(Oddly enough, although Dean will insult people casually calling them douche, etc, when he’s pressed and angry and aggressive, his insults toward people don’t become vitriolic diatribes. Threats are more common, typically without an upscale in cursing, and so is being pithy to get them mad and distracted.)

Questions, Answers, and Emotions

Okay so one thing I have to address: I kind of setup a strawman in the opening about sentence length. Because sure, Dean uses a lot of shorter and more declarative sentences. But he’s a person, which means that the bulk of his speech is just speech. While all else being equal, he uses more shorter, i-statements, and more commanding language than others, he also has conversations. He’s got a great sense of humour and a bit of an acid tongue, even under pressure, so if you’re not writing him with some some glibness or humour (even when it comes out biting, frustrated or falls completely flat) you’re probably missing something.

And often, he expresses himself in questions. This humour and glibness can come out like: "What are you, the Dog Whisperer now?" in a less strained situation, or it can come out to try to keep his feels under wraps while seeking insight:

Of course it’s not all questions. Sometimes his glibness, including for his own life, comes out in the form of answers:

He’s being serious but totally glib about life and death, having accepted his fate. (Dean accepting his own mortality is kind of also a must, especially post S1 finale).

And sometimes he expresses pain and feeling as questions without any glibness at all:

So to be clear, don’t write him as only ever using short i-declarations. Pepper those in, but remember that if he’s expressing an emotion or a vulnerability (even if he’s covering it with glibness), he’ll be using this roundabout way with questions or with indirect answers that don’t directly state his feelings but still manage to convey what he’s thinking.

Pleading

One more thing I want to touch on in this section: there are (probably surprising to some who aren’t looking) a lot of notes of supplication when he’s talking to others and feeling vulnerable. It’s very easy to think of Dean as someone who’ll never ask, never beg or plead. Because that’s what he wants you to think, because he’s the cool, in charge Han Solo type.

But Dean does ask. He pleads. He pleads to God/Chuck, he pleads to his father, to Sam, to Cass. A major difference between he and Sam is actually the situations in which they’re likely to say “please”. Sam’s likely to use it as a first response (and therefore says it waaaay more) but absolutely refuse to under duress. Dean will never ever use it as a first response, but will fall back and resort to it in the end. We could unpack what that means about their psyche, but we’re here for language.

Not too surprisingly, I’m having a hard time getting the gif search to grant me specific gifs of Dean saying ‘please’, but I can recall some instances. S1 finale, when Azazel is possessing John. First he starts with quips and pissing Azazel off, and then it’s “Don’t you let him hurt me!” and then when that fails, he begs his father to help him.

He pleads in S1 for Sam not to leave, because Sam is all he has left. He pleads with an angelic APB at the opening of S9 for an angel to save Sam. He tells Cass he needs him when Cass his pulverizing his face. “Please, he’s my brother”. Is that what he says to Lilith? Or was the ‘please’ implied there?

Here, instead of single gifs, you should get the full experience of the duress under which Dean will say please:

To God

To his dad

To his dad again

To Bobby

To Sam in an alternate timeline

And when he wants to be left alone the same thing occurs:

To his mother

To Sam

You get the idea. He doesn’t always say please. Sometimes it’s notes of supplication in his voice and sometimes it’s a somewhat desperate “c’mon man” when he doesn’t want to have to ask but he’s at the end of his rope.

(Okay final characterization note for this section - I also think Dean is probably useless against someone who looks up at him with wide sad eyes and says ‘please’ to him. I suspect part of why it’s his final defense is because he himself would be defenseless to that kind of plea from others, because he was hardwired from a young age to look after his infant little brother, and that involves a certain amount of responding to pleading and helplessness).

Pop Culture References

Dean uses a lot of highly referential language. He refers to bands and musicians, films, pop culture, current events and modern history, etc. Despite him not being overly tapped into social media (e.g., not knowing what myspace is in early seasons, among other things), it’s equally clear that he’s tapped into film, TV, music - any means through which he can consume content. This makes sense given how much driving time and downtime his life must have, with time in motels and between jobs to watch and rewatch the same media. Try to pepper in these sorts of references in as ways for Dean to describe what’s going on and relate new experiences to what makes sense to him.

If you’re a non-American writing him, or a very young American, it doesn’t hurt to brush up on music and media that were popular from the 80s and 90s, which will make up the core of Dean’s formative years and therefore references. There’s also evidence he knows a lot of pop culture history though so don’t hesitate to make references to films etc from any decade of the 20th century. He’s also a bit of a sci-fi nerd and we know he reads (including Vonnegut) so literary references are perfectly in order. I would shy away from references to historical fiction, Shakespeare, and instead keep it to genres we know he consumes (including cartoons!).

"You were wasted by a Teenage Mutant Ninja Angel?"

(ps - seriously just look at this post - we’ve got scooby doo and blues brothers and batman and I wasn’t even trying to find pop culture references when I gif searched).

Deeper Emotional Conversations

While I mentioned above that he uses questions and answers to roundabout discuss his feelings, not all chick flick moments can be handled in that manner, and many can’t be handled with glibness at all.

For Dean, directly addressing his deeper negative emotions is difficult, and thus becomes a pained pronouncement. The nuance tends to come through in his face and nonverbal cues so focus on those, but linguistic choices are pretty important here. And this is where directly naming his emotions comes in. Unlike that question/answer section above where his thoughts and feelings are conveyed without directly naming his sentiment, sometimes he is called upon to express his feelings more specifically.

Because let’s be honest, he’s got his A Single Man Tear(TM) and he’s got deep, painful feelings, but he sucks at talking about them.

Let’s create an example that isn’t something that specifically happened in canon, but easily could. So - let’s say that Dean might need to say he’s scared of losing Sam. That would come after some pained discussion and Dean will act like he’s having his teeth pulled, but he will say it. And when he does, it’s either an angry proclamation (”you want me to say it? fine! i’m scared, sam - i’m scared as hell that one day i’ll wake up and you’ll be gone.”) or he cracks himself open completely exposed and vulnerable, and all the air rushes from the room when you see it because his eyes are shining and it’s visceral and real and been sitting right below the surface, suffocated until this moment (”i’m scared, sam,” a crack in his voice, an inhale of breath, and he looks a second from losing it. but it’s dean so he won’t, he’ll hold on by the skin of his teeth with his heart spilling out of his mouth, red with the blood of his own truths. “i’m terrified of losing you.”).

There’s very little in between. There’s almost never any emotionally removed or more clinical discussion of his feelings like you might get with Sam. (”you want me to say i’m scared? of course i’m scared. i’m terrified, dean, but that’s not the point here. the point is -”). Because Dean struggles to accept and avow his painful internal emotional landscape, he struggles to discuss it in a way that’s removed, so it becomes very intense when he does.

What this also means for writing emotional dialogue is that although Dean does not lack insight into his emotions, where they come from, and why he’s feeling the way he is, he’ll very seldom provide you an in depth explanation. This may make him seem less emotionally mature, but really what’s happening is a struggle to put those feelings into words. Discussion of anxiety, insecurity, and trauma are put into boxes he can more easily communicate - fear, anger, violence. Less “I overreacted because I was scared of losing you” and more “I’m fucking terrified of losing you. And yeah, it pisses me off.” Dean doesn’t tend to use explanatory statements (”because”), he tends to present emotions and even concepts outside of emotional discussions as separate statements, and it becomes your job to then connect those statements (as the one he’s talking to, and as the audience).

Like I said near the start, Dean also uses longer sentences when having serious conversations. “As long as I’m around, nothing bad’s gonna happen to you.” Note the first half of that sentence acting as a qualifier (implying something bad could happen, but not when Dean is around, creating the condition upon which the whole sentence and sentiment hangs).

Less Declarative Expression

Dean expresses negative emotions like disappointment and frustration as well, but unlike his more intense/extreme negative emotions (terror, fear of abandonment, deep anger) he very seldom will declare those emotions. While he might use question and answer format, he might also control the conversation with a straightforward expression that saves him from having to say what he’s feeling while still getting it across.

For example, "Well that's great, because without your power, you're basically just a baby in a trench coat." Instead of saying he’s frustrated, he says something that gets to the point of what he’s mad about without saying he’s mad. (This is especially true when what he’s mad about is the situation. Because while these statements are about people, on the balance of things, they’re not really directed at them. Because often he’s frustrated because of something they can’t solve and he knows that).

He’s also liable to not-declare-but-express pent up feelings he’s not ready to unpack in the same manner:

He’s obviously stressed and angry, but he doesn’t want to have to avow that anger and unpack all of where it’s coming from. It’s not the feeling of the emotion he dislikes so much as it is the examination of the underpinning reasons for it, because the dredge it up and unpack it is more painful than to let himself to continue to feel it at this low consistent level while he processes.

Outliers and End Notes

No post can fully capture and analyze 15 years of dialogue. There’s probably a million important elements to Dean’s speech that I missed. I think I want to emphasize a few things before we part.

First - if you really want to write Dean, make sure you write him as charismatic. He uses humor, charm, deflection, questions, commands, and confidence all to control conversations and he does it seamlessly. Despite his rakish nature, he seldom if ever seems to offend people (unless he’s deliberately trying to piss them off) and you should take that into consideration when writing him.

Keeping him fully in character will therefore involve a sort of fluidity about his speech, and those references. He is personable and exceptionally confident. He does not tend to hesitate or apologize (except in a flippant, superficial way, or in very strained emotional conversations and then only to those he loves deeply). His volume and tone are probably as or more important than his words, so consider when he’s saying something with a purr vs. with a snarl vs. shouting vs. having his voice crack into a whisper. He’s incredibly expressive with his face, but not overly gesticular with his hands (though he does gesture, just not in a way that stands out a great deal).

If you want or need him to give some type of confession in what you’re writing, you pretty much have two options. Either expressing his emotions in ways I’ve described here, or giving it the good ol’ S12 monologue where he bares his soul (when he’s inside Mary’s head). That should be reserved only for very extreme circumstances though - circumstances like saving his mother from brainwashing, discussing his hell trauma, or declaring that there’s nothing on heaven or earth he’d put before his little brother. Because in general long speeches aren’t his style.

And if you can, give some thought to what season you’re writing in. Is he still calling everyone and everything douch-y? Is he in the later seasons and more capable of unpacking his emotions directly? Is he in the early seasons where he’s trying to be Han Solo and too damn cool and smooth about everything, even his impending death?

At the end of the day - Dean is a wonderful, complex character and I hope this analysis helps some writers understanding his speech and character better!

#dean winchester #dean meta #spn meta #supernatural meta #supernatural #speech patterns #speech analysis #long post #long post for ts #i don't wanna put it under a cut because no one ever looks at these when i do #also for those who don't know i used to do these for flash characters on my side blog #but have requests now for branching out #i am not a linguist #i just like studying characters and trying to write their dialogue #this post is 4200 words and my goal was under 5k so i win #not-entirely-crazy-just-a-little

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