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#if they had told someone that he was alone and given that person a foolproof way to contact jfm
coquelicoq · 3 years
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1, 17, & 22 for the ask meme! (for the untamed lol)
1. What OTPs in your fandom(s) do you just not get?
xicheng!!! this feels like a crack ship to me but it’s just so common and i do not know why????
17. Instead of XYZ happening, I would have made ABC happen…
i would like jin ling to look at jiang cheng in the courtyard while he’s having his little “take care” moment and very loudly say, “WHAT’S THAT, JIUJIU? YOU HAVE A VERY INTRIGUING AND ORIGINAL NIGHTHUNT CONUNDRUM YOU WOULD LIKE TO BRAINSTORM ABOUT WITH A TALISMAN EXPERT WHO LIKES SOLVING MYSTERIES?? I WONDER IF THERE’S ANYONE IN THE VICINITY WHO WOULD FIT THAT DESCRIPTION”
22. Popular character you hate?
hmmmmmmmmmm okay i don’t think there are any i hate, but frankly i have a major bone to pick with wei ying’s parents. like, it’s fine if you don’t want to give up your dreams just because you happened to procreate. follow your bliss, or whatever! but i think you have a responsibility to your young child, when leaving him alone or in the company of strangers in a place where no one has any reason to be especially invested in his welfare, to provide for the worst case scenario. it’s one thing if you leave him at an inn while you go monster hunting and you give the innkeeper an emergency contact and some way of getting a message to said contact and then the innkeeper turns out to be a terrible person who sells your child into slavery or something, but that’s not what happens! wei ying is just...turned out onto the street, probably because either no one was watching him in the first place or because they were but they could not actually afford to feed another mouth and they had no idea who to tell about his predicament. and it’s not as though wei ying’s parents were in a low-risk line of work and it was unreasonable for them to plan for a situation in which they died doing that work, nor is it as though they had absolutely no friends in the world they could ask to look after their kid while they rogue cultivated. no, they were going ON PURPOSE to the highest-risk areas, taking their kid with them, and then providing no way for him to be cared for if the worst should happen? what the fuck, guys. i know you’re free spirits or whatever but like, come on!
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givemethatgold · 3 years
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Fix’er Upper Pt. 6
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Pairing: Frankie Morales x Reader
Warnings: Angst, morning wood
Length: 1.5k
Notes: Back at it with their bullshit!  Finished this and even though I’m not as ahead as I’d like to be with this fic I have a general idea where it’s going so I’m posting this before I feel like I should? Enjoy! Divider by @firefly-graphics 💛 Header by me 💋
Parts ONE, TWO, THREE, FOUR, FIVE
Sleep slowly faded away, like a heavy fog evaporating in the morning sun, and your consciousness was becoming aware of a few things all at once. You were unseasonably warm, you had a raging headache already, and you really needed to pee. The arm slung over your waist was doing nothing to ease the latter issue, but it was also the reason for your warmth. 
This was the first morning, since moving into the drafty old farmhouse, that you had woken perfectly cozy and warm. You could say it was due to the fact that you had passed out in your leggings and hoodie but you didn't even want to pretend it wasn't because of the living furnace currently snoring softly into the back of your neck.
Normally, as a morning person, you would jump out of bed and be putzing around the kitchen by now. However, you had no desire to disturb the peaceful atmosphere that waking up cradled in Frankie's arms had created. Morning light was already streaming through the edges of your curtains, casting your room with a warm glow. You watched dust motes dance in the air as you relaxed and matched your breathing with Frankie’s even as his mustache tickled your skin with each of his exhales.
Deciding to give yourself another ten minutes you carefully, as to not wake the grumpy farmer behind you, pulled up the blankets and wormed your body further backward so his curved fully around yours.
Frankie hummed in his sleep as his arm subconsciously tightened around your waist, his large hand spreading out so that his pinky was touching your hip bone and his thumb caressed just under your breast. His mind was still deep in slumber but his body was, er, waking up.
Visions of last night bombarded your mind as you laid there, body frozen and barely breathing to avoid waking Frankie. 
Opening up to Frankie, and he to you. Crying, him making you tea, you asking him to stay so you wouldn't be left alone with the ghost of Brad to haunt your dreams... Frankie had surprised you both, if the look on his face was anything to go by, when he had agreed. The initial awkwardness of laying in your bed together, fully dressed. He had eventually started telling you stories of his childhood friends and their adventures and his soft, raspy voice had lulled you into a peaceful sleep.
All of that, however, had been more intimate and exposing than you'd ever been with anyone. Having Frankie wake up, after all of that emotional intensity, to having his boner pressing into your ass? It would be too much, you didn’t want that level of awkwardness detracting from how each of you had let down your walls for each other.
Slowly, very slowly, you rolled to the edge of your bed and slithered to the floor, avoiding the creaky floorboards on your way to the bathroom.
As you stood at the sink, gazing at your reflection, you were pleasantly surprised by your complexion. No bags, no dark circles under your eyes, just a bit of smeared mascara that was quickly wiped away. Last night's slumber had done wonders for your body. Before this morning you hadn't realized how much tension you had been carrying, or how your poor nights had been weighing on your mental state.
One great night's sleep, the best night's sleep you'd had in a long, long time, had completely restored you. Just sharing a bed with another person, nevermind the fact that he was extremely sweet, thoughtful, and hot as hell, had given you the tranquility you were missing. You instantly craved more. 
It killed you to acknowledge it but a battered, bruised, yet healing part of yourself cried for independence. Reminding you how little of it you've had. It wanted you to be happiest on your own and not need someone else to feel comfortable and safe.
Hating to agree, you knew that bitch was right. For however nice that sleep had been, and however much you craved it again, you knew that you also needed to find happiness in yourself first. Brad had done so much damage, you needed to heal yourself and find yourself again before adding another person into the mix.
Taking a deep breath and coming to terms with your new resolve, you finished your morning routine before exiting the bathroom. Seeing that Frankie was still snoring away, you decided to run to town for coffee, thinking it would be a nice way to thank him for his kindness and company.
Writing a quick note and leaving it on the table, you stepped outside into the beautiful Autumn morning. Grabbing your bicycle you made the short trek to town, unable to wipe the smile from your face.
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Town was busy for such an early house, and you were met with a line of customers in the bakery when you entered. The din of chatting friends nearly drowning out the bell chime above the door. Agnes, the owner ‘for over forty years!’ gave you a wave before giving her attention back to the tourist family at the counter. The smell of cinnamon, coffee, and yeast instantly enveloped you and your stomach growled making you want to order everything they had to offer behind the counter.
Knowing it would take a while before you could place your order, the owners of the place liked to stop and chat with customers, you meandered over to the community notice board that hung on the wall near the little bistro tables that graced the front window.
Amidst the notices for lost dogs, babysitting services, church service meetings, and town hall meetings was a poster for a fundraiser that caught your eye. The local youth group was organizing a county fair to raise money for a skateboard park to be built near the school. Visions of cotton candy, excited girls bursting with glee, and purses bursting with prizes flooded your mind. You had loved visiting the fair when you were younger, and decided that helping out would be a great way of experiencing that excitement again.
Grabbing a phone stub you called and signed up as a volunteer. The lady you spoke to was ecstatic and your offer to help and couldn’t wait to meet you. This was a great opportunity to meet more people in the community as well, you realized. You’d been so busy working at Morales Acres and then on your home, you hadn’t put very much effort into getting to know anyone else.
On the bike ride back home, you felt like you were walking on sunshine. Not only was your bike basket laden down with sweetbreads and a new French coffee press, which Agnes had sworn was foolproof, but you had also convinced Jacquie to volunteer for the fundraiser. It hadn't been hard as her eldest child, Cole, was very keen on becoming the next Tony Hawk.
Your future was looking so bright. There was guaranteed girl-time with your new best friend, meeting new people doing something that sounded super fun, and while you had decided to not dive into anything romantic with Frankie, you were looking forward to spending more time with the grumpy guy hiding a heart of pure gold.
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Regardless of the crick in his neck, his belt digging into his hip, and his feet sweating from sleeping with socks on, Frankie woke with a smile. He couldn't remember the last time he'd slept so well. Despite the discomfort, he'd had a dreamless, deep slumber and woke fully rested.
He could try making excuses for it, blame it on the cider, the tiring workday, the spent emotions, but deep down he knew it was due to you. You, who had asked him to stay. You, who had given him so much comfort by just laying next to him. Not only that but he felt like you truly saw him when he spoke. He had opened up more in the last twenty-four hours than he had in the five years since he'd moved here.
He hadn't told you everything yet, the last time he'd done that he had scared away his wife and lost his daughter. He feared that he could lose you too if he told you about Columbia, Tom, the money, and how it had brought out the worst in him. 
Frankie had felt safe enough to share his struggles with cocaine, his failed marriage, and losing custody of Annie. You had only shown sadness and concern, there had never been pity or judgment in your gaze.
Coming out of his inner reflection, Frankie soon became aware of just how quiet your house was. He could tell you had left the bed a while ago, as the space you'd occupied had gone cold. There was no usual humming or singing, no footsteps or signs of life. Slightly mystified and erring on the side of caution, Frankie slipped silently out of bed and began sweeping your house room by room.
By the time he made his way into your kitchen, his heartbeat had gone from a panicked staccato to a slow beat heavy with dread. The truth slapping him in the face: you had left. You'd woken before him, slipped away without saying anything, and left your own house in order to avoid him. Frankie couldn't help but wonder if you regretted your plea for him to stay.
Had he taken advantage of your emotional state? Was staying the wrong thing to do? Even though nothing sexual had happened he still felt like he had done something wrong, and felt horrible for it. Had he talked in his sleep, or maybe lashed out from a dream he didn’t remember? 
Should he leave and give you the space you seemed to want? Should he stay and apologize? Glancing between the stairs that led to your bedroom and the front door, Frankie hesitated while weighing his options. With a sigh, he shook his head and made up his mind. Grabbing his coat from where it rested on the table, he told himself he was doing the right thing. You’d call when you were ready to see him again.
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The lightness in your heart very abruptly turned to confusion when you arrived back home, just shy of an hour after you'd left. Frankie's truck was missing from your driveway.
Walking inside, you placed your breakfast and coffee on the table and had a quick look around for any signs of Frankie. When your search turned up nothing, not even a note back, you slumped down onto a dining room chair with a huff.
Had Frankie just got out of bed, grabbed his coat, and left? You tried to not read too much into it. Maybe he had run home for a shower? Or new clothes?
After finishing off your third cinnamon twist, you pushed the bag away from you in disgust with a little too much gusto and it thumped onto the floor. Heaving a dramatic sigh, you reached down to grab the muffins that had spilled out of the paper bag, and that's when you noticed the note that you had written to Frankie had fallen under the table.
Despite yourself, and what your therapist had cautioned you against, your mind automatically conjured up a scene. Frankie waking, glad that he was alone. Making his way downstairs, reading your peppy little note and throwing it away with a scoff. Leaving in a hurry, glad to be free of you and your issues.
Your heart sank, even while your brain fought against the imaginary scenario. Eventually, just barely, your head won. 
When he hadn't shown up after two hours you began to worry. The two extra-large coffees in your system, why let his go to waste? didn't help matters.
By dinner, you were miserably painting the guest bedroom, alone. You told yourself he just needed some space as he had opened up his heart to you in a way he probably hadn’t in a long time. You decided to wait for him to call you once he felt comfortable enough.
Part Seven
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ginkgowritings · 3 years
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Neighbour - Mafia AU! Helios
My loveland cuties secret santa gift for the amazing @otomecooties​. A fluffy mafia AU because I’m not giving her angst for secret santa.
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You had become fascinated by the man living in the apartment next door. You could tell he was dangerous, but your curiosity got the better of you, and you found yourself looking forward to any encounters with him. Despite encountering him regularly, he had refused to tell you anything about himself besides his name, Helios. He hadn't told you, but you knew he was dangerous. The way Helios dressed, how he regularly came home with new scrapes and bandages, and the occasional blood splatter visible on his clothes all gave it away. Still, you found yourself looking forward to your encounters with him, no matter how quick and fleeting they were.
Your first encounter with Helios had been the longest, and the most awkward. The landlord had notified you that someone was moving in that day, but hadn't told you anything else. When you got home that day to see a handsome silver-haired man waiting for the elevator, you hoped it was your new neighbour, and you were overjoyed when your hopes came true. He had made a point to ignore you the entire elevator ride, only acknowledging your existence when he realised you lived next door and he'd have to see you often. As you stood at the entrance of your respective apartments, his cold eyes met yours. He uttered his name, Helios, before immediately going inside and closing the door behind him.
After your first meeting, every encounter seemed shorter than the last. You regularly ran into each other as you both left in the mornings, but no matter how many times you exchanged pleasantries, he never shared anything about himself. His eyes were always cold, and he seemed to end every conversation as soon as he could. Still, you enjoyed every brief encounter and found yourself fascinated by him.
It had been two months since Helios had become your neighbour. Subconsciously, you had familiarised yourself with his schedule. You hadn't done so deliberately, but the buildings soundproofing was almost non-existent meaning you heard every time he came home or left. Helios left early in the morning and usually returned late at night. You weren't sure if he ever got a good nights sleep or ate properly. You'd seen him carrying his groceries home before, the seethrough bags revealing an overwhelming amount of instant food and surprisingly, sweets.
Lately, Helios had started to look thinner, his complexion was dull, and he always looked tired. You knew he didn't want you to interfere with his life, but you couldn't stop yourself from being worried. There weren't many ways you could help, and you weren't sure if Helios would even accept your help. Still, you were determined to help him in the easiest way you could think of fixing his terrible diet. Helios likely wouldn't accept your help so you had a foolproof you were sure would work eventually: annoy him until he gives in.
Determined to make your strategy work, you woke up earlier than usual to make breakfast for both yourself and Helios. After preparing two servings of a healthy breakfast, you quickly ate yours before packing the other serving into some tupperware. You braced yourself before making your way to the front door of Helios' apartment, nervous but determined to succeed. You knocked on his door and waited, only to be met with silence. After a few moments, you tried again.
"Helios! I made extra food. Do you want it?" You called through the door while knocking. You listened carefully, hoping to hear him coming and smiled to yourself when you heard his footsteps approaching the door. Helios opened the door, his icy eyes immediately meeting yours and hardening into a glare.
"Why would I want your food?" Helios asked, annoyance clear in his tone. "Because you only seem to eat instant food and your diet sucks" You instinctively retorted without thinking, only realising retorting might've been a bad idea when his glare got even more intense. Helios glared at you for a few moments without responding before huffing to himself and closing the door in your face, the food meant for him still in your hands. Knowing he wouldn't open the door again, you went back to your apartment. Helios was a difficult person, and you knew him accepting your food on the first try would be unlikely. You ate his breakfast for lunch and fought off your disappointment, determined to try again tomorrow.
And so you did. The next day you made Helios breakfast again and brought it to his front door. You took a deep breath and calmed yourself before knocking, calling out to him to let him know why you were there.
"Hey, Helios! I've made breakfast again, will you have some?" You called though the door. After a few seconds of silence, the door abruptly opened, revealing a glaring Helios. "Are you going to do this every morning?" He asked you. You nodded in response making him sigh, unsure what to do in this situation. "You should mind your own business, little lady." Helios scolded you, his icy glare piercing into you. "I'm taller than you, little man." You teased back before you could stop yourself. You noticed Helios' eyes widen, the coldness replaced with surprise. He wasn't used to people talking back to him; most people were too scared. Before Helios could recover from his shock and close the door on you again, you quickly shoved the food into his hands and turned to walk away before he could return it. "Leave the empty container in front of the door. I'll collect it later!" You called back to him as you quickly made your way back to your apartment, refusing to look at him as you walked so you wouldn't see his annoyance.
As soon as you were inside, you let out a breath you hadn't realised you were holding and felt yourself relax. Feeling happy you managed to give Helios the food you went on with your day, already thinking about what you could make Helios for breakfast tomorrow. Later in the afternoon, you heard a quiet knock at your front door. You opened the door and found no one there. You thought you misheard before you looked down and saw the empty tupperware on the ground. Every last crumb of food had been eaten, and it looked like Helios had cleaned the container before returning it. You smiled to yourself as you picked it up, already looking forward to seeing Helios again tomorrow.
The routine of making Helios breakfast continued every day, and you found yourself looking forward to it more and more. Helios had slowly warmed up to you, the iciness in his eyes now replaced with a tenderness you never thought he'd show you. He'd also become more willing to make conversation. Both of you now talked to each other for several minutes when you came to give him food, and he no longer immediately left after leaving the tupperware at your door.
It had been over a month since you started making Helios breakfast, and he already looked healthier. You had already successfully given him his breakfast this morning, and you were going about your day when you heard him entering his apartment. Helios was usually out all day so his early return surprised you, but you decided to take advantage of it and use him as an excuse to make cookies. Knowing Helios has a sweet tooth you were excited to share them with him, even though you knew he'd try to hide any excitement. Happily humming to yourself you started making the cookie dough, messily mixing the ingredients until you got to the sugar. As soon as you pulled out the sugar, you knew you didn't have enough. You considered going to the store when you realised Helios likely had some sugar. Though Helios didn't cook his sweet tooth made you sure he'd still have sugar, even if only to add to his coffee. You put your shoes on and made your way to Helios' door, confidently knocking as soon as you arrived.
"Helios, do you have any sugar?" You asked through the door before he even opened it, fully knowing he was inside and could hear you. You heard quick footsteps before the door yanked open, revealing a wide-eyed Helios. "You shouldn't be here, little lady. It's dangerous right now." Helios warned you in a hushed whisper, an uncharacteristic panic in his eyes. As soon as you heard his warning, you realised Helios wasn't alone. Inside his apartment, you could see several men, each one looking more intimidating and dangerous than the last. They were clearly in the same profession as Helios, but while you felt at ease in Helios' presence all the other men you could see made a shiver run down your spine. Helios positioned himself so he was blocking the doorway, seemingly trying to block both your view and theirs as their prying eyes tried to get a glimpse at you. You tried to hide your nervousness as you looked at Helios, attempting to only focus on him to calm yourself down. "Do you have any sugar? I'm making cookies." You managed to ask him, your voice quiet in an attempt to stop the men inside from hearing. "I'll bring it to you later. You need to leave." Helios whispered before softly closing the door.
You went back to your apartment to wait for Helios. As the realisation that you had likely just walked into a mafia meeting washed over you, you felt yourself become overwhelmed with anxiety. Trying your best to distract yourself, you stayed occupied as much as you could. You tried reading, writing, playing games, and watching movies, but no matter what you did anxiety stopped you from fully focusing on it. After several hours you jumped when you suddenly heard a knock at the door. You quickly got up and nervously made your way to the door, you hesitated for a few moments before opening it to reveal Helios with a large bag of sugar in his hands. Initially, Helios looked a little mad, but his expression immediately softened when he picked up on your nervous state.
"Are you okay?" Helios asked you tenderly, his voice uncharacteristically soft. You nodded before stepping aside to let him in, leading him into your apartment. Usually, he'd hand you the sugar and come back when the cookies were done, but he knew you wanted some familiar company right now. Helios followed you to the kitchen and sat down on a stool. His eyes were drawn to the kitchen counter, where you had previously made a mess while making the cookies. A slight smirk tugged at his lips and you knew he was about to make fun of you.
"Say anything rude, and you get no cookies." You cut him off before he could make any snide remarks, but that only caused his smirk to widen. "I don't care if I don't get any cookies." Helios immediately retorted. "I've seen how many sweets you buy, you definitely care." You replied while grabbing the sugar and picking up where you left off earlier in the day. You felt Helios' eyes on you, but neither of you said anything, instead choosing to bask in the comfortable silence. Once the cookies were finally in the oven, you made your way to the living room and let yourself collapse onto the couch. After a few moments, you heard quiet footsteps as Helios approached you. He silently sat next to you on the couch, staring intently at you in silence before finally deciding to speak.
"Are you sure you're okay?" He asked, his voice uncharacteristically soft once again. You locked eyes with him and nodded in response. While you knew you shouldn't have walked in on that meeting, being in Helios' presence now had drastically eased your anxiety. You knew he was just as dangerous as those other men, but you believed he wouldn't hurt you. "I'll give you my number, and you can text me before you come over next time. It's dangerous for you to come over unexpectedly." Helios insisted, already holding his hand out for your phone. You unlocked your phone and handed it to him; though you weren't getting his number in the best circumstances, the prospect still excited you. He gave your phone back as soon as he finished and you found yourself staring at his name in your contacts, barely able to believe he had given you his number.
"Why did you even start making food for me?" Helios asked you curiously, breaking your trance. "You looked like shit." You replied bluntly, all your previous anxiety now gone. "You know, the last person that talked like that to me is at the bottom of a lake," Helios warned you. You knew he could be telling the truth, but there was no malice in his voice, and you couldn't bring yourself to be afraid of him anymore. "You wouldn't hurt me," The words had left your mouth before you even realised what you were saying. You expected Helios to disagree and warn you, but you were surprised when he just released a soft sigh. "Yeah, I wouldn't," Helios said softly, to the point where you could barely hear it. You felt your heart pound at his words, unsure what to say in response. You both stared intently at each other in silence, neither of you sure what to say next. Suddenly, a smoky smell wafted through the living room making your stomach drop.
"I think your cookies are burning, little lady," Helios teased, a smirk returning to his face. "I'm still taller than you little man!" You yelled as you rushed to the kitchen to retrieve the cookies, a smirking Helios right on your tail. You hoped the cookies were salvageable, but even if they weren't you were still happy. You were sure you'd have many more chances to make cookies with Helios in the future.
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banditthewriter · 4 years
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Trust Is Earned - Charles Vane - 5
And here we have part five which means we’re half way through! As always, thank you to the readers!
Warning: Violence against the reader. Also fake dating trope but like, is that a warning a promise?
*gif not mine*
Enjoy!
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Vane’s tent hadn’t moved but it felt like it was such a long walk. It also felt like everyone was staring at you, although you were sure that was just in your imagination. You smiled and nodded in greeting to a few people as you passed them, but most people paid you no mind. It was getting dark, although still a while before the sun was down completely, so people were preparing for whatever they had planned for the night.
It didn’t occur to you that Vane might not be alone until you got to the opening of his tent. It was pulled open so you could see inside and thankfully not see anyone in there besides the captain. 
You weren’t sure your plan would work if he had someone in his bed.
He turned when you cleared your throat, obviously startled to see you there.
“Are you–”
“Just, uh, one moment,” you said before you entered into the tent so that you could release the cord that held the covering. It closed over the doorway to alert people not to intrude or disturb unless it was life or death.
You turned back to him and took a few steps further inside. And then a few more until you were closer to where he was sitting with some papers in front of him. 
“There’s something we need to talk about I think.”
His hand twitched on the table as if he wanted nothing more than to reach over for the bottle of rum next to him, but instead he turned to face you. He waved one hand for you to go on.
Now if only you had thought about how to word this on your way here.
“I had a talk with Eleanor Guthrie a little while ago. It seems she saw the two of us sneak off the beach in the same direction and she’s… come up with her own ideas as to why.”
He sat up, his hands pressed onto his knees as he stared at you.
“Does she suspect we’re working together?”
You hoped that you didn’t wince as you said this next part.
“She thinks we’re seeing each other. Or at least sleeping together.” You let him reel from that one for a second before you continued, “She said that your hauls have gotten less impressive and, well, she intimated about a worry about your ability to lead and that she wouldn’t be surprised if a vote was called to replace you.”
There, you’d gotten it all out in one go. Now you just needed to broach the reason you came here now instead of telling him this in a letter or through a third party like Rackham.
“The crew doesn’t care that we’re splitting the haul as long as they get paid. And since we started this partnership, they are making more than they ever did with Eleanor. They aren’t looking to vote me out. My question is what she can do about my ability to lead.”
This was not the direction you had planned for, but it made sense that this was his worry. You put your own thoughts to the back so that you could help him plan for this.
“She’s not supposed to have any pull over the crews, but I guess if she loses faith in your abilities as captain she can try to depose you.”
He shook his head, but you didn’t think he was turning down what you had said. It seemed he was thinking ahead as well.
“The crew wouldn’t go for that. Like I said, I’m the reason they are making as much as they are right now.”
Part of the reason, but you weren’t about to point that out. He had a point though.
“What about an embargo? She could withhold sale of your goods, encouraging merchants to do the same unless the crew turns against you.”
He stood up and started to pace away from you.
“She could. The bitch would,” he admitted venomously as he turned back towards you. “And then she’d want to know why the crew still wouldn’t turn against me. If it comes to that, it’ll come out that I’m selling to you as well.”
Which would put a nice little target on your front door. You’d been working with your contacts to come up with a protection plan for yourself, but it wasn’t easy. They needed to get men to you but they needed ones that they could trust. Loyalty wasn’t exactly for sale.
“If it comes to that, I’ll deal with the consequences on my end,” you said with a wave of your hand. Might as well throw out the reason you came here. “The reason I’m here is regarding the first part of what she told me.”
He tilted his head as he looked at you.
“She thinks we’re fucking. And this upsets you.”
After your reaction the night of the storm, you understood why he thought that way. You weren’t about to get into the intricacies of it. Instead you put your hands on the table to offer your newest proposition.
“I suggest we let her think that, actually. Instead of secret meetings and codes, we become a little more… obvious. Make her think that we’re sleeping together so that she won’t suspect the truth. That should gain us a little more time before she figures out what’s really going on.”
You weren’t sure that Vane could look more shocked if you had told him that he was going to have to make The Ranger fly instead of sail. It didn’t take long for him to have that cocky look on his face once more.
“If she believes that, others will too. The whole of Nassau will think we’re fucking.”
Yes, you were aware of that. Which of course meant some uncomfortable conversations with Billy were in your future, but you didn’t want to think about that right then.
“We’ll have to play into the part a bit. We can have these kinds of discussions at the shop and I’ll lock up for the time. People can think what they want then.”
He moved over to the comfortable looking pallet that was obviously where he slept. He looked from you to it and then back to you again.
“If I were taking you to bed, what do you think we’d be doing if you came to my tent like this?”
The shop gave you privacy where no one could hear anything. You knew for a fact that people in these tents could be heard from people outside. You drew the line at faking sex and the other option… wasn’t an option.
“Don’t you know Vane? Ladies prefer to make love in their own beds.” You gave him a smile and turned back towards the opening of the tent. “I’ll send for you when I have your next lead. If this plan displeases you, send Rackham and Bonny like usual. I will continue to work on my own safety contingencies.”
You slipped through the opening and out of the tent. There were a few people that saw your departure, but none of them said anything to you.
Whether your presence there would reach Eleanor Guthrie or not, at least you had done what you had come to the beach to do. The plan wasn’t foolproof of course, there were plenty of things that could cause a problem, but you were juggling a lot at the moment.
You were doing the best you could with what you had.
------
The tavern was more packed than you had seen it in a long time. The sun was still up so you had stopped by for a quick meal with some of your friends and other merchants. While the alcohol flowed freely, you stuck to water. Most of the patrons remembered the last time you had freely drank at the tavern and how quickly you had gotten drunk.
You were a little ashamed to say that you had slept with someone but you weren’t sure who it was. You’d woken up at the inn feeling well and truly fucked, happily so, but no sign of your partner. No one could remember who you had gone to the inn with but since Mr. Noonan only employed female whores and you could vaguely remember a male body from that night, you could rest assured that you hadn’t paid for it.
Since that night you hadn’t had another drink. While you didn’t mind anonymous sex, especially anonymous sex that made you feel as good as that had, you didn’t like the feeling of not knowing what had happened. 
The conversations flowed as freely as anything else. You had been involved in a lively debate about the price of sugarcane for half the meal. It gave you a good distraction from your new reality. 
As more men started to flow into the tavern, you started to feel like you were being watched. 
It wasn’t an uncommon feeling in Nassau, but you had learned to trust your instincts. Everything in you right then was telling you to leave.
You finished your meal and paid, making excuses to the friends you had joined for the meal. Their night was just beginning but you were ready to head home for the night. It wasn’t very adventurous but you had enough adventure in your days working with Vane under everyone’s noses. 
As you turned to leave, you nearly ran straight into Jack Rackham with Anne Bonny at his side. He smiled at you the moment he saw who it was, his face almost breaking at the force.
“If it isn’t the lovely Y/N herself. I was just telling Anne that I feel like I haven’t seen you in ages. Our captain has been monopolizing your time, hasn’t he?”
That’s what the exaggerated smile and loud voice was for. He was giving you Vane’s response in public, ensuring that tongues would be wagging before you even made it to the street. It’d only been a day since you had given him the proposition but he didn’t seem to want to wait for you to reach out to him.
Vane really did nothing by halves, did he?
“Always a pleasure Jack. Miss Bonny,” you said to Anne, showing her a bit more respect since you were more frightened of her than of the quartermaster. 
But your friendly nature and the informal way you addressed Rackham, uncommon for you to interact with any pirate that way except Billy, would definitely throw gunpowder on the fire.
Rackham’s smile softened to something a little more honest. Even Anne gave you a bit of a smile as you passed them. If your informal greeting to Jack didn’t set tongues wagging, Anne’s variable bear hug of a smile would do so.
It would seem that for all intents and purposes, you were Charles Vane’s new mistress.
------
Footsteps. As you walked to your shop up the long, winding road, you heard footsteps behind you. You hadn’t turned to look, not wanting to let the person know that you heard them, but you made sure that your steps were a little longer and faster.
With your shop in view, you almost broke into a run, but it was too late. A hand went around your throat at the same time that someone rushed in front of you to cut off your escape. It meant at least two attackers, but that didn’t mean there wasn’t more.
You didn’t have your pistol on you. Not even a knife. The only thing you had were your fists and your wits. You swung back with all of your strength and landed your elbow against the jaw of the man who held you. He swore vehemently and then wrapped his arms around you, your arms pinned to your sides as he lifted you up like that. It gave you leverage to kick out at the other man that approached, catching him in the face with your left heel.
The sound of a broken nose echoed in your ears but you didn’t care. All you cared about was not letting this progress any further.
“Stop fucking fighting or I’ll slit your throat.”
You felt a blade against your throat and immediately stopped squirming in case the blade cut into you. The man whose face you had kicked looked like he wanted to kill you, blood running down his face and shirt. Instead he pointed his own knife at you.
“You should gut the bitch,” he growled to the man that held you.
“It’s not off the table,” the one that held you spat as he squeezed you with the arm not holding the knife. “She wouldn’t be able to give Vane our message like that though.”
“It’d send a message sure enough.”
You were about to scream. Not even ten minutes after Jack Rackham had proved to the whole of the tavern that you were Vane’s woman, you were attacked in the woods on your way to your home. If this is what Eleanor had been warning you about, you might just take your pistol with you to the tavern next time. 
“You tell Charles Vane that he’s to step down as captain of The Ranger. He hasn’t brought shit to Nassau in months and it’s not to be tolerated. If he doesn’t, we’re going to come to your little shop and set it on fire while you sleep.”
“We know you live there too,” the man in front of you spat, blood spraying onto your face.
If they were giving you a message for Vane, that meant they weren’t going to kill you. You just needed to keep from pissing them off any further and they’d let you go.
The one holding you ran a hand up your side until he got to the top of your bodice, pulling as if he wanted to rip it off of you. Your fight or flight instincts kicked in and you started to squirm, the knife cutting into your throat a bit as you did.
A fist crashed into your face. Then again. Next was a boot to your stomach when you fell to the ground. A boot to your back followed as you curled in to protect your stomach. You couldn’t breathe, the pain too much, but nothing else came. When you peeked out from where your face was almost squashed into the dirt, you saw the backs of the two men as they went back through the woods.
You quickly stood up, your legs shaking and barely holding your weight. All you needed was to get to your shop and then you’d be safe. Relatively. It felt like a journey across a continent rather than just a few yards, but finally you were there. Hands shaking and covered in dirt, you fished out your keys and let yourself into the shop.
Tonight you’d see to your injuries. Tomorrow you’d have a word with Vane. This… was not going to happen again.
------
“What the fuck happened to you?”
You looked up from where you were trying to load your pistol. One eye was swollen but not completely closed at least. You had a busted lip as well. To round that out, it hurt to breathe, your back felt like hell, and you had to tie a cloth around your neck because the cut there was deeper than you had thought.
If you looked like you felt, you didn’t blame Rackham for his shock.
“I’m to be a messenger for your captain,” you said with a wince as you sat up in the chair a bit more. Normally you didn’t sit when you were in the shop, but right then you weren’t sure you could stand. “Do you mind loading this pistol for me? I can’t seem to stop shaking long enough and I’d hate for it to accidentally go off on me.”
He said something to Anne Bonny who you hadn’t even noticed. She turned and made her way out of the shop, leaving just you and Jack.
If you were going to be pretending to fuck his captain, you might as well actually refer to him by his first name.
Jack took the pistol from you and went through the motions of loading it for you. You leaned back into the chair and let out a whimper as it stretched out the muscles of your back.
“Again, the fuck happened to you? What do you mean you’re to be a messenger for Charles?”
You reached up and gingerly touched the skin under your eye. You hadn’t looked in the mirror this morning, not wanting to see just how bad the damage was.
“Last night on my way back here, I was set upon by two… men. I didn’t recognize either of them, but they knew me. And they wanted me to pass a message to Vane.”
“What message is that?”
You swallowed thickly as you accepted the pistol back from Jack.
“He’s to step down as captain of The Ranger.”
Jack swore a colorful amount. Then he looked back at you.
“And if he doesn’t?”
You laughed, wincing and pressing a hand to your side as you did so.
“They’ll come and set fire to my shop while I’m sleeping.”
Had you thought that Jack’s first swears were colorful? This put a whole new meaning to the term. There might have even been a few new swear words created this go around.
You watched him as he paced through your shop. You wanted to ask why he was still there, but you had a feeling you knew. Just like you had a feeling that you knew where Anne had disappeared to.
Sure enough not long after she had disappeared did she return, one fuming captain with her. The shop seemed to grow smaller as Vane stalked forward.
“What the fuck happened here?”
You wanted to laugh but you were worried if you did, it might turn into tears. Instead you gestured at Jack.
“As I was just telling your quartermaster, I’m to be a messenger for you. You’re to step down as captain of The Ranger due to you not bringing in as much to Nassau anymore. If you don’t, they’ll come back and set my shop on fire.”
“While she’s in it,” Jack added when it seemed like you weren’t going to. 
Vane swore simply, but it was efficient.
“What I don’t get is that we’re bringing in probably more to Nassau. Why would someone want him to step down for that?”
You looked over at Anne and shook your head.
“It wasn’t one of your crew, not that I recognized at least. I think it might have been someone working for Eleanor Guthrie.”
That… was not a name you should have mentioned around the three of them. Suddenly your store became a cacophony of noise as the three of them all yelled back and forth. You didn’t even try to follow but you did put a stop to it by slamming your hand against the counter you were sat at.
“Enough. Fuck, my head is killing me already, I don’t need this shit. Listen,” you added a little softer because your head was pounding, “Eleanor said something when she talked to me that day. It was after she said that she wouldn’t be surprised if they called a vote on you. She said that she didn’t want something to happen to me because I was tangled up with you.”
Vane took a few steps towards you.
“You think she had someone go after you to get to me?”
You shook your head. Although you wouldn’t normally put that past Eleanor, right then it didn’t feel right.
“I think she genuinely doesn’t want anything to happen to me because while she doesn’t exactly like me, I’m a necessary evil in her eyes. I think she hired some men to pass a message on to you and they decided to deviate and go after me. Maybe they thought I was an easier target than Captain Vane himself.”
“That… makes sense, I’m sorry to say,” Jack said with a frown as he looked over at his captain. “Some of the crew had mentioned that some people on the beach had been asking why you’re still captain if we aren’t bringing in bigger hauls. Since the men are getting paid, they are keeping their mouths shut. Maybe if they weren’t able to incite a vote, they decided to demand one instead.”
Vane spun around and slammed his fist into the wall of the shop.
“Oi, there’s been enough damage to my shop by The Ranger crew without you adding to it,” you said as you stood up and went around the counter. “What’s done is done, now we need to figure out what we’re going to do about it. If anyone has any plans, please speak up. As long as it doesn’t end up with me burning alive in my sleep.”
Vane spun back to face you. He marched to clear the short distance between the two of you, Anne and Jack both stepping back to give him the space. In spite of the fury on his face, his hand was gentle as he raised your chin to look at the damage.
“What did they look like?”
His voice was so soft, another difference to the rage in his eyes. You reached up and tugged self consciously at the cloth on your neck. It drew his eyes there and he moved your hand so that he could tug it down a bit to see what it was hiding.
If you’d thought he’d been furious before. Seeing the slit across your neck and the knowledge of how close you had come to dying had apparently reignited that fire.
“What. Did they. Look like.”
It wasn’t a question. It was a demand.
You quietly gave the description as best you could. The problem was that most of the men on the island were fairly similar looking.
“I kicked one in the face, broke his nose. There was blood everywhere. If you can find someone with a recently broken nose, you’ll probably find his partner with him. Stray dogs tend to roam in packs,” you said lowly as you pulled away from Vane and went back to the counter.
He said something to Jack and Anne that you didn’t hear, but they both nodded their head before they turned to leave the shop. Alone with Vane, you found yourself curiously nervous.
Why was it that you always felt this way when he was around? 
“Did anything else happen?”
Anything else? You wondered what he thought you were leaving out but then you saw the look on his face. Uncomfortable but earnest.
It clicked into place.
“No, nothing else. There’d be more damage than a broken nose if they had done that.”
Vane nodded his approval of that. He looked at the pistol that you had placed on the counter and then back to you. He bent down and pulled something from the top of his boot before he held it out to you.
Hilt first, he held a long dagger in hand. You looked up at him and then back to the dagger.
“Take it. You need to be able to protect yourself. A dagger doesn’t need to be reloaded.”
No, just thrust into its target.
You accepted the dagger from him. The weight of it was strange in your hand, but not unknown. You’d held daggers before, used to carry them when you did your deliveries. You had become complacent in Nassau, had gotten too comfortable and felt too safe. You wouldn’t make that mistake again.
“What happens now?”
Vane approached until he was right in front of you.
“We’ll find them and I’ll kill them.”
You’d know that from the moment you saw his face. No one could go off and make a move against any captain like they had done, much less against Captain Vane.
“And if they are working for Eleanor?”
His face changed at that. So many emotions crossed his face that you barely had the chance to catch them before they were gone.
“I’ll handle it.”
He started to leave but you reached out and grabbed his wrist.
“Charles,” you started, not even realizing that you’d used his first name for the first time, “you can’t go against her like that. She’ll–”
He turned back to you, his hand going up to grab your chin to stop you from speaking. The touch and the closeness was so intimate that for a brief moment you thought he might lean in to kiss you. Instead he let his hand go up to brush your hair back from your face.
“I’ll handle it.”
It wasn’t a clarification, but you realized what he was really saying.
Trust. You had to trust him to handle it. So you closed your eyes and gave a quick nod. When you opened your eyes, it was to see him disappear out of the shop.
Now you just had to wait to see what happened next.
X
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nonstoptrashpanda · 3 years
Text
whumptober day 4 | welcome to the club, kid part 1
whumptober day 4 - running out of time - collapsed building
fandom: marvel
set: au where civil war never happened and bucky and peter (parker) are both avengers
tw: ptsd, panic attack
summary: after a mission turns out to be a trap and a building is collapsing on peter for the second time in his life, bucky has to talk him through a panic attack.
notes: idk guys i just needed a little soft uncle bucky with our poor baby peter. i feel like they’d be friends.
wordcount: 2242
Convincing Tony to let Peter go on a mission without him had not been an easy task. The billionaire had an event Pepper was not letting him get out of, and there was a HYDRA base that really couldn’t wait. Rhodey and Natasha were expected at the event as well, which meant the most trusted “babysitters” were out as well. Tony had been absolutely firm… the sixteen-year-old was not going.
But Peter had helped locate the base. He’d helped form the plan of attack. He was completely invested in this one, and he was like a dog with a bone. 
In addition, Steve and Bucky had both become extremely fond of the boy. Of course, most at the tower had. Sam was a working progress. But the two fossils were especially so. He reminded Bucky of little Steve. He reminded Steve of little Steve, too. Since everyone at the tower spoke of Peter as Tony’s child when the kid wasn’t around, they’d started calling themselves his uncles. Tony had added crazy.
And no, absolutely not, the crazy uncles were not taking him on their mission. Not one this dangerous, not without Tony.
But Peter hadn’t given up that easily. Tony had tried to enlist May’s help. Turned out, May liked Steve better than she liked Tony. Typical. The plan had backfired, with May giving her blessing seeing as Captain America himself would be there. May and Pepper were some sort of powerteam who refused to fight each other. Pepper had told him it would be fine. 
Nat and Steve were apparently a thing now, and adding that to the female power team she couldn’t resist and Peter’s puppy eyes, which she also couldn’t resist, she’d taken her little Spiderling’s side. 
From there, they’d been like dominos. Wanda called Peter her little brother. She took his side on everything that the two of them weren’t arguing about. Vision did whatever Wanda told him to do. Clint was a pushover Dad who said he’d look out for him. Rhodey and Bruce were both afraid of defying Pepper. Thor was in Asgard for a spell, but everyone knew he’d take Peter’s side anyway.
Sam, who would also be going, was on Tony’s side. That was new. But the two of them had been no match for the rest of the Avengers plus Aunt May plus Pepper Potts. 
The team was small. They weren’t trying to make a mess. Steve, Sam, Bucky, Clint, and now Peter would get in, extract whatever files they could, set the detonators, and get out. 
It was Clint’s job to extract the files, it was Peter’s job to watch his back while he did, and it was everyone else’s job to set the bombs.
Simple. Foolproof. 
Until bombs which were already set went off the minute they were all inside.
They’d each had a different entry point and time, and Peter’s was last. He’d barely landed on the floor when something behind him exploded, he was thrown against the wall, and then the ceiling was caving in on him. 
He heard himself scream, then heard the scream turn to a gasp as rubble landed on top of him. His radio crackled, Steve yelling about a trap. His voice seemed to echo, bouncing around in Peter’s head. 
He smelled smoke, heard Karen beginning to talk at the same time as more voices gasped out messages over the radio. Nothing really seemed to register.
It was a terrifying feeling, realizing he was about to lose control of his own mind and nevertheless being completely unable to do anything about it. 
He felt hot blood on his leg, but the rubble that had landed on him had been blown to smaller pieces. It wouldn’t be that heavy, especially not with this suit. It was nothing… it was nothing like…
Like gasping for breath and finding almost none, like screaming for help with no one there to hear him, like thinking he was going to die here, alone and afraid and doing exactly what he’d been told not to do because it was too dangerous and he was going to get himself killed, which was exactly what he was doing. He was getting himself killed. He was going to die. He was going to die.
The voices over the radio were indistinguishable to him. They just bounced around and made him want to… to… He had to… He couldn’t... 
Desperately, he clawed his mask off of his face. Anything to escape all of those voices.
Without it on, the unfiltered, smoke-filled air hit him full in the face. He gasped for breath and then coughed, weakly, still covered in rubble. It made him gasp again… and again, and again, because there just wasn’t enough air. There wasn’t enough oxygen, and he couldn’t breathe, and he was going to die. 
“Stop! Stop! Stop!”
He was gasping the words as he hyperventilated, rocking back and forth best he could, trapped as he was. The back of his head slammed into something flat and metal in front of him. He did it again. Maybe it would stop the ringing and screaming in his head.
His head throbbed, his skin caught on a sharp bit of whatever he was beating himself against and he started to bleed, and he kept going anyway.
“Stop! Someone! Help me! Stop!”
He gasped in. More smoke. His lungs were burning. His entire body was burning, come to think of it. Something was on fire, something close.
Fire, like what he ran into, like what he staggered out of, like when the plane went down and he… and he thought… 
He was going to die. He was going to die. He was going to die.
“Stop! Stop! Someone! Stop!”
He didn’t know what he was talking about or who he was talking to. He just knew that there was so much inside of him and so much outside of him and he just wanted everything to stop.
“Kid. Peter! Kid! Stop! Hey. Hey, look at me. You gotta stop doing that.” 
His eyes flashed open, he froze mid head strike.
Bucky was kneeling in front of him, blood running down the side of his face and covered in soot and debris. His words were the first ones Peter had been able to distinguish since the building… since it… since it…
He stared desperately, helplessly, at the man in front of him and continued to gasp, cough, and repeat.
“Peter?” His voice was starting to echo. “Kid, talk to me. Tell me…” There it went, bouncing around again. Making him feel insane again.
Peter shut his eyes, pounded his head against the metal, sobbed, and contracted to do it again.
A hand wrapped around his. Another person’s skin, as warm as his, squeezing and holding on.
He opened his eyes again. Bucky was laying on his stomach, looking at Peter, comprehension and understanding in his eyes.
“You hear me?” he asked. “Just nod if you hear me.”
He nodded.
“Okay.” The soldier swallowed hard. “Okay. I need you to breathe. Not like that… really breathe. I know it’s hard right now, so do it with me. One, two, in…” 
Peter took a shaky breath. He coughed on the way out, but Bucky did too.
“Good. One, two, in…” 
His lungs were still burning, but he didn’t feel like he was suffocating so much anymore. He still couldn’t talk, couldn’t make himself move, but he could feel his mind slowly returning to him.
“Alright.” Bucky squeezed his hand. “That’s good. That’s perfect. Keep doing that. You feel a little better? Just nod.”
Peter nodded. 
“Just breathe. It’s gonna be okay.” 
As his senses slowly returned, everything about the past few minutes hit Peter, and he felt a wave of self-hatred wash over him.
What had he done? How could he let himself…
“I’m sorry.” The words were gasped, barely distinguishable, accompanied by tears leaking down his face.
Bucky shook his head and squeezed his hand again. “Hey, hey, it’s okay. You didn’t do anything wrong, you’re okay. Just keep breathing for me.”
Peter shut his eyes and obeyed, trying not to think. He opened them with the return of Bucky’s voice.
“Alright, we need to get outta here. We can’t breathe in this smoke much longer. I’m gonna get this stuff off of you, so I’m gonna let go. But I’m gonna be right here, alright?”
Peter nodded.
The man released him, got to his feet, and started to lift rubble off of Peter. As the last of it was tossed aside, the last of his own consciousness returned to him. He scraped himself up into a kneeling position and groaned in pain as more blood flowed down his legs and his ribs screamed.
Bucky stooped, gently lifting the boy’s arm over his shoulders. 
“I’m gonna stand you up on three. One, two, three.”
Peter let out a short yell at the pain in his ribs, sagging against Bucky, but somehow managed to stay upright. Together, they staggered a step forward, then another.
Bucky tapped his earpiece. “I got Peter, we’re on our way out.”
Peter’s advanced hearing easily picked up Steve’s reply. “Alright, that’s all of us. Everyone meet at the jet.”
The journey back seemed to take both five days and five seconds. Peter had no idea how long it really was. He lived only in each painful step, through the smoke and rubble, out into the hazed daylight, and up the ramp of the Quinjet.
He blacked out shortly after.
time-skip sponsored by woodstock
It was two days after the teen woke up back at the tower to be smothered by May and Tony and informed that he was never, never doing that again, before they talked about it.
Peter had spent those two days in an uneasy state of being unsure what exactly happened and very unsure of what Bucky had told everyone, and so, as much as he’d been dreading the conversation, he was also almost relieved when the super soldier pulled him aside after a team meeting. 
As soon as the door closed behind the last of the other Avengers, Peter took a deep breath… and immediately regretted it due to the two cracked ribs he’d managed to obtain.
“Look,” he said without meeting Bucky’s gaze, “I’m not really sure what exactly happened back there, but I just wanna say I’m sorry, and thank you for getting me out.”
“God, you’re just like Steve,” Bucky sighed, a slightly sad smile in his voice. “You shoulda seen him the first time I heard him scream in his sleep.”
That caught Peter’s attention enough for him to look up at the man. 
He just nodded a little. “You know, Tony put in a door between our rooms. Did it because we’re the only ones strong enough to hold the other guy down when we have nightmares.”
“Nightmares?” the teen repeated timidly.
Again, Bucky nodded. “Nightmares, jump scares. Panic attacks. You get what I’m saying?”
Peter bit his lip. “Like PTSD?”
“You got it.” He spread his hands a little. “If you wanna know why I knew exactly what I needed to do back there, it’s cuz I’ve done it with Steve and he’s done it with me cuz we are so much more screwed up in here…” He tapped the side of his head. “... than you know, Kiddo. So if you think you’re in trouble or I’m gonna judge you or something, you better think again.”
“But… but you’ve both been in war,” Peter whispered. “Why should I have PTSD?”
“Peter, you had a building dropped on you,” Bucky sighed. “And then you had another building dropped on you. That is a recipe for some real **** inside your head. It’s not your fault. You don’t have to suffer on your own and then beat yourself up when your brain freaks out on the battlefield.”
“But I…” Suddenly, tears were welling behind his eyes. “I could have gotten us killed.”
“Hey.” The soldier shrugged a little. “You didn’t. I’m fine, you’re fine, we’re all fine. And if you maybe let us help you, it’s less likely to happen like that again.”
Peter bit his lip, blinking back the tears. “So are you gonna tell Mr. Stark?”
“No, I’m not.”
The boy’s relief lasted about a second.
“You are.”
He opened his mouth to protest, but Bucky beat him to it, leaning forward and saying more quietly.
“Cuz you know what? He gets ‘em too.”
His mouth clamped shut. His struggled to comprehend what he’d just been told.
Once again, Bucky a little. “Welcome to the club, Kid. I’m sorry you gotta be here.”
I’m so over myself these have all absolutely sucked and now I’m a day behind and yeah anyway I hope you enjoyed that crap I’ll see y’all later. Oh yeah also Ima write a part 2 or something probably.
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alfredosauce50 · 5 years
Text
Can you hear me? (Dark! Spain x reader) 3
Wordcount: 2,363 The reader is referred to as she/her.
"... Hola." The husky voice whispered. You froze in your seat at the familiar sound that you had been dreading to hear. And just like that, the illusion that your brain made where he didn't exist just disappeared. The overhead light that illuminated the interior of your car dimmed to darkness as the icy hands of fear grabbed a hold of your racing heart. "Me extrañaste?" The man muttered these words to you in a low, sultry voice that only made your hair stand on end. Despite not understanding what he was saying, you shook your head and just murmured one thing. "No. No. No. Whatever you just said, no." You exasperated, starting the car to hear the engine roar and come to life. "Stop calling this number. I'm going to call the fucking police. I can't stand it anymore." 
The other merely chuckled at the threat, and at hearing those laughs, you furrowed your brows and hitched a breath. "What the fuck are you laughing at?" "Police? Oh, but I don't think you want to do that." The other responded with a heavy, Spanish accent. It was so prominent that you thought he was doing it on purpose. "He's not with you, is he?" Your hands were growing clammy and your blood ran cold. "Who?" Even though you asked that question, a sick, churning in your stomach warned you of a hunch. "Your boyfriend. Where is your boyfriend?" A loud gasp was heard and heat rushed up to your face. "He is alone, isn't he?" You refused to let him hear you break down over the phone. There was also no need for the conversation to continue to know exactly where this deranged man was, or planning to head to, so you hung up with your face distorted with fear. Usually, you would have steered clear of him at all costs, but you did not have the luxury to do so when Alfred was there with him. With a heart as pure as his, he probably would not have sensed his impending doom coming at all. He was probably just sitting on a high stool at the bar, slumped over the counter and dozing off waiting for you. It would not be difficult for just about anyone to sneak up behind and pull him to the back of the bar-- "Shit!" You screamed, revving up the engine to hear it roar to life. The wheels of your car screeched as you sped down the road shrouded in what looked like a black abyss of darkness. The potent glow of your headlights guided you through the night's lonely streets. Nothing but the sound of the wheels, the wind hitting your car and a continuous thumping in the back of your ears could be heard. Because it was already half-past ten, it was no wonder there were no people on the streets despite being in the shopping district. Not a single soul was found as you searched around frantically for the address you were given as if despair wanted to rub itself in your face with nobody around to help you. When the engine stopped humming and you pulled up in a parking spot just opposite, your phone started to hum and you shot your hand out to pick it up. If you and Alfred were safe at home, you would have declined the call. But you had no choice. "Antonio. Don't hurt him, please." Those were the first words that left your mouth when the call connected. Your voice was shaking. It was only persuasion that could save both of your skins, for he was at leisure to do absolutely anything his twisted mind desired. He could have been anywhere. He could be sitting right next to Alfred at this moment. He could even be outside, watching you plead for mercy into your phone. "Please, I beg of you! He hasn't done anything wrong, he doesn't deserve this!" And he just hummed. He hummed like he himself was not doing anything wrong. "And I beg to differ, mi amor. But since you said please, I won't lay a finger on him-" You let go of the breath you didn't know you had been holding. But you really shouldn't have. "-only if you do as I say." You hid your face with your free hand and let it slide down to your mouth to muffle a few whimpers. Nobody could help you, not the police, not even Alfred who knew of this psychopath of a stalker. So you obliged, but reluctantly to say the least. "... Fine... But how will I know you're not lying? I don't trust you!" "Oh, but you have to trust me, yes?" He responded, unable to bite back a wide smile that came off as anything but friendly. "You have no choice! But I will make sure he gets back home safe, all you have to do is listen to me." "..." He took your silence as a yes, so he went on to instruct you to carry out his plan. And this sick scheme of his was foolproof in his eyes- with careful thinking, impeccable execution and the life of your loved one at stake, success was practically guaranteed. Once he decided that phone calls were simply not enough, he came up with the perfect plot to play you right into his hands. "Text him that you are unable to pick him up. Tell him that you forgot that Arthur had borrowed your car because his broke down. And then say..." Your eyes went round at the mention of Arthur's name. How did he even know he had picked up Peter from your house? More importantly, what else did he know about you and the people in your life? The only plausible explanation was that he was actually a close friend of yours, well not anymore. Either that, or he had been overhearing your conversations and spying on you for the past few weeks. You prayed it was the latter option because it would have been impossible to narrow your suspects down to one person. You knew all your friends for ages, most of them at least, and you loved every single one of them. "... You're still too afraid to even leave the door at night." It was painful how much truth the last statement held. During the time when those calls ceased, you were still paranoid about going out at night alone. "... Okay. And you won't do anything to him when he gets home, right?" You asked in a feeble voice. "I promise." He muttered. "And you'll know if he gets home safe. You can call him, can't you? Now. Before you hang up on me and do that, I want you to do something for me as well." You bit your lip and waited for that sultry voice of his to spell out how you were going to die. He could tell you to do anything at this point. The clever bastard had you wrapped around his thumb by threatening you with Alfred. No matter what it was going to be, you were probably not going to see the light of day again. "When Alfred gets to his own house, I want you to go home." Huh? Confusion flashed onto your face and you knitted your brows together. It was a little less terrifying than you expected, and it sounded too good to be true that you needed to question his motives. "... But why? Aren't you going to like, murder me in an empty alleyway or something? Not that I want you to! Please don't-" A sigh under a grungy filter was heard. "No, why would I ever do that? Didn't I already tell you how much I-" He thinned his lips. "You know what, no more questions. Just do as I say and Alfred will be untouched." He hung up after that, suggesting that there was nothing else for you to do but everything he just told you to. Your lips had separated agape to throw a few more questions his way, but alas, he was gone. But the same minute he ended the call, you sprung into action and texted Alfred to get the hell home. Your thumbs worked quickly against the keyboard, and no matter how much the blonde complained, you continued to persuade him. Eventually, he agreed and arrived home safely. And how did you know that? You did text him to check if he did make it to his house in one piece. As you started up your car, your eyes flickered over to the blinding white light of a seven eleven just opposite. The contrast in lighting immediately grabbed your attention, and for good reason too. Although you needed to squint a little to recognize the hooded figure standing outside the convenience store, you matched a name with his appearance. A few of his dark brown locks curled out from his hoodie, and his facial features including those green eyes grew clearer as you ran up to him. He had his phone pressed up to his ear like he was in a call, but the second before you jumped onto him, he hung up and lowered it. "Tony!" You screamed, leaping up to wrap your arms around his neck. Unfortunately for you, it was hard to keep a hold of such a high place when you were vertically challenged compared to him. He let out a startled scream and fumbled with his phone. Spinning around with wide eyes, he blinked furiously before he offered you a dazzling smile. "(F/N)! Coincidence seeing you here!" He started with a few laughs. "Are you here to pick up Alfred? I just left the bar from getting something I forgot..." Those laughs silenced when he finally saw the face you were making. It was pure horror. "... (F/N)? Are you alright?" He asked softly with a frown downturning his lips. You shook your head furiously and held onto his jacket, digging your fingers into the fabric to secure him there. "I'm sorry for bothering you. But... Could you accompany me home?" You whispered. Your grip on him did not loosen. Breathing shallow and eyes glazed with a layer of tears, he immediately assumed something terrible had happened that night. He did not ask many questions and only grabbed your hand to lead you away. Pulling you over to your car, he sat you in the passenger seat and buckled you in before he went over to the other side and sat behind the wheel. "You don't have to tell me everything if you don't want to, but I'm always here if you need someone to listen." He began to make his way to your house, driving you back in the car you owned. "Do you need to call the police? Medical attention?" "... No. I just... Wanted to see a friendly face." You whispered, staring out the window. It was not a very satisfactory answer, but the less he knew, the safer he was. "I was harassed by a few guys, but I'm not hurt or anything." He opened his mouth to say something else, but you just cut him off by giving him directions. Strange thing was, he did not even need your help finding your neighborhood. But you never bothered to mention it, not that you even noticed it. When he pulled up in your driveway, he opened your door for you and helped you out. As he turned to leave, you grabbed onto his sleeve to stop him from even stepping off your property. "Wait!" He turned around to face you with an inquisitive look. "I know this might sound weird, but... Could you maybe come inside? I'm still a little paranoid." A little paranoid was an understatement. The last time you were home, he had managed to get inside. He even entered your room. Your bed. And the phone call you just had with him just confirmed he was waiting inside for you, so were you just going to let this opportunity of having a friend by your side slip away? The man appeared to be a little hesitant, but when he remembered the reason why he was here, he nodded and trailed after you. Even that was not enough, so you reached out for his hand to pull him up the small flight of stairs to your front door. "Woah, hey! I'm not leaving any time soon, so you can calm down!" He exclaimed, slipping out of his shoes as you jabbed your key into the door. You did the same, except you kicked your shoes off and stormed into your house without sparing them a second look. You threw all of your things onto the couch, only to hear your purse roll off to hit the ground in a thud. "... I just had a feeling someone followed me back home." You finally said, flicking on the lights in all the rooms in your abode as you checked for any intruders. Peering in every room and every possible place that was large enough to conceal a fully grown male, you felt your heart finally calm when you were given fruitless results. The only place under this roof you had not checked yet was the bedroom now. You were subconsciously saving it for last, because you thought it was where he would most likely show up again. So once you explored the second floor, you pulled him into your bedroom expecting to see a creep waiting for you in the corner. But alas, there was nobody. A small hum rumbled from your throat as you walked in, glancing around to inspect the place. You checked under the bed, in the closet, and even in the bin... Just to be sure. And yet, there was no sign of anyone here. "... Hm... That's weird..." You mumbled under your breath, placing your hands on your hips. "Oh! I haven't checked the garden!" You twisted around to walk out the door, but the man there with you had shut it with a click-- the sound of your lock.
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365daysofsasuhina · 5 years
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[ 365 Days of SasuHina || Day Eighty-Eight: Rebellion ] [ Uchiha Sasuke, Uchiha Itachi, Hyūga Hinata, Hyūga Neji, Uchiha Fugaku ] [ SasuHina ] [ Verse: Catch ‘Em All ] [ AO3 Link ]
Standing at the eastern entrance to Fuschia, a now twelve-year-old Sasuke keeps vigilant watch, a hand at his brow as he squints against the morning sun. She should be here any time, now…!
“Any sign of her yet?”
Jumping in surprise, Sasuke spins around to find Itachi walking up behind him. “Aniki? I thought you were training with otōsan this morning?”
“He had something come up.”
“Eh?”
“The professor’s here. I thought it rude to listen in, so I thought I’d come check on you.”
In spite of his next words, Sasuke pouts. “I’m not a kid, aniki - I’ve been a registered trainer for two years, now!”
“And you’re still my little brother.” Itachi gives a small, sly smile. “Why is it you clamor for my attention any other time, but when I give it, you’re suddenly opposed?”
“I like it when we get to train, or catch pokémon! You’re just trying to babysit me!” Arms fold, giving his elder brother a look. “Why don’t you go hang out in the Safari Zone, huh? You sure spend an awful lot of free time in there…”
Itachi’s expression cools, and a hint of color tinges the bridge of his nose. “...it’s good research. There’s a lot of rare pokémon in there.”
“That’s not all that’s in there, is it…?”
“If you’re so keen to be rid of me, then perhaps I’ll go do just that.”
“Fine!”
Snorting, Itachi manages to ruffle Sasuke’s hair before turning to leave, chuckling at his brother’s squawk of indignation. “I’ll see you later.”
Muttering under his breath and trying to smooth his hair (and...really only making it worse), Sasuke harrumphs and turns back around, watching the road.
It’s been over six years since he met Hinata in Cerulean when his father took him and his brother up with him on business. Since then, they’ve used his Pidgey (now a Pidgeotto) to send mail back and forth as often as possible to stay in touch.
As far as Sasuke is concerned, she’s pretty much his best friend.
And now, she’s finally getting to visit in person!
Her elder cousin Neji is on his pokémon journey, and is heading to Fuchsia to challenge Sasuke’s father Fugaku for the Soul Badge. And he promised to be her guide (and protector) on the routes down to Fuschia.
Normally someone twelve years old could probably handle the journey alone...but Hinata’s father, Hiashi, still refuses to let her have a pokémon of her own.
Sasuke, however...has planned a little rebellion.
He knows well from his own explorations that, with a good enough rod, one can catch a Goldeen to the west on Route Eighteen. And with a late mother who once ran the water-type gym of Cerulean, what better pokémon could be better for Hinata’s first?
Hiashi might get angry, but darn it, Sasuke can’t stand knowing she’s missing out on having bonds with pokémon! He loves his own team to pieces - he wants Hinata to get that same chance.
Lost in his thinking, he jolts as movement catches his eye. Down the road, two figures finally come into view.
Is it them?
“Sasuke-kuuun!”
Brightening, Sasuke grins. “Hinata-chaaan!” Breaking into a run, he crosses the distance as Hinata does the same, meeting in the middle as they both skid to a stop.
For a moment, they linger in an awkward hesitation. Should they...shake hands? High five? Or…?
Making up their minds for the both of them, Hinata takes a leap (literally and figuratively) and latches onto Sasuke in a tight hug. “I’ve m-missed you…!”
Stumbling back half a step, Sasuke balks, flushing pink before carefully bringing up arms to return the hold. “I...I’ve missed you too.”
“Oh! That reminds me!” Letting go, she slings her backpack off her back, rummaging under the flap before drawing something out.
Sasuke’s eyes go wide.
“I brought them back! I thought it’s h-high time they got to go home. They’ve kept me company for a long time…”
Softening with a small smile, Sasuke accepts the Bulbasaur plush. “...they look just the same as when I gave them to you…”
“I’ve been very c-careful with them! I didn’t want them to get dirty, o-or torn.”
After a moment, Sasuke glances aside, looking a little sheepish. “I, er...I guess I’m a little old for pokédolls, but...I’ll take them home later. Could you…?”
Hinata just giggles, agreeing and - for now - putting the doll back in her pack..
Seeing Neji still a ways behind, Sasuke then leans in conspiratorially. “Besides...I’m gonna get you something better than a plush to take home with you…!”
Blinking large eyes, it takes Hinata a second...and then they go wide. “B-but -?!”
“Shh!” Standing back upright, Sasuke looks to her cousin. “You’re Neji, right? Uchiha Sasuke.”
“Hinata-sama has told me all about you,” is Neji’s stiff reply.
“Yeah? Same.”
The boys seem to size each other up before Hinata tugs on Neji’s arm. “N-ne, we better get to the gym. Didn’t you want to talk to the leader before it got too late in the day…?”
Still looking haughty, Neji nonetheless softens when he glances to his cousin. “...yes, that’s true.”
“I’ll take you,” Sasuke offers, brushing aside the cool introduction. Neji’s not who he wants to see, anyway.
“Thank you.”
The trio make their way across town to the gym, where Fugaku is just finishing up talks with the pokémon professor. Glancing to them, Fugaku gives a rugged grin. “I’ll send you an email later, professor. Have a safe flight home.”
“I will!”
Once the floor is cleared, Fugaku folds his arms. “So...here for the challenge?”
Neji steps forward. “...yes sir. And, if you’re willing, some training.”
A curious brow perks. “Hm...well, we’ll see how you fare. But first...you’ll have to find your way to me. And, past my trainers!”
As one, the half dozen prequel trainers emerge, and arrange themselves.
Neji frowns. “Find my way…?”
“There’s unseeable walls,” Sasuke boasts, grinning. “And to get to the leader, you’ll have to navigate them, and the trainers. It won’t be easy…!”
There’s a cool glance over, then a determined look as Neji faces his goal. “...very well.”
“Neji-nīsan...would it be all right if - if I go with Sasuke-kun now?”
“You don’t want to watch my battle…?”
Hinata hesitates. “I...I do…”
“We’ll be back in a few,” Sasuke promises. “Besides, you’ve got other trainers to face first, remember? Do that first - I’m sure we’ll have plenty of time to spare...if you even make it that far.”
“...all right then. But you must keep Hinata-sama safe.”
“Of course.”
Permission given, the two watch as Neji takes tentative steps forward before heading back out the door.
“Did you mean what I think you meant earlier?” Hinata quickly demands, looking to Sasuke eagerly.
“I’m gonna catch you a pokémon.”
“...but...my father -”
“Doesn’t have to know! Hinata...a pokémon is a friend - one that grows with you! It’s not fair that your father is keeping that from you.” Sasuke gives her a stern look. “It’ll be a water type - you can go out north of town sometimes and let them swim around! He doesn’t have to know - not until you’re old enough to put your foot down and do what you wanna do! You’re old enough to be a trainer if you want. He can’t stop you!”
“Yes he can!”
“Then you can just run away! Back here, and stay with us,” Sasuke sniffs, clearly thinking it’s a foolproof plan. “My brother knows someone in the Safari Zone - she can teach you! Maybe even give you some work in the park! And you could stay at my house, or we could go on our own adventure! Aniki’s gonna be the next gym leader, so I can do whatever I want, too!”
Hinata looks a bit awed. “I...guess, maybe…”
“Well, first: let’s go get you a pokémon! I know just what one to get!” Taking her hand, Sasuke tugs Hinata out toward the west end of town, and out into Route Eighteen. “There’s a pond out here where you can find ‘em!”
They slow to a stop at the water’s edge, and Sasuke takes his rod out of his bag, snapping the pole together and baiting the line. “Okay...I’ll have to battle them to weaken them first. You stay over there!”
“O-okay!”
Once he’s sure Hinata’s out of harm’s way, Sasuke casts his line...and waits.
Fishing, of course, is a game of patience. There’s a few nibbles first, and then he pulls up a Krabby...not what he’s looking for. And then, finally, he hooks the right one!
“Whoa!”
Up with a splash comes a Goldeen!
Eyes round, Hinata watches as Sasuke calls on his Pidgeotto, battling with Wing and Quick Attacks.
“All right! Pokéball, go!”
With a toss, Sasuke lands the throw dead center, and the Goldeen vanishes. The ball wiggles...wriggles...and then, goes still!
“Yeahhh, I got it!”
Jogging up as Sasuke retrieves the ball, Hinata balks as he hands it to her. “Go on, throw it!”
“Um…” Looking unsure, Hinata eventually gives it a try. Out pops Goldeen into the water, looking up to their new trainer.
“...wow…!”
“Wanna name ‘em?”
“I...I don’t know! I’m not really, um...prepared…”
“That’s okay, you can do it later.” Sasuke shows her how to retrieve them, and then offers, “Just keep the ball in your bag - don’t show it to anybody!”
“I won’t!”
Together they jog back to the gym, just in time to see Neji approach the leader. His pokémon look a bit worse for wear.
“You can do it!” Hinata calls, drawing his gaze and earning a tired smile.
Fugaku releases his own team, and though it’s close...in the end, Neji can’t quite muster it. His last party member faints, and he falls to his knees.
“...I…”
Recalling his own, Fugaku eyes the boy critically. “...you know...you show great promise, my boy. Your strategizing is top-notch, especially for one your age. I think…” He glances up to his son and Hinata. “...it would be good for the two of you to spend a little time in Fuchsia. Hinata can enjoy herself a bit longer, and you and I can do a little training.”
That lifts Neji’s head, eyes wide. “...really?”
“Think you’ll make it worth my while?”
“Y...yes, sir!”
“Then we’ve got ourselves a deal.”
The two Hyūga join the Uchiha family for dinner, agreeing to stay a few more days than planned as Hinata sends her father a message.
Seated beside his brother, Itachi leans in. “So...how did it go?”
“Good. I got just what I wanted.”
“I’m glad. You’ll have to help her get started training tomorrow while Neji is busy.”
“What about you?”
“Oh, I might stop and help...depends on how busy the Safari Zone is,” Itachi replies, smirking as Sasuke pouts.
“Tch…whatever.”
     Gosh this ended up longer (and later) than I intended! So this is a sequel that goes back alllll the way to day eighteen, where Hinata and Sasuke met in Cerulean City! I've wanted to do a follow-up to it for a long time, and this prompt seemed to fit well!      Goodness only knows how Hiashi's going to react to all of this, but...well, Sasuke seems to think he's got it all figured out. Should be fine, right?      ...riiiiight.      Anyway, it's super late, I need to get to bed! Thanks for reading!
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sssrha · 5 years
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winter sun || [Naruto Fanfiction]
Summary: In the end, Sasuke lost. [one-shot, mostly canon-compliant, Sasuke-centric]
[You can also read it on AO3, FFN, and Wattpad]
Begin:
Sasuke Uchiha was eight and he was alone. He didn’t have a family member to take care of him, nor a family that would take him in. He had an inkling as to why—they were all scared that he was another Itachi. They feared that he would wake up one day and kill them all simply because he used to call them family. He despaired at the thought. If he had a family, even one that wasn’t his flesh and blood, he would cherish them. He would honor them. He would love them.
But no one wanted Sasuke Uchiha. They wanted him, expected him, to become great, but no one was willing to help him get there. So, Sasuke stewed in agony and sorrow until, eventually, it turned to rage. Sasuke had a family, only one, and that family was dead thanks to a certain someone. Sasuke swore vengeance against his brother, for Itachi had taken the only family that would ever love him.
---
Sasuke Uchiha was eleven, and he was loved. The villagers adored him, praised him. They wrote him formal letters, invited him to fancy dinners, and—as disturbing as it was—pushed their daughters towards him. Sasuke looked upon it all with utter disdain. He never went to a single dinner or answered a single letter, and all the daughters received nothing but his glares. People looked at him and whispered, “Look at that brat. Look at how he takes advantage of everyone. Look at how wonderful his life is, how everyone worships the very ground he walks on, and yet he’s so ungrateful.”
Sasuke scowled at the thought. They wanted him to be grateful? For what? They say that they would stand by him, but where were they when he needed them? He was perfectly capable of standing on his own now. Sasuke Uchiha did not need anyone to protect him. He used to, once upon a time, but no one was there.
Sasuke Uchiha learned to take care of himself.
---
Sasuke Uchiha was thirteen, and he was assigned to a team. It was the team of his nightmares. There was a girl—a pretty girl, sure, but pretty didn’t mean anything in their world—who looked at him with such admiration that it hurt. Sakura Haruno was going to die, he was sure of it. She was going to die an agonizing death and he wouldn’t be able to stop it. Such pure feelings get you killed—Sasuke was one of the lucky ones. He had only been scarred.
There was also a boy. He was stupid, moronic, idiotic, and various other synonyms that implied he, too, would have a short shinobi career. Sasuke, however, knew that Naruto Uzumaki would die differently than their female teammate—he would die in an explosion. In agony, sure, but he would be smiling the whole time. He was just that stupid, and he was the kind of shinobi that Konoha loved. Sasuke could not, for the life of him, understand why everyone hated Naruto as much as they did. But he knows that Konoha was hypocritical in many ways, so he didn’t think too much about it.
Finally, there was their leader. He was young and lazy and a bit too forced. He would look at Sakura with a look of amazement when she proved—and continued to prove—that she knew so much that it was frightening, he looked at Naruto with amusement when he came up with his utterly stupid and somehow foolproof plans, and Sasuke…
Well, he looked at Sasuke like he was a disaster waiting to happen. The first time it had happened, Sasuke was genuinely taken aback. It had been a long time since anyone had looked at him that way, and it was just as infuriating as always. Still, Kakashi Hatake was Sasuke’s ticket to killing Itachi, so he stuck with him. He held in his anger at Kakashi’s blatant distrust and, horrifyingly, pity.
Sasuke Uchiha lived on, a single goal in his mind.
---
Sasuke Uchiha was still thirteen, but he had left. He abandoned the place that he called home. He’d return a hero after killing the man who had ruined his life. He would make the world a better place. Itachi Uchiha was a man who deserved to die, and Sasuke could not understand why everyone was against this. This was his task in life, was it not? He had declared that he would kill his brother many a time, and not a single person had tried to convince him otherwise, so why the hell were they mad at him now?
No, Sasuke knew. Naruto Uzumaki was why. Sasuke did not know what the blond was thinking—he had thought that Naruto supported him. Instead, he came chasing after him, trying to drag him back. Sasuke would come home, just not yet. If he had to put a strike through his forehead protector, so be it. Sasuke Uchiha had a mission, and some boy who considered himself Sasuke’s family would not stop him—even if it was Naruto.
Sasuke knew what family was. The entire world had screamed it out to him when his family had died, and when no one tried to care for him. His family was gone, cut down by the sword of a mad man. His family was his flesh and blood and the only left was a parricidal maniac. Naruto Uzumaki was not his family. Try as he might, though, Sasuke just could not explain it. Naruto kept persisting and Sasuke couldn’t believe how pigheaded he was.
Naruto Uzumaki was not his family. Naruto had no family, just like Sasuke. They were both alone in this world. Sasuke had once had a family, though, and Naruto never had one. They walked different paths so far, and the paths had only briefly crossed. Sasuke tried to tell Naruto to move on, but the words never came out right. Naruto was too thick-headed to understand, anyway.
So, Sasuke Uchiha fought.
As he left the battlefield, his forehead bare, he couldn’t help but remember a girl with pink hair and green eyes, begging him to stay. He promised that he would come back. Not out loud, but to himself. Sakura did not need to worry.
That was what he told himself.
---
Sasuke Uchiha was sixteen, and he was disgusted. It had been three years, and he expected something better. He expected Naruto Uzumaki, the boy who stood up against all odds. He expected Naruto Uzumaki, the boy who would fight tooth and nail for what he thought was right—misguided or not. He expected Naruto Uzumaki, the boy who, against all odds, never truly lost.
Instead, Sasuke got Naruto Uzumaki, begging. He got Naruto Uzumaki, nearly on his knees. He got Naruto Uzumaki, essentially surrendering.
Sasuke did not intend to return to Konoha yet, and as the weeks go by, the possibility of Konoha accepting him back got slimmer and slimmer. He had to fulfill his duty, though. The one he was given by virtue of having the name Uchiha. Sasuke Uchiha had to kill his brother, and a whining boy would not stop him.
And Sasuke found that the thought of returning to Naruto Uzumaki, a shell of his former self, was sickening.
---
Sasuke Uchiha was seventeen and he sat in silence. How much, he wondered, would the world take from him? To think, he had finally gotten the revenge that he wanted, finally killed the man who ended his family’s days, only to learn that Itachi Uchiha wasn’t a murderer. No, no, Itachi was a murderer, but so was Konoha. There was a greater evil, and evil that controlled the lesser one.
For the first time in nine years, Sasuke remembered. He remembered a brother he had forgotten he had. He remembered love and happiness and acceptance. He remembered smiles. He remembered Itachi Uchiha, his brother, not Itachi Uchiha, his enemy. But what did it matter now? Itachi Uchiha was dead.
Sasuke’s thoughts turned. Why was Itachi dead? A coup. A coup that the Uchiha were going to do. And whose fault was that? The Uchiha’s, or the government which drove them to it? After all, wasn’t it the right of the people to speak up against tyranny? Sasuke remembered his family. Not just his mother and father and brother, he remembered cousins, aunts, uncles. There were many that wouldn’t hurt a fly. They wouldn’t want to rise up. They weren’t even shinobi.
It dawned on Sasuke that whatever Konoha had done to get the Uchiha to rise up, it must have been bad. Terrible. And yet, Sasuke had trouble believing it. Konoha was his home. His end goal was always to return, having made the world a better place. Konoha was a wonderful place, he knew it. He lived it. But Konoha killed his family.
It seemed that even Konoha, the village of dreams, had its demons. It killed his family. For the life of him, Sasuke could not understand why Itachi would work for Konoha. What had it done for them? It had ordered the Uchiha’s execution. It had ruined their lives. Why would Itachi serve Konoha so faithfully?
The truth was that Sasuke did not know. He could not comprehend Itachi’s thought process. The fact remained that Konoha had destroyed him and his family. Sasuke was not naive enough to believe that it had changed, that anything had changed. Konoha wasn’t the only problem, either. Kiri was famous for the bloodline purges it endured. Iwa was infamous for its harsh laws and ruthless battle tactics. Kumo was led by a man who would lose his head in a second, and Suna was constantly in one crisis or another. The entirety of the Shinobi Nations was falling apart.
How long until one of them snapped again? Until another family was murdered by the government that was supposed to protect it? How many more children would no longer have a family? How many more children would have to go through the sorrow he did?
Sasuke Uchiha knew that the violence would not stop, so he decided to put an end to it himself.
---
Sasuke Uchiha was seventeen, and he was dying. He had fought tooth and nail for what he believed in, for what was right, and he was still dying. There was no justice in this universe, was there? Konoha would kill him, just like it killed his family. Sasuke was defiant, but he knew his time was waning.
Through the darkness of the night, no longer illuminated by a Chidori or Rasengan, Naruto whispered, “Why, Sasuke?”
Sasuke contemplated not responding but decided against it. “Why what?”
“Why won’t you come home?”
“I have no home.”
“Yes,” Naruto said, his voice suddenly getting a note of irritation, “you do. And it’s Konoha.”
“You know what Konoha did to me and my family. Why would I call it home?”
“Because that’s not Konoha!” Naruto snapped, only to descend into a wheezing fit. Sasuke closed his eyes, trying to lock out how much it hurt him to hear Naruto’s struggle. Finally, Naruto repeated, “That’s not Konoha.”
“Are you telling me that my clan isn’t dead because of Konoha?”
“Your clan was planning an uprising, Sasuke.”
“I know my clan,” Sasuke hissed. “Most of its members wouldn’t hurt a fly. I can’t even imagine what Konoha could have done to make them plan a coup.”
“Neither can I. I guess we both learned something about our families that we didn’t know.”
Bitterly, Sasuke said, “You don’t have a family, Naruto.”
“I do. I have Sakura and Kakashi-sensei. I have Shikamaru and Ino and Chouji. I have Hinata and Kiba and Shino. I have Iruka-sensei and Granny Tsunade. Hell, I even have Tonton. I also have you, Sasuke.”
“We’re not family. That’s not how it works. Your family is your blood.”
Through the darkness, Sasuke could vaguely make out Naruto giving him a hurt look. “You’ve told me a million times that you weren’t my family, and it stung. But now you're telling me that I don’t have any family? I don’t think you understand what family is, Sasuke.”
“Oh yeah? Then what is a family?”
“A family is a group of people who care about you. They would follow you to the ends of the Earth, and you would do the same for them. That is family, Sasuke. Blood has nothing to do with it.”
Scowling, Sasuke said, “Well then, I lost my family the day Konoha ordered its execution.”
“And I’m not saying that that was okay. I’ve met Itachi, Sasuke. He was a good man. He didn’t deserve what he got. But he wanted you to have a family, Sasuke.”
“And his dream was never realized, was it?”
“No, Sasuke. I am your family. I would follow you to the ends of the Earth— Hell, I just did! I would defend your name until the day you die, and for the rest of my life!”
“But you’re trying to drag me back to the place that ruined my life.”
“Konoha didn’t ruin your life, Sasuke. That was power-hungry men and women who are out of power. That was done by people who saw the Uchiha as a threat.”
“And you think that they won’t see me as a threat now?”
“I think that you deserve a chance, and there are people in Konoha who know it. Trust me, Sasuke.”
Sasuke squeezed his eyes shut. “How can I trust you when you’ve stood against me at every turn?”
“You abandoned your village, Sasuke. You went out trying to murder someone—someone powerful. You got yourself tangled in criminal organizations and people who’ve done horrible things. Sasuke, have you ever thought about how it looked to me?” Naruto only heard silence, so he continued. “It looked like you were going insane. There you were, in a good place. You had people who genuinely cared about you and, all of a sudden, you run away. You do stupidly self-destructive things and then you wonder why your best friend is trying to stop you.”
“I didn’t do anything self-destructive.”
“I’m not stupid. That curse mark did more harm than good, Sasuke. It was the same with Kurama’s chakra before we worked everything out. You joined an organization that went after jinchuriki, then tried to capture one of the most experienced ones. Sasuke, you’re such a moron.”
“Shut up. What about my perspective, huh? What about how I felt?”
“That’s the thing—you only care about how you feel! You didn’t hear a thing I said, did you?”
“I heard you,” Sasuke said. “So what? My feelings aren’t as important as everyone else’s?”
“I never said that, but have some empathy! Do you realize how much you’ve hurt Sakura?”
“What does she have to do with—”
“She loved you, Sasuke. She still does, too. She admired you so much! And then you tried to kill her, and me, and Kakashi. You tried to kill her family. Do you have any idea how that made her feel?”
Sasuke scowled. “I don’t know what you—” But then Sasuke stopped, and he understood what Naruto was saying. His face shuttered and he nearly threw up. “Itachi,” he said, “I was almost her Itachi.”
“Yeah, but now look at her. She’s only tried to kill you once, and that was after an emotional moment. Sasuke, Sakura is emotionally stable and happy. You know why? She hasn’t pushed anyone away.”
Sasuke stared, then started trembling. “But she had a family. I didn’t. Mine was gone.”
“So many people were supporting you—”
“No one wanted me, Naruto.” Sasuke’s voice broke. “Do you know how it feels? I just lost my family and no one, not the normal citizens or the power-hungry politicians, even pretended to help me. What did they do? They threw me into some house and expected me to be great.”
“Sasuke—”
“I was seven, Naruto.” Sasuke knew that he was crying, but he couldn’t stop.
“...I know, Sasuke,” Naruto whispered. “I know.”
That night, Sasuke lost his dignity. His worldview was shattered once again and he knew that, when it was all over, he would suffer. But he had gained something precious, something he had always wanted—a family. So, Sasuke lost, but Sasuke was happy—happier than he had been in a decade. Sasuke wasn’t a sore loser.
fin
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jaeminlore · 6 years
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Break Down the Wall | Ten
summary: marriage isn't easy, and love takes time words: 8k+ category: prince!ten, angst, fluff warning: mentions of sexual harassment
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It wasn't like the books. It was never like the books. Princes and Princesses didn't get married because they fell in love, and they certainly didn't fall conveniently in love with the one they were betrothed too. That wasn't realistic. That wasn't real life.
Reality was terrifying. It had you cinched in a pearly white gown, promising to become one with a man you had only met twice, and both were under formal business requirements. Reality had you faking smiles and laughing through the reception as your princess friends encouraged you •to be happy, Prince Ten is handsome!• and forget the binds this marriage had over your freedom. Reality had you crying yourself to sleep as you slept beside your new husband, having never been so physically close to someone before and yet felt so distant.
He never talked about it: your crying. You knew, without any doubt, that he had heard you many nights, sniffling through the pain. Maybe it was a mutual thing, because you had never mentioned the nights he spent in the library, not coming back to the room until it was already dawn. The first few weeks were like this, strictly professional and business-like.
The first check-in with his parents was awkward. His parents kept hinting that the two of you were intimate, and close both physically and emotionally. But the truth was that you had never felt further away from a person.
Life with Ten was awkward. Not because he was a horrible person, or because you refused to speak to him, but it was because he tended to close himself off to you. You could see it with his Royal Advisor, Johnny: his bright smiles and laughter that practically permeated the castle walls. Sometimes, if you were quiet enough, you could sneak a peak out your window and watch him joke around, unfiltered and unabashed. It was nice to see him so happy.
But around you, he was quiet. Quiet and tame, his guard always up. His dark eyes would search yours a lot, and he would always end his search with furrowed eyebrows, like he hadn't quite found what he was looking for. There was some sort of wall between the two of you, made from the stubbornness of not wanting to be married to each other. It was a wall stronger than Jericho, but in this instance, there was no Joshua to call it down.
This wall stayed up no matter what. Decisions for the newly conjoined kingdom were given to the two of you to decide. Both your parents and his could see the strained relationship and wished for the two of you to at least be on friendly terms. That was hard, however, when all you could see in his eyes was the future that was taken from you. You assumed he saw the same. But royal decisions seemed to be something the two of you could work peacefully on.
Ten had never spoken more than he had when the two of you were trying to figure out what was good for the people and the newly conjoined kingdom.
("It's a zoo," you had told Ten, stomping your foot like a child. "How is it hurting anyone?"
"I don't like having animals living in captivity while their mom is two yards away in the forest," he retorted. "Can't we use the funds for something better? A trade school, a library, a candy shoppe, literally anything?"
You had looked down at the forms, and before you knew it, you were handing them over to Ten. "Alright, I trust you. Figure something else out to keep the kids entertained."
And he had. Weeks later your kingdom had its own official park, complete with a koi pond for the adults and monkey bars for the kids. A legend was even tacked onto the pond by locals, stating that any couple who wished on the special pond would have luck in their future, since it was widely assumed that this was the first kingdom decision you and Ten had made together.)
("In my country, we have a holiday to celebrate in honor of the day the rain returned after a season of drought. Even if your half of the new kingdom doesn't celebrate it, my kingdom should get time off of work to celebrate like always," Ten had spoken passionately one day, his tongue poking at the inside of his cheek as he frowned.
"The rest of kingdom should celebrate as well, then," you had made a good point. "It would remind them that we are one now, and we celebrate each other's victories and mourn for each other's struggles."
Ten had given you a certain unidentifiable look, his blackwood eyes searching your own. "Okay, good. I'll talk to Johnny about setting everything up.")
("Johnny is saying we need another orphanage, or a bigger one." Ten had greeted you one night.
You were already sitting at his desk in your nightgown, going over the many possibilities with the kingdom's orphanage. With a war going on caused by a nearby third kingdom, angry that you had married Ten and not their prince, more and more children were becoming parentless. Even if they weren't orphans yet, kids whose parents were both off fighting were sent to the orphanage to be taken care of until their parents returned. If their parents ever returned.
Your fingers went up to pinch the bridge of your nose. "We've got to stop this war."
"How?" Ten asked. "It's not even a full-fledged war, it's just a series of hate crimes from a petty kingdom."
"Yeah, and it's all my fault and now my people --- our people --- are dying because of it."
"Don't say that," Ten had said, his voice sounding more gentle than you had ever heard it.
But you ignored him and turned off the light before crawling into bed and crying yourself to sleep.)
Other than that, Ten kept mostly to himself. He liked reading in the library on his off days, often romance or poetry. You once caught him trying out your horror book collection, but he quickly put it down once the squeamish parts appeared. Most of the time, however, he wasn't reading in the library, but coming up with battle strategies. Sometimes he played chess with Johnny, but he often relayed to you that he sucked at chess, and it was just a nice way to distract himself from the duties of the kingdom.
You liked to spend your free time outside, where you could breathe in the fresh air of the kingdom. It was the practice ring you loved the most, where you could grab your familiar broadsword and swing it around, exerting blow after blow on a practice dummy.
By the end of it, you were sweaty and exhausted, but you felt a lot better. Especially knowing that there was a huge threat over your kingdom. You wanted to be prepared.
The third kingdom had yet to surrender. They had told their people that Ten's parents bribed your own so that he would marry you, and although it was close to the truth, it still made you feel like nothing more than an object to be traded around for kingdom's sake.
You accidentally ranted about this to Ten one evening. He had been minding his own business, nose buried in his book about fairytales or something similar, when you barged in and slammed the door behind you. "I swear sometimes I have no voice in this castle. I'm sick of being negotiated like some sort of battle plan!" you shouted at the closed door.
Ten presumed one of your advisors was one the other side. He lifted an eyebrow and grabbed his turtleshell glasses from his desk, shoving them up onto his nose before looking at you. "Bad day?"
You glared at him. "Don't talk to me. You're the last person I want to talk to right now."
Ten gnawed on the inside of his bottom lip before speaking again, "Is this because of the strategy?"
"Of course it is!" Your voice then dropped to a low tone of what could only be considered an imitation of your husband's voice, "Hey, why don't we ship my wife off to the very dangerous kingdom and have her gain intel for us! That way, not only is she out of the way so that I can rule alone, she also gets to be wed to yet another man she doesn't love! Yay!"
Ten furrowed his eyebrows, looking hurt. "That's not what I said, nor was that the whole plan. I made it foolproof with the specific request that you not get hurt."
"My fate is not in your hands, Ten," you seethed. You pulled open the wardrobe and grabbed a random nightgown, practically tearing off your day dress before you tried to pull the nightdress on. Unfortunately, it was ones with done-up buttons on the collar, so you couldn't yank it down past your head. "Look, I'm still extremely angry at you right now but can you please help me?"
Ten emitted a giggle at the sight of your frustrated form. Before you could yell at him again, he tugged the dress down gently. Then, as if he wasn't even thinking, he ran his fingers through your slightly tangled hair, smoothing it out before he drew his hand back to his side. "There you are."
"Don't coo at me you insolent piece of undercooked haddock," you spat, mussing up your hair again just to spite him. "Thanks to you, I might actually be shipped off!"
"No, you won't," Ten promised. He followed you as you shuffled over to the bed, wrapping the covers around yourself until you were nothing but a silk burrito. "Did you hear the entire plan? Or did you storm out after hearing the first few words?"
Your exaggerated sigh was enough of an answer for Ten, who had most definitely picked up on your mannerisms since marrying you. He sat on the side of the bed, facing you. "The plan was to convince the Third Kingdom that you want me assassinated, so that you and their prince can eventually control all three kingdoms. Once they arrive, we'll have the royals detained and our troops with force the Third Kingdom into surrender."
"Oh." Your voice was small and muffled against the covers. "Well, I guess now I'm just a decoy."
Ten shuffled on his knees until they bumped against yours. "Hey, Y/n, you aren't a decoy."
You gave him a pointed look.
"Okay, you are, but that's just a sacrifice you have to make, okay? It's because at this point, we're all soldiers, fighting for the safety of our kingdom. You're probably our most important soldier, so stop thinking of yourself as just an asset."
You looked at Ten, and saw the seriousness in his eyes. "Fine. Whatever. I guess you can have some of the covers tonight."
After that, it was only a bit easier to talk to Ten. Perhaps all you two really needed was a fight to break down the wall. Or at the least, begin chipping away at the bricks.
Everything Ten had promised you turned out to be true. The plan went off mostly without a hitch, other than the prince being a total creep and trying to feel you up on the carriage ride home.
You still hadn't told Ten about it, since you were still a bit shaken up about the whole thing. What were you supposed to say? Hi, Ten, guess who touched my thigh before you did! Guess who kissed my neck and spat in my face when I refused his advantages?! Guess who told me he'd come for me if he ever got out of prison? It's Prince Matthew!
You also didn't tell him because you were angry. Angry that his plan had worked, and that you seemed to be the only one coming back with scars from it. The joint kingdoms were all celebrating, praising you for being so brave and Ten for being so strategic. The incident had brought the kingdoms together, and they seemed to now fully accept the idea of you and Ten being their reigning monarchs one day.
Although the kingdom was united, you once again felt distant towards Ten. Bitterness filled your heart. Under that was a layer of pain and absolute sorrow. No one seemed to understand or care. No one seemed to notice that you were different, and more secluded.
Prince Matthew was being kept in the castle's dungeon. Every night you were terrified that he would break out and find you. You were afraid of being taken away by him. You afraid of being hurt by him.
These thoughts must've leaked into your dreams, because you found yourself picturing just what would happen if he broke out and found you. Before you knew it, you were sobbing, tossing and turning in your bed. You felt a hand rest on your shoulder and you flinched, jolting awake with tear-streaked eyes.
"Get away from me, Matthew!" you screamed, yanking your arm away.
Then you saw where you were, safe in your bed. It wasn't Prince Matthew who had touched you, it was Ten. He had released his hold as soon as you yelled at him, but his eyes were still filled with concern and pain. Your eyes quickly gazed his face, and his body.
He's not the villain here. He's not the villain here. He's not the villain here, you told yourself. He was wearing a nightshirt and, as usual, all the buttons were undone. You couldn't remember when he had started doing that. All the days of being with him were blurred and mixed like one long, never-ending movie. A movie where you never seemed to get a happy ending, despite your mother promising nearly a year ago that you would; that everything would be okay.
"Matthew?" Ten furrowed his brows. Something unfamiliar was in his eyes, but you didn't have the energy to try and decipher it.
"Nothing's okay," you blubbered, scrambling to collect your covers and pull them tighter around you. "Nothing's ever going to be okay."
Ten reached for your face, perhaps to wipe your tears, but you flinched again. "Y/n, you have to be honest with me. Did Matthew hurt you? Did he touch you?"
Don't," you whispered, "I-I'm going to go sleep with my mom." Then, realizing you were too afraid to walk around the castle at night, you furiously wiped at your eyes, "Can you p-please walk me there?"
Ten was buttoning his shirt before you finished your sentence. When you stood, he wrapped your woolen robe around your body, tying it at your waist to keep you modest. "Please don't block me out, Y/n," he said in the form of a whisper, "I can't help you if you don't talk to me."
You shook your head. It was too late, because you already had blocked him out.
You felt like blocking everything out.
Your mother was concerned, to say the least. Within the past year, you hadn't been aware just how much you and Ten did together. Even though you weren't really friends or lovers, duty called that the two of you stay together for most things: decisions, outings, sleeping, etc.
Now it seemed you had unconsciously lost your other half. After coming clean to your mother, who had successfully relayed the information to anyone she deemed important enough know it, the staff treated you differently. Now it was as if you were some sort of fragile flower who might break at any minute. It made you miss Ten, because he was never one to treat you so delicately.
One good thing came out of all of this, and that was the fact that Prince Matthew had been extracted from the castle immediately, and thrown into prison at Ten's old castle. His parents had promised constant security so that their daughter-in-law would never be harmed again.
Ten hadn't tried to talk to you. Perhaps he understood that you needed space. That, or now that the two of you didn't do everything together, he didn't have any reason to talk to you. Surprisingly, that thought made you feel even worse. It made you feel expendable and unloved.
It wasn't even his fault, you reviewed as you attacked a practice dummy with your sword. You were the one who pushed him away, who begged for space. If anything, he was only respecting your wishes.
Now you just felt empty and torn, half of you begging to go back to Ten and talk it out, but the other half begging you to keep doing the exact opposite and just stay the same. Ten always wanted to talk stuff out. If you had a problem with anything at all, he would advise you to talk about it and get your feelings out in the open. And usually, in the end, he could help you find an easy solution. Only now the problem you wanted to talk about was him, and you had no idea how to go about that.
You missed him. You missed him in a way you weren't sure how to convey. Every bone in your body ached for some kind of contact, to be hugged by him at the least. Something that could be spoken with actions rather than words.
For the first time in three weeks, you gave into your feelings and packed up your stuff. Quietly, you brought it back to you and Ten's room. It still looked the same, and you weren't sure why you thought he would change it. There was a sketchbook lying on the desk, and you glanced at it for a moment, contemplating whether or not you should look through it.
You decided against it, and set your bag down on the ground. You'd unpack tomorrow. Then it was back to the familiar grind of royal life beside Ten's side.
He was asleep already, curled up on your side of the bed. His familiar unbuttoned nightshirt was on his body, and his hair had gotten longer, so that now it curled just slightly under his ears.
He looked warm. He looked safe. While the two of you were on strange terms as far as a relationship went, he was still legally your husband. And he had always been someone you could lean on when it came to the kingdom, just as you were someone he could lean on when it came to royal decisions.
Why was it so hard for you to lean on him when you had personal problems?
Your mind not quite made up, other than with the thought that you missed his presence, you slipped off your robe and walked over to Ten's side of the bed. The mattress dipped as you pressed your knee into the cotton. Then you lay on your side, facing Ten.
You studied his darkened face. His narrowed eyebrows were unworried as he slept, and the way his nose sloped upwards at the end brought the beginning of a smile to your lips. His lips were thin and dark, but they were always quirked slightly into a smile, no matter how he felt. His eyelashes were too short to brush against his cheekbones, but they fascinated you all the same. His scent of soap and sandalwood filled your nose, and it was such a calming scent that you found yourself closing your eyes and breathing in deep, just to memorize this moment.
You wanted him to hold you. Just once. Just as a way to say that he wasn't angry, and that you two could go back to the way you always were. Just as a way to let you know that everything would be okay.
Gingerly taking hold of his wrist, you lifted it in the air while you scooted your body up next to his. Then you dropped his arm over your body.
His arm suddenly tightened as he pulled you closer to him, and your nose brushed against his bare chest. "Y/n," he breathed quietly and groggily. Perhaps he was still asleep, "Thank God."
You and Ten stayed on your own sides of the bed after that. Perhaps the wall had chipped again, but it definitely wasn't broken. It was just back to how it had been before the raid.
It was a month until you and Ten's first wedding anniversary. Your mother was disappointed in you and Ten for having not even kissed yet. She refused to listen when you promised that the two of you had a very healthy relationship. She had snapped back. ("Yeah, for two co-owners! Not for a husband and wife!")
Maybe it was because both you and Ten had stubborn personalities, and neither of you felt like giving your heart to the one you were forced to marry. Perhaps there was no tension between the two of you.
Only that was a lie, because there were many instances where the two of you had displayed obvious chemistry. Obvious touches and glances of wanting just a bit more.
He liked to play with your hair most nights, especially when he was tired. Usually that was fine and innocent, but sometimes he'd let the pads on his fingers trail down the nape of your neck before he'd reach back up to your scalp. His light touch could sometimes send a prickle of fire through your belly, and have you struggling to fall asleep.
(He wasn't having any better of a time, especially when you helped him get ready in the mornings. He was a scatterbrain, and mornings were worse, because he was also sleepy. The amount of times you had had to unbutton his shirt and redo it because he had unknowingly buttoned it up wrong was uncountable. And there was nothing worse for him that you coming out of the bathroom after your morning shower, droplets of water from your damp hair falling onto your bare collarbones. Why did all your dresses have to be off-the-shoulder?
Then he had to be still when your soft hand accidentally brushed against his bare torso. Or he had to stop himself from picturing you unbuttoning his shirt under other circumstances. Needless to stay, he learned quickly to start paying more attention in the mornings, so he could stay away from you.)
You couldn't count the amount of times you and Ten had stared at each other for too long across the table. Or the times he had accidentally brushed your waist. Was it just your imagination, or did his hand manage to get lower every time?
So yeah, there was definitely tension, but the two of you simply wrote it off as being lonely. Or being deprived. Not as the two of you actually finding the other attractive.
The first time you actually got your head out of the sand and thought of Ten as an actual potential lover was the night of your first anniversary.
There was a party for you, Ten, and all of your family and friends. It was yet another attempt to get the two of you closer to each other, and closer to those each other held dear. For instance, Ten was quite the diplomat, and had befriended many princes from other lands. All of them were coming, and Ten was running ramped to made sure everything was perfect for his friends.
"You sure do love them, don't you?" you asked him as he struggled to clip his red velvet cummerbund around his waist. "Here, let me help."
You clipped it at his back and he handed you his bow tie before you could protest. As you wrapped it around his neck and began to tie it, he answered, "Thanks. And, uh, yeah, they've been my friends since I was little. We all went to the same international school. Some of them I haven't seen since we all graduated and went our separate ways."
His tongue darted out from between his lips, wetting them nervously. "Now I'm married, and the prince of two kingdoms."
You finished up the bow and patted his chest gently. "Well, just don't go rubbing in how gorgeous your wife."
Ten smiled in reply to your teasing glance, "As long as you don't brag about how absolutely sexy your husband is when he's on the dance floor."
"It'll be hard," you agreed.
"You've never seen me dance before," Ten said, "Have you?"
"No. Are you dancing tonight?"
"Yes," Ten said proudly, "with my mates. We've all been practicing for months. Haven't you seen me practicing in the ballroom?"
"I never go into the ballroom, Ten, so why would I see you?"
Ten's eyes were wide with innocence, and a pink tint blossomed across his cheeks. "I don't know, I was just kind of hoping you would. I practice shirtless sometimes, you know."
"You sleep practically shirtless, Ten. It's no different," you concluded.
"So you've noticed," he said, eyes twinkling.
"You're an absolute dork," you told him.
These talks weren't uncommon for the two of you. In fact, they were probably your favorite part of every day. Especially when you were both so close, physically, and you could see the depths of his eyes, and how it seemed like trillions of shades of brown pooled into each other. His eyes found their way into your heart, a gentle gaze that pulled you in and kept you there. If he didn't move, you were sure he could keep you there for hours.
There were times before, throughout the year, when you had gotten lost in them at the most inconvenient times. They were precious memories, ones you would come back to. Ones his eyes brought forward.
(It was the first time Ten ever gotten sick, a good three months into the marriage. He had gotten up and gotten ready without complaint. You didn't even know he was sick until lunch, when he began sneezing uncontrollably. Then his eyes began watering, and that's when you noticed how flushed his cheeks were and how fatigued his actions seemed.
"Are you okay?" you asked, eyebrows furrowed in concernment.
"Yeah," Ten coughed, "Johnny and I are just going to go over the plan again, and then I'll go back to our room and sleep."
"Ten, you look like you're about to fall over if you stand up," you said.
Ten shook his head, "No, I'll be fine... I just... I need to finish working everything out."
"You can do it tomorrow," you reasoned. "We'll have the day off tonight."
So the two of you arrived back into your bedroom, and before Ten could protest, you had already started a warm bath. "I don't want to take a bath," he whined.
"Do it, it'll draw the fever out."
"I don't have a fever." What you hadn't known before was just how whiny Ten could get when he was sick. Maybe it was the fact that he was being taken care of. Whatever it was, it made his eyes go wide and his mouth form a small 'o' shape.
You gave him a pointed look, slightly distracted by his eyes. "Go take a bath. Then you can go to sleep."
Ten glared at you. "I could kiss you right now and you'd catch whatever I have."
"You wouldn't," you retorted, leaning in to defiantly stare him down.
"Don't get too close, darling," Ten whispered, this time more concerned than teasing. "I don't want to actually get you sick."
"How generous," you mumbled, distracted by his eyes. There was some way they made you feel, like the stars in the sky were aligning just to light your way. You wondered if anyone actually had gotten lost in them, stumbling over their words, mouth turning dry.
"Y/n..." Ten sounded amused, "Have you heard a word I've been saying?")
(There was another time, nearly six months into the marriage, right before the raid, when you had once again let yourself become a slave to his eyes. He was lying in bed, refusing to get up and get ready for the day. There was something so innocent about mornings with him, when all that clothed him were shorts and an unbuttoned nightshirt.
"I'll never understand why you sleep in that shirt," you marveled, leafing through your wardrobe for a dress to wear. You stared at your riding pants for a moment, deciding that you wanted to wear them instead. So, you simply pulled them on under your nightdress and went to go looking for a shirt.
"My chest gets hot but my arms get cold," Ten explained simply, leaning back against his pillows, the comforter bunched up around his waist. "Why? You wish I would sleep out of it so you can feel me up while I'm sleeping?"
You grabbed your brush and walked over to the bed, sitting down at the edge, just beside his knees. You pulled it through your newly cut hair and looked at him. "Don't be delusional," you stuck your tongue out on him.
Ten sat up then, his hands immediately going to your hair. He began weaving braids throughout your hair, ignoring you when you swatted him away. "Stop! You're getting my hair all tangled!"
"But I like the new haircut," he whispered giddily, "and your hair is so soft."
You turned and met his gaze, eyebrows furrowed, "I'm trying to get ready, unlike you, lazypants."
"Aw," Ten cooed, "We've already got cute nicknames for each other!"
His cute tone made you giggle. He emitted warmth, and it was something you only noticed when you were separate from him. It was like there was some kind of heater built into his skin, and anyone within three feet of him could feel it warming their insides like melted butter.
More warm than his skin were his eyes, emitting this happiness and joy that you only got to see every once and awhile. He could give out smiles to everyone, but it had taken awhile for him to give them out to you. But once he did, a day that was now blurred in your memory between the many days of his giggly persona and excitable gestures.
While you were distracted by him, and only him, he had managed to make a few more obscure twists into your hair. "Now you really do look as pretty as a princess."
You maneuvered your body until you were facing him. "Well now it's my turn."
Before he could stop you, you reached up to twist a few braids into his bangs. "Your hair is getting so long," you said.
Ten watched you, his eyes softening at your touch. "Is it?"
"Yeah..." you let yourself once again fall into the bottomless pit of his gaze. There was just something about his eyes that set you alight, gave you a strange feeling of joy in your chest. His eyes were intimate in ways that made your insides squirm; it was like there was a world of possibly just beyond, and you were the lucky one who got to witness it.)
(There was another time, just weeks ago, when the evening sun was drawing nearer to the earth and the two of you were lying in bed. It was too early to sleep, but neither of you seemed to care. It had rained nearly all day, succeeding in making everyone feel groggy and sleepy. Even Johnny asked to go home early.
So now you were both propped up against your pillows, doing separate activities. You had a new book to read, but it was hard to get immersed in the horrific world of evil dolls when Ten was only a foot away, doodling in his sketchbook. Curiosity filled your mind, wondering what on earth he drew about so often. "What are you drawing?" Your voice was casual; eyes still trained on your book.
"Wouldn't you like to know?" Ten taunted.
"I would," you said, scooting closer to try and sneak a look.
Ten understood your intentions immediately and held the book out above his head so that you couldn't reach. But you could, really, if you tried hard enough. You braced one hand on his shoulder and pulled yourself up onto your knees, fingertips just grazing the book. "Why are you so protective over it?"
"Secrets," Ten grunted, struggling and straining to keep the book away from you. There was only so much he could do, as he was still sitting down.
"Secrets?" you sat back down on the mattress, mostly because you were too tired to wrestle for a sketchbook. "What kind of secrets?"
Ten leaned his face in close to yours, until your noses were almost touching and you could smell the mint on his breath. "Like I said before, wouldn't you like to know?"
But his eyes were what you focused on. You assumed this is what it felt like to be in space, and get sucked up by a black hole. You assumed there was an entire galaxy hidden in Ten's eyes. One that would take years to explore.
"One day?" you asked, innocently enough to have Ten chuckling.
He gently grabbed your chin and tilted your head down. This way, he had better access to kiss the top of your head. "One day.")
There was a time now, when Ten was asking what dress you would be wearing to the ball, but you couldn't think properly because there were soft crinkles of joy beside his eyes. Today they were the color of chocolate caramel and it was such a beautifully blended mix of brown and black that you nearly felt yourself failing and falling once again, into his trap.
He could be a succubus with eyes like that. Sometimes you thought he was, because there was always something about him that drew you in and kept you there, content and happy to stay.
"I do believe this is the seventeenth time you've gotten lost in my eyes," Ten's laughter roused you from your otherwise preoccupied state.
"Why did you keep count?"
"Because," Ten looked cocky for a moment, and you wondered if it was out of pride or simply because he liked teasing you. "you get this concentrated look on your face like you're trying to look through my eyes, as if they're see-through or something. But your brows get knitted together and you start pouting."
"I don't," you said, more out of shame than defense.
"You do," Ten replied, "but even though it's a little creepy, I'll put up with it because you're pretty adorable. Now go get dressed so we can head to the party."
If there was one thing you weren't used to, it was interacting with people your own age. Everyone in the castle and kingdom were younger or older than you, including Ten, although sometimes it seemed like the two of you were the same age. Now, at the ball, many of Ten's friends had come and brought their wives or fiancés. Others had brought lords and ladies from their court. Even your court's lords and ladies had joined in the festivities, all powdered up, fanning their necks.
You weren't used to it, but it wasn't all that unpleasant. Ten and his friends --- who were lovely, by the way --- got up and performed some kind of lyrical piece that you were not going to try and interpret. But it was beautiful and Ten looked absolutely magnificent dancing up there so confidently. You would be surprised if the crowd was focusing on any of the other princes, because while they were good, Ten was captivating. You could see it in his body's languid motion, and the way his eyes carried a more intense gaze to them than usual.
This was a side of Ten you hadn't seen before, a passionate side that carried a lot of heart and soul along with it. It was a side you wished you could see all the time.
There were ladies of the court behind you, whispering something to the ladies of Prince Yuta's court. You could hear snippets of their conversation, "Seriously, look at Prince Ten... I heard that he and the princess haven't even kissed yet."
"Are you joking?" the other lady laughed, "If I were married to him, I wouldn't wait at all. Imagine how deprived he must be. Do you think he gets some on the side?"
Scandalous gasps and whispers followed as the girls theorized and gossiped their way around the ballroom. You watched them, taking note in the way they eyed your husband up and down like a piece of meat. Like some kind of prey to be hunted.
You didn't know if it was jealousy blooming in your heart. It couldn't be, because there was nothing and no one to be jealous of. The real feeling was anger, and protectiveness over Ten. He was your husband, and whether or not the two of you were romantically involved was none of their business.  
You felt like a fool, trying to come up with reasons why Ten would stay with you, had you not been married for political purposes.
After coming up with nothing at all, you felt your heart rate speed up. Sometimes, when there was overwhelming pain inside of your heart, you could hear the thump thump thump in your eardrums. That was what it felt like now, and you suddenly felt hot under the candlelight. Your wool dress was heavy, but your anxiety made it ten times heavier. You wanted to leave and forget everything. You wanted to stop feeling all the feelings you had because they all meant one thing. They all meant that you were falling for Ten, or that maybe you already had weeks or months ago. It meant that now you were stuck in a relationship with someone who didn't love you back, and that made the pain feel even worse.
Before the room could get any stuffier, you fled to your own bedroom, tearing off your tiara and dress to opt for one of Ten's shirts. The thin fabric smelled of him, and it made you feel like he was right there, holding you and whispering that everything was going to be okay, even if it wasn't. Nothing felt okay at all.
No one would be looking for you, because both you and Ten had already had your little anniversary ceremony, promising once again to love each other forever. You thought of one of the ladies grabbing Ten's arms and pulling him away, whispering words to him that she could never say out loud. Not in the castle. She thought of Ten going for it, because hey, he didn't love his wife anyway.
Before you knew it, there were tears in your eyes, and a painful sting against the bridge of your nose. Crying always made your head hurt, and this time was no different as you curled up in Ten's desk chair, hoping to find a book to distract you. Instead, you found his sketchbook again, neatly closed with a single pencil lying on top.
Memories throughout the year flooded on, when Ten would be sketching with active attentiveness. You could remember teasing him on occasion, asking him if you could look through it. He would always protest, harshly, as if he had something to hide.
You stared at the sketchbook and wondered what he was hiding.
Forgetting about respecting each other's privacy, you snatched the sketchbook and opened it up, eyes glued to the first page. It was a simple drawing of a dog, one you could remember visiting at his castle. The next was a sketch of a girl, brushing her hair at a vanity. Her face couldn't be seen, only the back of her, but the vanity looked similar to yours. You looked down at the bottom corner of the page for a date, and found it to be only a few weeks after your marriage.
The next picture was one of a couple in bed. The boy, who had to be Ten since the eyes and smile were the same, was lying on his back, smiling up at the girl. She was sitting up, blanket falling off her shoulder as she seemed to be talking animatedly about something to him. Whatever it was, it was making him smile. In addition to a date, this sketch also had words at the bottom of the page: "Y/n explains the legend of King Arthur to me."
And you remembered that morning, when you both had an off day. You had just finished reading a book about the legend of King Arthur, so you took the opportunity to tell him all about it in vivid detail. You begged him to read it as well, but he had told you that it felt like he already had.
You flipped through until you found a page that was dated around the time of the raid, when you were refusing to talk to him. It was a sketch of him, kissing you gently on the forehead. The caption was simple: "I miss her."
Another one of the pages made you blush, mostly because it was a scenario that hadn't happened yet, but it was one you definitely thought about. Apparently he thought about it too, since he dedicated an entire sketch to it. The two of you were kissing in the sketch, and his hands were bunching up your shirt, so that a bit of your midriff was showing. His eyes were drawn screwed shut, but yours were drawn slightly open in surprise, as if he had spontaneously kissed you then and there. The caption made you blush a few shades darker: "She's going to be the death of me one day."
You didn't get to look through more, because the door creaked open. Out of panic, you tossed the sketchbook onto the desk and looked up, meeting Ten's concerned gaze. "There you are. What happened? Why did you leave the party so soon?"
Then his eyes trailed to the sketchbook, which had landed, unfortunately for you, open on the desk. "Oh. You looked through... oh."
"I'm sorry," you said quietly, "I just wanted to know what you drew about."
"How far did you get?" Ten pushed, his ears turning a soft shade of pink.
"Far enough," you whispered, "I like it. It's like a picture diary."
"I guess you could phrase it that way," Ten agreed, "I hope I didn't make you uncomfortable."
"No." You drew your feet up on the chair, until you could rest your arms on your knees. The sketchbook really wasn't what you wanted to talk to him about. "I just..."
"Have you been crying?" he ventured, moving towards you until he could see your face under the dim lamplight. "I'm really sorry I sketched you. I didn't mean to make you cry."
"It's not about the sketchbook," you said sharply, wiping at your moist eyes. "It's about me being insecure and angry."
Ten reached forward and tucked your hair behind your ears, as the tears were sticking strands to your cheeks. "Why? Because I'm a better dancer than you?"
Despite his poorly executed efforts, you still laughed, more at his dumbness than the actual joke. "Ten, am I a bad wife to you?"
"What? No, why would you think that?"
You fiddled with the hem of your shirt, "I just heard a few of the court ladies talking, is all."
"Oh," Ten's lips formed a straight line. "The ones from Yuta's court? He warned me about them, and their, uh, crudeness, if you will. They're gone now, they were some of the first to leave."
You looked up, and Ten was back to smiling, "All the princes who are staying overnight have tucked in, so you don't have to worry about the rest of the party members."
"Did I ruin it? The party?"
"I don't think so," Ten said. "It was dwindling down anyways, especially after the dance performance. I mean, when you watch something like that, it's pretty hard to top."
You shoved his shoulder lightly, "Be serious for once."
"Never," he stuck his tongue out at you before heading over to the wardrobe to grab his pajamas.
"Hey, did you take my shirt?"
There was something so strange about loving the person you're always with, and having no idea if they love you back. You wished you had the courage to tell him that you loved him, but the words got stuck on your tongue every time. The fear of him being so weirded out by your confession that he would file for a divorce was what kept you from doing it.
You knew that that was a bit extreme, but it didn't stop you from worrying. It definitely didn't stop you from playing through every possible outcome that would happen if you told him; if you confessed.
Now that you knew about it, it was often ritual for you and Ten to go to the ballroom together while he practiced. He liked having you there to critique him on what looked good and what he could work on. You were an honest critic, which was appreciated. There was no way you were going to tell him that you loved that job because it meant watching him closely, memorizing every small detail about him without room for ridicule.
"Your kick was weak," you said one day. It was mid-winter, a few weeks after the party. You had a mug of hot tea between your palms and a warm shawl around your neck, just to keep you warm. Ten was the exact opposite, wearing minimal clothing of shorts and a tank top. Sweat dropped in beads down his forehead, and every once in awhile he would collapse to the floor in exhaustion and talk to you for a few minutes before taking a sip of his water and starting all over again.
When you had asked him, he said he was practicing for nothing in particular, but simply because he wanted to dance. Sometimes he sang along to the songs, and it would make your heart stir with glee as his voice came out soft and low.
You sipped on your tea again, and when you put your mug down, Ten was walked over to you. He shut off his music and slid down the wall until he was shoulder to shoulder with you, and he could comfortably fit his head onto your shoulder. His sweat made your neck feel hot and sticky, but the way he would absentmindedly grab your hand and squeeze it had you not finding it in yourself to care.
"Maybe we could go to the village this weekend and head to the art shop?" he rasped, still out of breath from his workout. "I need more pencils."
"Wore all of yours out while drawing my beautiful face, did you?" you teased him, liking how you could feel the vibrations of his laugh against your shoulder.
"That's exactly it," he said, a smile evident in his voice. "That, or I might have broken my last pencil by accidentally sitting on it. Your reason makes me feel less like an idiot, so we'll go with that one."
Then they came out, the words you never meant to say. It was like his words had broken some sort of dam inside of you, and the waters surged forward in a burst of laughter and admiration, "Wow, I love you."
You stilled. Ten stilled. There was an aching silence, where you could hear a few staff members chatting outside of the door. You could hear birds whistling in the trees outside. You could hear your heartbeat drop to a sickening low, knowing that you had affectively ruined everything, just because your couldn't keep your mouth shut.
"I-I'm so sorry," you rushed out, trying your hardest to stand up. But Ten's head was still on your shoulder and his hand was still holding yours.
"Why?" he urged, voice painfully quiet in the large room. "Do you not mean it?"
"I do, but..." Ten lifted his head and stared at you, waiting for you to finish your sentence. But you got lost in his eyes again, and you felt even more hopeless now. "I do. I really love you, Ten."
His gaze lowered down to your lips, and you subconsciously urged yourself to do it, to just lean forward and kiss him.
But this was his choice. He hadn't replied yet, and you didn't plan on making this worse.
When he did reply, it sounded desperate and secure at the same time, "You don't know how long I've waited to hear those words."
You had never kissed Ten before, but in your mind you never imagined it like this. Ten had somewhat of a passionate side to kissing apparently, because it felt like you could feel every emotion he had through a simple touch. And his hands were threading through your hair, leaving a feeling of pleasure that shot all the way down to your toes.
His lips were soft and warm, and he pressed his entire body against yours like he needed support to stay upright. The position was awkward, because the two of you were still sitting somewhat side by side. Ten fixed this soon enough. His fingers trailed down your side, until they hooked under your thighs, pulling you on top of him.
It was a much more comfortable position, both of you thought pleasantly. Your hands pushed against his chest as his teeth gently grazed your bottom lip. His kisses were somewhat rough and sloppy, but that was mostly because his lips couldn't stay still. Neither could his hands, and it felt like he wished to touch all of you at once, if he could.
He squeezed your hips, and you felt the warmth of his tongue against your lips. A gasp escaped you, from either or both sensations, you didn't know. All you knew right now was that you were kissing Ten. Ten was kissing you. It was as if all the waiting had paid off because now you knew that he loved you back, and everything was going to be okay. It was finally going to be okay.
The wall was finally broken, torn down by the both of you. Now it lay in ruins at your feet, ready to be built up again. This time, together, out of love.
Heavy footsteps arrived outside of the door, and Ten mumbled a quick, "Uh oh," against your lips. You laughed and moved away from him, only to rest your forehead against his.
His hair was messy, lips dark and parted, and there was a streak of red across his nose and cheeks. His eyes, oh how you loved his eyes, were glossy. There was a small hint of pride upon his lips. "I don't know how I went a year without that. Without you."
You kissed him quickly, just because the feeling of him being so close gave you an adrenaline rush. He smelt like cinnamon today, and his skin of his neck was soft to the touch. "I was afraid I ruined everything. I thought you wouldn't want to be near me."
"Please," Ten muttered, watching you as you crawled off of his lap and grabbed your mug. He grabbed his stuff as well and stood up, slipping his hand in yours and pressing a quick kiss to your forehead. "I can't believe you saw all my sketches and didn't deduct that I was in love with you. How dumb are you?"
"Hey!" you protested, only to be cut off by Ten wrapping his arms around you.
"Don't worry, darling, I still love you," he cooed at you. It was horribly annoying, but his words made you smile, and your heart race just a little bit faster.
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sage-nebula · 6 years
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In Mystic Messenger, it feel like all MCs from Good Ends are meant to be what the route owners want and need, their ideal MCs in a way. Like I could figure out the characters' preferences from their routes, but that's not the case with Saeyoung. He even said outright that his route MC (naive and obnoxious???) fit 707 the mask better than the real him. Sure, what he likes might not be what is right for him, but then that wouldn't be ideal. What do you think is Saeyoung's ideal MC?
While I agree with you that the minimal characterization MC has in Mystic Messenger varies depending on whose route you choose (in that MC has to behave a certain way to get the Good End for whatever character the player decides to pursue), I don’t really like using the word “ideal,” because I think that it makes MC less of a person and more of a fantasy. Which, I mean, don’t get me wrong, MC as she is in the game isn’t a character. She’s a placeholder, a blank slate; her purpose is for the player to project onto her, which is why she doesn’t have a stated canonical history, or any real personality to speak of. It’s also, as much as the fandom likes to meme about it, why she doesn’t have any eyes. “Eyes are the windows to the soul,” as the cliché goes, and by not giving her eyes Cheritz is showing us that MC doesn’t have a “soul” of her own, so to speak. Her soul is supposed to be our soul. She is supposed to be us.
With that said, as you probably know I grew extremely frustrated with MC during Saeyoung’s Route. I don’t feel that MC, as Cheritz writes her, is a good fit for him. I don’t think she’s what he needs, and in honesty I don’t even think she’s what he wants; she’s what he’s made to want because Cheritz had to make the relationship romantic by the end of the eleven days, and having him reject MC when she was being intrusive, pushy, and clingy would have made players upset. Rather than write an MC who would actually be good for Saeyoung (and thus be someone that he would naturally want to be with), they instead warped Saeyoung to force him to give into her, even if not the Manic Pixie Dream Girl™ version of her. And that, as you could imagine, was pretty disagreeable to me.
So when I say that I ship Saeyoung/MC, what I actually mean is that I ship Saeyoung and the MC that I created. I ship them as I write them, and I ship them based on the version of their story as I rewrite it (which deviates from canon during the apartment days, albeit not by too much, because honestly, it’s not that hard to fix). I’m happy to describe her, but I feel to get the full picture, you’re going to need some backstory. Well, that, and a picture; for reference, my MC (and the one that I imagine being with Saeyoung) is MC 4. This girl:
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So with that said, let’s begin.
First, the backstory. How I have it, MC’s name actually is MC … as far as she knows, anyway. You see, sad backstories are par for the course in Mystic Messenger, and MC is no exception. When she was little (say, around nine or so), she was in an accident. It was a pretty major one; details are hazy, but as the story goes she was on a train with her parents, traveling somewhere, and the train derailed and crashed. MC was thrown clear of the train car; she somehow (quite miraculously!) survived without serious injuries, but she woke up on the ground, completely alone, with no memory of how she got there or where she was. It was quite frightening; she called out for help, but no one came. As a result of that, and since she could still walk, she picked herself up off the ground and, well … walked. When she located the train tracks, she followed them until she managed to make it back to a station. There, some adults found her, and they asked her where her parents were. She said, truthfully, that she didn’t know. They asked her what her name was. And she said, again truthfully, that she didn’t know … but then she said, “MC.” It was all she could remember. She didn’t think it was really right (it was sort of right, she thought, it felt right, just not … complete), but it was all she could think of, it was all she could remember. And the adults, in lieu of anything else to call her, went with it.
(In reality, her parents had named her Mi-Cha. Her father did a lot of business overseas, and so he had taught her how to write her name in English as well as Korean. She had thought the English letters looked funny, so she had a lot of fun writing them out … and since the M and C were capitals, those were the ones she remembered. Mi-Cha, MC. Head injuries can be funny like that, I suppose.)
Of course the adults at the station knew about the accident, but of the few survivors of the wreck, none of them laid claim to MC. MC didn’t recognize any of them, either. And so without any other options, particularly since MC couldn’t remember if she had any other family, the adults at the station turned her over to the police, who put her into foster care.
The foster families that MC had weren’t … bad, per se. She moved homes a lot, especially in the beginning as the system tried to put her front and center to see if they could find a family to adopt her. The thing is, they couldn’t; MC was already older than most children who get adopted by the time she entered the system, her name struck potential parents as odd and she wasn’t willing to change it, and the fact that she was not exactly the cute and sweet type didn’t help matters, either. So she changed homes a lot, until finally she found one that stuck. The home was … again, it wasn’t necessarily bad, but it … this particular foster home had a lot of kids. And as a result of having so many kids, the foster parents were … very strict. It was almost run like military barracks; there were always chores to do (a lot of them), and the foster mother in particular was rarely satisfied with the job that was done. As MC grew, the fact that she was very independent and mouthy really didn’t earn her favors with the foster parents. It also didn’t earn her favors with potential adoptive parents. And though it could likely be guessed, it didn’t earn her favors with her foster siblings, either. MC spent about two years in that home before she decided she had enough, and decided to take matters into her own hands. In this case, “matters” meant robbing a little safe that was in the study one night while everyone was sleeping, and—with all the cash she could carry and a backpack of clothes on her back—running away.
MC was fourteen.
She was fourteen, but even at fourteen she knew that it wouldn’t be wise to stay in the same city, so she used some of the money she stole to get a train to skip town. (The second she boarded the train, she felt like she was going to suffocate. It was anxiety—she was having a panic attack. But she couldn’t remember the accident that had killed her parents and left her an orphan, so she told herself this reaction was stupid and forced herself to suck it up.) She rode the train a couple towns over, and then decided that it would be best to lay low for a while, to make sure no cops were going to come look for her. Unfortunately, she was a fourteen-year-old with only a wad of cash, no diploma (since she was now a … she might not have even finished middle school), and no way of getting a job. This meant that she was now homeless. But MC figured, well, in a way she had been homeless ever since her parents died, since the foster homes never really felt like home to her. She had always known that they were going to be temporary. So she could do this. She could. She would do this.
It wasn’t easy.
MC had, at least, the foresight to run away in the spring, so it wasn’t too cold out. But she had a lot of nights curled up on porches so she could avoid the rain. She was able to buy food, at least, with what money she had, but because she had a limited amount of money she sometimes resorted to stealing fruit from market stalls, and she really wasn’t very good at it at first. After a time she managed to find a church, and the people there helped her. They gave her food, at least, because they felt bad, but any time they started to ask questions about her family life, she always made sure to beat a hasty retreat. She was still afraid the cops would arrest her if they found out that she had stolen the money from the foster home and booked it, after all. In her mind, she was a fugitive. She didn’t want to push her luck.
But the church was warm (enough), and safe, so she stayed there a lot, even though she technically wasn’t supposed to. It wasn’t hard; she would hide in a bathroom stall until the church was locked up for a night, and then sleep on one of the pews. The church had a communal bathroom, with a shower and everything, so that helped her keep clean. And so long as she made sure to duck out of the way and retreat back to the bathroom whenever she heard the church doors open in the morning, she could avoid being caught. It was a foolproof plan. MC was pretty sure it wasn’t a problem that she had dropped out of school. Clearly, she was smart enough without it. 
This continued on for about two, maybe three, years. And then, when she was about seventeen, she met Byungho.
Byungho was a businessman about five years her senior (so, around twenty-two) who came to the church every so often. MC didn’t talk to him at first; she made it a practice of not talking very much with others, because again, when she talked to people, they tended to ask questions, and that was something she wanted to avoid. But he took notice of her anyway, given that she was frequently in the church, and so one day, he struck up conversation with her. It was light, innocent; he asked her what her name was, commented that “MC” was a rather odd name to have. He tried to make small talk, and she made an excuse to get out of it. But the next time she saw him, he tried talking to her again. And the time after that, and the time after that. And on the fifth time, he invited her to go get lunch with him—his treat. 
MC felt that it was probably a bad idea. But she was hungry, and he seemed nice enough all the times she talked with him, so … what the heck. She went.
As it turns out, Byungho seemed quite nice. He seemed that way. They went to a restaurant and had lunch, and he confessed that he thought she was quite pretty. MC, as a seventeen-year-old homeless girl, was caught pretty off-guard by this. Had he … was he blind? Her clothes were shabby and ill-fitting, since by now they were donations from people at the church. Her hair was unkempt, and cut unevenly since she had cut it herself. She had acne. She never got enough to eat, so she was underweight. Like, honestly … had he seen her? But he insisted that she was pretty, and that he liked her, and that he wanted to spend more time with her. And she, well … she couldn’t remember the last time she had heard such kindness. It was flattering, and it made her feel good, so she accepted the compliments. And when he said he would drive her home, she confessed that she was staying at the church, because she had nowhere else to go.
And that was when he invited her to come stay with him.
The good news is that it wasn’t hard for MC to move into his apartment, because all she had was her backpack of worldly possessions. The bad news is that Byungho was not nearly so nice as he seemed. Sure, he seemed nice at first; he treated her kindly at first. But you know … that’s how they get you. And that’s how he got her. It didn’t take very long for things to get bad. At first it was little things, like he was irritated that she hadn’t prepared dinner for him by the time he came home from work, as he felt a good girlfriend should (particularly one that was staying with him for free). But then it escalated. His annoyance turned to anger, turned to violence. And his expectations from her, as his girlfriend, kept mounting.
MC tried to stick it out at first. This was better than being homeless, she told herself. His apartment was nice. He wasn’t home all the time. He had to work during the day. And maybe this was what girlfriends did. She didn’t know, she had never been anyone’s girlfriend before. And who else would want her? He had wanted her when she was just a grungy, scrawny homeless girl. No one else would have wanted her. This was … this was as good as she was going to get, so she should suck it up, and maybe she could learn to like it.
Of course, she never did. It would be impossible for anyone to like that.
She stayed there for about a year and a half before she hit her breaking point. Really, in honesty, she had hit her breaking point before that; while Byungho was at work, she would spend her time on the internet, trying to learn whatever skills she could so that she could get a job. Most places required some kind of degree, but call centers (and particularly international call centers) didn’t seem to (and even if they did, MC felt maybe she could forge one). International call centers did require some kind of English competency, though, so she did her best to try to learn at least basic English on the internet. And when she finally hit the last straw, well … she did what she does best.
She waited until he was at work, and until he had been there for a couple hours and thus wouldn’t double back. Then she robbed the safe he had in the apartment, stuffed all that cash and her worldly possessions into her backpack, and got the hell out of dodge.
Once again, she hopped a train (panic attack or no panic attack, it wasn’t worse than the Hell she was escaping) and skipped town, this time because she was terrified he would find her if she didn’t. This is how she ended up in the city where Mystic Messenger takes place. By this time she was eighteen or nineteen, so although she was homeless once again, she decided that she wasn’t just going to be homeless this time. Instead, she purchased herself a pay-as-you-go cell phone, and used a local library’s public computer to put in applications at whatever places in the area were hiring, as well as applying at various businesses around. Fortune was on her side; she got hired at a tech support call center (international; she spoke just enough English to secure the position), and after a month of working there, she was able to use her first paycheck and the money she still had after robbing Byungho to buy a small, modest apartment.
MC managed to keep this up for about four years, and in honesty, it was the happiest she had ever been in her life. Oh sure, she had to forge a couple documents in order to make it work, given that she didn’t have a state issued ID and was terrified of being on any sort of radar that Byungho might find if he looked hard enough (plus she was technically still a minor at eighteen, so she lied about her age and said she was twenty so that her employers or landlord wouldn’t think to alert the foster care system), but that was nothing that a library computer and dedicated research couldn’t help her do. Plus, the call center she worked at wasn’t exactly prestigious, and neither was her apartment. Her employers were just happy to have someone else on the phones. Her landlord was happy to have a quiet tenant. It was fine—great, even. She was able to have a nice little flat, she was able to be regularly fed, there was no one there to abuse her, she had steady income. Everything was great.
… until about six months before Mystic Messenger took place.
As I said, MC maintained this lifestyle for four years. She did so off the grid (i.e. no social media; Saeyoung lies through his teeth when he says he found her Facebook, because she doesn’t have a Facebook, because she’s not giving Byungho any way to find her), but she still did it. But six months before Mystic Messenger takes place, her call center went under. There was no explanation for it that MC could see; one day she had a job, and the next it was out of business. She was unemployed. Completely jobless, and definitely in trouble.
For two months, she tried finding a new job, but the job market was … not good. It was a wonder she got hired so quickly the last time; this time, it was like nowhere was hiring. She had money saved up, so for two months she was fine … but she could see that her savings were going to dwindle fast. MC felt she had two options: she could stay there until she was evicted with nothing, or she could leave when her lease ended and wait until she got a new job to get a new apartment.
She took option two, figuring it was safest.
She sold off her furniture for extra money and, hating everything, hit the streets once again. Fortunately, she wasn’t on the streets for very long; there was an apartment building she knew of on the other side of town that, well … it wasn’t in the greatest condition, honestly. Practically no one lived there. But the plus side of this was that no one would notice if someone was squatting, at least if the squatter was careful. So MC took advantage of this. Specifically, she took advantage of an unused, unlockable storage closet up on one of the higher floors. It was a walk-in storage closet, with threadbare carpeting and a bare bulb, but it was enough. It was enough, especially since there was a rec center with public bathrooms (+showers) right behind the apartment building. It was temporary, anyway, MC told herself. She would use her pay-as-you-go phone and find herself a new job. Once she had a new job, she would get a new apartment. She wouldn’t be homeless for long. She did it once before, and she could do it again. She would do it again.
But as the months—four of them, to be specific—wore on, it became more and more difficult to remain upbeat and optimistic.
She had been homeless before, so she could do it again. And she did. She told herself that her storage closet was a studio apartment. She told herself that she would get herself someplace nice. But the job market was just not good, and since her old place of employment was just gone it wasn’t even like she had a reference despite working solidly for four years. In honesty, MC felt like she was at an all-time low, even as she told herself (over, and over, and over again) that she had to stay optimistic, because if she let herself get depressed (or rather, if she acknowledged that she was depressed), then it would just make the whole situation worse. She she tried to combat her sense of hopelessness and depression with aggressive optimism. She tried very, very hard.
And that … that was when she met Unknown.
More specifically: In lieu of any callbacks about jobs, MC browsed the app store on her cheap phone, looking for something to amuse herself with. She came across a free app called “Mystic Messenger” with a blank icon. It caught her eye, and honestly … she couldn’t say why it did. But it did. So, figuring that maybe it was a dating app or something else she could waste time with, she figured “what the heck” and downloaded it. Sitting there in her little “studio apartment,” she downloaded it, because she was depressed and bored and had nothing else better to do since no one was calling her back about a job.
And that was how she met Unknown.
Make no mistake, she gave him hell. She interrogated him about his name. She interrogated him about why he was so obsessed with returning a phone to its owner. She called him on his vague non-answers. And oh, you better believe she trolled the hell out of him. It got to the point where he ended up getting rather irate and snappy with her during their exchange, his patience clearly lost as he tried to get her to agree to go to some stranger’s apartment, and honestly … she strongly considered just saying “no u” and deleting the app. She did. But it was only 6pm. She had nowhere to be, and nothing to do. And while she was now a far cry from the naive teenager who had taken a man at his word—while she was now a much smarter twenty-two or twenty-three-year-old—she figured … well. She had nothing else better to do. She had nothing worth stealing save the sparse clothes, money, and other basic toiletries in her backpack. And even if he was going to be lying in wait, waiting to rape and murder her, well, she could fight back. And even if she couldn’t, it’s not like she had anyone who would miss her, anyway.
So she figured, what the heck, and she went.
As it turns out, Unknown didn’t try to rape and murder her (although, as she pretended not to see the door lock, and he once again grew terse through the texts, she had the strangest feeling that he was … but that was stupid, he couldn’t be watching her. But all the same, she stopped trolling after a bit), but he did want her to go into the apartment. And MC, against her better judgment (because this was a stranger’s house, what if the cops were called on her?) … well, again. Nothing better to do, and a creepy feeling of eyes on the back of her neck. So she did. She entered the apartment.
And that was when she met the RFA.
Now, you have to understand: MC was more than a little bemused as she joined this group chat. She was more than a little aggravated how they kept referring to her as an “it.” And she thought that it was kind of hilarious how a party was treated like Super Serious Business™ (she laughed out loud when 707 bolded and increased the font size as he exclaimed Hosting parties???). But when they said that they wanted her to be the party coordinator, and that being the party coordinator meant staying at the apartment … 
Listen.
It’s not that MC had a secret passion for hosting parties. It’s not that she felt sympathy for these people who were, apparently, sad over the death of some woman named Rika, and wanted to carry on the parties in her name or whatever. It’s not that she thought that any of the guys were hot (although, to be fair, everyone in the chat was strangely attractive, Jaehee included), and that she wanted a boyfriend. No, this had nothing to do with any of that.
Instead, it was … listen. Not thirty minutes ago, MC had been living in a storage closet that she tried to insist to herself was just a shitty studio apartment. Now she was seated in the living room of an apartment with very nice furniture, and nice walls, and a bathroom with a toilet and a really nice shower. There was a kitchen where she could make food, and a fridge and cabinets where she could store it. It was just down the street from a convenience mart. And while it was clear that being the RFA party coordinator was not a paying gig, in MC’s mind, the equation went as thus:
Do a good job as temporary party coordinator and impress RFA
RFA wants to keep her on for more parties because they are impressed
At that point, she mentions need a paying gig on top of this
One of the now impressed members of the RFA with a career (e.g. Jumin, V, Jaehee, etc) offers her a job with them
SUCCESS AND PROFIT
It was as good a plan as any in MC’s mind, and in any case, Rika’s apartment was a HUGE step-up from where she had been staying before. So she readily agreed, and didn’t even call 707 out on his bs when he said that he looked up her social media (social media which didn’t exist, and anyway, he only had “MC” to go on, like … she scoffed at the idea that he could dig up anything on her). Instead, she played along with him. He made her laugh. He genuinely made her laugh. And it had been … well, it felt like it had been years since she had laughed or smiled that much. She really liked talking to him. He was a funny guy.
She thought that, the perks of having a nice place to stay and the potential for a future job aside, she rather liked this situation she found herself in. She still wanted to know who tf Unknown was (and she forwarded the text messages and chat log to Seven), but all the same, she still had to say (to herself and not through text) …
Thanks, Unknown.
So, with all of that foundation laid, what do we know about MC? Well, succinctly:
MC is smart. She’s not a technical genius by any stretch (though she does, thanks to her call center job, have some background knowledge on computers to an extent—she can troubleshoot, at least), but she is street smart. She has spent a good chunk of her life living on the streets, and she knows how to get by, even if it’s scraping by due to how hard homeless life is. She’s not naive; her circumstances have forced her to grow up ahead of her time, and in honesty, being treated as naive is pretty grating for her. She knows how to take care of herself, because she’s had to learn the hard way, and she really doesn’t take well to that being dismissed.
On that note, she’s independent, and extremely so. Again, she’s spent pretty much her whole life looking after herself. She didn’t always do a great job of it, but she did her best, and she’s still doing her best, and this is something she takes pride in. She’s not helpless; even if she’s in a bad situation, MC doesn’t see herself as even remotely helpless. She’s not a damsel who ever needs to be rescued. She can protect and rescue herself. She always has, after all, every time. Any time she was in a bad situation, the only person who ever got her out of it was her. So again, MC chafes if she’s treated like a helpless damsel, just as she chafes at being treated as naive, and she doesn’t do well with having her independence compromised. She’s rather headstrong like that.
She’s gutsy. Daring, brave, bold—you name it, she’s it. It takes guts to rob your foster family and then run away like she did. It takes guts to do the same to your abusive boyfriend. And more than that, it takes resilience to be able to survive the way she has. MC, despite everything, doesn’t break. No matter how bad a situation gets, no matter how badly she’s hurt, she always manages to push herself up and keep going. Even if it takes every last ounce of willpower she’s got, she does it. And she doesn’t back down, either; no matter how intimidating someone may seem, if she has to fight, she’ll do it. Sure, she might be afraid, but she’ll still do it. She’s incredibly brave and incredibly determined. It’s how she has survived for this long. But she’s also …
… paranoid. MC is secretive to the point of paranoia about her personal information and identity. She doesn’t use social media because she’s afraid of being found. She forges official documents as best she can to obscure her identity (not thinking, of course, about the national registry; if her call center job hadn’t been shady, they wouldn’t have hired her). She relentlessly grills Unknown and is honestly even a little savage with him in the prologue chat because the fact that he won’t reveal his real name sets off warning bells for her, because what ulterior motives could he have for keeping his name secret? And she doesn’t tell the RFA much about herself, either. She shares her name (MC), but she doesn’t bother to tell them that the picture she had in the chat was a selfie. Better to let them believe she looks like something else. She doesn’t tell them her age, and she lets them believe that she had a place to stay before Rika’s apartment (well, a nice place to stay). Even when Seven asks about her, she dodges around her questions no differently than he dodges hers. It’s not that she doesn’t trust him; it’s that she doesn’t (easily) trust anyone.(Plus, wouldn’t they judge her if they knew she was a jobless hobo before this? Better safe than sorry in that respect, too.)
She has … ZERO tolerance for abuse. Given her own life—her time in the foster home, and especially her time with Byungho—she has no tolerance for abuse or abusers. None. Zero. She refuses to “let” herself ever be in that situation again, and if she ever sees anyone else in that situation, she gets real mad, real fast. Her attitude toward Rika is pretty much summed up as “bring the bitch to me so she can CATCH THESE HANDS” and nothing short of it. But that said, she also wouldn’t tolerate, say, Saeran abusing Saeyoung, if it ever came to that. She’ll feel for Saeran. She’s been abused herself. But being abused is no excuse to abuse others. She’s not about to have it. No tolerance for that. None whatsoever. None, nada, zip, zilch, zero.
And she’s not nearly so cheerful as she seems. MC has had a hard life. That hard life has left her with quite a lot of emotional scars. And while she tried to tell herself, over and over and over again, that things would be okay and she couldn’t let herself be depressed, that doesn’t change the fact that she was depressed enough to follow some stranger’s instructions to some strange apartment even though she was fully aware that she was at risk of being raped and/or murdered when she got there. (Or having her backpack of worldly possessions, which she can’t leave in the storage closet since it has no lock, stolen from her.) Again, she’s not actually naive or innocent. She plays along with jokes because she loves to laugh (and oh, she does—she loves laughing and joking and playing around!), but that’s all it is—playing. When play time is over, she can and does get serious. She still tries to not feel depressed, but … well. It’s harder than it seems, even if she still pushes through it and keeps going for the sake of it.
She is, should she find someone she can truly connect (safely and happily) with, quite devoted. MC’s never really had someone to truly love, who truly loved her in return. This isn’t to say that she has no idea how relationships work, because she does. She was friends (casually) with her coworkers at her call center job, for instance, and after Byungho you at least better believe she knows what not to do or settle for in relationships. But she’s never had a really loving relationship of her own. No family to speak of, no best friends, and Byungho was certainly not a loving boyfriend. MC has been pretty isolated in this way for pretty much her entire life. Casual work friends are nice, but … it’s not the same. So as a result, should she find someone that she truly cares for—even if they don’t love her in return, if she loves and cares about them, she’s devoted to them. She’ll stand by them through anything. She’s steadfast and loyal. She’s protective and caring. And she doesn’t really need anything in return, because for her, it’s enough to have this chance to help someone that she cares about, and to do something good—to do what’s right.
On that note, she’s got a strong sense of justice. Or at least … she has a good sense of right and wrong, and she also does have vested interest in helping the less fortunate (obviously, look how many years she has spent homeless). The charity party actually sounds like a great idea to her (even if internally she’s like “can I bet on the donation side and can you people donate a job to me because tbh …”) because she knows better than most how absolutely awful it is to have literally nothing. She wants to help those that are “less fortunate,” she wants to host the party not just because she wants to impress the RFA (but mainly that), but also because it’s a legitimately good cause in her mind. It’s something she cares about. Though, on that note …
Strong sense of justice or not, she’s resourceful, and is not afraid to lie or steal to get what she needs to live, i.e., she can be ruthless if she has to be. I mean, again … look at how much stealing she has done, look at how she might lie and deceive to protect herself. She has a good sense of right and wrong, but she’s not above doing what she has to in order to survive, even if it’s illegal. MC figures her continued survival is a good enough cause to justify that sort of thing.
So with all of that listed out, what does that say for the story? And more specifically, her relationship with Saeyoung?
I see the story playing out mostly as it does until the apartment days are reached. Once Saeyoung arrives at the apartment, and makes it clear he doesn’t want to pursue a relationship with her—that’s fine. It hurts, sure, to have him be so cold when before this he was honestly the closest to a best she ever had (and she knows that’s ridiculous given they’ve only known each other a handful of days, but still), but it’s fine. If he doesn’t want to date her, that’s fine. It’s not like romance is the most important thing in the world, and he has other problems. He has way more important problems. Hell, the entire RFA has way more important problems. Whoever knew a charity organization could be full of this much drama? Jfc.
But that said, there are still … other difficulties.
When they get into arguments, their arguments are because she wants him to eat something, and he refuses (and you know, she respects his boundaries, but he needs to eat, he doesn’t get to harp on her for not eating if he won’t). Their arguments are because she wants to go to the convenience mart, and he’s paranoid about her leaving the apartment. (They compromise by being on the phone the whole time, even if they’re not speaking.) Their arguments are because he, unintentionally or otherwise, treats her like she’s naive and/or helpless, and she gets pissed off, because he has no right to judge her like that when he knows nothing about her. When he tries to warn her that there are dangerous men out there, she laughs, bitterly and without humor, because yeah, trust her, she knows. When she makes an offhand comment about how, even with the bomb, Rika’s apartment is still way better than where she was before, and he shrewdly asks her where she was before, she dodges the question. And when, ultimately, they get in their last big fight and he demands to know why she likes him, she lists off all the reasons why she does, because unlike Canon MC, this MC knows. She likes him because he’s smart, brave, selfless. Yeah, he made her laugh, and that’s a plus, too, considering laughter is a rarity in her life, but the jokes aside, she loves him—likes him, she amends, way more for his cleverness, his bravery, his selflessness. He risked everything with the agency to come protect her. He does everything for the RFA despite being so busy with his own work. No matter how stressed or bogged down he is, he’s determined enough to push through. He cares enough to go the extra mile for others, not expecting anything in return. She likes him because underneath the jokey, pranky 707 exterior, he’s a genuinely good person who tries his best even if he doesn’t always manage to succeed. There’s sincerty in how much he cares even if he tries to deny it. And that … she can relate to some of that, and admire even more of it. She started out liking the 707 in the chat room, yeah, because he was fun to talk to. But now? Now she genuinely cares about the Seven that’s right in front of her.
He’s at a loss. She just went on some huge speech about everything she likes about him—and at some point, yes, she included how serious and dedicated he is, she likes him being serious, even if she adds she’d also like it if he would take breaks to sleep and eat—and he’s … at a loss. He admits he doesn’t know what to do. So she says:
“Just think about accepting help. That’s all I want. I just—it doesn’t have to be me. If you don’t want me helping you, fine. But let someone help you, Seven. Let Jumin help you, or Jaehee. Maybe even Zen. Just—I want to help you. I’m here to help you however you need. I want to help you find and rescue Saeran, I want to help you get through this. But if it’s not me, just let it be someone. You don’t have to be alone, Seven. You don’t have to do this all by yourself. I … I know how hard it—I know what it’s like doing everything by yourself even when it’s something far less risky than all this. I know how it is doing just basic level hard stuff all by yourself. But what you’re dealing with is extra. It’s a lot, even for several people, but especially for one. So just … please think about accepting some help. Think about accepting your friends. That can include me, or it can not … and if it does, then you can still tell me to get lost when all is said and done, that’ll be fine. I’ll respect that. But just take some time, and think about accepting some help from someone. That’s all I ask.”
And after a moment … that is what he’d quietly agree to.
He and MC would not become a couple at this point, but he would accept help from her. He’d start to tell her more about Saeran. He’d explain what he’s doing. She’d help him prepare for the trip to Magenta, and she’d go there with him. And she wouldn’t go there just so that she could get in the car when he tells her to when V shows up, or so that she could hide behind him. This MC, as you can tell from all of the above, is proactive. She’s brave, and she’s a fighter. This MC is not someone that Saeyoung stands before like a shield; she is someone who stands by his side, who gives him a hand to hold without any expectation of a relationship (despite their mutual crushes; it’s just not the time). Sure, he still tells her to stand behind him, but her attitude is “no u” before she moves to stand by his side. Will he protect her? Sure. But she’ll protect him right back, or go down swinging at the very least. Saeyoung, much like MC, has spent his entire life taking care of himself. He’s spent his entire life having the burden entirely on his shoulders. So it’s about damn time he had someone to share it with, just as it’s about damn time MC had some help, too, however much she (like him, tbh—they’re both so stubborn about it) thinks she has everything under control. Saeyoung has more technical knowledge that she does, given that he is a canonical, literal genius, but outside of that, they’re equals. She’s not a damsel for him to protect, rescue, and pamper. She’s a partner who stands by his side and gives him the support he needs to make it through, just as he does the same for her.
So as you can imagine, she’s a lot more proactive in my version of the Secret Endings as well. She floors the getaway car when it’s time. She learns from Vanderwood how to do first aid treatment for Saeyoung’s injury. When Rika says that she’s going to brainwash Saeyoung, MC says, “Over my dead body,” and moves to stand in front of him. At which point, of course, we get this from Rika:
“That would be a waste, because I believe everyone has a place here at Mint Eye. But if that’s truly what you want … that can be arranged.”
At that point, Believers enter the cell to drag MC off, and Vanderwood has to hold Saeyoung back as he starts flipping out, but Saeran intervenes since Rika promised him that he could have the toy that he personally sent to her old apartment …
As you can see, things really start to deviate.
(Note that once they’re away from the cells, Saeran tells MC that he has zero interest in her. He only said what he did to mess with Saeyoung. MC’s pretty unimpressed and lets him know it. He’s irritated by how unimpressed she is, and she’s petty and satisfied.)
Unlike canon, where they’re engaged promptly once Saeran is rescued, MC and Saeyoung don’t even officially start dating until after Saeran is rescued and has started the healing process. Note that, also unlike canon, MC can’t really stay at Rika’s apartment anymore, because RFA isn’t having that, what with there being a bomb and all. But she also never told them that she was a homeless squatter, so … #awkward. She ends up having Vanderwood take her back to the storage closet, and when he sees that it is, in fact, a storage closet—
“I like to think of it as—it’s not a storage closet. It’s a studio apartment,” MC says.
“It’s a storage closet,” Vanderwood says. “Oh, for fucksake—”
MC and Saeyoung aren’t officially dating yet, but Vanderwood still thinks Saeyoung would flip if he knew his not-girlfriend was staying in a storage closet. Aside from which, over the course of the Secret Endings, Saeyoung, MC, and Vanderwood became The Secret End Squad™, and that’s a bond not easily broken. So Vanderwood says, “Get your backpack and let’s go” and takes her back to his place. Yeah, that’s right: post-Secret Endings, MC is (at least for a time) roomies with Vanderwood.
#RoomieAdventures (and also #JobSearchAdventures because at this point they’re both unemployed lololol)
(Saeyoung’s reaction when he learns this is priceless, I’m sure.)
So yeah, all in all, the MC that I imagine for Saeyoung is someone who stands beside him, as his equal. Someone who respects his boundaries and does not push a relationship, but also someone who does push the notion that he should let someone help him, because she genuinely cares about and wants to help. She’s had a hard life, but that hard life has made it so that she can stand at his equal. Just as his hardships developed him, hers have developed her. She’s someone who can support him, as much as he supports her. She’s someone who wants to.
And ultimately, arrogant though it may sound, I think that an MC like this … is much better suited for him than the MC that Cheritz vaguely defined. But that’s just my opinion; everyone else’s mileage may vary.
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octoberwren · 7 years
Text
If it’s words you seek (I’ll Remember You) Chapter 2.
Thank you all so much for loving this odd ball fic, seriously I can not tell you enough how much I adore you all for it! The only thing I have to say about this chapter is that it almost killed me. I wanted it to be perfect, so of course I ended up re-writing it like a thousand times. Yep. (I’m neurotic about posting no matter how many time I’ve done it, I’d hate to disappoint you guys who have liked it so much.) But now that it’s done I’m happy with it, you might not be with the amount of angst. I can’t write fluff guys. I wish I could, my mind would love me more for it.
Anyway...happy reading! Hope you enjoy. Seeing as this is going to be a multi-fic you’re more than welcome to ask me to tag you in it! I love doing that ; )
Chapter 1 here
Also on Ao3 for your convenience
(I own nothing, Marvel owns me)
Summary: Darcy Lewis is many things, avoidance expert, current holder of the Hydra Survivor Cup and not to boast, but she's at an expert level with self defense in sarcasm and shiny wit.
What she's absolutely not is Steve Rogers Soulmate, she doesn't give a flying monkey what The Universe is trying to tell her with the 'gifts' she's recently acquired, i.e Reading His Mind and other tricks that have to do with The Good Captain.Her and Steve? 
Pffft, that's never gonna happen.
Chapter 2: Hindsight is a bitch and so is HYDRA.
3 years ago
Darcy loved her job, most days. The benefits were good, and honestly, she needed those, it was all fine and dandy being an intern with Jane when there weren't Aliens and Gods trying to have a smackdown on planet earth. And for some Loony Toons reason, Darcy was always smack dab in the middle of all of that world ending hoopla.
So when Nick Fury himself offered her a job, well what was she supposed to say?
No. She could have said no, Jane had demanded she say "Fuck no, you damn pirate." But Darcy really needed the health coverage, it was just a hop skip and away before she was shot at, and she was trying to be an adult and handle her business.
Janey hated the idea, but she slowly came around when Darcy had pointed out quite reasonably, if she said so herself, that what better way to keep an eye on S.H.I.E.L.D shenanigans than to have an all-access pass to their home base.
Technically her job title was ‘File Manager', so a lackey in Nick Fury terms, Darcy fully believed he'd only given her the job so he could keep an eye on her. But whatever, she had a coffee shop in her workplace and a hell of a view.
A view she had been creepy staring at for over three months now, it was borderline stalker behavior. But the man had an ass that wouldn't quit, and that navy uniform did so many things for Darcy's late night imagination, that she physically couldn't help but stare.
It was only when she started noticing other things that Darcy thought she may be in some trouble here.
Like the way he opened doors for the science dudes, who stuttered and looked on in awe, or how he sometimes looked so lost, like a boy who let go of his mother's hand. He came in some days bloody and broken, with eyes that seemed too haunted to be real. It took everything Darcy had and then some not to rush over and hug the stuffing out of his chest, just so he didn't look like the weight of the world rested on his shoulders alone.
Four months in and when she could actually detect his steady steps from a room away, Darcy decided that enough was enough, she needed to do something before she bear-hugged the man out of sheer frustration.
It was then that Darcy came up with a foolproof plan; because everyone loved coffee right? Right.
She'd put on her big girl pants and give him something to smile about because his sad face was breaking her soul, so she ordered a coffee just the way he like it, ignoring the side-eye she received from the barista when she wrote down the order.
She then marched her butt down to his office that looked as bummed out as he was, with the plain gray walls and bare furnishing practically screaming his loneliness out loud with hand gestures. Darcy lifted her hand to knock on the Captain's door, only to reel back in shock when it opened up.
Steve Rogers towered over her and for a split second Darcy felt like she was going to lose her breath, he was just so damn handsome it was unfair to the people of earth.
His open face blanked carefully when he saw her standing there holding two coffees. He took in his name on one of the cups and Darcy's stomach dropped when she saw the flicker of something flash through his eyes. Before he even opened his mouth, Darcy had the strangest sort of sixth sense, she felt something disastrous coming her way, she knew exactly what he was going to say and she wanted to stop this, she wanted to wake up this morning in total ignorance. The coffee cups started to tremble in her hands as she began to wish feverently that this wasn't what she thought is was.
But Steve didn't notice her distress, he spoke the words that damned them both, "Sorry Miss, but whatever the hell this is, you're not my priority."
And just as she knew it would, Darcy's world shifted on its axis and fell apart at her feet.
She opened her mouth ignoring everything in her screaming to shut the hell up-keep quiet-he doesn't need to know- it was instinctive, she wanted to say something, anything to him, not to leave her alone like this, but she could only let out a stutter, It was too late anyway, he was already turning away from her, even when the coffees fell from her hand and landed on the floor in a wet mess, he never even glanced back in her direction.
Darcy stood like a statue, watching Captain America-no-Steve Rogers (because of fucking course her mother was right. She wasn't special, she'd never be great enough for him, for the world he belonged to.) walk away with his shoulders straight like the soldier he was. He blocked out the evening sun as he left her and engulfed her surroundings in darkness.
Darcy really thinks her brain is coming up with bullshit metaphors at inappropriate times, but she can't breathe. Let alone think.
She's left standing in the middle of his door, the air around her seemed so much colder than it was before, her teeth started chattering against the freezing air and she wanted to break down and laugh or cry, maybe both, she wanted to sink to her knees and yell that she knew it, she knew this was always going to be her downfall.
All those years of looking at her mark, she had stupidly convinced herself that she was bigger than this moment.
It was the worst lie she had ever told herself.
She couldn't breathe.
And for a vomit inducing second she thought she was going to black out, but then no, she knew this feeling, she just hadn't felt it for a few years now, she was having a panic attack. Joyness abound today.
She slid to the ground slowly, tracking her breaths, trying to touch the floor, smell the air, until her heart didn't feel like it was going to explode from her chest in a gory mess.
She hadn't felt this fragile-and her mind spits the word like venom-since she left her shitty hometown, filled with shitty people.
Because this wasn't some average Joe…it wasn't someone who thought she was just a body with big boobs and no brains or even someone that thought her life experience consisted of a nice suburban life and no real tragedy. It wasn't even her mother's condescending taunting, Darcy dear, are you sure you want to go out in that? Are you sure Political Science is the field for you? Don't you think he'll love you more if you cleaned the house?
This was someone that-Thor help her- she wanted respect from. She had actually wanted him to like her, she all but scoffs at that, all she got was a mere glance and words that she never thought would spill from his perfect lips.
Steve Rogers was her soulmate, a shudder wracks her body with just that thought, he was a good person, all the things she told herself about her mythical ‘one' was ignorant.
She had read about his heroic deeds in history class and had admired him long before he turned out to be alive and walking in the same semi-circle as her own.
What the hell was the universe thinking pairing her up with him? Her insecurities seemed to drown out the noise of the building as she got up and headed home.
In the days, weeks after, Darcy was a mess, and she couldn't shake herself out of it no matter how stubbornly she wanted to. It felt like her soul was missing, and maybe it was, maybe he took it from her the moment he spoke.
She went from rage to helplessness. One day she was convinced she was going to storm into his office and yell every curse words she knew and ones that she made up on the spot. She wanted to see him regret ever speaking those words, but before she'd even get to his door she ran away in a fit of panic.
There were plenty times she just paced the hallway and Darcy knew she looked crazy, hell, she felt like a nutjob. She stayed away from work a lot as well, she was surprised Nick Fury didn't burst into her room and drag her out by her feet. (In the oncoming days she realized why he didn't and Darcy barely kept the tears away when she thought about how her life would have been, if she just put on the news)
Darcy had finally made up her mind, she would just say something, he had the right to at least know, Darcy couldn't keep it from him, that was unfair, although she really, really wanted to. It was taking most of her strength not to get on a plane and book it to the nearest deserted island. She wanted to crawl into a ball and scream until her throat was sore. But Darcy Lewis wasn't a coward, and she wouldn't let her shitty hometown be right about her. She wasn't second best, she deserved more out of her life than to be a throwaway thought.
Steve may not want her around but he'd at least know what they meant to each other, then and only then could he decide on where he wanted her in his world. (and if he didn't want her anywhere near him, then she would accept it like the grown-up she was, even if the very thought left her with an ache in her heart,)
So with that, Darcy bought a new cup of coffee, and so help her if he even thought of turning the drink of Gods away again, she entered his empty office and waited and then waited some more.
She stood for so long, straining to hear even the slightest noise, that her back protested her very existence. Bored, she put the coffee down at his table and sat at his desk, his chair swiveled and she amused herself by twirling in it, and almost threw it to the ground when she heard a noise outside. When it grew quiet again and her thundering heart settled down, she figured it wasn't Steve about to catch her in her lunacy.
When she heard the thud again she got annoyed at the dumbass that was ruining her fun times, she was an anxiety-ridden mess and whoever the hell that was, was going to get a mouth full from her when she let loose all her nervous ramblings and probably, no definitely, some insults.
She stormed out the room and peeked around a corner but she instantly deflated when she saw Adam looking at her sheepishly, while he tried to get into another office a few doors down. Adam was a good guy but he looked more like he should be down with the sciences dudes, than working as a field agent. He was also spacy enough that forgetting his keys was common enough occurrence.
Darcy was about to offer her help like she normally did, but stopped when she heard a familiar deep voice coming from the speakers, Steve's voiced echoed along the walls and what came next made her blood run cold with fear.
"Attention all S.H.I.E.L.D agents, this is Steve Rogers. You've heard a lot about me over the last few days. Some of you were even ordered to hunt me down. But I think it's time, to tell the truth. S.H.I.E.L.D is not what we thought it was. It's been taken over by HYDRA. Alexander Pierce is their leader. The S.T.R.I.K.E and insight crew are HYDRA as well. I don't know how many more, but I know their in the building. They could be standing right next to you. They almost have what they want. Absolute control. They shot Nick Fury and it won't end there. If you launch those helicairriers today, HYDRA will kill anyone that stands in their way. Unless we stop them. I know I'm asking a lot. But the price of freedom is high. It always has been. And it's a price I'm willing to pay. And if I'm the only one, then so be it. But I'm willing to bet I'm not."
Darcy's emotions ping-ponged from self-disgust and shame that she didn't know, after all these days, Steve had been going through so much worse things than her. He said he had been hunted, like he was just a step away from a bullet and she really fucking hoped he was okay because she wasn't sure she'd forgive herself if he wasn't.
Next was a burning anger that made her skin hot thinking of those HYDRA dicks, she fucking hated Nazi's and she hated that she worked in a place that was crawling with them. It was like a light switch clicked on, as Darcy realized that she wasn't alone listening to that announcement. When her eyes met Adam's, Darcy wanted to spit, his mask of clumsiness had fallen away and in its place was an ugly rage that she had never seen on another human face before. He looked alien to her.
"Oh Darcy," He leered at her, and she wanted to throw up, preferably on him, the dickwad. "I really wish he had waited at least a few seconds. This might have been less painful for you."
She had a second to think ‘what the actual fuck?' before he took steps towards her, but nope, she backed the hell up and slammed the door in his face, sliding the lock home.
"Please, Darcy, you think that will stop HYDRA?" His voice was too smooth behind the door, to clean and Darcy never hated someone so much in her life. "Do you think he can stop this? We're HYDRA, If a head is cut off, one shall grow in its place."
She snorted at that, even when the door kicked in she was still chuckling with amusement at these massive douche-nozzles, "Is that in your brochure? Because and I'm just being honest here, that is the stupidest thing I've ever heard. You do know that the Greek legend ended with Hercules killing the monster right? You have cracked open a book before, right?. So I'd say the odds are against you here Adam, there's a real-life legend kicking your buddies asses right now, no way you're getting out of this alive."
Wow, who knew a vein could thorb that angrily? Guess she hit a nerve, she wasn't smug, much. Oh who the hell was she kidding, the smirk curved her face like war paint.
"This is what's going to happen little girl," she didn't actually think he could piss her off more, but that kind of flew out the window and died a horrible death with that remark, "You're going to stay still and not move, I'm going to take all the information I can out of your hero's computer. I'll take you away and get a promotion for all my trouble. You, on the other hand, will be locked away in a room so small, that by week one you'll have lost your mind, your bravado will vanish and I'll be there every step of the way to watch it happen."  
She could lie to herself and say she was just buying time until help arrived, or that she was a second away from getting out of this. But the dread was lodged like a stone in her stomach, and she could tell that no one was coming for her. Especially not the man she really wanted to see, he was probably a bit busy saving the world.
There was no way out, but even as her fingers shook with terror, she'd still be damned if she let him see her fear, he wouldn't get that from her, "Okay dude, just two things, this is the twenty-first century, do you really want to be walking around as a chauvinistic prick? Because I think that's the wrong lifestyle choice."
"Also, who said it was just bravado? Kudos on the big words, by the way, some people, but not you obviously, would clearly see all my talk for what it was... Stalling." Darcy then flipped over the coffee cup that was for Steve and it sloshed over the computer's hard drive, there was a sizzle and- a quite frankly- underwhelming whine as the thing was destroyed.
She glanced up at his gaping mouth and shrugged carelessly, "Guess that promotion is off the table now, huh? Sucks for you."
The last thing Darcy could recall without a head-splitting throb was a fist barrelling towards her face.
Three years later and Adam was lying in his own pool of blood while Darcy stood over him, knife in her hand, and sick threatening to give way, and if she could go back, she'd tell that girl pacing outside of Steve's office to say something. To stop being such a chicken shit and use her damn voice. She had enough light in her soul to be worthy of his affection, she could be what the universe believed she was; the perfect match for him.
Now though, she had crimson blood dripping from her hands and guilt suffocating her lungs, his love was the last thing Darcy would ever deserve.
Present
Steve stumbled back from her, shaking his head as if to clear it, "What the hell?"
Darcy turned her head, she really didn't want to see what realization he came to, what kind of emotions she had unwilling let him feel, she just hoped whatever he was going to do, he'd make it quick and spare her the drama. This day had been long enough already, she was exhausted, she really didn't care how it ended at this point. Even if they had a prison at this…she was on a farm… How the hell did she only notice that now, where exactly did they expect to keep her locked up, in the barn with Betty the cow?
"Steve what-" Whatever Bucky was going to say was drowned out by her startled shriek, as Steve bloody Rodgers, reached down and hauled her off the ground and into his arms.
Darcy wasn't going to lie, this was on her her bucket list, but she was too shocked to actually enjoy the moment, she's also pretty sure she looked like an absolute idiot with her mouth hanging open as she stared up at his face.
His strong jawline of freedom tightened, when he noticed her appalled look, and was it her imagination or was he blushing slightly? She had to reel in the urge to pinch his cheeks, she succeeded, but by barely an inch of self-control.
"You're in agonizing pain, Miss Lewis. I could feel it." Darcy felt the rumble of his voice against her side, and she needed to have a stern talking to with her body because she shivered in response to the feeling and now was definitely not the time for her it to start perking up like a bloodhound.
He did smell sinfully good though, and her lady parts loved it. She wasn't even sorry.
If anything it looked like Steve blushed harder and her curiosity was building, she really wanted to ask what kind of aftershave he used (she thought it may have been specially made just for her, like in an actual lab somewhere) but that would involve speaking, and that was something she was going to avoid at all costs. Like the end of the world type stakes before she even uttered an I'm-your-soulmate-let's-go-for-coffee-and- by- coffee-I mean-sex.
"So," Steve cleared his throat and shifted her in his grip, and damn she wanted to melt into a puddle as she watched his muscles flex and ripple, "You can communicate your thoughts through touch?"
It was then that Darcy realized a few things in rapid succession, Steve had no idea that it was only him that she could communicate with through touch, hell she didn't even know she had that little trick up her sleeve or she would have built a literal wall around herself and not just her emotions.
Another thing was when Steve felt her pain, he picked her up gently, he was still holding her as if she was made of glass, it wasn't a big revelation but it was just so damn sweet of him that it made the cliff notes, especially if he felt her guilt, then he really was the best man she had ever come across. (He really needed to cut that shit out if he ever expected her not to love him.)
The last thing was probably the more important one, her hands were wrapped around his neck, so he had to be feeling all the inappropriate thoughts about those muscles, and how she had fantasized about the many things he could do with them.
So now she was flailing around in his arms as she tried to break free because nope, him actually knowing she lusted after him ruined The Plan. The not talking to him until death or the world imploded plan. It had its flaws but it was working so far.
She wasn't exactly succeeding in trying to run away with some sort of dignity intact, Steve just held her tighter in his unmovable arms, "Miss Lewis, please stop, you'll hurt yourself and despite what you may think, even if you did betray us, I wouldn't want anyone to be hurt under my watch. And you're in too much pain to disrupt your injuries any further."
She wished she could tell him that his words hurt a hell of a lot worse than any bullet wounds she suffered from. Darcy was used to physical pain, it was always her emotions that ran a little too deep and cut too sharply with her.
She assumed that he had felt her guilt and hey, at least she knew now where she stood. That didn't stop her from folding her arms across her chest as he walked into the house. If she could minimise skin contact and her subsequent humiliation then she would take every precaution she could.
They walked past the kids, now watching tv and Darcy didn't stick out her tongue when the little girl giggled at her position in Steve's arms. She was an adult, she had loads of restraint.
No, she did not. She leant over Steve's huge shoulder and stuck her tongue out at the little tattle tail.
"That wasn't very nice," Steve said as they entered the hallway she had bolted from, she could hear the amusement softening his tone, and Darcy couldn't help the grin that teased her lips if she tried.
His answering grin lit the embers of a flame she thought had been killed years ago, she had to reached down deep to actually feel that it was hope surging in her bloodstream. Darcy tried desperately to douse it but it kept flickering up again, and she wished that whatever happened next that, that small amount of hope didn't end up sealing her fate for the worse.
Fun fact, fear was one of the biggest triggers to her bond with Steve, Hydra used that information brutally. And an awesome effect was that being experimented on left Darcy with a healthy dose of fearing needles. So when Steve had left her in the room with Helen, the doctor who she really regretted pushing and yeah she felt like a dick for hurting the woman, but now that she had a huge needle in her hands, she would call them very much even, alright.
Darcy tried closing her eyes and counting to ten, she tried wrapping her hands in the sheets to feels something concrete, but her heart wouldn't stop slamming against her rib cage, she didn't want this, she hated this, invading his privacy. It wasn't hers to have, it was never hers to keep. She couldn't just-
"Sam touched her," Steve said to half of The Avengers, all sitting on the porch looking up at their leader
"What?" Clint asked standing behind a brunette that Darcy knew from past episodes of Walking In Steve's Shoes, was the archer's wife and Soulmate. She cradled a baby in her hands and Darcy had never seen something so small and fragile before or that damn adorable.
Natasha got to what Steve was trying to say first, "When Darcy touched Sam, I assume he felt nothing?" When the man nodded his answer, she carried on, "She made skin contact with Helen as well."
"So what you're sayin' is that Steve's finally got a girl he can understand?" Bucky chuckled at his friend's heated glare, but Darcy didn't feel real happy. If they could figure this out it was only a step closer to that something bigger and more terrifying.
Steve wasn't stupid, he'd add it all up and get a big fat Soulmate red flag.
The only shot she had was that he was still feeling confused, "All I felt was guilt and pain." He stated and Darcy felt a sudden rush of worry, for her. It was so out of left field it left her mind silent. A miracle that had never been achieved before.
"They flipped her then?" Sam asked but Steve was already shaking his head.
"No." He was using his Captain's voice, the  one that demanded attention and Darcy could feel her eyes tear up outside of his mind, she didn't think she needed his support until she got it. She had been afraid he would look at her with eyes that were cold, that she would become his enemy. And deep down, to the squishy part of her that was forever vulnerable where this man was concerned, that part of her knew, if Steve had ever come to despise her, it was probably one of the only things left in this world that could tear her to shreds.
"I thought maybe at first she might have been, but that's not the guilt I recognized. It was self-loathing. I think Miss Lewis fought her way out of HYDRA, she probably killed the bastards that took her, and that's what's eating her up inside." Darcy felt that swirling black rage again, it almost swallowed her up with its ferocity. Steve was livid, and she got the suspicious feeling that if she left anyone of them alive, he'd finish what she had started.
"Why'd she run then?" Clint's wife, Laura, asked while rocking her child in her arms, Darcy felt a pang of envy as she looked on with Steve's gaze at the family, and she almost choked on her tongue when she sorted through the huge mass of emotions to fully realize that, that one had came from her. Well shit, that wasn't ever going to be thought of or repeated again.
"She was scared," Steve shrugged looking away from his teammates to the evening sky beyond them, "she just got out of an extreme situation, trust probably isn't her first priority right now."
Darcy felt searing pain hearing that word repeated again, and this time she knew that came purely from her own body. Her chest burnt with it and she needed out, she wanted to keel over and just breathe properly for the first time in three years, without fear of this curse she had robbing her of her own mind.
She just wanted this to end.
But no one was listening to her, they never  did.
“I think-" and Steve said this so softly that even in her head, she still struggled to hear him, and maybe she didn't want to, "I think I'm hurting her."
Darcy's link slammed closed and she took in deep gulps of fresh tasting oxygen, Helen was standing over her hands stretched as if to press down onto her chest.
"I'm fine." Darcy wheezed out, bending her head over her knees.
"Yeah and I'm not still mad about you shoving me." The small woman said with an arch of her eyebrow, but she still looked ready to give Darcy CPR.
"I'm sorry about that, I was a bit-" She searched for the right words to come to her, but her mind felt like sludge.
Helen helpfully filled in the blanks, "Crazy?" or not as helpful as she thought. But Darcy still snorted out a laugh. In another life, they might have have been great friends.
"I was going to say freaked out but yeah, that works."She laid back down on the bed when her words turned slurred, "Did you give me smumthing?"
"Yes. You were severely exhausted, frankly I don't even know how you were still standing." Darcy tried to say something back, about her award-winning stubbornness maybe? She also feels like she should be a little more freaked the fuck out by losing awarenesses, but she couldn't get all that worked up about it.
She felt way too groovy.
Darcy's going in and out of consciousness when she opens her eyes again to a clash of blue, so bright that she smiles at it like it's the sun itself. She remembers that blue, and it never failed to bring an ache of longing to her world.
She lets herself feel the safety in that gaze that looks so welcoming, she loves the warmth that spreads through her like a campfire and she wants to stay in this moment forever, she wants to keep that feeling close to her, so she never feels alone again. She even lets her fingers reach out to touch and when she collides with something warm, she instantly gets hit with a strong sense of what she always assumed home would feel like.
And for once Darcy sleeps without nightmares or a fear of what the next day will bring.
Apparently what it brings is one pissed of God of Thunder and a tiny astrophysicist that wants to defend her honor and say fuck a lot while she does it, so y'know, the days looking brighter than the last.
Silver linings and all that shit.
Soooo? I hope you enjoyed it! If not, thanks for sticking with me this far! Much Love guys! 
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yagirljoceywrites · 5 years
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tallubert : one.
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tallulah “lula” sullivan x albert fitzgerald iv. @ somewhere in brookyln
How the hell did she end up here and what the hell was she thinking? Well, Lula knew what she was thinking - to hell with Albert Matthew Fitzgerald the 4th. As for how she got here? That was nothing short of a miracle, given her notorious driving skills, or lack thereof. Navigating the streets from Manhattan to Brooklyn in her Jeep with just a learner’s permit and the spatial judgement of a drunk Hulk, it really was a miracle that she’d caused minimal damage and arrived with her car in one piece. Hopefully. She did hear a loud ‘clank’ as she hit the curb while pulling up in front of Reyes Auto Repair. Now why was she at an auto shop in the sketchy part of Brooklyn when there were perfectly good ones in Manhattan? That required a bit of backtracking...
“ASSHOLE!”
Lula shouted as she put all her weight into her leg and stomped on Albert’s foot with everything she had. Which wasn’t a lot, but she was sure that the message was clear. Letting out a ‘hmph!’, she crossed her arms and tilted her head away from him as he told her that violence wasn’t the answer. “I don’t care! Body shame me again and next time that won’t be your foot!” This was yet another argument between the two that often erupted from A) Lula relentlessly being loud and proud about her longstanding unrequited crush on Albert, B) Albert insisting that she was too young, too immature and in today’s case, too flat, for him to date (hypothetically if he even dated), or C) all of the above. 
As Albert gave her his usual speech about her deserving someone better who would treat her better than he could, etc., etc., an idea popped into Lula’s head. If he claimed to know her so well and know what she deserved, then who better to help her find a boyfriend than him? Then somewhere along the way, he was bound to get jealous and realize that he did in fact like her all along. It was a foolproof plan! ...Except the part where he refused to go along with her ideas, as per usual. Was this how her dad felt whenever Uncle Presley was being a party-pooper? All Albert said in response to her dramatic tangent about how helping her was the least he could do after she spent so much time crushing on him was, “I trust your judgement to find a Walmart version of me.” And if you thought she had already snapped before, well, homegirl was ‘bout to pop off.
“UGH! FINE THEN, ALBERT MATTHEW FITZGERALD THE 4TH! I’ll just go back to Brooklyn where we met those two hot drug dealers then! And you know what, maybe I’ll date both of them! And FYI, you’re the cheap Walmart version! ...I don’t remember their names, but Drug Dealer #1 is totes the Gucci version of you and Drug Dealer #2 is obvy the Prada version! I don’t need you when I can date two Man-Crush Everyday-worthy hotties! It’s your loss, cheap knockoff Albert!”
And that was how she ended up at a car repair shop in the sketchy part of Brooklyn, where one of said hot drug dealers stood. After checking her hair and makeup in the rearview mirror, Lula waved at Drug Dealer #2, then got out of her car. “Hey... you!” she greeted, still not remembering his name. After exchanging short pleasantries, she got right to the point before Quinn could show up to foil her plan. “Soooo listen, there’s this party uptown tomorrow night and I was wondering if you’d be my date. I really really reallyyyyy need you to say yes, like I’ll totes pay you ‘cause I have a point to pro-” Her spiel was suddenly cut short when she felt someone grab her by the waist, then throw her over said person’s shoulders.
Turning her head, Lula was met with the familiar side profile of the face she’d spent much of her time daydreaming about. Quickly realizing that Albert was there to foil her plan, she began squirming and shouting for him to let her down. “What are you doing?! Let go of me, Fitzgerald! I don’t need you to baby me, I’m not a goddamn child!” she shouted at his backside, to which he responded, clearly irritated, “Shut up, you’re acting like one.” She continued yelling at him, as he miraculously managed to buckle her into the passenger seat of his car, and didn’t stop even as they began to drive off.
“Don’t tell me to shut up, you jerkface! I was just doing what you told me to do!” she huffed, pouting like a child, despite insisting that she wasn’t one. Despite his constant ‘shut up’ to her venting, she went on talking over him. “You don’t want to date me, but you won’t let me date some other hot guy. What the hell is your problem, Fitzgerald?! You don’t even like me, so why can’t you just leave me alone??” As the car came to a stop at a red light, Lula’s ranting continued, as she went on about dating whomever she wanted because she was done with him. It was only Albert leaned in to kiss her that she finally stopped talking.
But just as fast as it had happened, the kiss was soon broken when he pulled away to focus on the road. At least, to her, that was why the kiss had ended. Biting her lip to keep from squealing out loud, she kept her eyes focused on the road in front of them, as the word ‘OMG’ flashed like bright neon lights in her mind. Turning to face Albert, she could’ve sworn that she saw just the tiniest smirk tug at the corner of his lips. The smuggest smile appeared on her face, as she knew all along that she was right. Even if he didn’t fully like her back yet, she was confident that he at least felt something for her. That was enough to have her smiling from ear to ear and to shut up, if only for a brief moment before she would begin pestering him for more kisses.
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fitono · 7 years
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Fix Your Fitness Marketing: 5 Key Strategies to Learn From the Bulletproof Empire
If you’re frustrated that others seem to be getting more attention and clients, the problem probably isn’t your information — it’s your delivery.
In Seth Godin’s book, The Power of Telling Authentic Stories in a Low-Trust World, he explains that readers and potential clients already hold a certain worldview and perspective before encountering you and your information. Your aim is to frame a story within their worldview that they can buy into and, in turn, become believers.
This is easy to say, hard to do, and even harder to do well.
Rather than laying out strategy after strategy, let’s examine one of the most polarizing and financially successful figures in our business and tease out what he does well. In this article, I’ll take a look at how Dave Asprey, founder of Bulletproof, can convince his followers to add gobs of butter in their coffee and believe it’s the greatest thing since sliced bread, all the while building an empire worth millions. You’ll learn:
The key strategy that smart marketers focus on to make their message impact more people.
Who your About page is actually for (hint: it’s not about you).
How a complete stranger can influence a buying decision more than you alone.
The two things that will make your service and products irresistible.
First, if you’re not familiar with Dave Asprey, let’s catch you up.
Asprey is a computer-guy-turned-Silicon-Valley-bizillionaire-turned-biohacker. A biohacker is someone who has a keen interest in “do it yourself” biology. Many science-minded fitness professionals love to hate on what Asprey conveys, claiming that it is too often a load of unsubstantiated pseudoscience and crockery. Regardless of whose side you’re on, you’d be wise to remove your personal biases and take notes on how he, like Dr. Oz and Food Babe, commands millions of loyal followers.
To Read After: 3 Lessons Fit Pros Can Learn From Dr. Oz and Food Babe (http://ift.tt/2ytqPmR)
Here are the five key things you can learn from.
1. Communicate Through Stories
“Storytelling and marketing go hand-in-hand. Just think about it. Whether you’re producing infographics, writing copy for a Facebook ad, or writing a free online guide, you need to capture your audience’s attention.” – Neil Patel and Ritika Puri of Quicksprout
In a Fast Company article, Rachel Gillet wrote that our “brains are far more engaged by storytelling than the cold, hard facts.” It makes sense.
We all know the story of the tortoise and the hare because many of us have felt that hubris of rushing into things, confident that we know more than we really do, and have things blow up in our face when we sit on our laurels. It’s a memorable and crucial life lesson masquerading as a children’s story.
Simply, it’s easier for us to remember stories because we can imagine and fortify them with our personal experiences and perspectives. When you’re weaving a story, you’re connecting with the reader.
As Patel points out, at the end of the day you’re dealing with emotionally-driven humans.
Asprey harnesses the power of storytelling to further Bulletproof’s mission. In the end his story is relatable, human, and memorable. My rendition of his story goes like this:
Asprey had a history of weight problems and was plagued with low energy and digestive issues. Even after seeing hundreds of medical experts, traditional medicine couldn’t quite solve his woes, so he spent a lot more money conducting experiments on himself to find out what could cure him.
His breakthrough moment hit him during a trip in Nepal, where he had spent time with the Sherpa people, an ethnic group from the Himalayas. While climbing a mountain, he fell ill from altitude sickness and was given a tea brewed with yak butter to treat it. The concoction cured his altitude sickness, but it also restored his energy for him to continue his climb.
Throughout his time with the Sherpa people, Asprey had observed that they drank high-calorie cup after high-calorie cup of this stuff, but no one was fat. It led him to question the prevailing wisdom that “fat makes you fat” and figured there must be something different about this combination. When he returned to the States, Asprey recreated this concoction with grassfed butter instead of Yak butter, and with coffee instead of tea. He named it Bulletproof Coffee and claimed that his “new” discovery of butter in coffee helped him not only lose weight, but become more productive, and also cured his digestive ailments.
Thus, his Bulletproof empire was born.
This is the kind of tale that has all the bits of storytelling we crave: his struggles and failures in the pursuit of perfect health, along with millions of dollars spent on “hacking” his health.
Juicy stuff.
Because of this we see Asprey as just another guy with common ailments that conventional medicine and Big Pharma could not help. This made his problems relatable and casted doubt on modern medicine, and in the process, set up his unconventional methods to be the answer.
By him sacrificing his body and money for science,  you get to “reap” all of the benefits without any of the work or expense. He gives you the appearance of having committed a selfless act (using his hard earned money to help you, who may not have been able to afford it). What a guy.
You can do the same — with your ethics in check.
I know you have suffered for your goals. Before you started your career, I know you may have dieted or force-fed yourself, experimented with many things to find what works, trained long hours at times you would rather be sleeping, and spent more time on your feet in a day than most people do in a week.
You’re human, not just a glorified sex machine on Instagram. So act like it: Talk about what makes you relatable. Talk about all of the mistakes you have made. Talk about your failures and successes. Here’s an example:
You wouldn’t know it when you saw me, but I was miserable.
I was a celebrity hairstylist in one of the top salons in NYC. My work was in every magazine in the world and on every runway at fashion week. I hung out with supermodels and movie stars all day. I went home to the coolest neighborhood in Brooklyn every night.
I was 33 years old and killing it.
Yet something was missing.
For all the glitz and glamour, I just wasn’t happy.
I would bury my misery in sh*tty food, forget about my day with too much booze, and then try to absolve my sins by fasting or getting on the treadmill for an hour.
I hated the person I saw in the mirror. No matter how many new “hacks” I tried, I was still stuck. Still that skinny-fat kid too ashamed to take his shirt off at the pool.
Atkins, Zone, Paleo, Keto, Bulletproof.
They all worked great for a few weeks and then it just as quickly fell apart.
Same hamster, new wheel.
I was desperate for change. I was desperate for help. I was desperate for something more from life.
I read all the New York Times best-selling books.
I was told, just like you, that there was some magical properties to these diets that made them work. I was told that these diets were the only way to lose weight.
What I never realized was that these diets were too restrictive. They didn’t allow me to make choices for my well-being. They didn’t give me the tools to enjoy and stick to my guns in the long term.
When I failed at what was supposed to be “foolproof”, I’d felt like a failure. If this method was so popular, there must be something wrong with me.
But it wasn’t me.
I just needed to find another way that worked for me. That didn’t deprive me of joy, and was healthy and sustainable and still made me lose weight.
What I found was, the best way begins and ends with you, not some dogmatic approach to sell books.
Fads don’t work.
Gimmicks don’t work.
Butter in coffee doesn’t always work.
Consistent, measurable changes in lifestyle and choices do.
They aren’t necessarily easy, but they don’t have to be complicated.
When I finally realized this, when I was finally able to make the changes that led to real results, my world opened up.
Today I stand up tall.
I smile more.
I eat foods that fuel my workouts and recovery and still enjoy the things I love.
I stopped medicating myself with alcohol and “rewarding” myself with crappy food.
Today I love the man I see in the mirror (so does my wife).
Stop wasting years of your life like I did. Stop the up-and-down, rollercoaster ride of fad diets and gimmicky workouts. Do what works and has worked for hundreds of my clients.
I’ve been in that pit of despair. Let me help you out of it, too.”
This story conveys how you, too, have been fooled by great marketing; wasted money on gimmicks that don’t work; lost opportunities to better your fitness.
After reading this, your readers might feel OK about making mistakes, instead of feeling stupid that they’ve made mistakes. PubMed articles and Facebook tirades telling people are stupid make them feel, well, stupid.
And no one wants to feel stupid.
It’s natural for us to want to bludgeon delusional zealotry with logic and science, but cold facts don’t win any supporters. Stories do.
Storytelling and marketing go hand-in-hand. Capture your audience’s attention. – @neilpatel Click To Tweet
2. Make Your About Page About What You Can Do for the Reader
About pages are less about you and more about the reader. Every great About page has these elements:
In the example above, Asprey emphasizes “without counting calories or excessive exercise” and the fact that he could “sleep more efficiently in less time.” These speak to busy, time-strapped, and highly ambitious, entrepreneur-type folks, likely with family. His target customer is likely someone who’s tried all sorts of diets and programs (except for the fundamentals that work, of course) and failed.
By the time you create your About page, you should know exactly whom you’re talking to, who your ideal customer is, so that when they read your About page they feel as if you’re reading their mind.
Asprey lets the reader know that he personally has lost 100 pounds without doing the fussy work of counting calories or doing much exercise — incredible!
Losing weight without effort is always a great selling point (as long as it’s not a load of crock).
You don’t need to throw fancy certifications and education in people’s faces. The reality is, your customer doesn’t care to distinguish one certification from another. It’s the more subtle things like how much weight you’ve lost (or muscle you’ve gained), or the fact that you’re a best-selling author, or an author of a weight loss book (if you help people lose weight).
Overall, Asprey’s About page expresses what he’s able to do for the reader. More importantly, he isn’t selling his coffee, butter, or MCT oil.
He’s selling the reader a better life, whether that’s in the form of an improved physique, lower stress, a more fruitful career, or more available nights and weekends with family and friends.
Following Asprey’s and Goodman’s example here, start by telling people why you’re worth listening to. As Goodman’s two golden rules famously say:
1. Do good work.
2. Make sure everyone knows about it.
Do good work. Make sure everyone knows about it. @Jon_PTDC Click To Tweet
CSCS or ISSN? Who cares!
People want to know how what you’ve accomplished can help them. Did you help 100 people lose a combined total of 1,500 pounds last year? Great, spill it. Helped take four powerlifters to nationals? Awesome, write it down, too.
After letting people know what you’ve done, share why you’re qualified to help. Maybe you can talk about your weight loss or career transformation.
When writing your About page, follow this template for your story:
Step 1. Paint a picture of what life was like before.
Step 2. Describe what you did to change things.
Step 3. Help the reader envision what your life is like now and how they can benefit, too.
The key is to make yourself aspirational but still relatable. Be someone they want to be, but also someone they could imagine is just like them. Show people that they, despite the mountainous hurdles and obstacles, can overcome their adversity and find a way to take control of their health.
3. Sell What People Want to Hear
I can hear you thinking: “How does anyone fall for B.S.?”
The answer is stark: People do. Hell, I did. Most of my friends in the industry did as well.
We like to think we are immune to being fooled by pseudoscience, but even well-educated consumers aren’t safe. People can buy into things simply because someone else said it worked, also known as social proof.
Social proof is the validation of something — your program maybe — based on people having tried and vouched for it. Crowdsourced Yelp reviews is an example of a restaurant’s social proof, for example. This is why transformation photos and testimonials are such a powerful tool for your fitness business. Potential clients want to see the social proof that people just like them can succeed with your help.
Asprey was not trying to target fitness professionals, even if many fitness professionals did stand by his methods. He used social proof from a different niche. Observe:
Here is a guy who’s seen success in education, business, and now in health. His testimony pits Asprey’s suggestions against a doctor’s word, and gives his resulting health markers to show who’s “right.”
Understanding how to use social proof to your advantage can help to connect to your audience where it counts more: in their emotions. Nobody wants any more raw data in their day. They just want results. If you’re not already gathering testimonials from your current clients, you should be. This article by Goodman addresses a good system for getting testimonials.
READ: http://ift.tt/2yuD9mT
This is where your ideal client profile, or avatar, becomes so important. You have to know everything about who you are speaking to in order to know how your words will affect them. Here’s an example of fleshing out your avatar:
A single mother of three
35-45 years old with limited background in nutrition and exercise
She works full time as a regional sales manager for a retail clothing chain and must care for her kids
She has slowly put on 20 pounds over the last 10 years
Diets intimidate her, and she is overwhelmed by the idea of a fitness program
Notice how detailed the profile is. And here’s a sample ad targeted at this avatar:
“You don’t have to uproot your entire life just to lose a little fat. With just small changes over time, you will soon be making better decisions day in and day out. Decisions that will lead to more confidence to launch your career, more energy to spend with your kids, and a better outlook each and every day. Imagine where you could be and how you’ll feel in a month, six months, a year. Imagine, too, the example you can set for your kids when you share your healthy habits for a healthy body and mind.”
With this copy you reassure her that she will have time to succeed. You are giving her autonomy by letting her know her decisions will make change, not your instructions. You also set realistic expectations by not putting a short time window on results.
Your audience needs to know what they can get from your program, sure, but they should know how they will feel after doing it. Derek Halpern of Social Triggers says, “You don’t want to let people come up with their own reason why. If you do, they may come up with something completely different or something that isn’t nearly as powerful as the reason you originally intended.”
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    People don’t buy into Bulletproof merely because it will help them lose weight. They buy into the promise of an improved version of their life.
Be the one to give them that.
Fit pros: Your audience needs to know how they will FEEL after doing your program. @jebjohnston Click To Tweet
4. You Don’t Have to Reinvent the Wheel
Here’s a scene: dinner at Ruth’s Chris steakhouse. Table for three. You, me, and Mr. Asprey. Take a look at the following scenarios and tell me which is an easier sell to a weight loss client:
Scenario 1
I sit down and tell you how you will lose fat and gain muscle with a lot of science and jargon. All you have to do is eat like me. That means five ounces of grilled chicken breast, one cup of plain white rice, and two cups of steamed broccoli. Every day. Plus, hey, look at me, I’m pretty ripped. Check out my abs on Instagram, bro.
Scenario 2
Asprey says nothing. He orders a 14-ounce porterhouse, rare, with two ramekins of butter that he proceeds to melt all over that beautifully marbled piece of choice meat. He savors every butter-y, juicy bite.
He’s not super ripped, but let’s be real: It’s a no-brainer that 99% of clients would flock toward the delicious steak that’ll still allow them to lose weight and lead a better life.
There’s a reason Asprey has a rabid fanbase that is unflinching in their support for the products. But it’s not like he invented anything new; instead, he made something novel. No one had ever thought to put butter in their coffee while claiming it would help people lose weight and gain better focus. No one realized he was just selling a different brand of calorie restriction. His way was sexier and different.
Novelty is one thing, but he also:
Made his entire diet simple and easy to understand. In the Bulletproof diet, there is no counting calories or macros: you just eat until you are full. For someone who is intimidated by the idea of dieting and doesn’t want to think or work so hard, this is very appealing and easy to sell. While you can’t promise your client that they won’t have to work hard, you can make things so easy for them or help them minimize the number of decisions in their day.
Told people what they can and cannot eat. The limitations are very clear. There is no guesswork and no grey area. People typically love boundaries.
As Goodman writes in his book:
“Another lesson that we can take from Bulletproof is how the company has marketed the ketogenic diet. The ketogenic (“keto”) diet is basically a high-fat, moderate protein, low-carb diet. It’s nothing new. Lots of trainers promote ketogenic protocols or promote ketogenic diets as part of their marketing. Most of the coaches who speak about the keto diet describe it as an improvement – a bit better way to eat. Bulletproof, on the other hand, created a new category by changing the name (they called it “the Bulletproof Diet”) and wrote a book about it. In both cases, the company found a way to market something that already existed – coffee without harmful levels of mycotoxins and the ketogenic diet – in a novel and compelling way.”
Key takeaways here? Novelty and simplicity.
When you write articles or share any information on your social media posts, you need to make your information easy to understand and even simpler to do. Make it actionable.
For example, you might tell your clients to drink more water.
OK, good advice, but how?
Actionable advice: Have them put rubber bands on their water bottle. For every full bottle of water they drink, they remove a rubber band and put it on their wrist. The goal is to remove all of the rubber bands from their bottle.
I first learned of this from coach Nick Tumminello, and it’s a great way to take the guesswork out of seemingly good but easily ignored advice. Plus, it’s something that clients can actually act on.
5. Identify What Makes YOUR Products Irresistible
One of the core tenets of the Bulletproof business model is that they look out for you and your health because they’re on your side. Contaminants and mold in “other” coffee products could be poisoning you and causing your daily performance to suffer. Asprey recognized the marketability of information that others also knew but didn’t think was a big deal.
Case in point: At time of writing, the Bulletproof® Upgraded™ Coffee beans retail for $18.95 for a 12-ounce bag on their website.
On Amazon, a 12-ounce bag of organic, fair trade coffee beans from a different brand retails for $7.45. As Goodman pointed out in his book:
“Bulletproof can charge 2.56 times more for their coffee because the company claims that its upgraded coffee has gone through a process to remove something called mycotoxins. Mycotoxins are fungi. There are two specific types that exist in coffee: Ochratoxin A and Aflatoxin B1. Mycotoxins likely cause inflammation, fatigue, and possibly cancer. Ample research backs up the claim that mycotoxins are bad. It’s also true that these fungi are present in most coffee. These upgraded beans seem like an obvious choice.”
Goodman posits that coffee growers have known about mycotoxins for years and have been actively controlling and removing them. The real story is that, yes, mycotoxins can be a threat if consumed in large quantities, but good manufacturing practices keep them at safe levels.
In other words, as Goodman notes, “coffee growers were aware of the same problem as Bulletproof, and they adjusted their agricultural and manufacturing processes to fix the problem; they just didn’t recognize the marketability of it. Coffee remains a commodity competing on price, and Bulletproof has built an empire able to sell it at 2.56 times the market price.”
———
Billions of dollars are spent each year by people hoping for an easy solution to a complex problem. If the legitimate fitness industry hopes to have a chance at combating this hucksterism, it must adapt. Like it or not, posting studies and facts to social media are not changing anyone’s mind.
Help people understand that you are there to see them improve.
Find your way to their level, and find out what drives them. In fact, here’s a visual four-step guide to help you tighten up your messaging:
Click the image below to enlarge, or download the convenient PDF right to your computer to reference at any time. 
    There’s a right and wrong way to build a relationship with your clients.
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