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myherowritings · 3 years

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PART 3. ACCIDENTAL SUGAR DADDY?

SUMMARY. Todoroki Shouto was a wealthy, young CEO who inherited his father’s enterprise. You were a barista at a local cafe who wouldn’t mind some extra cash. One day, Shouto came in during an early morning shift and tipped you such a large sum of money, you were certain it had to have been an accident. To your surprise and complete pleasure: It was not.

PAIRING. ceo!todoroki shouto x barista!reader

WORD COUNT. 2.4k

GENRE. ceo/barista au, fluff, eventual smut

WARNINGS. none in this chapter

A/N. happy new year y’all! :3 i hope you have a good 2021 and here is some flirty ceo!shouto for u to enjoy as we enter the new year hehe ;) thank you for reading and i hope you enjoy! xx sof

SERIES MASTERLIST

“I heard you dropped by this weekend,” you said as a greeting, a playful smile on your lips. “Looking for me?”

If the tips of his ears didn’t tinge pink, you would have guessed Shouto was completely unaffected by your words.

“Mn.” He drew his attention away from your gaze and pointedly adjusted his cufflinks. “Good morning to you too.”

You laughed, accepting you wouldn’t get anything out of your attempt at teasing. “Morning, Shouto. How was your weekend?”

The cafe was quite busy this hour, but Miyazaki took over the other register to alleviate the stress (though, what she really said was so you and pretty boy—who happened to be rich rich—could talk). Whatever the reason, you were glad for a small break whenever you could get it.

“You could say it was busy,” he replied, sounding a bit tired. For the first time since you met him, you actually noticed how exhausted he looked. You wanted to put cucumbers on his eyes and lay his head down on your lap to coax him to sleep. Nonetheless, he smiled softly at you. “And yours? I hope you were able to have time to rest and relax.”

You nodded. “I just slept a lot and caught up on the shows I missed throughout the week.”

“The real way a weekend should be spent.”

His voice was teasing but he didn’t sound mocking. Just...somewhat playful. There was something about his tone that made you want to hear it again.

“Something tells me you need a weekend away where you could just relax and do nothing,” you commented, tapping the back of your pen to your chin. “Do you not have any days off at work?”

He considered this. “Depends what you mean by day off.”

“If you have to ask that, that probably means you don’t have a day off, huh?” you said with a frown, holding your hand over your chest as you sighed dramatically. “You poor thing. Overworked and tired. Maybe I should steal you away one weekend and get you to just relax.”

You were only half-serious.

“Maybe you should,” agreed Shouto, sounding full-serious.

“Maybe I will,” you blurted before you could stop yourself. Maybe you could if you actually had his number… Then, feeling shameful you said, “But, ah, anyway, what can I get for you today? We actually have cheese danishes again!”

His face brightened. “You do? I’ll take five dozen.”

With a laugh you took down his order. You really weren’t sure where all these pastries were going when he bought it, but judging from his expression, you figured it must be somewhere good.

“And for your drink?”

“This time I’ll have a large green tea with almond milk, please.”

You nodded but tilted your head to the side in question. “No coffee with extra shots of espresso today?”

“I add too much sugar and creamer to my coffee,” he admitted sheepishly. “And with all the baked goods I’ve been eating I realized I may have had an excess amount of sweets lately.”

With an understanding laugh you patted his hand that was resting on the counter woefully. “I can definitely relate to that. If too many sweets are bad for you they shouldn’t have made it taste so good.”

Shouto glanced down at where your hands touched, an expression you couldn’t quite discern on his face. Averting your gaze, you quickly pulled your hand back. Was that inappropriate of you? Did he find it too pushy?

“Oh— Sorry about that,” you said, rubbing your elbow with your opposite hand. “Got a bit ahead of myself there.”

“No, it’s fine.” He blinked once. “I didn’t mind.”

Unsure if he meant anything by that and unsure if you were reading too much into things, you simply brushed the topic off and moved on to getting his order in telling him the price.

“Paying by card again, I’m assuming?” you asked before hitting the appropriate button on the screen.

“Correct.”

By now the sight of the sleek and pretty credit card was one you grew rather fond of as he scanned over the payment terminal and signed his name. Was it weird you wanted to examine his signature more closely? Shouto seemed like the type of person who would have a fancy signature that somehow looked like art.

As per routine, you told him his order would be ready for pick up at his right and, before he left the register, he thanked you and gave you another $100.

Did it feel any less strange than the first time he tipped you? Not really, no. But you still weren’t going to complain about a generous tip from a willing customer.

Before he left with his cheese danishes and cup of tea in hand, he stopped by next to you with a small smile.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Y/N.”

You grinned back. “Can’t wait, Shouto!”

— ✩ —

This went on for a whole other week. By this point, he had given you over $1,000 in tip and you were starting to feel like you should give him something in return despite him assuring you he didn’t expect anything.

When you told your friends about the nice guy you met while you were working and they asked for the details, the first thing they said in response to your situation was, “Sugar daddy?”

Before they planted that thought into your head, you just took it as a rich businessman who hated the rich and believed in redistribution of wealth—you couldn’t complain about that. That made him even more appealing, if you must say. But once Kaminari and Ashido whispered those two words, you couldn’t help but see the comparisons.

You had no issues with sugar daddies or sugar babies; as long as they were two consenting adults, what did it matter to you? It just wasn’t something you were looking for at the time and you didn’t want Shouto to get the wrong impression or involve yourself in something you weren’t ready to.

As you commuted to work for your next morning shift, you told yourself today was the day you’d thank him one final time for the tips, but tell him you couldn’t accept anymore. You were sure he’d be understanding but you also hoped it wouldn’t deter him from coming to see you. That was the last thing you’d want.

“Mrs. Miyazaki,” you said between customers. “When Shouto comes in, do you think I can step away from the register to talk to him for a little? I promise it’ll be brief!”

She waved her hand dismissively. “That’s not a problem. Are you finally going to ask him out or something?”

You scratched the back of your neck. “Or something, yeah.”

Thankfully, by the time Shouto arrived today, it was later than he normally came, meaning rush hour was almost dying down.

“Good morning! Someone’s a little late today,” you teased. “Overslept?”

“I wish,” he sighed wistfully. “I had a meeting early this morning and it just ended. Didn’t have a chance to pick up some coffee or pastries beforehand.”

You frowned. “I’m sorry to hear that. I hope whoever was hosting the meeting at least provided you guys drinks and snacks!”

He paused. “He did, but… I just thought yours were better.”

Smiling at the compliment, you preened. “Well, I can’t say I’m not surprised. And I’m glad you were able to drop by still. Would’ve missed you too much otherwise.”

Again, you were only half-serious.

“Hm. I would’ve missed you too.”

And again, he seemed full-serious. Not that you minded.

After taking his order and watching him pay, you pulled him to the side, looking over at your boss so she knew what was going on. She gave you a brief nod as you turned your attention to Shouto.

A lapse of silence went by and he spoke up, “Did you have something you wanted to say?”

“Yeah, actually.” You wrung your fingers nervously, hoping you wouldn’t say anything to offend him since you knew his actions were coming from a kind place. “I just wanted to say… I’m not really looking for a sugar daddy right now.”

He blinked once. Then twice. “Pardon?”

You stared at him, unsure what to say.

“I— Sorry. I wasn’t… It’s not my intention to be a...sugar daddy either.” Shouto’s face flushed a bright pink that made your own cheeks warm up in response.

“But the—the money? I just… I guess I thought…” You winced.

So he wasn’t trying to pick up a sugar baby… Well, this was awkward. But regardless, you think you’ve gotten close enough to him to the point where it would feel weird accepting money from him.

“I’m sorry if I was unclear. It really is just a tip to show appreciation for your service here.”

You shook your head. “No! Sorry, that makes sense! My friends just said… And then I…” you trailed off, feeling a million times more flustered than when you started. “Sorry about that. The sugar daddy mishap aside, I still wanted to say that I really appreciate the tips you gave, but I don’t think I can accept them anymore.”

Slowly, he nodded, adjusting the collar of his dress shirt. “I understand. Did something happen?”

“No, nothing happened!” you were quick to assure. “I really am thankful, but… I think we’ve gotten too close for me to be comfortable accepting that much money, you know?”

Shouto tilted his head to the side, listening intently.

“Like,” you tried to explain, fiddling with your apron, “over the past few weeks I just think we’ve gotten to know each other more and I think of you as a friend of sorts now.” You peered at him through your lashes, hoping your words were making sense. “I think as a relationship develops—for me, at least—adding money into the mix can cause weird power imbalances if not communicated properly. And I just don’t want that for us.”

He thought through your words for a while before agreeing. “I get what you mean. I wouldn’t want to unintentionally make you feel like you owe me anything, so if you’re not comfortable with it, I can stop.”

“Thanks, Shouto,” you said with a beam, glad he was so receptive. Really though, what else did you expect? From your interactions with him you took him to be kindhearted and open. Of course he wouldn’t be upset over this. “But just to be clear, this doesn’t mean you should stop coming! Right? I don’t want to stop being your friend or anything!”

With a small laugh, he nodded. “Sure. I wouldn’t want to part with my favorite cafe. And I’d like to keep being friends as well.”

Those words warmed your heart. You really were nervous about this confrontation earlier; you didn’t want voicing your opinion to mean ending your friendship. (Although, if you sharing what you were comfortable with was enough to end a relationship, then you supposed it was bound to be a toxic and stifling one in the long run and it was good to know in the beginning to end it before it could grow.) Turns out, however, that you didn’t even need to worry about that. He was understanding and sweet and you were glad to have gotten this out of the way.

“Well, as new friends,” you said, gently nudging his side, “maybe we should get to know each other more? Exchange numbers… Hang out outside of this cafe…” You ran through some suggestions, almost bouncing on your feet in excitement. “I mean, I know you’re always so busy and might not have much free time to hang out. But— If you’re ever free one weekend…”

“I’d enjoy that,” he cut in, saving you from blabbering your mouth off and accidentally embarrassing yourself. “Didn’t you say you’d steal me away from work to relax? I’m still holding you to that.”

The beginnings of a smirk formed on his face as he looked at your flustered expression. Was he teasing you?

You huffed, pretending to be insulted by his playful mocking. “Guess I’ll really have to do it then.”

“Guess so.”

“Maybe you should give me your number first so we could plan it.”

“Okay.”

He handed you his phone and you handed him yours, both of your adding your numbers to the contact list. Smiling, you held the phone in front of the two of you to take a contact picture of yourself for Shouto’s phone. To your complete surprise, he laughed before promptly following suit and taking a selfie for his contact image.

“Cute,” you said when he handed you back your phone.

“You too.”

Placing your device back in your pocket, you looked at him, hand on hip. “Since when did you become such a smooth-talker? Am I going to have to guard my heart now?”

His only response was a shrug, but you could see hints of a smile playing on his face. The two of you seemed to be smiling a lot lately, you couldn’t help but notice.

“I should probably let you go to work now—and I should go back to mine.” You gestured to the growing line at the front of the store. Your manager looked like she had things under control, but you didn’t want to take advantage of her kindness. “You should text me later though. If you want.”

“I’ll do that,” Shouto promised, picking up his drink and pastry boxes from the side counter. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Y/N. And… I’ll message you soon.”

As you watched him leave the store, you were certain you had a silly look on your face as you stared in a trance.

“I’ll turn my phone off silent just for you!” you said to his back, hoping he understood what a momentous occasion this was. Your phone was always on silent (unless you were playing a game, of course). But for Shouto, you could handle hearing the obnoxious ringtone and text tone.

With an amused expression he nodded before waving goodbye.

Later on that day, at the end of your shift, you noticed a new message from a certain someone that made your stomach flutter.

Shouto: Hi there. It’s Shouto :)

You never knew those four simple words would be enough to keep the grin plastered on your face up until the moment your head hit your pillow to fall asleep. But, damn— Were you glad that happened to be the case.

a/n: whY WAS SHOUTO AND Y/N EXCHANGING NUMBERS SO CUTE idk that scene got me all blushy and :DDD HFJDKSF like taking a selfie with shouto and getting his number? only goal in life BFHFGF,, also y/n said no more tips how we feeling? ;o

what to expect in the next part:

an unwanted visitor ಥ_ಥ

shouto has a...proposition for y/n

FLIRTING FLUFF SO MUCH CUTENESS U MIGHT CRY

y/n struggles with their fEeLiNGs~

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yonkimint · 3 years

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So Show Me, I’ll Show You

Part 28.2

This part has written parts with pictures in between.

Previous — Masterlist — Next

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When you come to, the lights are too bright overhead like someone is shining a laser beam directly into your pupil. You splutter and groan, squeezing your eyes tightly shut. Someone is leaning over you, smoothing hair back from your face and speaking words you don’t understand.

“Don’t,” you moan, “I can’t take it anymore.”

“y/n? My name is Doctor Yang. You’re safe now,” a gentle voice says but it sounds like it’s coming through a tunnel. They keep talking and whoever is stroking your hair moves to pat your cheek. An image of Mark holding a knife flashes against the back of your eyelids.

Somewhere far away, someone starts screaming. The bright light and the pressure of the hand on your hair disappear and you fall back into the safety of the dream they’ve awoken you from. This memory you have shared with no one and it’s, perhaps, the safest one of them all.

The delicate strum of the guitar combined with your already drained emotions has your eyes drifting shut. Somewhere in the back of your mind you remember that Yoongi wants your opinion on this song and you make a mental note to tell him it’s the most beautiful song you’ve ever heard.

You barely register when Yoongi stops playing but you rouse a little when you realize he’s come to sit next to you on the couch. The two of you have never been this close before and you can feel the heat radiating off his skin.

You have a feeling if you ‘wake up,’ he’ll back off so you keep your eyes closed and wait to see what he’ll do.

He clicks his tongue and sighs almost like he’s scolding himself and you force yourself to keep your face free of emotion. You’d like to know what’s going through his brain but you don’t dare give away that you’re awake.

Soft fingertips brush your cheekbone, tracing the tear swollen skin beneath your eyes, and move to tuck a fallen strand of hair behind your ear. You can’t help the gentle sigh that comes from your lips and you hope he attributes it to a dream you’re having.

This feels like a dream.

“Why can’t I get you out of my head?” Yoongi whispers. Your heart leaps into your throat. He’s been thinking about you too?

You almost jump when he wraps his arm around you and pulls you out of the ball you’ve been curled in. This would be the perfect time to pretend you’ve woken up but you still want to know what he’ll do. It’s taking all your best acting skills but you let out an indignant moan and fall against his shoulder.

He laughs, the sound of it making your whole body tingle. “You silly, beautiful girl,” he whispers, turning his face so his lips brush the crown of your head, his breath warm against your scalp.

His palm presses gently against your cheek and his thumb skates the skin beneath your lower lashes again. You squirm a little, taking liberties as if you were asleep, and he must believe you are because he keeps whispering the things he won’t say to you out loud.

“I know I said we can’t be friends…” he trails off. You crack your eyes open just a sliver and peer through your eyelashes as if you will discover what has interrupted his thoughts. He sighs and his hand moves from your face, his fingers curling in your loose hair.

“I know that,” he says again, “but I hope you can tell how badly I am lying.”

You hope he can’t feel the warmth rising in your cheeks.

The press of something warm against your face has you convulsing again. You think you might scream again, anything to stop whatever pain you’ve been roused for, but you find that your fear response has been replaced with anger. How dare he take you away from that dream? How dare he take you away from Yoongi?

How dare Yoongi take himself away from you too?

You are so angry, you try to jerk away but find that you’ve been strapped down, every limb suspended in place and your head locked. Hot, fat tears well in your eyes and spill down from the corners to drench your hair. Vainly, you give a thought to how awful you must look in your final moments and that pisses you off too.

“Just get it over with, you asshole,” you spit.

“Baby,” a voice whispers in your ear, so familiar to you and so absolutely not Mark that your eyes snap open. You wince at the bright lights overhead and groan. Yoongi is leaning over you, smoothing your hair back from your forehead and smiling so sweetly that a deep ache fills your chest. You have missed him.

“It’s okay,” he tells you, his free hand coming up to wipe away the flood of salty liquid still dripping from your eyes, “You’re okay. He can’t hurt you anymore.”

You blink at him. You aren’t sure how Yoongi got here — or how you got here, honestly — but all the emotions you have been put through today come to a head and you settle on anger once more. You glare at him, this boy who has pushed you away and abandoned you until this very moment when it is almost too late. His smile falters and you can’t say you aren’t happy to see it.

“Oh, you can get it over with too, you asshole,” you spit again, “Jimin said you went all the way to Daegu to get away from me. You didn’t have to come all the way back just because I almost died. A breakup text would have been fine.”

They’ve given you painkiller and you can tell because you’re starting to ramble but you can’t stop. You desperately wish you could fall back into your dream where Yoongi would hold you and whisper the sweet things. You don’t want to be awake for this part.

“y/n, I know you’re mad—”

“MAD?” you screech, “Mad is an understatement. How are you gonna abandon me when that’s the ONE THING you were so afraid I was gonna do to you? Mad, tch! Why did you even come back? How did you get in here?”

“Do you…?” he trails off, looking very uncertain and suddenly very boyish. Your heart thumps uncomfortably in response. He’s making that little pout that has had girls swooning for a decade and suddenly you notice the cut across his cheekbone and the bruise blossoming across the bridge of his nose.

You jerk against your restraints to grab his face but you are securely locked in place. He presses his lips together and finishes his question, “Do you want me to leave?”

“No!” you nearly shout, “What happened to your face?”

His hand springs back from your face and he goes to touch a cut at the corner of his mouth that you failed to notice. He must see the frantic look in your eyes because he is quick to shrug it off, “It’s nothing. I got into a little confrontation on my way up here. I’m fine. Honestly, you should look in the mirror because you really look like shit.”

He’s deflecting. You’ll allow it for the moment because the longer you are out of your delusions, the more you realize you actually are safe, and now you have other questions that need answering.

“Gee, thanks, pretty sure my psycho ex-manager just tried to kill me so I would expect nothing less,” you tell him sardonically, “You wouldn’t happen to know how I got out of that mess, would you?”

He smiles, relief flooding his features that you aren’t pressing him about his own injuries, and says, “Well, I was on the train back from Daegu when the girls found you missing. They thought one of the boys had tried to break you out of jail but they were secretly trying to keep you here too until I could get here—”

You cut him off, “What do you mean until you got there? Is that why Jimin was taking so long? You were really coming back to break up with me?”

You can’t help it. The tears are welling up in your eyes again. His eyes bug out and his hands are suddenly aflutter around your face as if there’s some secret button hidden there that he can push to stop you from crying. He wipes at your eyes and then carefully presses both palms to either side of your face, making you look at him.

“Are you stupid?” he asks. Your despair shifts back into rage but he doesn’t give you time to speak, “I was coming back for you. Because I was stupid to have ever left you in the first place and I was coming to beg you for your forgiveness and to promise you that I would never leave you again unless you wanted me to go. And to tell you that I love you.”

You squirm, trying to alleviate the sudden soaring of butterflies in your core, but it disturbs your injuries which suddenly light up in flames of pain. Yoongi sighs, peeling one hand from your face to press his palm flat against your stomach so you’ll stop moving. It doesn’t stop the butterflies from their maddening dance.

“You are a terrible boyfriend,” you mumble. He nods in agreement.

“The absolute worst. I’m so, so sorry, y/n. I should have been here with you. I should never have left your side from the moment I dropped you off from the arcade. Then you wouldn’t be like… this.”

You see the glassy look come into his eyes and the lump bobbing in his throat and you realize he’s about to start crying too. He’s been blaming himself for this awful chain of events ever since that night and he never gave you the chance to tell him it was always inevitable.

You wish you could lift your arms and pull him down against you. That you could stroke your fingers through his hair and calm the ache that must be tearing through his chest. You frown at him and ask, “Are you stupid?”

“What?!”

“You cannot blame yourself for anything that Mark does. If you had been there that night, that guy could’ve killed you. If you had been here at the hospital, Mark still would have come. He still would have waited until I was all alone and he would have taken me. This wouldn’t have turned out any different so stop blaming yourself.

“It’s probably not even your fault that Mark found me in the first place. If he had Lauren’s twitter and Lauren’s phone number, that means he probably found me months ago. He’s probably known all along. He was just waiting for the perfect moment, okay? There was nothing you could have done,” you tell him.

He takes a moment to consider this and then lets out a long sigh, “I should have been here.”

“You should have,” you agree, “Speaking of my would be murderer, what happened?”

“Oh,” Yoongi says as if he has completely forgotten about that asshole, Mark, and then he scowls, “Well, the police arrested him and I actually caught him in the elevator on my way up to you… which is why my face looks like this.”

“Yoongi!!” you cry.

He throws his head back and laughs, “It was worth it! Honestly, y/n, you should see his face. These are actually from one of the police officers trying to get me off of him. Mark looks a lot worse!”

“He’s gonna sue you for assault,” you scold him, wishing more than ever that you could reach for his face and erase the marks left there.

“That’s fine,” Yoongi says with a shrug, “I’m rich, remember? And nobody is going to be upset with me for throttling a man who tried to murder my girlfriend. I won’t even get negative press over this, okay? And it made me feel a lot better knowing he was hurting after what he did to you. He’ll never hurt you again.”

His nostrils are flared and there is hatred in his dark eyes. You sigh, upset that he risked getting hurt for you but so overwhelmed by the fact that he cares enough for you to have done it in the first place.

“I love you, Yoongi” you whisper.

Your words catch him off guard and he stares down at you blankly for a long moment. You wait, patient for the first time in your life, for your words to register and when they do, he breaks out in his wide, gummy grin.

“I know you’re still mad at me,” he starts, his fingers fiddling the fabric of the hospital gown at your waist. There’s a fire starting down there that makes you want to squirm for relief but you don’t dare move. He presses his lips together, thinking carefully of how to make his request, and asks, “Do you think I could start making it up to you?”

You raise an eyebrow. “I suppose that would be acceptable.”

He leans down, the one hand still pressed to your stomach, the other gently caressing your face, and presses his lips softly to yours. He’s kissed you before. Shy kisses in his bed the night you finally confessed your feelings to each other and more frenzied makeouts in dark corners of loud arcade rooms. Coffee laced kisses on early mornings. Lazy kisses in his studio that you’ve mentioned to no one.

But you are determined that this one should top all the others.

You open your mouth to let his tongue tangle with yours and sigh when his fingers move to loop not so gentle knots in your hair. Your fingers curl, aching to hold him but secured firmly at your sides, and you break the kiss briefly to whine at him about the straps holding you down.

He laughs a husky, breathless chuckle that catches in his throat. It’s not fair that he holds all the power in this exchange though, and you demand to be freed. Kissing the tip of your nose affectionately, he loosens the strap around your torso just enough for you to slip your arms free.

You do, snaking them around his neck, your fingers tangling in the soft hair at the base of his neck as you pull him as close to you as you can manage. It is a mixture of pain and pleasure as the weight of him jostles your injuries but you don’t want him anywhere else.

Your lips meet again hungrily and you don’t waste time parting them. Your tongues dance as if they’re meeting for the first time and a low moan hums in your throat. Yoongi pulls back, his dark eyes fiery with his desire for you.

“Oh god, y/n,” he gasps, “You can’t make noises like that when you’re injured like this. I’m going to get carried away and forget to be gentle with you.”

You only laugh and coax his lips back down to yours. You’d like to trace your lips across his jaw… and down his neck… and lower… and lower… but you settle for letting him explore your mouth instead. His hand, splayed across your stomach, begins to explore too and the fire in your core grows almost too intense.

You gently bite at his lip, a warning to cool it when you both know you can’t go much farther than this in the condition you’re in. He pulls back, whispering an apology against your lips, and you decide to offer him a promise in return, “I heal fast, sir. And when I do, I don’t want you to be gentle with me at all.”

He whimpers and it’s all the satisfaction you need.

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nikmikaelsonswife · 3 years

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Alaric’s in Love with You but Klaus Was Your One and Only

contains s5 TO spoilers that you’ve probably seen before since you’re on tumblr. set in legacies.

It started when Hope returned to Mystic Falls with you in tow, someone Alaric hadn’t seen in over a decade. You’d changed; physically and mentally. Your hair was darker and shorter, brushing your shoulders as well as your eyes had lost that pretty, dangerous sparkle. You were less extroverted, but that was understandable since you had gone through tremendous heart break.

It also didn’t help that you’d returned to a place that once was your home, the changes having a much heavier and worse effect on you than you had anticipated. You’d spent a great deal of time staring at the Stefan Salvatore Memorial plac, reliving the past, not even having the courage to enter the library.

The way you closed off was only half the reason Alaric and you hadn’t slipped back into old habits. The other was that frankly, it wasn’t easy for him to trust a Salvatore, much less a Mikaelson. You just so happened to be both; the woman who brought the two vampire families together. He didn’t see that as good in any way, shape or form.

He’d never had an issue with you, it was always your brothers, husband and his family stirring the pot and setting paths of destruction in their wake. It was rare for you to aid in it voluntarily, but at the end of the day, you were still a vampire. No matter how much you tried to avoid darkness and evil, you couldn’t hide from something that was apart of who you were.

But then again, he hadn’t seen you in so long. It was before you had officially moved to New Orleans, before you had truly began to cope with Stefan’s death and before you had helped in raising a child. Now you had gone through all of that, along with losing the love of your life and it didn’t take you opening up to him to notice that you weren’t the same person.

Out of nearly two centuries, the past decade had been the worst of your life as well as the best. You’d grown so much and Alaric couldn’t say that he didn’t like who you had become.

He was surprisingly able to set aside your supernatural nature enough to grow quite fond of you. With the help of the people around you, the distraction of being co-headmaster and weekly phone calls with Damon, you were able to break through the grief-stricken shell you’d built around yourself. It allowed Alaric to truly see you again.

At your core, you were still (Y/N), the woman he bantered with in the early morning hours in his office over take out that you had convinced him on buying. The woman who would shout, “YES,” when she’d crack a case all on her own, flashing him a breathtakingly gorgeous smile that made his heart flutter.

He could still pinpoint the day you took your wedding ring off on a calendar, stating that, “I can’t go on everyday with this reminder. I need to live my life.” He knew that was hard for you, since you had refused to take it off for a full two years following Klaus’ death. Perhaps, it meant something.

His brain would turn to mush every time you pulled him in for a hug after a particularly dangerous day, or when you’d catch him staring and give him a quizzical almost smug look. He had a hard time in controlling how his pulse would quicken up when near you, aware that if you listened for it, you’d hear it.

You were far from dumb, as well as the students attending the school. His daughters often gave him a look when they’d catch him acting weird and Hope had even cornered him asking if he had a thing for you with a threatening look on her face.

“I do not have a thing for Dr. Salvatore...”

“Salvatore-Mikaelson,” Hope corrected, arms crossed over her chest. She could see through his bullshit and both of them knew it.

“Look,” she sighed, “(Y/N) is like a mother to me. I’ve known her all my life. For your sake and for hers, I’m going to be completely honest. I doubt she’ll ever get over my dad.”

Sincerity shone in her eyes, a slight frown in her brow. “You didn’t get the chance to but I saw them together. Nothing could match up to what they had. They were soulmates. She doesn’t want anyone else.”

Alaric cleared his throat, briefly adverting his gaze to the floor. “I..I..” He stumbled over his words, unaware of what to say. Deep down, it wasn’t what he wanted to hear. But he couldn’t let his façade drop.

“Have a good day, Hope.”

He’d sat down in his office to mull over her words, pulling a hand over his face every time he’d get too caught up in his thoughts.

If what Hope told him was the case, then what about the little flirtatious glances? Or the way you snuggled into him when you fell asleep in his office that one night?

A small smile tugged at his lips when he thought about how you had berated him after he went off on his own to fight a monster. You had been fuming, eyes watery, yelling about how he was only human and a selfish jackass to not think about all the people who cared about him.

How you cared about him.

He hadn’t felt the way he did since Jo died, not even for Caroline, and it was one he had missed. One he’d been harboring for months and he felt like it was time to confess. If his feelings were requited, he couldn’t imagine a better future than that, a better feeling than that. It was all he was focused on when he said those three little words.

“I..I like you. A lot.”

It was one night when the two of you had gotten a little carried away with the liquor stored underneath your desk. You were snuggled up against him on the couch, but thought nothing of it. Unlike Alaric.

Brows furrowing, it took you a moment to register his words due to the sleepy haze and the alcohol coursing through your system. And when you did, the tension alleviated from your shoulders before you lightly punched him in his. “I like you too. A lot.”

He shook his head, throwing caution and anxiety to the wind before he clarified. “(Y/N), I’m in love with you.”

His eyes were closed so he couldn’t see the way you froze. “I have been for a while. You’re sweet, loving, unbelievably beautiful and an amazing friend. Being co-headmaster with you, seeing you with everyone...I couldn’t help but imagine a life with you by my side officially.”

“You don’t have to say anything,” his eyes fluttered open, which is when he noticed that you had moved away. His heart dropped at that. “I don’t want you to feel pressured...”

“Alaric.” You interjected, fingers toying with the N necklace dangling from your neck; the necklace that was always hidden underneath your shirt, which Alaric hadn’t noticed you still wore until now.

And that combined with the melancholy expression on your face made his stomach churn in fear and realization. He’d made a huge mistake.

Inhaling deeply, you contemplated on what to say. “I like you, Alaric.” His eyebrows raised, hope glistening in his gaze but you quickly shot that down. “But this can’t happen.”

His gaze softened as you stood up from the couch. “It’s not fair to you. I can’t be that woman for you, for Lizzie and Josie.”

“I’m not expecting anything from you...”

“Apparently you are since you told me that you’re in love with me!” Both of you were shocked by your outburst and you quickly apologized, “I’m sorry. I’m overwhelmed.”

A moment of tense silence ensued as you stared at the ground, hyperaware of his gaze on your face. “Klaus was different.” You suddenly spoke, bottom lip quivering as the feelings you had buried resurfaced, “I thought I was going to spend eternity with him.”

“I understand that.” He leaned forward, “I felt the same when Jo died. And it took me a while to move on. I can wait.”

You lifted your gaze to lock it with his. “I wouldn’t ever ask that of you.”

“You’re not asking, I’m just stating. I understand if you need time.” Tears began to gather on your lashes, fingers threading through your hair as you sighed. He was making it more difficult than it already was. You didn’t want to break his heart.

“I still cry in the shower, Al! And when I’m not crying, I’m talking to my dead husband!” Your eyes were wide, voice loud and shaking as you stifled your cries. “I continue to dwell on the past. I dream about him every night. Hell, I even write in a journal about him.”

“After almost three years, I’m still mourning as if I lost him yesterday. And I know for a fact that it will always be like that.”

He stood up at that, his face contorted into a incredulous expression. “But what about the looks you give me? Or the cuddling? You can’t tell me that didn’t mean anything.”

“That’s how I’ve always reacted when a man was interested in me! I thought it was a short term thing or that you wanted to get in bed with me. But just that.”

“It’s not just that. I love you.”

Your heart broke even further at how those words made your stomach churn. “Please. Don’t.” Hatred boiled in your chest as you were upset with him. Upset that he’d ruined a strong bond that took years to build, that you wouldn’t be able to find comfort in your friendship anymore.

“Klaus will always be the man my heart belongs to. He was my one and only. He was my soulmate.”

“You have to stay here and take care of Hope.” He swiped his thumb across your wet skin, “Don’t worry, my love, I’ll be waiting for you on the other side.”

The word echoed in his head, a memory of his conversation with Hope crossing his mind. Soulmate. “(Y/N)...”

“I’m sorry, Alaric.” He internally grimaced at the absence of his nickname and he found himself wondering if the relationship he had with you would ever be the same. Found himself acknowledging that he, in fact, ruined it.

It made him angry as well. He needed you just as much as you needed him.

Your fingers wrapped around the doorknob, “You deserve someone special, Alaric. That someone just can’t be me.”

#i don’t know why i wrote this #i was just watching legacies and got the idea #i was mourning klaus don’t judge me lmfao #klaus mikaelson #alaric saltzman #klaus mikaelson x reader #the vampire diaries #the originals #legacies

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everyhowlmarksthedead · 4 years

Text

❛ JUST ONE NIGHT ❜

Part III

with Johnny ‘Coco’ Cruz.

Warnings: angst af, not sorry.

Word count: 2k

Chapter Index.

Aurora says: this writing hasn't been edited, you may find some grammar mistakes, I'm sorry about that!

Gif credits: @fromthesixteenthfloor

Masterlist.

Maybe you should have accepted the invitation from Mardi, your best friend, staying at Santo Padre instead of occupying your parent's house in San Diego. But the pain was too strong to stay there, with the risk of finding Coco walking through the streets or driving his motorbike. You haven't known anything about him for the past five days, and if you've been about to call him hundreds of times, fortunately you haven't. The one who has tried to put in contact with you has been Bishop. He has called for the last two days. But, what would have solved answering the call? Probably nothing. So you just let your phone ring, having a sip from the last bottle of tequila left.

Alcohol isn't the solution, but it's enough to hush your demons, alleviate the pain and make you sleep. So you have been drowned in a bucle of drinking the mexican drink for excellence the whole day, until your body asks you to stop and the hangover hits your head with painful lashes. Since you met him, you have been dreaming about a life together, about trips, about days at home doing nothing, about helping him every time he feels down. About whatever. But he was right. You knew about club shit when you started dating. What you weren't expecting was the kind of things he told you last time you were together. You don't need Coco to be on you the whole time, but if you read your text messages, every twenty yours there's one from him just sayin ‘yeah’ and ‘no’. That's all.

He wasn't busy with his own business to see what he was doing, and you were living it. You were sleeping alone, not knowing anything about his situation. You were passing the days alone, waiting for anything, with the anxiety and the sadness oppressing anatomy, squeezing your heart without mercy. But you loved him. You kept trying to hold him, to save him somehow, until you understood that there's no salvation for someone who doesn't want to be saved.

Cleaning a wild tear, you step out from the sofa, grabbing your house keys and your credit card to get out from it. You truly look like a mess, wearing a pair of long grey sweatpant, a white long shirt and some sneakers. Your hair is tied in an undone bump, no makeup in your face, but two black marks under your eyes. Almost dragging your feet on the ground, you lead your steps to the nearest shop to buy more tequila and maybe something to eat, because you have forgotten when was the last time you had a decent meal.

“Do you know what you're gonna tell her?” Angel drives by his side and behind Bishop, Tranq and Taza, highing his voice over the engine's buzz.

“No!” He just utters under the black bandana.

It only took Miguel five minutes to find you, after checking that you didn't cross the border to Tijuana and that your parent's house in San Diego was having in use the electric and water suministers. Packer sent someone to assure that you were really there, before giving Bishop the green light. Coco has never been more nervous than today, about to reach the place, trying to not think in a speech. He wants to tell you what he really feels from heart, without planning absolutely nothing. He wants to be sincere with you and finally break down the walls around him to let you come in. The last days have been an odyssey for him, being controlled every single second by the crew to not do any crazy shit, after hearing him asking to let him die. And, of course, it's going to be worse in case you declined the idea of coming back to Santo Padre with him, giving Coco a second chance. That's what it hurts the most, the fact that he believes you're not going to open him the door or, if you do, it's going to ask him to go to hell.

Reaching the white house with a blue rooftop, the Mayans park their bikes next to the sidewalk, under the attentive, confused and scared gazes from your neighbors. Getting up from them and taking off the helmets, to leave them over the seats, Angel palms his back trying to cheer him up and give him the strength and the motivation he needs to begin walking through the paved road breaking the garden in two sides. Brushing his hair back, followed by his brothers, he takes a long breath before calling the doorbell. One time, two times… Eight times. Coco understands that you don't want to see him, huffing resigned, but when he's about to turn around and leave the porch, Angel forces him to keep trying.

“Mami… It's me, Coco”. He says biting his bottom lip and licking his incisors. No answer. “Listen, I just… 'am sorre' 'bout all the shit I made. 'Bout pushing you away, 'bout talking you with those… fuckin' manners and 'bout forgetting the most special day of my life. 'Am so fuckin' sorry”.

Nothing. Not a single sound by the other side of the door.

“Keep trying, Coco”. Gilly whispers narrowing his left shoulder.

“Yo, ah… 'am fuckin' sorre'... I know you deserve better. I know you deserve someone who lives for you, for makin' you happy, for takin' care of you, and I know I didn'. And maybe it's too late to regret but… I will keep the promise of changin', of being a better man for you. The one you deserve. Just… fuck, please… Give me a second chance”. His voice breaks as he talks, feeling the tears piling up in his eyes because he doesn't have any answer from you. “Lis—Listen. Prez gave me some time out an—”.

“Yes, I did, kid”. Bishop interrupts him for a second, trying to be helpful.

“And you know… You have told me a lot of times that… you wou—would like to go to Disney and… I was thinken' about… goin'. Together. Onle' you and me, (Y/N). We can go on my bike, or… or in your car, or… use mine… I don' care, I don' give a shit, I will carry you from Cali to Orlando walking if you ask me for”.

Coco is about to cry from one time to another, feeling Angel gently caressing his back. He, better than anyone, knows how much he loves you and how much he cares about you. And maybe his friends didn't do the correct thing with you, but he's badly trying to fix up things between you two.

“Do you… Do you know that if yo—you shout ‘Andy is comen'’ all those… idiots from Toy Story have to fall down? Jus—Just imagine us sitting on a bench… screaming it the whole time, or… following them around the park…”

The guys can't help but chuckle, because they know you two are really capable of spending a day like that. Like two children.

“And you can… put me one of these... fuckin' Mickey's ears. I promise I won't complain”. He sighs bowing his head down, with a disgusting pain getting installed inside his throat. “And… there are a lot… of things about Marvel too… and shows and… a lot of things”.

Coco is breaking into pieces being ignored by you, starting to cry like a hurt kid. He's aware he has lost the best person he could find on earth. His soulmate. His best friend. He knows that it's only his fault. He can't blame his family, nor the club. Because it was enough to sleep with you at home, instead of staying at the scrapping. It was enough texting you one time a day.

“Fu—Fuck, mami, 'am realle' sorre'... You don' have to say something now… but, I don' know… maybe in some days. Now 'am feelin' what you felt and… it's a damn shit… 'am fuckin' sorre', I swear. I never meant to… you through this”. Hardly sniffing and barely breathing, he cleans the tears running down his face. “I will… stay around, in a hotel… if you wanna call me, or… maybe see me to talk alone… I don' know… whatever you want… Or, if you want me to go… ju—just tell me and I will… leave you in peace”.

“Let's go, Coco…”Taza says, placing a hand on his nape.

“No, no… What if I ju—just wait here, till she opens me the door?”

“It's better if you give her some time to think about it”. Bishop shakes his head for a second.

“Yeah, but… what if I ju—I just stay here? Maybe she… doesn't want to talk 'bout us because you're here”. He insists, but Angel is not going to let him do that, surrounding his shoulders with an arm.

“She will call you, hermano. You will see, ah? Seein' you on Mickey's ears worth it.” The oldest Reyes says then, turning around to come back to their bikes.

You are there. Standing up in silence at the beginning of the garden. You have been there the whole time, listening every word Coco said. His wide eyes are fixed on yours, holding a box of Don Julio between your arms, and a big cardboard bag full of doughnuts of different flavors hanging from your closed teeth. Angel pushes him with both palms on his back, forcing his brother to walk towards you. Spitting the bag over the box of tequila, EZ comes closer to grab them and free your hands, before throwing your keys to his old brother.

“The kitchen is at the end of the hallway”. You just say, waiting for them to come in.

“(Y/N), 'am so—”.

“I heard everything you said”. Interrupting him, you close both arms over your chest, wrinkling your nose. Trying to process everything. “The night of our anniversary, I was about to ask you to marry me. One day I went to the clubhouse and heard you talking with Angel, because you were scared of me thinking you were crazy for proposing. So, I was about to do it”.

“I wan'et. I wanna marry you and… being together all my life”.

“You fucked me up badly, Johnny. Really fucking bad”.

“I know, I know… But, please. Gimme a last chance, ain't fuck it up again. And I know you don' believe me, I get it, I earned that shit, but I will show you every day, mami. No more nights out of our home. No more days without calling or texting you, I will do it every hour. And I will not… talk to you again like a fuckin' shit”. He looks and sounds sincere, with his reddened eyes begging you. And you're conscious that Coco is as destroyed inside as you are. “Please…”

Heavily sighing and rubbing your forehead, you lean forward to kiss his cheek, before surrounding him with both arms to hug him tightly.

“I fuckin' love you, (Y/N)”. He cries now, collapsing under your grip without can't avoid it.

“I know, Coquito”. You whisper caressing his messy hair, pushing him closer.

Feeling him again is like coming back to life, kissing once and once his face and trying to clean his tears, breaking you a little watching him like that. Clinging his hands in your thighs, he urges you to wrap his waist with both legs.

“And of course I want to marry you, shithead”. You say, making him chuckle between tears, sinking his face into your neck.

“I love you more than anythen', I swear to God. And I will… make you happy as you deserve”.

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justmaybee · 3 years

Text

To Stop a Fight (Before It Starts)

Summary: Jiro and Saburo have been acting strange recently. Ichiro is about to find out why.

A/N: Y’know when you get an idea that just won’t leave you alone till you do something about it? Yeah, that’s this. Buster Bros too, who would’ve thought?

———

Ichiro is confused — very, very confused.

Like, he can’t pretend he understands his brothers all the time, twenty four-seven. Sometimes Saburo gets all technical, talking jargon Ichiro’s never heard of. Sometimes Jiro gets overexcited, speaking so fast that his stories get jumbled up and hard to follow. It doesn’t matter, Ichiro will always lend an ear and hear them out.

But he can’t do that if they’re...hiding something from him.

The thought inches its way into Ichiro’s head, and it makes his stomach turn. He presses his lips together against the small wave of nausea.

It just doesn’t sound right. Jiro? Saburo? Hiding something from him?

He may not understand his brothers all the time, but they’re everything to him. He knows them better than anyone, and vice versa. It’s them against the world.

So the idea that they’re keeping something from him is...off-putting.

He links his fingers, pushing them up over his head. The crack in his spine alleviates a load of pressure on his back and the relief is audible in his groan. He’s not cut out for all this computer work. Saburo really is a talented kid.

He stands up, wobbling for a second, before stepping out from behind the desk. Research can wait, he needs a snack.

He steps over to a cabinet, stuffed full of junk foods. Not the healthiest thing, but you grab what you can when you’re working on a job. He stares blankly at the bags and boxes, slipping back into thought.

He’s definitely being a little dramatic. They still get together and throw around some lines for practice every night. His brothers still come to him whenever something’s happened at school or during a mission. They live together, of course, and if it were a really big deal they’d have a hard time hiding something even if they wanted to.

Sometimes Ichiro can get a little tired of their bickering and back and forth, but he likes to think he’s become someone reliable, especially to his little brothers.

So no, he’s not that worried.

But then what has been up with them recently?

He only started noticing this last week, but a part of him thinks it could be stretching back further than that. A bunch of separate events, but he knows they have to be connected. Call it a hunch. It just all revolves around those two fighting and then going silent.

Like a week ago, Ichiro remembers them kicking around a soccer ball on the street. The way Jiro’s eyes lit up when they saw it, a little deflated and worse for wear off to the side, made Ichiro laugh. And neither him nor Saburo could even dream about outplaying Jiro, but that wouldn’t stop them from trying.

It was a lot of fun, more fun than Ichiro could’ve thought really. And by the time the sun was getting low, and Ichiro was calling out that they’d have to head home, both him and Saburo were feeling a little worn out. Jiro was still dribbling the ball like he could do it all night.

And of course, Jiro decided to shoot a cocky comment to Saburo, who lashed back immediately, always ready for a fight. Ichiro’s lived through a million of these squabbles and he’s sure to see a million more, so he didn’t give it much attention, heading down the street back to their place.

He had no doubt that they’d follow behind, but he did turn to peek when he heard a shout from Jiro. He was afraid Saburo had started pinching him again, but that wasn’t the case. At least, he didn’t think so.

Because what he saw was Jiro doing a fast jog to catch up to him, while Saburo stepped at a leisurely place behind. Not weird, but the wide-eyed expression on Jiro’s face and the satisfied smirk on Saburo’s made Ichiro a little suspicious.

Fast forward to the weekend. Two? Maybe three days ago? Jiro and Saburo were giving Ichiro the run down of a job they had finished up. Nothing too crazy, but enough that Ichiro felt more comfortable sending them out as a pair.

The job itself went off without a hitch, as expected, but the debrief was chaotic in its own right. Jiro gave most of the points, but Saburo was very generous with his corrections and notes. Sometimes they were helpful, more often than not they were nitpicks that had Ichiro wanting to laugh and sigh at the same time.

Jiro was starting to get a little flustered, eyes narrowing in annoyance by the end. When Saburo gave another quip, it looked like Jiro was really ready to grab a pillow off the couch and slug him with it.

Instead...

“Nii-chan, I think my phone’s about to die. Could you hand me the charger?”

Ah, yeah. Jiro’s phone did have a battery issue. They should really think about upgrading it.

Ichiro spun around in his chair, looking over the back desk for a charger and jumping in his seat at a pitchy yell from Saburo. He rolled his eyes and grabbed the cord, ready to lecture Jiro on why smothering Saburo with a pillow is not a good comeback but—

Jiro...wasn’t smothering Saburo with a pillow. Surprisingly. No, he was sitting back against the couch, arms crossed with a smile on his face that made Ichiro immediately check up on their youngest brother.

He was...fine.

A little pouty, hair maybe a little mussed up. Also leaning back against the couch, but his posture—

He was almost—how to put it—curled up?

Ichiro can’t remember if he had his feet up on the couch before, but between his knees being pulled to his chest and his arms wrapped tight around them...

Jiro chose that moment to keep explaining, so Ichiro gave him his full attention. But he started picking up on their pattern.

The three of them are together. Either Jiro or Saburo starts picking on the other (nothing new there). Then one of them shouts, like they’re about to start yelling at each other, but—

Nothing. Silence.

They break up the fight before it’s even happened. And Ichiro doesn’t have to say a word.

This should be a good thing. It is a good thing.

Right?

It means they’re maturing. Growing up. Taking Ichiro’s words to heart and moving past their constant bickering and fights...

Ichiro shuts the cupboard. With a little more...force than necessary, if the avalanche of snacks he can hear means anything.

Okay, so he’s not exactly sure what any of it means, but he is sure of one thing.

He spins around to shut the computer off. Everything is saved, and Saburo can get back anything that isn’t anyways. He kicks the chair in place and grabs his keys, spinning them around one finger as he steps towards the door.

He needs to see his brothers.

———

Ichiro loves their city, loves Ikebukuro with all he’s got, but there’s nothing quite like their own home. It took a lot of time and money. It took doing things he hopes his brothers will never have to stoop to. But it’s theirs, and Ichiro can’t help but breathe a sigh of relief whenever he steps through the door.

Tonight though he’s cut off by a scream that has his blood running cold.

He doesn’t kick off his shoes. Doesn’t shrug off his jacket. He sprints towards the noise, grabbing at his pockets until his fingers stop fumbling enough to hold his mic.

The rubber of his shoes catch him from sliding on the floor when he stops dead in front of their living room.

“Ji-Jirohohoho! Would you—ack—quihihiHIHIHIHIT!”

It’s, um—

They’re—um—

Ichiro’s sigh of relief is a lot louder this time, slipping his mic back into his pocket.

It’s loud enough that it’s somehow heard over Saburo’s squealing, and Jiro turns to see his older brother leaning against the entrance.

It’s kind of funny, now that Ichiro’s adrenaline has calmed down.

Jiro looks like he’s been caught red-handed, even though Saburo is the one with a tomato for a face right now. He pulls his hands out from under Saburo’s sweater, fiddling with his fingers in his lap.

Saburo takes the chance to roll onto his side, hands clutching at his stomach. The shrieking Ichiro heard when he came in dulls to tired giggles.

“Oh, uh, hi.” Jiro waves. He tries to act nonchalant, but he looks more embarrassed than Saburo whose hoodie is still bunched up at the waist.

Ichiro smiles back, “Hey.”

Jiro is yanked from the one-sided, awkward conversation, but Ichiro can’t say it’s the better choice for Jiro.

Jiro yelps as he’s full-body tackled, falling backward over the other side of the couch. Saburo’s panting for breath, and he probably can’t see much past the mess of his bangs, but he doesn’t seem to have any trouble latching a hand onto Jiro’s knees and squeezing.

“Ah, wha-! Sabu—no! Saburohohohoho!”

Suburo’s response is the same treatment on the other leg, and Jiro makes a squeaking sound before he’s cackling. He twists against the cushion but he can’t seem to get himself up enough to push Saburo away from where he’s straddling his shins.

Like Ichiro isn’t even there, they treat it like a war zone, going back and forth with a familiarity that has their oldest brother shocked.

“No—no! Jiro, dohon’t! You’re gonna stretch out my—my shihihihihihirt!”

“Ouch! Not fair, Saburo! No pinch—ah! No PINCHIHIHIHIHING!”

“JIRO! No, I-I swear, I’m gonnahaha — I’m gonna kihihiHIHIHIHICK YOHOHOHOU!”

“Nah! No! I’m—I’m sorry! You win! Just—No! Not thehehehehere!”

At some point Saburo’s head is hanging off the arm of the couch while Jiro drills his thumbs into his ribs. Through watery eyes, he finally sees Ichiro, watching them like they’re the entertainment for tonight. He’s can’t possibly be in the right state of mind, and that’s probably why he makes the biggest mistake possible.

“I-Ichi-niihihihihihihi! H-help!”

Ichiro coughs to cover his own laugh, though Saburo’s scream when Jiro’s hands find their way under his arms does the job pretty well.

Guess it’s his turn to join.

Jiro’s confused noise gets cut off when his back hits the couch, bouncing once off the cushions. Saburo is still giggling weakly beside him, so that means—

He gasps so suddenly he almost chokes on it, and only a garbled version of Ichiro’s name comes out before he’s squealing louder than even Saburo could.

His hands push, pull, grab weakly at Ichiro’s hand latched onto his hip. He didn’t even know he was ticklish there, but the bright laughter that bursts from his mouth and has his eyes watering makes that so clear so quickly.

Ichiro chuckles, watching Jiro shake his head back and forth, red cheeks hidden by his wild mane of hair. Ichiro’s only using one hand, but Jiro might be the loudest he’s been all night. Even as he sinks against the couch—slipping down because of weakness, gravity, maybe both—Ichiro is able to keep him in stitches.

Speaking of one hand.

With Saburo laying back over the arm of the couch, it’s pretty easy for Ichiro to slip a hand under the gap in his shirt and start vibrating his fingertips into the taut skin of his stomach.

Saburo again proves how good he is at everything he does when he shrieks, loudly. His lung capacity is really something. His head flies up for a moment, but the weight of gravity and his own exhaustion keep him from getting all the way. He has to settle for wrapping both hands around Ichiro’s wrist and kicking his heels against the couch, as if that’ll help calm the ticklish buzzing of Ichiro’s fingers against his skin.

It’s something like fate when they both call for mercy at the same time, cries of “Nii-chan!” and “Ichi-nii!” just legible through the hysterical laughter.

Ichiro pulls his hands back with a little pat against the prickling skin. The pair droop so quickly, Ichiro has to be quick to catch them before either slip to the floor. He drags Jiro upright, and moves Saburo to sit against the couch properly.

He ends up leaning against Jiro while they catch their breath. Ichiro tries not to smile, like they’d even notice if he did.

“Okay. Two questions,” Ichiro starts once his brothers look a little less ragged. He knows they’re good when Jiro nudges Saburo off him, Saburo shooting a stink face his direction.

“How did this happen, and why wasn’t I invited?” The way his brothers avoid eye contact at his second question is too funny.

“...Well,” Saburo starts, fixing his bangs to look at Ichiro properly. “You were upset the last time we got ‘too violent’ with each other, so next time Jiro said something stupid I just—“

“—decided to be a smartass and do something that ‘wouldn’t hurt,’” Jiro scoffs, finishing for them.

Ichiro laughs aloud at that one, and—even after everything—it isn’t long before the other two join in.

“And we—um—didn’t ‘invite you’ because we didn’t think you’d want to,” Saburo mumbles.

“—or that you’d be so good at it,” Jiro mutters, hand rubbing subconsciously at his hip.

Ichiro claps a hand on both of their legs, only smirking a little when it makes them jump in their seats.

“It’s been a while, but I do have some experience in tickling you both to tears,” Ichiro smiles.

“That makes sense,” Saburo mumbles. Jiro nods, looking at the carpet.

“But Ichi-nii,” Saburo asks, always thinking one step ahead. “Are...you ticklish?”

Hm, all the times Ichiro had tickled his brothers when they were younger, he never had to worry about taking what he dished out.

But now, it looks like Jiro and Saburo have found something they’re willing to work out together.

Um, g-good for them.

#bee stuffs #tickling #tickle fic #jdjfhcdjjsksks I feel weird tagging this #ugh whatever #buster bros #Ichiro #Jiro #Saburo #Hypmic #ticklish!Jiro #ticklish!Saburo

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one-abuse-survivor · 4 years

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do you have any tips for someone living in an abusive household?

i could do with some

Hi! I can share some advice with you, but please, remember that I'm only talking from personal experience and without knowing anything about yours, so my advice may not be what you personally need to hear. If anything I say doesn't feel right for you, please always trust yourself over me!

That being said, here are some tips for people living in an abusive household:

1. Remind yourself often that you're going through abuse and trauma.

When you're a victim of abuse, especially if the abusers are your parents (the people meant to love and care for you unconditionally), it's easy to feel like you're overreacting, like you're just attention-seeking, or like the only reason everything feels so wrong is because you're wrong inside. It's easy to feel like you're not deserving of love or compassion, or like you're guilty or deserving of your own abuse, because if you weren't it wouldn't be happening.

So try to remind yourself often that those thoughts are a consequence of parental abuse and a lack of a loving and safe environment to grow up in. Remind yourself that your parents aren't abusing you because you deserve it, but because they're selfish. Remind yourself that what you're going through is a very serious and traumatising experience that no one deserves to go through, and you're not overreacting or making things up for attention. Remind yourself that it's your family's responsibility since the moment they have you to take care of you physically, emotionally and financially until you can do it on your own, and not your responsibility to earn any of those things.

2. Following the above, try to practice self-compassion when they make you feel bad about yourself.

From things like reminding yourself none of this is your fault, to hugging yourself or putting on comfy clothes, to allowing yourself to cry, to hugging something soft and warm, to not being hard on yourself of you can't finish homework or do everything you wanted to do that day... You deserve compassion, and even though it's hard, treating yourself with kindness when you're able to can help alleviate some of the guilt and hatred toward yourself the abuse might be making you feel.

3. Don't try to confront your abusers about the abuse.

(See longer explanation for this here)

There are some abusers out there who will make it clear they very purposefully want to hurt you, but the truth is that many others, if not most of them, will go out of their way to rationalise and justify their abusive behaviour to the point the victim will believe that the abusers genuinely don't know they're doing something wrong, and that if they knew, they'd stop doing it. (This was my case! To this day, I still don't know if my mother was aware she was hurting me, because she had an explanation for every abusive thing she did and seemed to genuinely believe her explanations were valid and cancelled out my needs and feelings). And when abusers are so convinced they're right, it's very likely they will convince you, too, that you having boundaries or needs is unfair to them. And the voice in your head telling you something unfair is happening, and that you don't deserve this, will get smaller and smaller.

If this is your case, I would strongly advice against trying to have a heart-to-heart with them. They might only be abusing you because they have a very skewed vision of reality where they're always the victim of everything that inconveniences them, but the chances of that vision changing when you try to tell them they're hurting you are... slim to none.

In all cases I know of where people have tried to open up to their abusers about the abuse, abusers have reacted by "dismantling" every single rational (and, as I said, very likely already weak) argument their victims had for feeling hurt, basically taking that weak voice in their heads that knows they're hurting and shutting it down further.

Some of their ways of dismantling the victims' claims are:

Denying ever doing or saying the things you know they did or said to you (gaslighting)

Giving you an explanation, in a completely reasonable and rational tone, as to why everything they've done to you is your fault or otherwise completely justified

Painting themselves as the victims, acting like you're being unfair to them by not having moved past what they did to you already

All of the examples above are instances of emotional abuse, and they might cause a lot of damage if your inner voice isn't strong enough to fight them, further traumatising you by convincing you that they're right and you're wrong.

So, please, unless strictly necessary, don't give them access to that voice of yours. Don't let them weaken it further.

4. Remind yourself that your ways of coping are not your fault.

We can all agree that many coping mechanisms are unhealthy and even dangerous, and are important to overcome once you're out of the abusive situation. And if it's at all possible for you to take safety measures while coping, please do so. But know that it's not your fault if you need to resort to unhealthy coping mechanisms while you endure and survive the abuse. It's the fault of the people abusing you.

Some coping mechanisms may include:

Dissociation. For me, for example, this meant I was often completely unable to hear what my abuser was telling me, even if I knew she was saying something important, because my brain was shutting down her voice to protect me.

Self-harm. Not limited to cutting: bruising, pinching or scratching yourself, and punishing yourself without food/sleep/basic needs, are also forms of self-harm.

Avoiding things that cause you anxiety. From your kitchen, because your abusers don't want to see you there or always scream at you when you're there, to a school deadline, because everything is too much and you don't have the emotional range to deal with it right now, to putting on certain clothes, because you know your abusers will have something to say about them, you might find yourself avoiding anything your brain has associated with abuse.

Hiding in your room, spending as little time as possible at home, sneaking around/doing everything behind your abuser’s back, or lashing out/being rude/being physically or verbally violent toward your abuser, even when they’re acting normal. Remember that even when they’re not abusing you in that moment, your brain still sees them as a threat. It’s completely normal to feel threatened by their presence around you and to want to run to your room as soon as they’re nearby or snap at them as soon as they ask you about your day.

If you find yourself doing any of these things: please, know that none of these are decisions you're making with a clear, healthy mind. These are things brains (and not just human ones!) do when they are in survival mode or the distress they are going through is bigger than they can process. In the case of self-harm, my therapist explained to me that many animals scratch themselves against sharp surfaces when they're going through great emotional pain, because causing themselves physical pain can help them feel some sort of control over the pain they're experiencing.

So if you're doing any of these things, please remember the second point in this list and try to practice self-compassion: when your head starts to tell you it's your fault you're hurting yourself, avoiding situations that might cause you to get abused, or constantly zoning out to distance yourself from the trauma you're going through, try to think of yourself as a very distressed puppy whose brain is just trying to survive in any way it can. Try to treat yourself with as much compassion and understanding as you would that puppy.

5. Hold on to anything you can. Literally anything.

Abuse feels endless while you experience it (especially if you're a teen and still don't have any experiences with adult life), and often, the mere idea of ever having a life outside of the abuse can feel unachievable and impossible to even fathom. This is completely normal, but it often leads to suicidal thoughts if you begin to believe that death is the only way out the abusive situation and that all there is for you to experience for as long as you stay alive is the overwhelming pain or trauma.

If this happens, please don't be ashamed to stay alive for whatever reason you can find. For a long time, I held on to a book saga that wasn't finished and I wanted to know the ending of. Then it was my younger cousins. Then it was a videogame. And now I'm still here. So if everything keeping you alive is a book, a show, a pet, or wanting to outlive someone you can't stand out of sheer spite, please try as hard as you can to hold on to that. Even if you're at a place right now where the idea of eventually moving out of that house is so unrealistic it's distressing to even think about. Just making it until tomorrow is more than enough for now.

That's all that comes to mind. If anyone else reading this has any advice, as always, please feel free to add to my post!

#Ask #Advice #Abuse #Abusive parents #Abuse tw #Self harm tw #Self-harm tw #Self harm #Dissociation #Trauma #Coping mechanisms #Suicidal tw #Suicidal thoughts #abuse victim #helping abuse victims #Abuse survivor #Long post

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autumnblogs · 3 years

Text

Day 13: Double Mobius Reacharound

https://homestuck.com/story/2073

Of all the characters in Homestuck, Sollux’s self-hatred is probably the most exaggerated, exacerbated no doubt by his role in the death of his girlfriend and his psychic brain. I like him, he’s an alright guy, and I wish I had more to say about him to be honest. I guess if there was one thing I was going to say about him, I think I said it already - Sollux serves as a mirror image of Dave, and Sollux’s decision to bow out early probably foreshadows the way that Dave will eventually decide that fighting is not for him.

More after the break.

https://homestuck.com/story/2082

How does Paradox Space know which angel to use? This is a bit of an odd moment. Maybe I’m missing the refrance, but I’ve never quite understood why Terezi reacts this way, with all of the additional periods. Sollux seems quizzical, but Terezi doesn’t react.

Also, this is the first in a serious of lines I’m going to be examining in relation to Aradia. Keep that on the back of your thinkpan.

https://homestuck.com/story/2085

Sollux and Aradia have a very sweet, tragic little relationship, and even though it doesn’t last into the longterm, I’ve always enjoyed these two together.

https://homestuck.com/story/2101

Whether retroactively, or intentionally, the sensual scantily clad fairies in Tavros’ room are a lot more noticeable on re-reads. Tavros has a pretty unassuming demeanor, and I’m not here to trash him pointlessly, but I think that Tavros has some pretty troubling patterns of behavior that can go unexamined because of the fact that he’s a victim. More on that as we go.

https://homestuck.com/story/2112

Far from a passing fancy, Tavros’ interest in animals does seem to be genuine. I wonder if he had a little farm with a bunch of these critters. We never get to see much of his other Fiduspawn if he has any.

https://homestuck.com/story/2114

Karkat and Tavros both do this, which I think is interesting because of the fact that they have opposite relationships with sleep and dreaming - Tavros spends most of his time in game asleep and dreaming of Prospit, Karkat has horrible insomnia.

https://homestuck.com/story/2122

Our very first conversation with Vriska has her tune in pretty much entirely to bully Tavros. The interesting thing is, while Vriska’s treatment of Tavros is pretty objectively bad, the way that she harasses him is actually pretty closely in line with the way that other trolls treat their friends, mutual aggression and nastiness. Vriska’s aggression isn’t addressed at someone who’s responding in kind though - Tavros is gentle where other trolls are vicious, deferential where other trolls are assertive. It’s this contrast that makes the shamefulness of Vriska’s behavior obvious to pretty much everyone but her.

https://homestuck.com/story/2123

Gamzee and Tavros are a ship tease that didn’t really end up going anywhere, but one of the things I think is interesting is the way Gamzee’s language goes from extremely lackadaisical and chill to kind of energetically violent around Tavros. Most of the time, Gamzee’s pretty laidback, but there’s a lot of language relating to murder in Gamzee’s enthusiasm here.

https://homestuck.com/story/2127

While Terezi’s Dragon doesn’t really have much of a choice in terms of its relative absence from her life, the sparse communication between the two and emotional distance is, I think, a parallel with Rose.

https://homestuck.com/story/2128

Because of the fact that we don’t get as much of a look into the Trolls’ home lives, it’s less easy to narrow down what their “finer” anxieties are, but it’s clear that they follow the same pattern of having their sleeping selves wake up as a result of internal synthesis of some kind - confronting their subconscious anxieties, and consciously accepting a part of their reality that they’ve been deliberately shutting out.

There’s probably a number of things that were instrumental to waking up for Terezi, not the least of which is accepting that Vriska is not the friend that Terezi thought she was - waking up to the fact that she was being used by an abuser in a co-dependent relationship. Coming to terms with her blindness could represent growth into a healthier sense of self, one where she finds validation internally and in healthy friend and family relationships. All that being said, her relationship with Vriska is still her most important relationship, and realizing that a problem exists is only the first step in solving it.

https://homestuck.com/story/2134

Time to stop being cagey about it, I guess. I have long viewed Aradia’s story as being one that is about surviving depression, which I say as a depression survivor. I relate heavily to the language that Homestuck uses to describe Aradia’s lack of passion and lack of enjoyment of things that she used to enjoy - especially the way that she lashes out destructively to try and alleviate her boredom and frustration.

https://homestuck.com/story/2137

On an unrelated note, Aradia has the Crosbytop. I believe I’m starting to remember how it got into her hands.

https://homestuck.com/story/2139

I’ve always thought that it’s interesting that Kanaya’s language directly mirrors Karkat’s from when he was harassing Jade, but their sentiment is almost precisely the opposite. She borrows another Karkatism almost immediately. So pretty much from the word go, we’re clued into the fact that Kanaya and Karkat have some relationship with each other that goes beyond the purely familiar, in the same way that Dave and John’s tendency to mirror each other’s language helps us to understand their friendship.

For a girl who doesn’t feel too many emotions, Aradia can be pretty sassy.

https://homestuck.com/story/2144

I have a friend who’s a bit of a Vriska kinnie (and feel like I’m pretty Vriska-esque myself), and one of the things that we both do that I’m seeing in Vriska here is fill dead air with chatter. I could be reading into it a little, but I think it should be a clue that Vriska is an intensely anxious kind of character.

https://homestuck.com/story/2145

In a parallel to Sollux’s introduction, we can’t immediately be Vriska. We couldn’t be Sollux because he was too busy stewing in his own self-criticism. There’s a push and pull going on between Vriska’s narcissism and her over-the-top self-deprecation.

https://homestuck.com/story/2150

I might be pulling this out of my ass, but I feel like there’s a case to be made for Aradia and Vriska actually being pretty strong parallels to each other - the only two trolls to get the tiger, faciliitators of destiny, devil-may-care grave-robbers. I don’t actually have a fully formed thought to really draw the two together, but I feel like there’s really something there. The way that Aradia puts Sollux to sleep here in order to ensure that the Right Disasters befall him is parallel to the way that Vriska puts people to sleep at clever points to make sure that Jack is created, and so on and so forth.

Maybe in the same way that Sollux serves as a parallel to Dave and helps us to understand what the right decision is for Dave, Aradia parallels Vriska and helps us to understand that roughly the same things are good for the two of them. Much later, (Vriska) basically chooses the same path of staying out of harm’s way and trying to enjoy the rest of her relatively eternal existence.

https://homestuck.com/story/2161

As soon as Karkat talks about Kanaya with anyone else, he further reinforces there is a friendship between the two of them.

Another quick note, as long as we’re here, I’ve kind of been putting this off, but I suppose with the one and only use of “autistic” as an insult in the comic, it’s finally time for me to bring this up:

Homestuck has a pretty problematic relationship with victims of abuse and people suffering from mental and physical disabilities. While on the one hand like, almost all of Homestuck’s main characters are disabled and abuse sufferers in some way or another, there are a lot of ways in which it’s not so charitable to them.

Some of it is stuff like this - early Homestuck uses the word retarded a lot as an insult, and has this single instance of autistic - all in all, that kind of language is problematic but in and of itself, not too egregious - Homestuck is a product of its time in that respect.

Stuff that I take issue with is more subtle - mostly stuff surrounding Jake and Tavros. I’ll have more to say on it later, but I wanted to find a good natural time to bring it up, and now seemed like a fine time.

https://homestuck.com/story/2162

Nepeta and Equius give us some information that helps grow our understanding of troll culture. We’ve already had some conversation about whose blood is better than whose from Sollux, but Equius starts to help us understand that some trolls take blood color extremely seriously.

These kids may not replicate the social anxieties of earthlings 1:1 but they still have plenty of things to be anxious about. The more I read Hiveswap the more I become convinced that most of these characters were never people we were meant to become terribly invested in - a lot of the function of the trolls, from a narrative perspective, is to give us parallels to the human main characters and insight into their lives, as well as to give us exposition on just how Sburb works exactly. And then most of them are pretty promptly killed off or put on a bus once their purpose is served (or in order to serve their purpose!)

Back to the subject of the social anxieties that the trolls have to deal with, Alternia is all about hierarchy baby.

https://homestuck.com/story/2173

Vriska may be a born cheater, but I’ve always sort of gotten the impression, based on the killer nature of FLARPING which is alluded to plenty in other situations, that if she’s cheating here, it may be the kind of cheating that is encouraged.

Between that and the way that Tavros and Aradia were discussing the “True Spirit of Flarping,” I can’t help but remember a description of the way propaganda works from some time ago. Propaganda doesn’t usually follow the story arc we are accustomed to, where we start with a character or characters who do not yet possess the tools or abilities they need to succeed, grow to overcome their weakness, and then overcome the problem that they couldn’t before.

Propaganda, instead, introduces us to characters who are already strong, facing enemies who are weak, or problems who are easy. They are strong because they are the heroes! Their enemies are weak. And the function of it is to intimidate the enemies of the person putting out the propaganda, and to rile up aggressive sentiment in those who are on the side of the propagandist.

We’ve already talked about how, in Homestuck “roleplaying” in both its more figurative and literal uses, is a way in which characters act out society’s expectations for them. In that way, I can’t help but view FLARPING as something of a propaganda tool itself, and one that’s pretty integral to Vriska’s way of thinking throughout the comic.

You’re either someone who is strong, or someone who is weak, and if you’re strong, you’re one of the victors, if you’re weak, you’re one of the losers, and you deserve whatever the victors decide what to do with you.

What I guess I’m building up to here is that there are real world societies that Troll Culture seems like an exaggerated parody of - particularly the more militaristic aspects of the Romans, and the Spartans. I’m going to wait for another time to write down all my thoughts about them, because this is turning into a bit of an essay, but suffice to say, it’s probably going to coincide with the one about Patriarchy whenever I get around to it.

https://homestuck.com/story/2175

There’s an interesting thing going on here between the way that Tavros is drawn (nearly identical to his imagine spot about flying around on Prospit), and the way that his erratic behavior isn’t actually all that different from the way characters normally do absurd and dangerous things here.

I’m by no means excusing what Vriska is doing here, but I think that between the fact that Tavros already wants to fly anyway, and the fact that again, characters do this kind of self-destructive thing in Homestuck all the time anyway, although to less of an exaggerated degree, Andrew is drawing a parallel between the narrative prompts from the Exiles, Vriska’s manipulations, and the intrusive thoughts that we already have on our own anyway.

Vriska manipulates Tavros the way that Doc Scratch manipulates her, although considerably clumsier, by getting him to do what he already wants to anyway.

https://homestuck.com/story/2177

That’s really all there is to say on the matter.

It’s like poetry, they rhyme.

In the same way that Bro manipulates Dave by imposing an idea of what it means to be a man on him - someone who can be beaten within an inch of his life, or beat someone else to within an inch of his life without batting an eye - Vriska tries to manipulate Tavros throughout his arc, and this kind of so-called “tough love” is just the start of it.

There’s a lot of supplementary material that delves deeper into Vriska’s rationale for her mistreatment of Tavros, but she makes it clear herself as we go through the comic that she at least justifies her mistreatment of Tavros by telling herself that the purpose of it is to toughen him up (so he can be one of the strong people, a winner who gets the girl.)

https://homestuck.com/story/2178

As he often is about what’s going on with other people when he’s distracted from thinking about himself by his own agitation, Karkat is probably right about Vriska - girls like her are a dime a dozen in the upper classes, and that’s the point. The point of troll society is to produce people like Vriska amongst the highbloods.

https://homestuck.com/story/2195

Let’s dig into Vriska’s self-stylization as an apocalypse buff for a second because it’s not something I think gets talked about a lot.

Apocalypticism is, in my estimation, kind of a form of generational narcissism. There are doomsayers in every generation, who claim that this is it - this new catastrophe, this new social situation, is the most important thing in the world to ever happen. The end is here. All of world history culminates in this.

I don’t mean to downplay the actual existential threats of our generation of course; climate change, late capitalism, that sort of thing. But I think Vriska’s Apocalypse Buffery fits pretty well into her need to be the most important person in Paradox Space all the time.

On another note, Luck in Homestuck is very closely related with a few concepts like Agency in Homestuck through the Aspect of Light. Terezi will later assert that luck doesn’t matter at all. What’s up with that?

Maybe Luck and Karma are two sides of the same coin (ha!) Both of them are pieces in the puzzle of Theodicy, that is to say, the metaphysics question of why there is bad in the world.

Someone like Vriska (at the beginning of her arc) would say that it’s happenstance - bad things and good things can happen to bad and good people, there’s no greater meaning behind it. Vriska has a hard time taking responsibility for her own actions - her locus of control is external, for the most part.

Terezi on the other hand mostly attributes everything to a person’s actions, hence the need to punish bad people, and reward good ones. Terezi would say that good things happen to good people, and bad things happen to bad people. Her locus of control is internal.

Maybe the answer is both motherfuckin’ things.

https://homestuck.com/story/2202

Just as Vriska’s introduction is through a conversation with her victim, so Doc Scratch’s introduction is through a conversation with his victim. Or at least, his most immediate victim.

It’s like poetry, they rhyme.

https://homestuck.com/story/2204

Kanaya pretty well sums up here what I was getting at when talking about Terezi and Vriska’s different locuses of control.

There’s no real good or bad luck here. Good luck for someone is bad luck for someone else, often enough. What “good luck” means to Vriska is that events go down the way that she personally wants them to.

And so, by seizing control and power in situations where she is helpless, the Thief of Light ensures that she always has all the luck.

Kanaya might not be right, by the way, not 100%. I’m not a stoic. You can’t just magically wish away suffering by deciding that actually, you’re 0k with it, anymore than Aradia can. Like I said, the truth probably lies somewhere between Luck and Karma.

https://homestuck.com/story/2207

While the terrifying violent monitor and the emotionally abusive manipulator are bifurcated, Vriska has a lot of the same emotional responses to her guardians as Dave does to his singular guardian - notice the similar, self-soothing language that Vriska’s narrative employs compared to the way that Dave self-sooths when trying to convince himself that the way Bro treats him is just fine and normal.

https://homestuck.com/story/2211

Equius to me is a super interesting character, because on the one hand, he’s a joke character Andrew uses to antagonize the audience by being gross but Andrew also uses him to say the quiet part loud - Homestuck is already, to begin with, a pretty lewd webcomic full of horny characters whose emotional hangups and destructive relationships with societal norms sabotage their chances at happiness. That’s all Equius is. His entire function from start to finish, aside from a source of ribald humor, is to draw attention to the fact that everyone in this comic is looking for comfort in someone else’s body, comfort from the way that unrealistic societal expectations and their attempts to live up to them don’t match up to what’s inside of their heart. Equius is a parody of Homestuck inside of Homestuck. Absurdly overpowered, ridiculously horny, all twisted up inside.

https://homestuck.com/story/2220

The language here that Equius uses - degenerate - is evocative of the sorts of right-wing authoritarian hate mongers that Equius’ ideology stands in for. Equius, of course, has doubts about said ideology, which he starts to express through transgressive relationships pretty much as soon as we meet him, like the one with Aradia. The fact that he can’t make sense of the warring ideas inside of him almost literally kills him.

https://homestuck.com/story/2221

Except that what kills him literally is a shitty clown.

I think what’s going on here is interesting, because if you want to read Equius as like, Homestuck in a nutshell, Equius’ ideological hangups are co-morbid with his sexual hangups, and resolving one set would probably go a long way toward resolving the other set. Equius is, for lack of a better term, a deviant. The sorts of things that excite him (here, viscerally) don’t match up with his idea of how troll society is supposed to be.

Equius and Gamzee are confronting each other with a different vision for what Troll Society is supposed to be like.

https://homestuck.com/story/2222

In stark contrast to the shallow and insincere hostility of Trolls who are actually friends with each other, Vriska and Equius maintain a veneer of social grace as they mutually plan to backstab each other.

https://homestuck.com/story/2237

Vriska is pretty clearly projecting here, but she’s also 100% right. I guess when you know somebody, you know them. Or it could be happenstance.

Her view of redemption is also transactional. “I will make things the way they were before, and things can go back to being the way that they were,” she seems to say. It’s a very legalistic view of it, and while it might have a place in a justice system, even the extremely legalistic Terezi can tell that that wouldn’t actually fix anything. Maybe the physical and emotional damage could be repaired in theory, but if the actors in the situation don’t change themselves in fundamental ways, this is all just going to recur in the future.

Forgiveness isn’t something an abuser can earn - nobody has the right to claim that they have restored a relationship that they destroyed in the first place by demonstrating token repentance.

https://homestuck.com/story/2238

If Andrew already had in mind that Equius should in some way be a part of the gestalt of souls that is Lord English, he’s foreshadowing it early here by comparing Equius’ voyeuristic habits to Scratch’s.

https://homestuck.com/story/2244

I’ll lay my cards on the table and say I think that Doc Scratch can present the facts 100% and still be dishonest. I’m a compatibilist - I think that Free Will and Accountability are compatible with the idea of a deterministic universe. Doc Scratch doesn’t have to talk anyone into anything, but the material conditions that led everyone to the decisions that they chose to make were orchestrated by Lord English. Scratch may not be making any decisions here that effect the outcomes, sure, but the game was rigged in his favor from the start.

Again, I’m not excusing Vriska’s actions here. But for the same reason that we wouldn’t blame Tavros for jumping off of a cliff just because trying to fly is something he already wanted to do to begin with, I think it’s clear to anyone with eyes that Doc Scratch is at least partially responsible for creating this little monster.

Vriska’s complicated. Let’s move on so this whole post doesn’t turn into more Vriskourse. That’s the last thing anyone needs.

https://homestuck.com/story/2258

You know you’re going to anyway.

I guess what intrigues me so much about this section is the gradation between manipulation and coercion.

https://homestuck.com/story/2263

Vriska might be a born cheater, but Doc Scratch is a sore loser.

She’s pretty easy to root for when she’s against him.

https://homestuck.com/story/2269

Man, Act 5 Act 1 is just absolutely lousy with conversation about choice and luck.

https://homestuck.com/story/2276

Part of what creates ambiguity in terms of how much Vriska’s choices are her nature versus the conditions that shaped it is on display here in her conversation with Aradia.

Vriska doesn’t really know how to interact with people positively, like, at all. Nobody’s ever taught her. She doesn’t know what it means to be a friend to someone. She doesn’t know what it means to help someone. She doesn’t know how to be loved or forgiven.

Is this like the scorpion and the frog? Or does she have free will? (I’ll give you a hint, it’s the second one.)

https://homestuck.com/story/2280

This whole sequence is just a delight. The trolls are really just such disaster people, and if I can be excused, it’s easy to put more emotional distance between myself and say, Equius, than it is between myself and Vriska and Terezi. Like I said, Equius says the quiet part out loud, so there’s really nothing much to analyze there.

Aradia’s inability to control the ribbits is part of a general mood of a lack of control that she has as a character. Vriska’s lack of control causes her to rage at the heavens and lash out at the people around her. Aradia is just 0k with it, and neither is a healthy coping strategy. The result is that the two of them break a lot of shit.

https://homestuck.com/story/2305

For the first time in his life, Karkat is not alone.

https://homestuck.com/story/2319

I could really be mistaken here, but the way this whole sequence is presented here really feels, on an archival reread, to be telling me, “You do not need to care about these characters.” Certainly they serve a function in the story, but with the exception of a few of them (literally only a third of them), they serve as tools in an authorial toolbox to help flesh out the setting - not so unlike the Carapacians actually, but with a lot more personality.

https://homestuck.com/story/2323

Kanaya is threefold one of the few of her kind, making her extra special. While she is closest with Rose, she’s a clear parallel to Jade, who if memory serves, suffered frequent accustations of being a Mary Sue early on. Kanaya’s level of specialness (in terms of combined rare factors) outcompetes even Jade’s. Probably a part of the playfully antagonistic style of Homestuck in general.

https://homestuck.com/story/2338

It slipped my mind earlier that the honey on Sollux’s hands was being directly juxtaposed with Dave’s blood on his own hands, and here Kanaya’s. All three of them are, to some extent or another, contemplating their mortality. As Kanaya said just a few panels ago though, death is confusing without the finality. Just another way that Homestuck plays with the nomenclature of endings and beginnings and intermissions and brings into question the usefulness of those categories.

https://homestuck.com/story/2343

I have always enjoyed the dynamic that Kanaya and Eridan share with each other, and I wish there were more conversations of her just dunking on him.

Also of note in this little conversation is the way that Kanaya and John mirror each other’s language. This is an example though where they could not possibly be mirroring it the way that Dave and John might be when they’re talking about Bec, or the way that she and Karkat might be. They have, it seems, the same penchant for mischief.

https://homestuck.com/story/2345

Like her counterparts from Universe B, Kanaya’s preoccupation with relationships and personal contact is made manifest through her Squiddle Lunchtop.

https://homestuck.com/story/2350

Both of the main Pages in Homestuck are characters whose primary usefulness is seen through their ability to make friends and broker alliances. I suspect that being a Page in Sburb is to some extent a bit like being an ADC in League of Legends.

The ADC or Attack Damage Carry, if you’re not familiar with the nomenclature, is a character who starts the game weak, and remains vulnerable throughout such that the whole team has to play babysitter. If you think that sounds unappealing to play, you’d be right - it can be pretty hard to find someone willing to play ADC, especially with the popularity of high-risk high-reward Asassins (not so unlike a thief!) who are their direct counter.

In spite of their relative vlunerability, the ADC has absolutely dominated the meta of League of Legends for the past ten years for the simple reason that there is absolutely no substitute when it comes to controlling objectives.

Maybe Pages are a little bit like that. Frustrating to be one, frustrating to have one around, but extremely rewarding to invest in. It’s too bad nobody can be arsed to give them the emotional support they need to flourish. Too bad they have such... intractible character flaws.

https://homestuck.com/story/2356

Kanaya’s inability to stop mothering people sabotages her chance at winning Vriska’s affection - no doubt because Vriska has misread the situation as Kanaya being her romantic rival for Tavros’s attention. For the better, I guess, since Rosemary is my shit.

Trolls sure are weird.

https://homestuck.com/story/2369

Vriska has already figured out the point of Sburb, and perhaps the ultimate riddle, although she clearly hasn’t figured out the ramifications of it yet.

In any case, it should be clear how she has interpreted Sburb’s directive - authenticate your own existence through reproduction.

Being a winner, having self-worth, being able to justify your own existence means being strong enough, smart enough, pretty enough to shape the rest of existence in your own image.

She’s missing a critical detail, and its absence means she has it completely backwards.

https://homestuck.com/story/2370

We already know what is on the other side of the portal. Vriska is making herself out to be the final boss.

The final boss and the treasure are the same thing, in her mind.

The struggle is the objective.

The fighting is the point.

https://homestuck.com/story/2374

Just wanted to take a second to say that this whole sequence is so unnerving and horrible that I was sure she was going to murder, violate, and/or eat him, not necessarily in that order, the first time I read through this.

The sad reality is, this is the fucked up courtship ritual of a girl who has no idea how to be intimate with other people.

https://homestuck.com/story/2391

And that’s where we’ll pause for the night, having finished nearly 300 pages as promised.

Hope I wasn’t getting too lazy there at the end.

I’m enjoying my weekend.

Hope that yinz enjoy yours once it rolls around.

For now, Alive and Not Sober, Cam signing off.

#commentary #liveblogging #luck #choice

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eternalstrigoii · 4 years

Text

Caged

Borra (Maleficent: Mistress of Evil) x Original Dark Fey Reader

“He has no shortage of warriors, and yet, Cassia born-of-Conall, it is you he desires.”

You laughed.

Never mind that you and Borra locked horns, often literally, over the necessity of peace and war. That man never wanted anything simple.

As Maleficent flew toward the moors, riding the dawn’s rays into the mist beyond the walls of Ulstead, Queen Aurora kissed her new husband.

And Lickspittle, the de-winged pixie-turned-gnome, worried his cap. Or, perhaps it was his cap. He had been using it for so long, but he had never worn it.

“Your highnesses?”

Aurora drew away with ever the slightest blush in her cheeks. Philip sighed fondly, and she clasped his arm as if to remind him that it was their duty – now more than ever. “What is it, Lickspittle?”

“…If your majesties will forgive me, there is one last matter in need of attending.”

“Oh, no,” Philip muttered.

Aurora smiled to hide her tension, newly returned. She rubbed her husband’s arm and stepped away, nodding to the gnome as a promise to follow.

Follow, they both did.

The moor-people had been released from Lickspittle’s alchemic studio, the spindle dissolved, and, to her knowledge, the tomb-blooms gathered and returned to the moors with her godmother and Diaval the night before. Surely, (she hoped) nothing of consequence could be left.

The gnome gestured for the queen to pause, and began adjusting several of the fixtures.

If one didn’t know what they were looking for, they would have walked past the cage entirely – as Aurora knew she had. It was not very tall, and quite narrow.

And, inside, drooped the body of a lifeless fey. One of Maleficent’s people.

Aurora lowered before the cage. “Is she alive?” she whispered. Her fingers skimmed the seam of where the bars joined, hoping to find and undo the locking mechanism.

The gnome was hesitant to respond.

Lightly, gently, Aurora touched one of the woman’s bare legs. It twitched, though not sharply. Her tall horns scraped against the bars as she rolled her head to the side, fastened to the center of the cage’s iron floor by a thick neck-plate and wrist chains.

“Stand back,” Philip said.

Lickspittle began worrying his cap again. “If I’ll be honest, highness, I completely forgot she was there.”

“Who is she?”

The gnome shrugged.

Philip withdrew several steps, squared his shoulders, and charged. And promptly recoiled to bounce on one foot from the force he’d used kicking an iron door.

Lickspittle found the place in the seam where treasures were stored, and offered Aurora a key. If it was the right key or not, he couldn’t be certain, but he couldn’t imagine having more in storage.

Aurora unlocked the door.

The fey didn’t shift. If not for the slight movement of her armored chest beneath the iron plate, the new queen would have thought the worst.

“Is there another?”

“No, those just…slip right off,” the gnome volunteered.

Slip them off she did. The chains puddled, and the neck plate weighed almost as much as Aurora herself. She nearly dropped it, the sound it made on the metal below certainly enough to wake their prisoner.

And yet.

And yet, Aurora’s horror only grew. Her fingers lifted, eyes tracing the shape of close-packed wings. “You’ve broken them?”

“No, no, not me,” Lickspittle straightened. “I don’t get involved with the dark fey, they’re more trouble than they’re worth.”

Philip gave him a sidelong glance, as if to remind him that most regarded him the same.

“…It’s a token of the former queen’s.”

“She.” Aurora’s voice sharpened as much as she was capable only to soften when she turned to Philip. “Can your father call your healers?”

“Of course,” he nodded.

“Lickspittle, will you go outside and summon the others? I would like to know who she is, and what can be done to heal her.”

“Of course.” Perhaps because it released him of accountability, he was quick to depart. Philip rested his hand briefly on Aurora’s shoulder. “Will you stay with her?”

Aurora nodded. “She’s been alone long enough.”

Pain lapped your body like the tides.

Your chest felt heavy. Phantom weight from the queen’s bonds still rested on your shoulders and your collarbone. Your wrists were raw, several of your talons cracked. At first, you did not understand why your wings ached so badly. You had not been able to extend them inside your cage; now, your muscles quivered with effort in response to having them spread. The little bones ached the worst – made you feel as though you were jabbed with iron needles.

“Easy,” someone said. A hand rested over yours, and you thought for a moment that it must be Conall. The voice wasn’t right, but you were still fatigued – exhausted, if you were honest with yourself. You were surprised you had not succumbed sooner. “Can you hear me?”

You made a sound. Oh, you ached! But the feeling of unrestricted breath – of your extended wings (though you knew not what they were braced with) gave you relief.

“Papa?” Your voice was so low it was hardly a whisper.

“No,” the speaker sighed, their voice gentle. They took your hand in both of yours and patted it softly. “I can find him, if you like?”

“Please.” Your eyelids fluttered, and brows furrowed. The light was softer, and you were grateful.

You heard shuffling. The voice whispered to someone, “Go down to the courtyard, find the girl’s father.”

“Yes, highness,” came the reply.

Your forced your eyes open.

You were no longer in that dungeon, locked away inside a cage, but you weren’t in your nest, either. You blinked several times. There were furniture. Decorations. An older man at your bedside. Your wings were stretched on either side of you, their ends tucked through the seat-backs of…chairs. Mortal chairs.

The palace. You were in the palace.

You wrenched your hand away.

The first wing slipped loose easily. You kicked and fought the heavy blankets, struggling as though trapped in a net. When you fell to the floor, your wing took the chair it was trapped in with you, and the resulting shockwave of pain loosed a scream that made your raw throat sear.

Wing-beats. Someone rushed to you, and you lashed out without thinking, throwing your weight into Borra as he gathered you off the floor.

Finally.

Teeth bared, you hardly had the strength to stand; when Borra joined you with his large, mobile wings, you practically scaled his side. You expected vines, and thorns, and thrashing on the humans’ part, and almost certainly snide remarks as he carried you back to the nest.

“It’s alright!” He lowered his face near yours, tried to draw your eyes.

You looked at him, and you knew the expression on your face betrayed your confusion.

“It’s alright,” he repeated. “The king’s made himself your nursemaid.” He held your eyes for a moment longer before they dropped, tracing you. You tried to lock your joints, force your muscles to stop trembling, but it had been so long since you stood upright that your legs refused.

“By the looks of you,” Borra gathered you against his side much too easily. You gripped his shoulders, talons biting into his armor as he swept you up into his arms just long enough to lay you down in the bed you’d fought your way out of. “That isn’t a poor choice.”

“What are you?” you whispered, almost certain that this was another of Ingreth’s games. “Did the queen send you?”

At that, he barked a laugh and drew the royal blankets to your waist. “Did that little hob-goblin hit you in the head often?”

Your mind raced. You shook your head again, not understanding.

“Cas.” He bent his head, bunted his horns against yours. “It’s me. You’re alright. You’re safe. But you’ve got to rest. Their healers and our elders can only do so much.”

Their healers and our elders.

“Together.”

He nodded. His hand raised, touched the back of your neck. Yes, that certainly felt like Borra – skin like sun-warmed rock. Made your wings ache further with hopes he might alleviate the pain.

You relaxed against him, your hand coming to rest on his broad, mostly-bare shoulder. “What is my mother’s name?”

“Noren,” he replied without hesitation.

“My brother?”

“Ere.”

“His daughter?”

“It’s me, Cas.” His eyes lifted, and you knew it was. They were like gemstones melted into gold, the same way his skin glimmered under the light of a full sun. “A lot’s happened since last I saw you. But I swear, nothing you see is a lie.”

It took you a moment to shift from soaking in the warmth of the familiar to turn your attention to the king. The exhaustion and the sorrow must’ve shown in your face; the old man had withdrawn, on guard of himself, but he hardly hesitated to approach once you’d calmed.

“I am,” his voice was gentle and warm, and you supposed Conall must’ve quite liked him, “so sorry for what was done to you.”

“Did you know?”

“No,” he replied. His face was as honest as Borra’s, a thought that would have made you laugh under most any other circumstance. The fear in your chest ebbed slowly, though you found yourself with a hand rested on your companion for support.

“There’s peace?”

“Yes,” Borra replied, but the softness of his voice, the change in his demeanor...to say it worried you would not be enough.

“How?” You lifted your hand, held the wrapping around his arm. “Tell me. Was it Conall? What happened?” Did they negotiate your release? Could that woman be negotiated with? No – had she captured them, was that it? Was the price of peace your people’s enslavement?

“Can you move your wings?”

You hated when he changed subject, but he had always been straightforward about what he found important. You sighed, tried, and the pain that shot through them – through seemingly every last fiber of your flesh – nearly laid you on your back. You almost fell away from him, and you weren’t sure whether the pain you would have felt allowing your battered joints and thoroughly-burned back to make contact ahead of the rest of you, or the fact that Borra caught you and contact between your flesh and his made you moan aloud with pain, was the more horrible alternative.

“There must be something you can do,” he said to the king.

You longed to be settled on your stomach, but didn’t think you could tolerate not knowing. It was one thing to have your cage pressed up against a wall until the queen’s guard forced you forward, another entirely to lie down so someone might drive iron into your exposed back.

“I’ll call for my healers,” the king replied. “Is there nothing your people can?”

“Don’t really care who does it,” you volunteered. Or, frankly, what it was.

The king frowned, and departed in a flurry of gathered robes that you thought (with some bemusement) made him walk like an egging shorebird.

“What will help you?” Borra kept his arm in place. The part of you that was grateful was directly in conflict with the parts of you that hurt, and you found yourself speaking without regards for your senses.

“Can you touch them?”

He paused. He wasn’t wrong to look at you so strangely.

“You literally cannot hurt me any worse than I already do.” You closed your eyes for a moment, tightened your muscles. Your back refused, rippling with pain. Your wings couldn’t even flutter, they trembled limply alongside your body, and the thought of anyone stringing them through the chairs while you were conscious almost made you sob.

You didn’t notice how his brows furrowed. How he frowned as he laid you down, slowly, gently, as though intimately aware of your pain.

Your arms folded around yourself, talons....pricking fabric that was not your armor. Great skies, who’d dressed you? What were you wearing? You hadn’t noticed, and you didn’t have the strength to endure trying to sit up again.

You didn’t feel him touch you at first. You only heard the sound he made, and shame flooded you as though anything could have been done about your lack of preening.

Then you felt it. The slow drag of his talons through your feathers, separating them. You knew you’d bled several times – from the iron or from your fragile skin, you’d never known. He was patient; it was a slow procession, grooming out even a portion of your neglected plumage, but you were grateful that he did all the same.

Though your grip on your own ribs never quite loosened.

It wasn’t his fault. Your muscles were weak, your bones well-broken. You did what you could to stop your body from shaking, but a tremor must’ve passed through your wings (though, blessedly, you couldn’t tell) because he stopped abruptly.

“It was nice,” you murmured, praying your voice didn’t waver.

He perched beside you, but never got the chance to respond. The king’s people returned, with a boy and a girl you had no recollection of.

“How are you feeling?” The girl came right to your bedside, and her familiarity toward you gave you pause. You looked to Borra.

“This is Aurora, and her prince. She was raised by one of us.”

Your eyes flickered, restlessly, back to the girl. “I’d remember a human child.”

“Yes, well. You’d remember a phoenix too, had you been there.”

“What?” Now he returns to himself? He couldn’t be snide with you while plucking the dead feathers from your wings?

“I’ll tell you later.”

The girl did her best to smile, but you could see her uncertainty. She was not familiar with you, but she – and, if you weren’t wrong, certainly her mate – was familiar with Borra.

For the moment, that was enough.

“Terrible.” You gave her honesty, and hoped that the strength of your tone gave you leverage, should you need it. “How long was I caged?”

“You were caged?” Borra interrupted.

“We don’t know,” the girl said, her voice patient. “What was the last thing you remember?”

Your memory was not what failed you, though you did your best to keep the sort of comments Borra would be proud of to yourself.

“Thinking he was right,” you said, not that honesty would serve you well in that regard. “…there was a man struggling against the current, in the river. He wasn’t far from the falls.”

You remembered it vividly, though you had no idea how long it had been since it occurred. The struggling body of a man you knew must have been human, someone you had no reason to put yourself at risk for. Conall always hoped for peace, though, and you could not return to the nest with unnecessary death on your conscience.

“I pulled him from the river onto the shore. He was wet and struggling.”

And then he shot you. So close you could feel the crossbow clip your feathers when the bolt passed through the base of your wing. You started to reach for it, but Borra caught your hand. Guided it back, and went to part your feathers himself.

The girl gasped. It was no wonder, then, that you were in such pain.

“It was like nothing I’d ever felt.” You realized, belatedly, that you were only speaking to Borra. “Once I fell, I couldn’t get back up. The pain was so intense…he must’ve been with others. I was dragged through the city streets by my wings.” Blind with pain, hysterical in your tears. “The only thought I had after reaching the bank…was that you were right. About them. And that if I saw you again...I hoped it’d please you to know I’d been wrong.”

He scowled. Severely. Well beyond his usual.

“I don’t know how long I’ve been here,” you told him, and only him, again. “Nothing but misfortune has befallen me. Your queen,” and just as quickly, the ire was once again upon the mortals of the room, “took it upon herself to attend me with her guards.”

“I am so very sorry,” the boy whispered, stepping closer.

“You may be. She was not. Standing there, giving orders. Start in the middle, move to the back. Come back and break the end. Don’t forget the little parts.” You could hear it in her voice, in the calm, mocking tone that left you shaking with rage. “She would not stop until she had the satisfaction of having me on my knees.”

Perhaps you were a tad angry. Some part of you hoped Conall wouldn’t overhear.

“I gripped those bars until my hands bled, and that monster couldn’t have enough! Six times!” Your voice cracked, and you hated it. You locked eyes with the girl, though, and the tears that shone in her wide eyes spoke only of sympathy. “Six times your queen broke my wings. Every. Bone. In. Them.”

Borra was right. Despite those that stood before you now, even though Conall would have reminded you that the hatred of a few did not overcome the love of many, it was all that kept you sane.

You could not look at him.

You wiped your eyes furiously, knowing in the very pit of you that he already believed you to be no warrior. He saw you like this, and now you were crying, and you’d told him he was right, and damn you, you felt every bit a nestling as you’d once been.

The girl rushed to you. Threw her arms around your neck and squeezed onto you as though her love, her weight, could do anything but worsen your pain.

“You can’t move them,” Borra said, almost like he’d only just realized.

You pretended that he was not wondering whether you would ever fly again.

“I’m so sorry,” the girl said into your neck, cheek damp with tears. “I will call for my godmother—”

“Aurora,” the boy tried to interject.

“I will call for my godmother and see if she can’t help you heal your wings.” The girl withdrew just as quickly, wiping her face as though she… as though she had warriors to please. Or a kingdom.

“Who are you?” you asked her in a whisper, searching her face for any hint of familiarity, any inclination that she was something belonging to the dread queen.

“My name is Aurora. I am the new queen of Ulstead. Queen of the Moors.”

Her godmother’s name was Maleficent.

You did not handle much of the news well, as was to be expected. Any of it, really; your casualties of war – the loss of Conall – on top of your broken wings was nearly more than you could bear.

But Maleficent was powerful. She had powers none of the rest of you possessed. She could throw men across rooms (which Borra told you with no lacking measure of excitement) as well as heal with a touch.

So it was Maleficent, and her raven, Diaval, who were the ones to preen your broken wings.

Magic or no magic, the persistence of her fingers made you curl in on yourself. There was only so far you could go, so much writhing you could do before the iron burns on your back pulled and throbbed in time with your pulse, and the light sheen of sweat on your temple spread to the rest of you.

“Do you want me to stop?”

Those were the first words she spoke to you. She stood on one side, her raven-mate crouched on the other. Both groomed the dried blood and dead feathers from your wings, though only she had claws, and the raven, well. He preened you like a little bird.

“Yes,” you rasped.

She hadn’t healed you. If she had, it had only been in part. There was only so much your body could handle, and your thorough preening had been more than enough.

She circled your bed as though she intended to exit. She walked like one of you, but also like one of them. She moved the way the hated queen had wanted to.

“Do you hate them?”

If that was to be a test, then there was a clear correct and incorrect answer. But you were honest with her.

“No.”

She tilted her head at you. Her eyes were the green of spring, of new leaves still emerging from their bud-casings. You thought some part of you remembered what that must look like, but no – it must’ve been something you’d been told.

“Conall…” You forced yourself to swallow, though your throat opposed. Whether it was tight from pain or sorrow you refused to acknowledge. “They say that Conall died protecting you. You and Borra.”

Her eyes widened, and her posture straightened.

You drew in a breath, but the pain in your back was enough to leave it shallow. “He protected you, knowing that whatever happened to me was done by them. Our kind don’t just go missing. Either we return to the nest, or we’ve been killed.”

You were glad they’d regarded you as dead. You couldn’t imagine someone else having come for you only to end up much the same. Skies forbid, experimented upon like those poor little things murdered by the gremlin called Lickspittle.

“He died by their hand. And he implored you all the while not to turn on them.” Stars, if Borra didn’t turn on them, you never would. “No, I don’t hate them. Not all of them.”

Her shoulders softened. Though she did not tell you in words, you knew that she agreed. By no means did she hate her daughter, but it was difficult to love your enemy when your enemy found no difficulty in destroying you.

Wings cut through the air near the balcony outside your window, and you turned your gaze from her. The door was open, now, not that it meant much to you. Your people were free to come and go as they pleased, but there was political unrest to be dealt with. Burials to be had. Perhaps. You thought. You had also been told there were no bodies left to bury, and you were not sure what had become of Conall while you were gone.

“You again!”

Borra tucked his large, jointed wings as he passed under the doorframe, nearly catching the points of his horns. He scowled at the doorway as though its size miraculously changed since last he walked through it, and a smile crossed your lips.

“Yes, me. Someone ought to bring you real food.”

“You’ve gotten past your prejudice of them well,” Maleficent said, deadpan and yet equally teasing.

You almost ganged up on him with her, but the smell of what he carried, wrapped in cloth, made you struggle to sit upright. Oh, no – by comparison, the king’s tiny game birds meant nothing compared to parcel laid before you.

You dove in with both hands, tearing cooked meat from flesh with your sharp teeth. It had been so long since you had a proper meal. Not since the night you left. You were, for the moment, negligent of everything but how soon your fangs scraped bone.

“Easy.” He put his hand near you, but didn’t touch you, as though he expected you to be more fragile than you were. “There’s more where that came from.”

“Bring the rest of it,” you said between mouthfuls, picking up a dangling sinew between your claws and swallowing it whole.

Sympathy touched his face, and you nearly growled at him. It would have been intended to be playful, though you weren’t sure it would have come out that way.

“What else can I bring you?”

“Do you trust their water?” you asked him. No matter what you said, and no matter how you felt, Borra was the leader your people had chosen and you respected him as such.

He drew in a breath and quirked his head, and you nodded feverishly. “Then water. And more food.”

“What is it?” The raven asked, his head perked curiously toward you.

“Goat,” he replied.

Maleficent’s eyes widened, and her raven looked as though he had been slapped. You glanced to Borra, wanting desperately to understand – and yet, all he did was grin at you!

“What?” you asked, newly eager to be included.

“I hope that was an ill-placed joke,” Maleficent elected to ignore you.

“It wasn’t.” Borra rose, never once allowing his grin to falter. “But there are many goats in the kingdom, Maleficent. Only one that can watch us eat the others.”

It was only after he left, laughing as he stole over your balcony like he was but a fledgling once more, that the raven Diaval told you what became of your dread queen.

You laughed for the first time in a very long time, until tears pricked the edges of your vision.

Borra was not the only one who visited you, though he was, by far, the most frequent.

At first, you thought it was because he presumed you would fill in the empty place among your people Conall had left. Then, Udo told you Ini had, and you were glad for her (particularly considering you had only traveled as far as your balcony since your release, and your body ached relentlessly. You would not return to the nest for some time yet). You presumed, after that, that he was using you as a tether to Conall. Perhaps Maleficent had told him that the only humans you hated were the ones that had harmed you, and, perhaps, he believed keeping close proximity to you would help him better seek peace. If you indulged yourself, you let yourself believe that he mourned Conall with you, as Maleficent couldn’t. She had not grown with you as he had. She had not borne the brunt of his many chastisings. She had not risen to a role of power among your people through their will, no matter the odds you were often left at as a result.

Shrike was not so convinced.

“He looked for you.” The parrot-woman leaned back against the balcony across from you. The wind ruffled her feathers comfortably, but you were remanded with little jabs of pain every time a gust hit you the wrong way. You still could not lift them properly (you had them supported on the balcony’s stone railing), but you had regained much of your physical strength, and the king ensured that his healers remained in the palace for as long as you needed them.

“When you vanished,” she pressed when you didn’t respond. “Borra looked for you.”

“Borra looks for trouble,” you replied, though you were, in fact, looking for him. You were curious where he ran off to now, when he wasn’t with you. “Does he go back to the nest?”

She scoffed, and you inclined your head toward her.

“He is still their leader,” you pressed.

“And he is still young. And strong. And handsome. And from the looks of it, quite virile.”

You pulled a face. “Skies, has the delusion of humanity gotten to you, too?”

Her wry mouth twitched, though she did her best to stifle it. “Don’t lie to me. You must’ve imagined what it’d be like to grab him by the horns.”

“And wring his neck?” you teased.

“And mate him. Make him yours.”

The wind ruffled you, and you swore the face you made was only in response to another round of stabbing pains.

“He could have any warrior in the nest, Cassia of the Forest. And yet, it’s you he desires. You he tends. You he preens.”

Your cheeks warmed and your eyes darted to her, as sharp and hawk-like as you got.

“I didn’t think you were aware of that part,” she responded, crossing her arms over her armored chest in satisfaction. “He often does it when you sleep. I doubt you’ve had much stomach to do it yourself lately, considering.” Considering you were physically unable to draw them into yourself to do so.

Stars, did your body warm. “He preens me in my sleep?”

“Carefully.” Whatever teasing jealousy she’d had in her voice fell away, and she looked to you seriously then. “I have never seen him touch anyone, or anything, as gently as he touches you.”

Of course you’d thought about him that way. It was only natural. You’d grown together, in the safety of the nest. Your friends paired off with others, built nests of their own. And it didn’t help that you had always locked horns with him, often literally. The heat of his skin radiant, the power in his smile, the way he always seemed to be in control while you were genuinely fighting for dominance.

You shook your head. Slowly, at first, and then with increasing shame as your eyes dampened. “He shouldn’t.”

“There are far worse things than broken wings.”

Shrike saw the others, flying high above the moors, just as you did. Maleficent and the children she’d sworn to your father to protect. Your people were not all predominantly warriors, but it still seemed unfair to you. That was what he was. Who he was. The people’s warrior. The tactician. Even if lives had been lost, he led your people from the nest. Reclaimed a place of freedom.

It was not your broken wings you worried about.

You stayed on your balcony well into the night.

You had turned away from your room ages ago, your eyes fixed on the palace’s many courtyards. Their abundant faerie blooms. Then your attention wandered; just beyond a fortification lay the human village. Men who walked around with torches and pitchforks, who you knew saw you on the balcony, and all your comings and goings. Children who refused to come outside.

You wished your heart would break for them. But you were simply tired.

Beyond the last wall, over the river, were the moors. They danced with the twinkling of pixies, the dim, pulsating glow of will o’ the wisps. You smelled the sea-tide freshness in the air, and the mountain fog, and your body ached to take flight.

And then, of course, you heard the beat of wings.

You hated that you’d known if you stood there long enough, he’d come to you.

You could smell that he hadn’t come empty handed.

The parcel rustled as it was set aside. Warm hands lingered just above your hips, and you inhaled sharply before drawing away from the railing.

He caught your wings before they sagged.

You nearly stumbled from the spikes up your back; you grit your teeth and pretended nothing was wrong, though your steps had faltered. He said something quietly, something soothing and brief that made your traitor heart squeeze, and you let him help you to the bed without protest so that your wings could rest along its length.

“Did you get stuck out there?” he asked, a note of amusement in his voice.

You didn’t look at him at first. You scrubbed your hands over your tired eyes, and you considered telling him that you just needed rest tonight. But he’d brought you goat again, and a large, woven carrying-urn full of water.

“All this,” you murmured, letting a rueful laugh bubble out of you. “All this, and I have nothing to give you in return.”

“Can’t recall asking for anything,” he said, a bit too tense to be casual. Perhaps he had while he was preening you, lest it come back to rear its ugly head.

“Tell me you don’t do this out of obligation to him.”

He froze, his gaze sharpening. There he was, the Borra you’d grown up with. The boy who’d lock his horns with you and back you into the tree trunks, his grip on your arms so hard you were always bruised, though he never drew blood. What would you have done if he’d decided to kiss you? Slapped him, probably. And beat him with your wings.

“I do this because I want to,” he replied.

You were secretly relieved his voice rode the line between hard and gentle. Whatever, whoever, he was becoming, he wasn’t there yet. He was still Borra (and the realization that you had been afraid, in part, of everything Shrike said to you was because he was changing from the man you knew into a man you could love startled you – so gravely, in fact, that you hadn’t realized how long and hard you’d thought about your capacity for loving him at all).

“Cas.” He touched your chin, lifting your eyes so they met his. “What’s wrong? Hm? Talk to me.”

“You could have anyone you want,” you whispered, grateful that his hand was there to ensure your lips wouldn’t tremble. “Warriors prostrate themselves in front of you for your approval, and yet, here you are.”

“Maybe I don’t want a warrior,” he said, and your stomach tightened in a way that was in no way unpleasant. “Maybe I want Cassia of the Forest.”

“A novice peacemaker with broken wings.”

“Like you’re the only one?”

You knew he was trying to lighten your mood, but you let yourself be silent. Even if you’d known what to say, what would you have worth saying?

He stroked your jaw, the brush of his claw-tips so soft, so languid that your eyelids fluttered. That wasn’t fair of him. To be so strong, so fierce, so capable, and then touch you like he did.

“Peace…will never be easy. It’ll never be clean. They had a wedding in the courtyard where our people died. Even now, I see the way they look up here, and the need rises…” He clenched his unwrapped fist, so hard that you worried he’d break his stone-thick skin. Your hand came to rest over his, and you paused only to take it between both of yours, your fingers gentle, and his fingers were more than willing to separate from his palm so long as yours were there.

“I don’t hate them,” you admitted. “I wish I did. Not even the queen.”

He never looked away from you, though you saw the way his brow began to furrow.

“I feared her.”

He swept you against him suddenly, your hips colliding with his waist, his hand on your back well below the iron burns that had yet to finish healing. His eyes were level with yours, and you held them without guidance.

“You never will again,” he whispered, fiercely.

“If there is to be peace,” you started, only for him to cut you off with the bunt of his horns against yours.

“If there is to be peace, then there is to be peace. I will not sacrifice you for it.”

He would not sacrifice anyone, and that was why the people chose him to lead. Everyone he’d lost, the skin burned, the blood that had been shed, it would all weigh on him until something provoked retribution.

“If I am wrong, let me be wrong.” He wrapped the other arm around you. His forehead brushed against yours, the tips of your noses grazed.

“I can’t tell you where wrong begins and right ends anymore,” you whispered.

That must have been alright with him. He kissed you, and it was not exactly the way you imagined he might kiss you. Of course, it was at his lead, and there was an undercurrent of ferocity, but he was gentle. And for all your head-butting, you had never been afraid of him. Only war. Only death. And both of those things seemed like such strange concepts now – to die in a war for your people, like the one he’d led, at least it was to die for something. To die, as opposed to being abandoned in your suffering…that hardly sounded like a bad thing.

Still, you were glad you had not died. And that he returned from war.

And so you kissed him in return, slow at first, letting his tongue part your lips and his hands guide you closer. Then your hands found somewhere comfortable to settle in his hair, and you wanted to know whether or not his tongue tasted like cactus flowers, and you kissed him with all the gratitude in your heart, as though kissing him was agreement enough that you would claim one another.

He held you there, against his chest. Kneeling between your legs, his head bowed for you and his wings spread with yours. You traced the cracks in his skin with your fingertips, avoided catching the tips of your claws on their edge. He followed your spine as far as he comfortably could.

“Thank you,” you whispered against his lips when you finally had to part for breath.

“Always,” he replied, and his voice was like honey, low and warm. You felt as though if you crawled into it like a beetle and let it encase you that you would smother comfortably.

Slowly, but surely, you regained movement in your wings.

It took months for the littler bones to heal. Months that were not spent in the palace of Ulstead, but on the moors, where you relocated with little more than a note of thanks and several vines of wild dog-rose wrapped around the bed posts.

Your people followed him. The only way to get anyone to leave the nest was to join Maleficent yourselves. It soothed them, that you were with him, and that your health returned to you day by day. (You still ate as though you were starving, and your mate still coated the iron scars in a thick herbal paste the elders made, but you were healing.) It soothed you to be with him, also, though he was the only one you could tell. You trusted him with your life. Some part of you always had. And you trusted him, now, to make his best effort at peace.

The great nest was always an option.

There was a bounty on his head.

Neither of you had any way of knowing. No faerie did.

The men crossed the bridge at night. With torches. And pitchforks. And iron.

And you still could not fly.

They woke the moor-people before they had the chance to ambush you. The dragonfly-folk buzzed ferociously around your head, until you swatted at them in vain in protection of your ears, and your movement roused Borra from under you.

“What?” he asked those of the dandelion bodies, rubbing the slumber from his eyes. “What’s wrong?”

“Poachers!” Pinto cried in their native faerie tongue. “A mob of them!”

Your eyes widened. You looked to him, your not-yet-husband, expecting him to respond as every bit the warrior he was.

“Run,” he told them.

He grabbed your satchel, threw in your healing cream and the few things he’d brought from your nest, and he took you by the hand.

“RUN,” he bellowed to the moors and all its people. “Into the woods! Take to the sky if you can – we do nothing without Maleficent!”

They did, much of the moor-folk on foot. It would be nearly impossible not to step on them, not to crush them by accident, and the flaw of the plan was unveiled almost immediately.

“….Go with them.”

“No.”

“Go with them, Cassia, I’ll follow you!”

“No!” You held tight to his arm, keeping him grounded. “You’ve followed me to the ends of the earth, let me follow you!”

For a moment, you thought he would’ve. He certainly wanted to.

Instead, he turned back, and bellowed to the tree-folk, “Keep away from the iron; do your best to hold them back. Follow us, but protect the small and weak!”

Then he pulled you onto his side, trusting you to cling to him as you did, trusting you to fold your wings as best you could, and he ran – skyward – with you.

“Focus on the dogwood?”

You nodded. You felt the curl of his fingers, and knew he was trying to pay attention to building a wall of vines too thick to be penetrated, but he kept an eye on the faeries who could not get out of trouble so easily. You called to the wild roses, your thorns winding securely together so that the tree-men might be able to fall back, when you saw it.

“Dive!” you cried.

Too late.

You had not fallen back far enough. The arrow pierced his back, and the sky fell out from under you.

There are far worse things, you thought as you curled your fingers around the bolt and pulled, than broken wings.

Yours flared, and by some miracle, caught the current.

It was enough to blunt your fall.

You crashed, clutching one another, in the downed, mossy branches of a grove much closer to the moors than the foothills where you wanted to be. You pulled yourself upright, dragging Borra with you, pulling on the bolt until it came free and you lost use of your hand to keeping pressure on his wound.

“Wait,” he rasped, breathing heavily.

“It’s bleeding too much for me to dress. We have to move on.”

He grit his teeth and rested a hand on your hip. You knew the pain was excruciating…and then you paused. Your fingers strayed slightly, feeling the soft down against the curve of your thumb.

Beneath his wing.

If he flew, he’d bleed too heavily.

Now, you were both earthbound.

“Can you carry us?” he asked.

“I can try,” you whispered.

Bracken snapped. Both of your heads lifted, and you called the dog-rose from the ground. It curled around the both of you in a shield, not strong enough for the iron bolts to be deflected, but strong enough to trap them when you were fired upon.

“For the people of Ulstead, we seek justice!” someone yelled.

You let your thorn-shield grow. You did your best quiet your steps so you might be able to retreat.

But he was heavy, and in pain, and when his rustled, they shot another bolt cleanly through the branched dog-rose. You gasped as it passed beside your horn to embed within a tree.

“We want only the fey who shed Ulstead’s blood!” someone else yelled into the woods.

“Your poachers?” you cried. “You seek justice for murderers!”

Borra growled and pulled himself up beside you as close to properly as he could. “They may not speak only of the poachers.”

Your eyes widened. He so rarely left the moors! How could the peace be broken?!

“We may have eaten the queen.”

Were it not for the men with crossbows and the severity of his voice, you would have laughed.

“Give us the fey who’s shed the blood of Ulstead, and the rest will remain unharmed!”

He looked to you. He who’d hunted the hunters, he who sought retribution only in response to stolen lives. Who else could they mean but him?

You shook your head.

He was not going to listen to you. He shifted, struggling to right himself. His arm was wrapped around his torso as though he could staunch the bleeding on his own.

You went ahead of him.

“Cas,” he whispered fiercely. “Cassia!”

The dog-rose parted around you only to seal in your wake. You let its spread continue, and threw your satchel to the ground.

“It was me.” They’d become less of a mob and more of a crowd hiding in the bushes. “I,” you held up your bloody palms, “shed the blood of Ulstead.”

A low murmur ran through them. You doubt they’d expected anyone to surrender.

“I’ve killed your poachers,” you raised your voice. “I’ve eaten your queen. And I’ve done nothing beyond retaliation. I pulled one of your people from the river, before he went to his death over the falls! And as repayment, your queen locked me away in an iron cage. Just as you protect your people, I have done nothing but protect mine.”

Silence. Frightened faces peered out from the foliage. They were armed. They had no trouble harming you before. They had no qualm shedding Borra’s blood, and you didn’t know how many others’.

“Do what you will, but know this: I swore peace. No blood has been shed since that declaration.”

“And none will be shed now!”

Maleficent’s thorns grew thick, linking together into an impenetrable wall. Her massive wings beat the air, and you allowed your wild roses to recede.

Borra grasped you by your waist, nearly wrenching your body against his. “What were you thinking?!”

“That they are as afraid of us as we are of them.”

He took a sharp breath, which had to be cut short. You returned your hand to his wound, and, though you knew Maleficent was stronger than the villagers of Ulstead, you looked to her.

She did not do the same.

You guided him to settle there, going no further. You tore the extra fabric from the hem of your tunic and held it flush to his wound while you pulled your satchel back to you with the tip of your wing.

“We’ll have to work on those noble tendencies,” he said, so deadpan that, at first, you didn’t think it was a joke.

“I wasn’t the one shot because they made sure Pinto was rushing off to safety.”

You loved him. The thought bloomed anew in your chest, its roots stretching deeper than when last you thought it. You dressed his wound as best you could, staunched and cleansed by healing salve.

He didn’t argue with you, lips quirked as he watched you tend. To his credit, he waited until you had shifted into a more comfortable position to steal a kiss, much too firm to be chaste, and much too brief to be satisfactory.

You sighed theatrically, fingers paused in the healing salve. “Do you believe true love’s kiss will heal you, Borra of the desert sands?”

He quirked his head, but couldn’t keep the mischief from his lips. “That requires you to love me in return, does it not?”

You leaned in until his lips nearly brushed yours. His eyelids lowered, lips parting softly with the expectation that you would take what you desired. And you would, in due time.

“With you,” you whispered against them, “I am never afraid.”

#Borra #Maleficent Borra #Borra Maleficent #Borra x Reader #Maleficent: Mistress of Evil #faerie boyfriend #I just want all my readers to know I've been clocking ~8k a day and I'm gonna write myself blind #That's not a threat or a warning just a conversation piece. I'm not stopping.

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k-s-morgan · 4 years

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hello! This is gonna be long...But I swear there is a question in the end of this! God I hope what I am about to share is good, I’ve been writing this the whole day! 😤😅💦

2) Female!Tom sounds amazing! Harry would definitely think twice before touching her, since she is the witch who ruined his life. But with him getting constantly reminded of how human she is, and finding her childish behaviors endearing and amusing (much to his frustration)

3) I think he’s going to be more protective and possessive of her later on, especially with people eyeing her up. I imagine that his greatest insecurity would be the constant feeling that she can slip from his grasp at any given moment.

4) she’d view it as a trap and a form of weakness, and would hate to be one of those pathetic woman whose whole propose is a family and a husband. God, she sure as hell wouldn’t want to end up like her mother, whom was abandoned after getting knocked up.

5) No, she is destined for greater things, better things, and she doesn’t need anyone’s help in achieving them. If this Potter individual is idiotic enough to adopt her, then she’d flitter her pretty eyelashes and use him like the other fools in her life. In a way, she’d loathe love and feelings with more vengeance than Tom ever could.

6) And throwing his love right into his face while spontaneously lashing out at him. she’d create an atmosphere that will prevent Harry from feeling completely relaxed around her as he did with Tom.

7) That’s why I don’t think he’s gonna be more prone to getting manipulated by her just because she’s a harmless little girl, he would be on his guard, constantly listening to the alarm bells in his head, ironically, Tom is the one who manages to hide his true self from Harry better. But on the other hand, Harry would be more patient and understanding with her then he would be with Tom. Because, in the end of the day, he understands why she’s refusing to be loved.

8) I imagine that Harry would tease in her things she didn’t even know she liked; an ease, a simplicity, and the fact that she can be as feral as she wants with him 😏 without the fear of being abandoned. She’d drop her masks 🎭 faster than Tom would, because of the suffocating standers to live up to as a girl. I personally see her old-future (Voldemort) as an outlet, a way for her true self to come out and play.

9) But with all the differences between them, they both cringe the moment someone implies that they’re related. (Especially with how similar they look).

10) My question is..would the obsessive/possessive aspect of their relationship differ? And how do you imagine their sexual relationship when their dynamic change? I personally can think of a lot of sexual tension, a lot of awkwardness that she doesn’t help alleviate at all by acting like a spoiled little brat! honestly! sometimes all Harry wants to do is throw her on a couch and-

11) Dumbledore’s desperate attempt to get Harry a female in his life other then her, suddenly makes a lot more sense to me.

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

Hello! Wow, you sure wrote a lot, and I’m absolutely delighted to see that that female!Tom ask inspired you to write what could be basically called a short story :D I really loved reading it, you painted such a vivid picture. And I definitely agree with you: Harry would probably be way more protective of her, less convinced that she can take care of herself when she's young. In fact, I think he might have worried that by raising fem!Tom himself in better circumstances, he's making her happier, less wary, and as a result, more vulnerable and defenseless. Naturally, that would be far from the truth, and fem!Tom would use it to her advantage.

I also think that fem!Tom could have opened up to Harry more quickly. Upon seeing that he doesn't care about gender stereotypes and doesn't expect her to be anything she is not, she would have relaxed more, letting him see all sides of her, along with ugly ones, sooner.

Now, as for the question part: I think Harry would be more openly possessive because while he wouldn’t apply gender stereotypes to fem!Tom, he’d still fall victim to some of them himself. He’d think she needs more protection, so he’d be watching attentively to make sure no one takes advantage of her and that she stays safe. Fem!Tom would have used this occasionally to get a closer contact with him, using Harry’s protective instincts to trigger his passion and get more of his attention. I imagine sex between them would be just as explosive, though, because Tom in ever variation knows how to get on Harry’s nerves and make him lose his cool :D

#my fics #tomarry

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thecatsrippedpajamas · 4 years

Text

THE PROBLEM WITH PRIDEFALL, EVEN IF IT’S NOT REAL: HOW THIS HAS HAPPENED BEFORE, IS STILL HAPPENING, AND WILL HAPPEN AGAIN, AND WHAT TO DO ABOUT IT.

PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE READ THIS REGARDLESS OF WHAT YOU KNOW ABOUT/HOW YOU FEEL ABOUT PRIDEFALL

I woke up this morning to a ton of posts about pridefall, and reblogged a bunch of stuff before soon finding out it had been “blown out of proportion”. I will not remove those posts. Just because pridefall has been revealed to be much, much smaller than we thought does not mean we shouldn’t think about it. I’m going to tell you why.

If you don’t know what pridefall is/was, it is a small group on 4chan who want to go to Proud people’s social media posts and do/say bad shit to them. At first, everyone assumed it was a massive group that everyone had to worry about, but it is slowly being revealed to supposedly be just a few people. Of course, everyone had already panicked and spread the word about it before fully looking into it, including myself, but you know what? That’s okay.

Some people now are saying that people are stupid for believing pridefall might be a problem, and to those people: Fuck you.

If you think someone is stupid for believing they might be outed to people: Fuck you. If you think someone is stupid for believing they were about to get heavily made fun of and threatened: Fuck you. If you think someone is stupid for believing they might get doxxed, and therefore beaten, r*ped, and/or m*dered: Fuck you.

Here’s why I’m saying fuck you and here’s why we still have to worry, even if “pridefall” isn’t a huge group of people:

NO ONE SHOULD HAVE TO THINK THEY ARE ABOUT TO BE OUTED WITHOUT THEIR CONSENT. NO ONE SHOULD HAVE TO THINK THEY ARE ABOUT TO BE THREATENED. NO ONE SHOULD HAVE TO THINK THEIR LIFE IS ABOUT TO BE IN DANGER.

EVEN IF PRIDEFALL ISN’T REAL, THE FACT THAT IT COULD HAVE BEEN IS STILL A PROBLEM.

Some people have recognized this. Some people have not.

If you are in the Community (any community, including being a race other than white) this should worry you. Because it’s already fucking happened. Every damn day people like us are taken down for no reason (Tony McDade, George Floyd), so something like pridefall, even if it is small or fake, is still a threat to us. THREATS WITH NO ACTION FOLLOWING THEM ARE STILL THREATS.

And here’s the thing: I’ve seen plenty of proof to say that pridefall is “only a small group of people”, but nothing saying it isn’t a thing at all. That means there potentially is still an organized group out there that are planning on doing hurtful things to people! And to some of those people who are threatened, a small group of people will be enough.

A small group of people, even one person, could be enough to destroy someone. To k*ll someone. To make someone k*ll themselves.

And some of you people are calling that person stupid for worrying.

We should not be happy that the amount of pridefall people is smaller than we thought. We should not be happy about it until we are sure the number is zero. Because even if one of us passes on because of something like this, it should be a tragedy. It is a tragedy. It’s not okay.

But the number will never be zero, will it? Because just because the “pridefall” group is longer doesn’t mean there’s no people out there who are still horrible to us. THERE ARE STILL MILLIONS OF PEOPLE OUT THERE, OUTING US, DOXXING US, BULLYING AND HARASSING US, K*LLING US. WHETHER OR NOT THEY HAVE A GROUP ON 4CHAN SHOULDN’T FUCKING MATTER. Did you all forget that this was happening? That it’s been happening for a hundred years and will happen for a thousand more unless we do something about it?

And it’s happening in our own community! Proud people discriminating on race. Proud people acting like certain sexualities and gender orientations don’t or shouldn’t exist. The people who do that shouldn’t be proud. They’re nearly as bad as the people we’ve been trying to fight.

My point is that some of you are acting like we shouldn’t be worrying, when we really should be. People are still going to be absolutely awful during every Pride month we have, regardless of if they are part of an organized group.

Now, I’m not saying we panic. I don’t want people staying off the internet for the entirety of Pride month, missing out on loads of support, just because they are scared. Not at all. Just that we be careful. Always. Because someone, someday, might come for you, and you need to be prepared.

Below are some things I suggest you do if you are worried about or are getting harassed online for being Proud. These are merely suggestions and are not perfect so please don’t sue me.

How to avoid it:

Honestly, there’s no way to completely avoid it. If you are extremely worried, though, and have a lot to lose (maybe you aren’t out irl, yet), then I suggest quietly taking down any blatantly prideful things from your social media. I despise telling people to do that, but I honestly don’t know how much of a problem that could cause some people, so that’s my suggestion.

What you definitely need to do is REMOVE ANY AND ALL PERSONAL INFO FROM SOCIAL MEDIA except maybe one of your names. This is more a general internet safety thing.

What to do if it happens to you:

The best thing you can do would be to ignore/delete/block/flag/report any negative things you see, without saying a word.

THEY WANT A SAD, SCARED, OR AGGRESSIVE RESPONSE; DO NOT GIVE THAT TO THEM. I REPEAT: DO NOT GIVE THEM A SAD, SCARED, OR AGGRESSIVE RESPONSE. IF THEY SEE THAT YOU ARE NOT GOING TO GIVE THEM THE RESPONSE THEY WANT, THEY WILL LIKELY LEAVE YOU ALONE.

Even if you’re sad/scared/angry about what they said, do not respond that way. That will just make them do more.

If you do feel the need to yell at them, a good thing to do is pretend they are in your room with you and argue with them there. Get your anger out somewhere else so you don’t give them the response they want.

There are good ways to respond, and I will list them below the cut, but it’s better to not respond at all.

Talk to a therapist if you have one handy.

If they say they have any of your personal info, report it. If you feel threatened enough by it, or especially if you think they found your house or if they actually contact your phone number/email address, REPORT IT TO THE POLICE. I know cops are kind of scary right now, but someone threatening you in this way is unbelievably dangerous.

I ASK THAT PEOPLE PLEASE SPREAD THIS POST AROUND TO HELP ALLEVIATE ANY MISINFORMATION OR RUDENESS TOWARDS EACH OTHER BECAUSE OF THIS WHOLE PRIDEFALL SITUATION. THE WORLD IS A SCARY PLACE RIGHT NOW. LET’S DO OUR JOB AND TRY TO MAKE IT A LITTLE BETTER.

How to respond in a good way:

You could CALMLY tell them you have/will report them to either the social media itself or the police. Many of these people are actually extreme cowards and will back off after you say this one or two times.

If you’re like me and think getting hate is a little funny, you could give a quick response like “lol” or “not today thanks” and then not responding anymore. Like I said earlier, if they see that you are not going to give the reaction you want, they are likely to go away. But the key is to not be aggressive while doing this.

Turn your response into something nice and helpful! Say something like “you saying that makes me think you may have had a troubled life and you are therefore lashing out. Here are some great places to find therapy for anyone who needs it!” and then link to some therapy sites. If they tell you to k*ll yourself, say something like “I don’t think anyone should do that. If anyone is thinking about that, here are some numbers you can call to get help” and then list some hotline numbers. Or you could find a really good website or something that explains why Pride is good, needed, and helpful for people. Maybe the person being rude doesn’t even understand what they’re so against.

If someone says something religious that is also rude, remind them of some things they may have forgotten from the Bible. The 6th commandment: do not murder. The 9th commandment: do not tell lies about others. Matthew 7:1-5: do not judge others. Matthew 7:12: treat others how you want to be treated. Mark 12:31: love your neighbor. (Also, you “going to hell” has nothing to do with them, so they have no real reason to use that against you.) DO NOT BASH ON THEM JUST BECAUSE THEY FOLLOW A RELIGION. NOT ALL RELIGIOUS PEOPLE ARE BAD AND NO RELIGION IS INHERENTLY BAD. SOMEONE BEING AN ASSHOLE IS SAYING SOMETHING ABOUT THEMSELVES, NOT THE RELIGION THEY ARE ABUSING.

#pride #pride month #pridefall #gay #lesbian #bi #pan #trans #nonbinary #advice #politics #tony mcdade #gay rights #gay pride #george floyd #feminism #black pride #proud #tw: discrimination

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obsessedwithbbandsuju · 4 years

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Love Disease | Part 1

But then it went further. From one moment, Kyuhyun-oppa seemed distant.

Pairing: Cho Kyuhyun/Han Yuna

___

oppa: a term used by a female to refer to a male, older than her, that she is close to

eonni: a term used by a female to refer to another female, older than her, that she is close to

sunbaenim: a term used by a junior to refer to a senior in the industry

___

Yuna had seen it coming, to be honest.

She’d have to be stupid not to. Even before today, she knew it had been a long way in the making. It started just as little things, almost trivial. His eyes were a little less intent as he looked at her while she spoke. He didn’t put his head on her shoulder as comfortably and contentedly as before. He looked a small bit lazier when they met than he used to. Things Yuna could just chalk up to their relationship becoming more comfortable. Worry tickled her at times, but they were easy enough to dismiss.

But then it went further. From one moment, Kyuhyun-oppa seemed distant. His calls were short and concise, his texts even more so. When they met he no longer seemed anxious to drag it out as long as he could. He reciprocated her touches, her kisses, her cuddles, but he seemed to stiffen just the tiniest, tiniest bit when he did. He paid attention when she spoke, but answered her in short, one-word sentences, and sometimes just with a single noise. He became less talkative, and while he didn’t talk much to begin with, he had always done it more with her – but even that stopped. Yuna got the feeling that it was all out of obligation rather than actual desire.

And then… now.

“What do you mean?” To her own surprise, her voice was calm. The fact that she’d seen it coming made it seem easier to understand. He turned away, walked a few steps, and she followed him, almost on instinct. His stride lengthened, like he was trying to find a pace that was too fast for her to follow, but she stayed at his heels.

Kyuhyun-oppa turned around to face her. His eyes were extremely, deeply, sincerely apologetic. Looking at them made Yuna feel sick. There was only a hint of sadness, and she could tell that even that wasn’t because he was breaking up with her – that there was going to be no more we between them anymore. It was only because he thought it a shame that their breaking up required hurting someone. Not because it required hurting her, just because it required hurting someone.

“We’re over.” His voice was tired and quiet. He looked at her like he would look at a frightened animal – wary and worried about it lashing out at him. He reached down, avoiding her eyes as if he couldn’t meet her gaze, and took both of her hands in his. Yuna felt too numb to snatch them away. When he finally looked at her face again, she could see that apologetic expression that made her want to run.

“I’m sorry.”

That was when it all sunk into her. Faster than she could comprehend, Yuna was crying. There was a lump in her throat, her chest felt tight and constricted, and it was hard to breathe.

“No,” she heard herself say. She felt hideous, stupid, for losing control of herself, for crying in front of him, but that didn’t seem to matter. She wanted to stop him. He couldn’t really be leaving her. “No, don’t. Don’t say that. You can’t mean we’re through, you can’t––” The sharp pain in her chest caused by the rising sob cut her off.

Kyuhyun-oppa sighed. His hands around hers tightened. “I’m sorry,” he said again. The words echoed hollowly.

“Why?” Yuna whispered. She wished she could have sounded forceful, angry, but her knees felt too weak and her head felt too light and she got the distinct feeling that she’d collapse if she exerted too much effort. “I did my best with you. I did everything I could to make our relationship happy. I thought I was doing fine. I thought we were fine. Why now?”

“I just…” Kyuhyun-oppa’s lips tightened. He looked like he was grimacing as he contemplated his next words, and, with a sick feeling, it hit Yuna that she didn’t want to hear them anymore. “…I’m tired. Of this. Of us. I won’t love you anymore if we keep going.”

Yuna stared at him. Vaguely, she was aware that he was still holding her hands. She wanted to snatch them back, but her body wouldn’t listen to her. I won’t love you anymore if we keep going.

“Don’t say that,” she gasped. “Please don’t say that. Think of – think of our first date. Think of our first kiss. About the first time we––” This time, she cut herself off. She couldn’t bear to think of that now. “We were happy,” she said weakly. “I was happy; you were too. You have to be. Kyuhyun-oppa, please––”

“I’m sorry.” That was the third time he said that, and she was already sick to the bone of the hearing it. His hands around her squeezed. “Don’t stop me,” he said. “I don’t want you crying over me in the future. It’s better this way.”

Yuna shook her head. Everything felt too tight, too stuffy. Her own body felt as heavy as lead, clunky and stiff. Useless.

Kyuhyun-oppa let go of her hands. They fell limply back to her sides, and that one, lax movement, it seemed to hurt him. He winced. Like he couldn’t bear looking at her any longer, he turned away, hurrying awkwardly towards the door. He was leaving, walking out of her apartment, and this time, out of her life.

Yuna walked after him. She wasn’t sure why. Part of it was just the natural inclination to not let a guest see himself out. Part of it was the urge to be close to him, to savor the last seconds they had in this private space together before it was all destroyed for good. Part of it was that she refused to be the person to stand there like a stricken idiot when she was broken up with.

Kyuhyun-oppa gave no sign that he noticed that she was following, not until he was out the door. He paused, and then turned back to her. That apologetic look was unfailingly there.

“Please,” he whispered. “Please, be happy. I’m leaving you with so many scars – I know that. Find someone else. Someone better than me – someone who’ll heal those scars for you. Please.”

Probably not expecting her to reply, he turned to go.

“You’re wrong.”

Kyuhyun-oppa paused.

“Someone else will never heal the scars you’re leaving me.” Yuna stared after his turned back, leaning against the doorframe to prevent herself from sliding to the floor and breaking down. “I’ll heal them myself.”

She shut the door on him.

Yuna felt miserable. The only blessing was that Kyuhyun-oppa had broken up with her during a period of inactivity, so she didn’t have to force the remnants of her already lacking energy into any promotions. She would have done it willingly – it involved her job and the rest of Pandora’s members, not just her, after all – but she couldn’t imagine she would have enjoyed it.

She was unmotivated to do anything. She spent hours at a time laying in her bed, occasionally dragging herself out to the kitchen to eat and take a sip of water. Sometimes she cried, sometimes she just stared tiredly up at the ceiling, and sometimes she dozed off. She felt constantly lethargic and sluggish, as if she couldn’t make herself be fully alert.

The worst times were when she felt that unbearable urge to reminisce. She would pull up old photos of them together on her phone, crying or just feeling hollow as she stared at them. It didn’t help that she remembered every single detail of every photo, right down to how Kyuhyun-oppa’s voice had sounded that day, how he teased her mercilessly before pecking her cheek. He had a little tendency of tucking her hair behind her ear, even when there wasn’t really anything to be tucked. Yuna hadn’t complained. It had been a pleasant sensation.

She found that she couldn’t look at books. She and Kyuhyun-oppa had spent many hours together in comfortable silence, huddled together on a sofa and just absorbing their respective books. It had been one of Yuna’s favorite parts about their relationship, how calm and contented she felt during it. Now, though, she was anything but calm and content when she even so much as glimpsed a book out of the corner of her eye.

Her words to Kyuhyun-oppa – “I’ll heal them myself” – seemed far-fetched now. How could that happen when she was so completely unable to get over him, even the slightest bit?

She’d been like this for almost two weeks, trying to keep her devastation to herself, not wanting to drag others into her problems. Eventually, though, it became harder and harder to breathe. The pressure and loneliness of bearing it all were fast becoming too much. She wanted someone else to at least know how she felt, how utterly in shambles she was.

“Hello?”

“Eonni?” Her voice rasped as she called out to the older woman on the other end of the line.

“Yuna?” It was obvious from her tone that Taeyeon-eonni knew what a mess she’d become. “Is it because of him?” Yuna had already told her about her breakup with Kyuhyun-oppa via text, but she hadn’t elaborated on purpose. Taeyeon-eonni was rarely one to get involved with others’ business without them asking. If she was having a hard time, the leader must have assumed that she’d contact her – which she had, now.

“Yeah.” Yuna gripped her phone tighter. Just the thought of him made her want to bury her face in her pillow and cry. “Can you come over?”

“Of course I can.” Taeyeon-eonni’s voice was warm. “I’ll be there soon, okay?”

“Thanks,” Yuna murmured. For a moment, her misery was briefly alleviated by her gratefulness for the older woman. She didn’t have an older sister, just Jaehee, her older brother, but Yuna had always imagined that if she did, she would want her to be Taeyeon-eonni. The leader was only a year older than her, but Yuna had never felt like she could rely on anyone more.

“Don’t thank me,” Taeyeon-eonni replied. “You don’t have to.” The shuffling on the other end of the line told Yuna that her friend was getting ready to leave. She hung up, anticipating the leader’s arrival.

Pulling her blanket around herself, Yuna sat up and was met with a sudden wave of dizziness at her upright position after laying down for so long. She leaned back against the headrest of her bed, closing her eyes.

There was one time she and Kyuhyun-oppa had been cuddling in her bed and he tucked her hair behind her ear. She could still remember the look he had given her as he did – soft, tender, loving. The look that he would never give her again – if he ever looked at her again at all.

Yuna pulled her knees up to her chest and buried her face in her arms. Tears were welling up in her eyes again. She tried to stop them, to put a stop on the sudden torrent of memories flooding her consciousness, but it was like a dam had broken. They were impossible to even slow down. She remembered when he’d asked her out, how she’d been so thrilled that someone like him was interested in her that way. He seemed to be exactly her style, funny and playful but also sensible and trustworthy at the same time. He made her feel like she was the only person in the world with the way he looked at her and talked to her and touched her. She remembered how uneasy he’d been before he enlisted, shooting her worried glances as if he was afraid she was going to break up with him, like so many couples did when men left to fulfill their military service. She’d hugged him, reassuring him that two years was nothing and she could wait even longer if she needed to, that she’d be here for him at the end of all of it. He had gotten emotional when she told him that.

After he came back from enlistment, they’d spent all the time he had before becoming active again together, catching up on everything that had happened. It had been so… idyllic, and Yuna had thought that nothing could possibly separate them again. He made her so happy, and he loved her so beautifully that she had thought she’d known that no one else could ever hold a candle to him. And then she’d begun to sense that downward decline.

Yuna’s shoulders shook as she sobbed into her lap, not bothering with trying to lessen her cries. It just hurt so much, and she felt so completely trapped. This was unfair. How could she have fallen so hard for him only for him to push her off the ledge like this? She cursed herself for ever thinking that they had a substantial future together, for ever believing that they would last. She should have known better. “I won’t love you anymore if we keep going.” How could he say that so easily? That after everything, he was getting tired of their relationship – of her? Men were all the same, and Kyuhyun-oppa was nothing different.

She was so caught up in her anger that she didn’t notice that Taeyeon-eonni had come in through the spare keys she’d given her. Yuna started as the door to her bedroom opened. She looked up with teary eyes to see Taeyeon-eonni standing in the doorframe. As soon as the older woman took in her hunched form, her swollen eyes, and her tear-streaked cheeks, she deflated.

“Oh, Yuna.” Taeyeon-eonni came to the bedside and wrapped Yuna in a reassuring hug. She didn’t say a word as Yuna cried into her shoulder, just gently stroking the back of her head and cradling her until her sobs eventually began to lessen. Only once she could breathe properly did Yuna pull back, wiping her eyes. After that, she felt utterly drained.

Taeyeon-eonni was looking at her with deep sympathy and understanding in her eyes. Yuna knew the leader had been through similar situations. They might not be exactly the same, but with the amount of pain they had caused, they might as well have been.

The difference was, Taeyeon-eonni had moved on from that. Yuna wasn’t sure if she ever could.

“Does it ever get any better?” she asked tiredly. Part of her was desperate to hear Taeyeon-eonni say yes, but part of her wondered if she’d even believe her friend. How could this possibly get better? How could she heal the scars Kyuhyun-oppa left her with by herself? How could anyone cure the scars that Kyuhyun-oppa left her with.

Taeyeon-eonni fell silent, and Yuna wondered if she was thinking of the past, too. “If you try,” the leader said finally, “it does.”

“How can I try?” Yuna shook her head. “I feel like I can’t do anything. I feel like everything’s meaningless.”

“It feels like that at first,” Taeyeon-eonni said. “That’s the period that you just need to indulge yourself. Cry if you want, talk to people if they’re willing to listen, shut yourself off if you feel like that’s better.” She was saying this, but, Yuna remembered, Taeyeon-eonni had hardly ever let on a single hint that she was hurting when she’d broken up with Leeteuk-sunbaenim. She’d gone about her schedules, talked to the people around her like nothing had happened, worked past the end of her stamina as she always did, even almost immediately after she and Super Junior’s leader had broken up. She hadn’t indulged herself at all. It made Yuna wonder.

“The slump passes,” Taeyeon-eonni continued. “It still hurts a lot, but things don’t feel so bleak after a certain point.” Yuna looked at the other woman doubtfully. She couldn’t imagine this ever passing.

“There’s the point where you have to start trying,” Taeyeon-eonni told her. “I don’t know what ‘try’ really means for you, Yuna – it seems different for every person. Just do what feels right, and remember that you’ll get through it.” She paused, thoughtful, then nodded. “That’s the most important advice I can give you. Remember that you’ll get through it.”

It still hurt. Yuna still found herself staring at the photos she had taken with Kyuhyun-oppa, swallowing bitterly at how happy they had looked. She still wondered what had happened, why he had decided that he was tired. “I won’t love you anymore if we keep going.” She still wondered what that meant – but it was all getting easier to digest. Kyuhyun-oppa had no part in her life now, and she had no part in his. It was painful, but it was nowhere near the end. They both kept going.

The slump had passed. Yuna found the passion she had temporarily lost for her interests. She was reading vigorously again – ignoring a dull feeling of emptiness in her chest – but reading vigorously nonetheless. She was talking to others again, texting and calling her members and her family. There were even times when she forgot completely about Kyuhyun-oppa and the fact that he’d been part of her life. They were brief, but they were there, and that was what was important.

“You’ll get through it”, Taeyeon-eonni had said, and she’d been right. Yuna was getting through it. She still wasn’t sure what her friend had meant by “try”, but she thought she might have an idea: try to live your life. She had a life apart from Kyuhyun-oppa, and she wasn’t going to neglect it any longer in favor of constantly being sad. That had a time and place. Occasionally she would still cry in her bedroom before she went to sleep, but overall, she was much better.

Then, two months later – Kyuhyun-oppa was just a memory. Sad, yes, something that she might have potentially regretted, but he was no longer significant. In fact, Yuna found that there was a sense of freedom without him. It wasn’t like he had kept her shackled down. He’d been so good to her and had made her so happy, but just having to worry about nothing but herself, the things that she’d given to and shared with him becoming wholly hers again – something about that made her feel light in body and mind. There was a newfound enjoyment that she had in life that hadn’t been there when she and Kyuhyun-oppa had still been together. Whether one was preferable to the other, Yuna couldn’t really say, but both of them were pleasant.

She stood on the balcony of her apartment, staring down at the city, still bustling and busy and brightly-lit even after the sun had gone down. It was a cool day, and a breeze had been constantly blowing throughout. Her hair was picked up by the wind, ticking her face and neck. The evening air was crisp, clear, and refreshing against her skin. Every inhale felt invigorating. Yuna felt good. Today was a good night to do something outside home.

She texted the other members in their group chat, asked if they wanted to go out for a drink. It was a bar that she and Kyuhyun-oppa had frequented often, and Yuna found that she missed it. Not because it was a place of many memories for her relationship with him, but because she’d found that bar a pleasure in itself, even without him, and she was looking forward to experiencing that pleasure again. The members all readily agreed.

As she was getting ready to leave her apartment, Yuna felt that urge again to stare at her old photos with Kyuhyun-oppa; but this time, it was different. Curious, she opened her gallery, seeing the medley of pictures that they’d taken together light up the screen. Wistfulness stirred inside her, but it was as pale and delicate as mist. It didn’t even hurt; in fact, it felt pleasant in a bittersweet way. Yuna knew why.

Scrolling through her gallery, she looked over each photo, a fond smile dancing across her face before she realized it. Once again, she realized that the times with Kyuhyun-oppa had really, truly, been good. He’d made her happy for years, but it was over now.

As she finished looking at each photo, she deleted it. One by one, until there was no trace that Kyuhyun-oppa had ever existed in her life left on her phone. She didn’t feel sad. It didn’t hurt. It felt like the right way to end this.

It was over now. And that was alright.

Drinking with her members was just as much pleasure as she had thought it would be, maybe even more They hadn’t gathered together in some time, all of them too busy with their own activities – something that had become common after spending so many years in the industry – and they were all down to let loose and enjoy themselves. And that was how they found themselves taking shot after shot, laughing and teasing each other and reminiscing about the past and the future.

“Remember when we debuted?” Sunbin commented as she tilted her cup in a circular motion around and around, more out of habit than anything. “On Inkigayo, in 2006? Our first performance?”

“Yeah, that’s still the moment I was the most nervous that I’ve ever been in my entire life,” Yuna declared. The other members all nodded, letting out words of hearty agreement.

“And when we won first place twenty days after debuting?” Minhee-eonni recalled as she took a sip. “I really thought I was hearing things when they announced us. I thought there was no way.”

“I was shocked,” Taeyeon-eonni spoke up. “I remember thinking, ‘This has to be a dream.’” She laughed. “I couldn’t believe it even while we were saying our speeches.”

“Yeah, it was clear you had absolutely no idea what you were saying,” Soojin-eonni teased. Taeyeon-eonni turned to her friend, rolling her eyes. The corners of her lips turned upwards with mischief. “Yeah, like you were much better.” This time it was Soojin-eonni that rolled her eyes, but the nostalgic smiles on both of their faces made it clear how important the moments had been for both of them. For all of them.

“Damn,” Yuna whispered. The others turned to her, quizzical looks on their faces.

“That was more than ten years ago. It won’t be too long until it’s twenty. We’ve come so far.” She remembered when she had debuted – thirteen years old, nervous, even terrified, that all the work and expectations she had put into this would amount to nothing. That feeling of soaring when they had received their first win after just twenty days… she still remembered it. It was intoxicating.

They’d had wonderful times and awful times together, but in the end, it all just amazed Yuna how far they had come.

Taeyeon-eonni nodded. “It’s unbelievable, isn’t it? We could have failed, but we made it. That’s why we should always be grateful to our family, our friends, and our fans. And I’m grateful to all of you.”

“Sheesh, eonni, you really seem like the leader when you say things like that,” Sunbin laughed. “But seriously… we should be thanking you, too. If it weren’t for you, we wouldn’t have made it to today.”

“The song we debuted with and got our first win with was yours, after all,” Minhee-eonni said, absentmindedly swirling the liquid inside her cup. “I knew from then that we have the best leader.”

A sudden memory stirred in the back of Yuna’s mind, making her smile. “I remember when I decided Taeyeon-eonni was definitely the right pick for leader,” she mused. The other members looked at her curiously. “It was when we were preparing to go to a schedule after just wrapping up one before. We’d all gotten probably two hours of sleep, tops. You remember when we were frantically running all over for a few months after our debut? When we were rookies?” Sunbin, Soojin-eonni, Taeyeon-eonni, and Minhee-eonni nodded. “I was complaining. Thinking of it now, I was being insensitive, but back then, I was just so frustrated and irritated.”

“You were thirteen years old,” Minhee-eonni noted. “It’s more than understandable. Back then, it was… crazy. We could barely get a wink of sleep in. Promotions are still busy, but we have a lot more control over it now. And we’re used to them.”

Yuna nodded. “Not to mention we were all so young.” It still amazed her to think about who she’d been back then. Practically a baby, in hindsight. Thirteen years old… “But anyway, I was complaining, the managers were trying to calm me down, and I was refusing. And then Taeyeon-eonni said one thing that made me shut up and think about what a nuisance I was being.”

Taeyeon-eonni snorted. “I think I recall doing that many, many times since our debut?”

“Yeah, yeah.” Yuna rolled her eyes. “Just like a leader, eonni.”

“What did she say?” Soojin-eonni wondered out loud. “I think I might remember.”

“She looked at me said, ‘Everyone’s tired, not just you.’” Yuna revealed, maybe a tad bit dramatically. The other members all let out different gestures of affirmation, remembering what she was talking about.

“Oh yeah, that,” Sunbin was nodding. “I thought Taeyeon-eonni was so cool then.” Her voice changed to an over-exaggeratedly lovestruck sigh. “That was my first crush.”

“Ugh, stop,” Minhee-eonni growled, wrinkling her nose. “Don’t say cringey things like that.”

Taeyeon-eonni shook her head. “You guys are embarrassing me,” she snorted. A look of nostalgia settled over her features. “But no. No matter what I came up with, if you all hadn’t done such a good job with it, it would have all been useless. And no matter what a good leader I am, if you all hadn’t put your trust in and listened to me, there would have been no point.” She looked thoughtful. “The luckiest thing of all is that we five met and formed a group.”

The other members were nodding. “That’s right,” Soojin-eonni agreed. “We couldn’t have made it if every single one of us weren’t here.”

They all fell silent. Yuna wondered what the other members were thinking, but for her, she could have sworn she saw Pandora’s entire history flash before her eyes. There was so much, and she remembered so much of it as clearly as if it had been yesterday. Not all of them were good memories, but there wasn’t a single one she regretted. She loved her members, and she couldn’t thank whatever power there was – God, fate, luck, coincidence, whatever – enough that they were together like this.

“Ugh.” Sunbin was the first to break the silence, playfully making a face. “We’re all old women, aren’t we? Let’s talk about something up-to-date, for a change.” They all made their agreement known, and Yuna smiled. Sunbin was right. They were old women, talking about these things that started the better part of twenty years ago, but she wouldn’t change that for anything.

The next few hours blurred together. The five of them took shots, clinked glasses, laughed, made fun of each other, reminisced, speculated – everything that there was to do, they did it. It was times like these that Yuna felt like she had become one with the rest of the members. She was sincerely grateful to their friends, their family, and their fans, but no one had been with her in the way that the other members had since before their debut, when they were all just teenagers. They all missed their young days, that was true, but being together like this, Yuna knew that they could face anything. As long as they were with her, life was good.

Life was good, she thought contentedly, as she took another sip, listening to Taeyeon-eonni and Soojin-eonni laughing and bantering.

It was nearly two a.m. when they finally decided it was time to go back home. Shouting out a cheer, they clinked their glasses together before taking their final sips. Despite it being so late, Yuna felt refreshed as she returned to her apartment, brushed her teeth and showered, and got ready for bed. Sleep was quick to take her.

It was only until nearly afternoon the next day that her thoughts went to Kyuhyun-oppa again – and that was only to realize that she hadn’t thought about him at all since she deleted their photos last night.

#super junior scenarios #super junior reactions #super junior imagines #super junior #kyuhyun reactions #kyuhyun scenarios #kyuhyun imagines #kyuhyun #cho kyuhyun #my writing

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niicola-writes · 4 years

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Studying for Exams (MHA Boys)

(In lieu of finishing my exams this week, I decided to do headcanons for the season!)

Izuku:

― When you asked for someone to study with, he’d be the first person to volunteer to study with you (such a precious bean oml, give this boy an award)

― He’d be willing to sit through hours of coursework, reviewing with you if it meant that you would be able to pass

― He’d always make sure that you understand what he’s saying and that you’re free to ask questions if something confuses you

― Despite him ranking 4th for midterms grade-wise, Midoriya would still review the material just so that he can improve his grades (and help you, of course)

― Study dates are common, but they end up turning into study sessions with Uraraka and Iida pretty often; you don’t mind it at all, especially since it turns out to be fun because you’re hanging out with the people you love

― Sometimes you’d sleepover at his place during the study sessions with one another, due to how much you two were studying (since he doesn’t want you getting hurt or worse, kidnapped)

― He shares your concerns about the exams, especially since everyone wants to pass (including him); despite this, he’d reassure you and quell your worries immediately should they begin to arise with compliments and tender affection

― Soon, exams rolled around and you were nervous about passing; don’t worry, he was in the same boat once. Before the exam, he’d give you a thumbs up and grin, silently mouthing that ‘You’ll be okay’.

― If you passed your exams, then Izuku would be over the moon! He’d be very happy that you passed your exams, although it took some hard work and dedication to get there; he’d treat you to your favorite food afterward as a reward for succeeding

― If you didn’t, then Izuku would tell you that there’s always a next time, while trying to lift up your spirits immensely. He hates seeing you in dismay about something so important, and he’d offer extra study sessions if you need it

Bakugou:

― To be honest, Bakugou would be a pretty good study partner but not as good as Iida, who ranked 2nd for their midterm exams

― Sure, he may get frustrated with you easily but he’s learned to not lash out as fast because you’re his S/O; he wants to help you succeed, of course

― Your study date would most likely be at his place, or somewhere lowkey, such as a non-populated cafe that not many people know about; you two would study for a set amount of time, before taking a brief break

― He wouldn’t need much help studying, considering he takes the spot for 3rd place when it comes to midterms (begrudgingly), though he wouldn’t mind some help from you (he’s a stubborn boy and the last thing he would want to admit is that he needs help with studying)

― If you end up getting worried over making a good grade on the exams, he will initially tell you that it’s something stupid to worry over- though, once he saw how worried you looked, he’d say something else to alleviate the situation (although it will be a bit less harsh on his end)

― He wants you to succeed, so expect to have some study dates every other weekend before exams, whenever he’s not busy with training to become the best Pro-Hero; after all, one can’t study too much, can they?

― Study dates are usually between you two, though Kirishima will tag along (because he wanted Bakugou’s help); if you three decide to have a study session together, know that Bakugou will be criticizing and yelling mostly at Kirishima during the session

― And when exams came around, he’d offer some “encouraging” words before you two took the exams

― If you managed to pass, Bakugou would be absolutely happy for you; if anyone asked you how you passed, then Bakugou would proudly comment that he helped you pass your exams a little too arrogantly

― And if you didn’t/didn’t get the score that you wanted, Bakugou would sigh and tell you that you tried your best, though it doesn’t come without a price (more study sessions with Bakugou)

Todoroki:

―Todoroki is also a good study partner, although he doesn’t seem to look like the type since he’s always so distant from everyone; the few exceptions are for his friends and you, his S/O

―He’s rather chill and lax when it comes to studying, although he won’t hesitate to make sure you get back on task if he notices that you’re starting to drift away from studying for your exams; he’ll simply remind you that you need to study in order to pass your exams

― He’d study with you, although the study session will mostly be focused on helping you out, but he’ll be learning the material with you still; he’s pretty blunt with his words and what he says, so you seem to get what he’s saying fairly quickly

― Study dates usually occur anywhere outside of his home since he doesn’t want you or him to encounter his father, which he has no intention of being on good terms with him for what he had done to him

― You two would spend a good amount of time studying, before he had to go for the night (most of the time, he spent the night over at your place but sometimes, he was forced to come back home because of his father)

― He seems to not be concerned about the exams on the outside, but he’s somewhat concerned about it- finding this out would be pretty challenging, but he’d open up to you about his concerns about the exams fairly quickly

― Most study sessions are between you two, though you both may study with Midoriya and his friends on a rare occasion

― Exams roll around, and both of you are decently prepared for what’s ahead; you both exchange reassuring glances with one another, letting the other know that they’ll do fine on their exams

―He’d be pretty happy once he heard that you passed, having a small smile on his face once he heard the news; although if you didn’t do so well, Shoto will ofter you some words of reassurance and sympathy, before going out for soba noodles anyway on his dad’s card (which he knows will irritate him)

Kirishima:

― When Kirishima heard that you wanted to study with him, he was pretty excited! He would be happy to study with you any day

― Although Kirishima ranked 15th on the midterms, it doesn’t stop him from helping you out when you need it! Although he might not be the best at explaining it, you sincerely see that he’s really trying to help you out, considering it to be ‘manly’ of him to do so

― Study sessions between you two are pretty relaxed yet fun, as both of you set a pace for each other so that no one gets lost; he admits, you make studying for exams fun compared to Bakugou

― Although, you’d have to help out Denki and Mina per to Kirishima’s request because he wants to see them succeed, along with himself and you

― Study session locations include anywhere that’s relaxing, but still around places of entertainment. Maybe like a little, quaint restaurant near the entertainment district would be an ideal location

― Study sessions are usually within a group consisting of you, Mina, Sero, Denki, Bakugou and himself, although there will be some study sessions between just the two of you on occasion

― You often help Bakugou teach and review material with Kirishima, which he doesn’t mind; after all, two minds are better than one

― With all of the studying that the two of you did, when exams roll around, things should be relatively easy for the two of you, considering that the pair of you studied by yourselves, along with Bakugou, Sero and Mina

― When you pass your exams, Kirishima is happy! He loves hearing about your successes and triumphs, and he will tell the whole world how amazing you, his S/O, are; the two of you get ice cream, but not without some company (namely Mina, Kaminari, Sero, and Bakugou in tow)

Iida:

― Best study partner out of all of them, 10/10; he’s got high marks and ranked 2nd when it came to midterms, so what can he not do (academically)?

― He’d be a strict tutor, making sure that you don’t goof off and not focus on your studies because he wants you to pass- and to pass, you need to focus on your studies

― Sure, he may be a strict tutor but it doesn’t mean that there won’t be no breaks in between; he’ll let you have a break here and there, but they won’t be excessive since he believes that it takes away from potential review time

― He’s precisely clear with his words, although you may get a little confused; he’s not the best at picking up on signals, as you’ve learned, so you’ve gotta tell him straight out if you’re confused about something

― He’s proud when you ask questions or clarify something because he can teach you something while also learning himself, even though he has pretty high marks (rivaled to Yaoyorozu)

― Study sessions are mostly between you two, although he does not mind having a study session with Uraraka and Midoriya, considering that those two are his good friends

― Study sessions will often occur in a quiet place, such as the library or even in his room; on the rare occasion, you will both study outside together, enjoying nature as you two review

― When exams roll around, you aren’t really worried considering that you’ve studied with Iida, Midoriya, and Uraraka, but there’s still this lingering fear that you might fail; when you address this concern to Iida, he tells you that there’s nothing to worry about and good luck

― Without a surprise, you pass your exams! All thanks to the help of Iida; he may become a little arrogant about how you passed your exams without realizing it, but once he does, he humbly apologizes for his actions

― The two of you spend a nice night in afterward, relishing in each other’s company

Kaminari:

― Although he’s a funny and lovely boy, turns out that you’ve gotta help him study while studying as well because although he is smart in some regard, he isn’t that smart enough to help you (academic-wise)

― So yes, you sit there and review the material with him along with Mina; he begged for you to help her, and you agreed because Mina is one of your good friends and a good friend of Kaminari as well

― He isn’t the best with studying because he’s often talking and goofing off with Mina, which does irk you but hey, you love him, so you’re willing to endure whatever in order to help him succeed

― You often have to re-explain yourself a few times, but you can see that Denki is trying to learn since he doesn’t want to fail, and you don’t get super annoyed with him

― During the study session, he’s flirting with you and while you respond to his advances, you ignore some of them because now’s the time to study, not to flirt

― After a couple of hours, you quiz him lightly on what you’ve gone over with him in the past hours or so; he doesn’t do very well, but that’s okay, not everyone gets success on the first try

― You help him and Mina study once more, finding it fun because you’re all hanging out together, and things seem to be progressing well on not only your end but Denki’s end; you can tell that he’s really trying in order to impress you

― Exams eventually roll around, and you can tell that Denki is pretty nervous about passing; you tell him that things will be okay, giving him a light peck on the cheek as a sign of encouragement

― Eventually, Denki does end up passing thanks to you, but barely; despite this, you find the study sessions to be a success and the two of you hang out somewhere fun, having a fun evening afterward

― He congratulates you that you end up passing your exams and even gives you a loving hug and kiss before hanging out with each other for the evening- and if you didn’t pass, then that’s okay!! He’ll make you feel better by telling you that it could have gone worse, and to be honest, that makes your mood x2000 better

#izuku midoriya #katsuki bakugou #mha imagines #shoto todoroki #eijiro kirishima #denki kaminari #tenya iida #writers-and-roses #mha headcanons #headcanon blog #imagine blog #ask blog #boku no hero academia #writers

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kiruuuuu · 5 years

Text

Kapkan/Glaz oneshot in which Glaz implicitly makes a bet with Kapkan. (Rating T, fluff/humour, ~2k words) - You might’ve come across this snippet on my AO3 here, under 1.5! I’ve never posted it on tumblr before but as I’ve written a second part, I figured it’s easier to have both in the same place :) Enjoy!!

A whip crack resounding in the thick summer air, slicing through heavy humidity and echoing off in the distance. “You son of a wet noodle”, Glaz breathes softly and furrows his brows, squinting disapprovingly through the scope to find his target undisturbed, gently blowing in the wind.

“You curse like a girl”, Kapkan tells him without looking up from his small sculpture. It’s not entirely clear what it’s supposed to be, but if Glaz had to guess, he’d have said a mixture of Sledge and a tragically disabled aardvark. Kapkan has recently picked up the hobby of carving and is still in the honeymoon phase, as the rest of Spetsnaz likes to call it, meaning he genuinely believes it’s going to work out and refuses to accept any criticism. It usually lasts two weeks, then the five stages of grief begin until the Russian finds a new hobby and delves into it head first.

“Didn’t you hear Mira when she dropped Montagne’s shield on her foot?”, comes a laconic remark from the side, “Cursing like a girl is a compliment.” Tachanka lies poured onto a sun lounger, ironically so since he wishes nothing more than to escape the heat. The ice in his glass of water has long melted and normally he wouldn’t grace the younger operators with his presence at these temperatures, were it not for the remnants of the stink bomb that Smoke accidentally detonated in the base. Sun is easier to stomach than a stench so bad it made even Smoke himself gag.

“This shot is impossible.” Glaz sits up annoyed and searches for the scarf without the help of any magnification, doesn’t find it – unsurprisingly. Kapkan has tied it somewhere onto a tree and Glaz uses it as practise, though it seems Kapkan overestimated his abilities when he chose their spot earlier. They usually spend the afternoons together, only Fuze absent today.

“Nothing is impossible”, Kapkan objects and almost hacks off his middle finger. Watching him usually gives Glaz mini heart attacks. “You’re just not trying enough.”

His patience is waning. He’s been attempting the shot for almost an hour now, adjusting for wind and distance and whatnot, and is almost at the point where he declares defeat. He’s sweaty and hungry and the steady bitching from the old man and the irregular sounds of Kapkan chipping away at his abomination are getting to him. “Oh yeah?”, he snaps back without meaning to. “Why don’t you try it then?”

Astonishingly, Kapkan agrees. He shouldn’t, he’s always been terrible at sniping and it’ll be a wonder if he doesn’t take out Tachanka’s lukewarm water instead. “What’s the closest thing you’ve hit?”, he asks and drops his carving into the impressive pile of not-quite sawdust at his feet from which he might never rescue it again. Maybe that’s actually the plan.

“Trunk of the tree it’s tied to”, Glaz replies and doesn’t care that he’s pouting now. He dislikes being bested, often refuses to even allow for the chance – he knows Kapkan won’t make it, yet the mere thought of it is distasteful. He stands up and stretches his stiff legs, can’t suppress a yawn and gestures for his teammate to take his place behind his rifle.

“I don’t know why you’re even trying”, Tachanka mumbles what everyone’s thinking from behind his oversized sunglasses. He’s yet to move a muscle since he’s taken up post on the sunbed.

“Don’t underestimate me.” Kapkan wiggles his eyebrows at Glaz (who merely returns his gaze unamused) and lies down on the cool dirt floor. He’s wearing a simple t-shirt that flatters his toned arms and rides up a little while he’s making himself comfortable, exposing a pale strip of skin unmarred by the merciless sun. Glaz is not staring. He’s not.

“You’re not going to make it”, he points out and crosses his arms. No answer from Kapkan who’s lining up the shot. “If you make it, I will literally suck your dick.”

It’s a phrase that’s basically lost all meaning during the few weeks they’ve used it, Fuze overheard it from Mute maybe or Rook and turned it into the ultimate dare, the others adapting and jokingly repeating it every time one of them attempts anything vaguely impossible. So far, no one has managed. Glaz steals some of Tachanka’s water while Kapkan wastes the first bullet. It’s not going to happen now and in a few weeks they’ll start using a different inside joke and –

“You’d better come see this”, says Kapkan and there’s something in his voice that makes Glaz’ stomach drop abruptly. He almost spits out the water and wastes no time in joining his fellow countryman on the ground, pushing him out of the way and checking the scope. He realises too late that it’s going to be a prank that he fell for again, as he usually does, and that Kapkan will begin laughing at him any moment now. Only… no one is laughing.

There’s a hole in the scarf.

Glaz blinks, not comprehending what his eyes are telling him. He’s acutely aware of the uncomfortably warm body next to him and his own breathing and the innocent words he’s uttered without thinking. There’s no chance he’ll ever live this down. “You’re fucking kidding me”, he whispers because he can’t help himself.

“There you go, use grown-up swears.” Kapkan sounds highly amused. “You know what this means, right?”

“No way in hell did he make the shot”, Tachanka slurs from his deathbed.

“He fucking made the fucking shot.” Glaz is furious. Mostly at himself for not accomplishing what Kapkan managed first try.

“Ooh, sounds like someone needs to walk off the rage”, Kapkan continues teasing him while wearing a shit eating grin that does nothing to alleviate Glaz’ frustration. “We can go to the shed to get some water, I’m dying of thirst. Want us to refill your glass, ‘Chanka? It’s probably at a nice kiddie pool temperature at this point.”

“With less piss”, is Tachanka’s only reply and so Kapkan takes it, pours the water into the nearest bush and repeats meaningfully: “ ‘Less.’ ”

They walk back to ‘the shed’, a tiny hut in the woods not far from the base containing various tools, chairs and a sink with running water that’s pleasantly cool even in this season. “I can’t believe you made it”, Glaz grumbles on the way, shaking his head. “How did you even – you couldn’t have –”

“But I did, and isn’t that a shame.” Kapkan holds the door open for him and if nothing else has made Glaz suspicious until now, this gesture undoubtedly should. His alarm bells should be going off full force. Yet all he does is ponder the impossibility of Kapkan’s feat, whether he’s made any glaring mistakes himself, whether he should take apart his sniper rifle to find the reason. “Do you want to get it over with right away?”

His thoughts grind to a halt. He stops. Turns towards Kapkan and finds the door to the tiny building shut and the Russian frightfully close to him. “What -” His voice breaks, he averts his gaze, tries again. “What are you talking about?”

“You said it yourself. You can’t back off now. A deal’s a deal.” Kapkan sounds reasonable, which is the worst thing about it, he’s reassuring him and makes the outrageous demand seem sensible.

“You’re not serious.” The I hope is implied though Glaz can’t bring himself to voicing it. His thighs are growing weaker by the second. This is another joke. It has to be.

“I’m deadly serious”, says Kapkan and he does seem sincere – though he’s an excellent liar when he wants to be. “You’re not one to shun a challenge, are you?”

He pictures it. For one glorious second, he toys with the idea of just yanking down Kapkan’s pants right here and is overcome with a heat wave not only induced by the stuffy air in the shed. “I didn’t mean it”, he insists, “you’re pulling my leg, you know I didn’t mean it, don’t be so…”

“If you really want to do it, you’d better get on your knees.” Kapkan is entirely unbothered by his words, smirking and placing a hand on Glaz’ shoulder, but what really constitutes the last straw is that his thumb brushes over Glaz’ collarbone in a gesture that is entirely too familiar and, most of all, suggestive. He opens his mouth to protest and doesn’t expect the push and his legs buckle and suddenly he’s kneeling on the dusty floorboards, his eyes level with Kapkan’s belt.

Okay. Sure. He can salvage this. His dignity has only suffered a little. Kapkan doesn’t know Glaz is half-hard right now and in this position he’s not going to find out either. Convenient, really. “I’m not going to suck you off.” He enunciates each word clearly in case Kapkan decides to be hard of hearing all of a sudden. “You’re being ridiculous. Where is this even coming from?”

“Look, do you want me to tell everyone that you never really did Sledge’s dare? Huh? I’ve kept quiet as a favour but I could -”

This is when Glaz understands. Kapkan facetiously blackmails people all the time, threatens to enlighten the world about Fuze’s showering habits if he doesn’t stop stealing his food, tells Smoke he’s going to expose his contraband hiding spots whenever he refuses to cease his current shenanigans (which is always), it happens a lot. What most people don’t know: Kapkan is usually not joking. Not really.

Just like he isn’t now.

Their gazes are locked, Kapkan’s considerably less confident than a few seconds ago, he must’ve realised his blunder, must know he’s betrayed himself. He’s looking down at Glaz like a trapped animal, ready to lash out or flee and chooses the second option, switches to the first when Glaz instinctively reaches out and grabs his trouser leg, keeps him in place. They scuffle briefly and hardly with any force behind it and somehow Kapkan loses balance and stumbles and one of his hands lands on the back of Glaz’ head and the next thing he knows is that his face is pressed into Kapkan’s crotch.

All he can think is: Oh.

Because there’s something quite obvious denting his cheek.

The door flies open. “You almost hit me holy shit what are you two doing?!” That voice unmistakably belongs to Fuze who’s standing in the doorway in casual clothing plus a handgun by his side and looking like he just ran a marathon, of which Glaz takes note after Kapkan panics and shoves him away so he’s again able to see something other than the seam of Kapkan’s trousers. To his knowledge, Fuze is supposed to be somewhere completely different while dressed completely different.

You almost hit me. Fuze has a gun for no apparently reason. Together with the guilty and fantastically sheepish look on Kapkan’s face, it’s easy to connect the dots, so Glaz starts laughing. Fuze looks utterly lost by now. “You didn’t fucking make the shot”, Glaz wheezes and would double over if he was standing. He’s dying to know how Kapkan managed to convince Fuze for his participation. It’s an impressively elaborate plan just to coerce him into doing something he would’ve done voluntarily and might’ve done regardless hadn’t Kapkan wounded Glaz’ brittle pride with the claim of sniping better than him.

He can hardly stop giggling, especially when faced with Kapkan’s stony face and the mumbled “let’s never talk about this again, alright?” and Fuze’s dumb ignorant expression. They gather a few chairs, fill up water bottles and Tachanka’s glass and refuse to answer any of Fuze’s increasingly irritated questions.

When they’re about done, Glaz turns to Kapkan and tells him with a bright smile: “You could’ve just asked, you know?” Leaving him to figure out what to do with that information, he steps out of the hut into the sweltering sunshine.

#rainbow six siege #kapkan #glaz #kapkan/glaz #fanfic #oneshot #in a way #this is roughly the sixth thing I ever wrote for siege #I'd like to think it holds up well

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