#some of your activism is so obviously performative it hurts my brain

[stutterfly]

Swipe Right 06 | Overheating | JJK (M)

Rating: M (Explicit 18+)

Pairings: Jungkook x Reader, brot7 x friendship

Genre: E2L, fluff, angst, humor, smut, PersonalTrainer!Jungkook, fuckboy!Jungkook, Nerd!Jungkook, Nerd/IT!Reader

Word Count: 6.7K ish (I’m doing smaller chapters going forward)

Last time on SR05: Tension is at an all-time high, a side effect from crossing some lines and flirting indiscriminately. It complicates your newfound friendship with Jungkook. Things are definitely more blurry since you woke up alone in his bed.

CW & Other Tags: slow burn, fuckboy Jungkook, pining, sexual tension, grinding, daydreaming about that sweet sweet fantasy baby

Series: Activate your SIMCard

Fic: Swipe Right (6/?- Ongoing)

Do not repost.

⊱ ────── {.⋅ ✯ ⋅.} ────── ⊰

Six in the morning. Six in the morning on Monday. Whose idea was this?

You’re on your final lunge and you feel your stance wobble once again as you begin to sink down. Fuck past you for suggesting this. This is terrible. You hate everything.

“Slowly,” Jungkook is quick to remind you. “You got this.”

Despite his optimistic tone, his voice is an unavoidable irritant. Formality hasn’t been in question, no that’s not the problem here. He’s been a total professional: no wandering hands or eyes, just a firm encouraging tone with a laundry list of tasks, all of which seemed designed to drain you of all energy before the day has even begun.

You’ve been at this for a while on your own, but obviously lenient with intensity. Of course you’ve ignored bodyweight exercises. You’re at the gym. If you wanted to just do push-ups and lunges, you’d be at home not doing them. He’s the one with the muscles, so maybe he’s right as much as you hate to admit it. Maybe personal trainers are certified for a reason. As you struggle to maintain your balance and nearly topple over, you surmise the reason being they need everyone to know they basically have a degree in sadism.

With a quickness that shows your guilty need to be done with this activity, you bring yourself upright far too fast for his liking. He frowns, arms crossed as he watches your form, or lack thereof.

“Hold on. One more time.”

DEMON.

“Slowly come up. Like this.” He demonstrates again, eyes focused ahead. You watch as the exposed thickly carved muscles of his calf tense, awe overtakes envy in a rush to your brain. He pauses, his knee hovering above the floor before looking at you and gesturing towards his leg as he rises at a careful pace. “It’s about control.”

Pfft. I hate control. Look at my life. You think I have any of that?

“One more,” he says again. “Just one.”

Fighting the urge to roll your eyes, you do it like he demonstrated, albeit less stable.

“Nice work.” He holds his hand up for a high-five, which you tap if only to signify an end to this session. “Now we stretch.”

He’s already taking a mat out for you before you can protest. If he senses your irritability, he doesn’t let on. The difficulty you’re having keeping your energy up is a contributing factor, but the source remains your own emotional attachment to the man himself. Sunday morning you woke up alone with the foggy memory of trying to seduce him. There’s enough shame swirling around your body to steep and brew into a giant pot of dumb-bitch juice. The more you focus on the memories you can’t change, the more you start to panic.

All this dumb bitch juice makes it hard to focus... But isn’t it made from concentrate?

Your internal joke brings a small smile to your lips. It pushes the panic into the past where it can’t hurt you now. Humorous deflection is a coping skill right? As you finally drag yourself over to where he’s waiting, you notice Jungkook smiles like a big puppy. Your insides churn. He probably thought you were smiling at him. You purse your lips and follow his lead into performing cooldown stretches.

It's not until you're down on your back with your ankle on your knee that you allow yourself to glance at his face. He’s focused on his own stretching, which gives you a heartbreakingly beautiful view of his profile. Instead of using this time to deepen your own stretch, you study his features. Beads of sweat behind his ear, the loop and stud embedded at the base of his earlobe, and the several empty holes above them and you quickly count them. Does he really have six? The sharp outline of his jaw leads your eyes to his chin, where they quickly follow the slope of his deep-pink parted lips up the flat tip of his nose and the large curve above it.

“Alright. Last stretch.”

There’s no time to think about the implications of such a shape because Jungkook hops to his feet. You sit up, eager to block his view from such a vulnerable double-chin position as he rounds the mat you’re on.

“Ah, no. Lay on your back. You’re gonna raise your leg,” he coaches.

You tick your jaw and lean back on your elbows, not allowing yourself to fall completely on your back when he’s standing right there. Slowly your bent leg rises in a half-assed attempt to please him. He grabs the bottom of your pitifully hovering sneaker.

“Straighten,” he says, guiding your leg up with a hand on your knee to keep it in line. “Like that.”

The burn travels up your hamstring. Skepticism erodes as your muscles relax and you lay flat against the mat. He’s been professional this whole time. It’s just your own stress and confusion getting the better of you. It’s not his fault your mind is in the gutter. Everything is fine.

“Feel okay?” he asks, leaning forward to meet your gaze.

Strands of hair fall out from behind his ear as he looks down at you. Suddenly everything is not fine. Your cheeks burn and you forget how to articulate your thoughts as lurid fantasies begin to creep into your brain. So this is how he’d look, huh? Great. Way to give your inner crush some fuel for that fire. You might as well be back in his room, sucking on his fingers.

If he leaned over he’d look like— He’d sound like— Oh fuck. He knows. Stop thinking about it. Stoppit.

“More? Less?” he guesses aloud while gently pressing your leg further towards your chest and then letting up. “We’re trying to find the sweet spot.”

Is he fucking with you? He must be.

“Shouldn’t be painful,” he continues, lightly testing the tension in your leg. “Just a satisfying stretch.”

Every word makes your face hotter and the blood rushing through your ears even louder. He knows how this sounds right? He has to know.

Your silence causes his big brown eyes to regard you with curiosity. “Is it uncomfortable?”

“It’s good,” you say, all too quickly for it to be genuine but it seems to satisfy his concerns.

Finally he lowers your leg and motions for you to lift the other. One of his hands clasps around the back of your ankle while the other supports your knee. He starts to carefully press your leg towards your chest but lessens the pressure the moment you inhale sharply through your nose.

“Bodies aren’t symmetrical. Sometimes stuff works differently on each side and that’s okay. It’s about finding the spot that works for you. If it’s tighter on this side that’s okay. Is here good?”

“Little more,” you mumble, trying your best to ignore the fire in your face. When he adjusts the position, you feel that sweet perfect stretch he’s been talking about. “Oh, right there.”

His fingers tighten over your knee and dig into the soft flesh of your thigh for a brief moment. It’s gone before you can guess if you imagined it or perhaps it was some sort of spasm in your own muscle.

“Don’t hold your breath.”

He’s said that line a lot to clients over the years during sessions, but for the first time he’s speaking to himself. Immediately you release the breath you didn’t realize you were holding and it serves to cover his own exhale. There’s a complicated tension between the pair of you and there has been for a while. This certainly isn’t helping assuage it right now, but he’s hopeful with time it will get easier to navigate.

“Alright, that’s it. Nice work. You made it through.”

He offers his hand and you clasp your own in it with a smile. Although it seems effortless, his biceps bulge as he swiftly brings you to your feet. It takes active brainpower to immediately release his hand instead of holding on for comfort. The way you snap your hand away while emanating such a warm smile is a perfect example of the dichotomy wrestling your psyche. If he notices, he says nothing. The water bottle nearby doesn’t seem to be enough to quench your thirst. Unsurprising, considering the way your mind wanders.

“So, what do you think? Same time tomorrow?” He’s bouncing on the balls of his feet when you look back; it’s hard to draw the line between enthusiasm and anxiety. Maybe he notices more than you think. Maybe you’re reading into his fidgety nature far too much.

“Sure.” You pop the lid closed on your bottle and flash him a half-smile. “I’ll text you later?”

He gives you a nod and the warmth of his smile lights his face. “Looking forward to it.”

“Thanks, Jungkook.”

There’s an awkward pause as you consider going in for a hug. Then you mull over the possibility of a handshake, high-five, or a fist-bump. Instead you land on a delayed, dorky wax-on wax-off “wave.” Cool. Gonna be thinking about that awkward karate kid exchange all day. Can the floor please melt your legs down to stumpy bones so you’d have something else to think about? That’d be great.

He crosses his arms with a sense of pride as he watches you hurriedly make your way towards the lockers. That could have gone much worse. You didn’t even ask for your sweater. Good. He didn’t bring it.

⊱ ────── {.⋅ ✯ ⋅.} ────── ⊰

You look down at your hands and knock your gloves together, trying to make sure your fingers are positioned correctly within. It’s hard to get used to the cumbersome coverings. They weigh your hands down and draw attention to the lack of strength in your wrists. Even though you know the basic motion, the multiple warnings you’d received about damaging your wrist are all you can think about. You decide it’s best not to practice the motion until you can watch someone else do it first.

The class is bigger than expected, which only adds to the anxiety bubbling in your stomach. For some reason the lack of shoes makes you feel more exposed. You don’t need strangers looking at your feet. Thankfully there are a lot of bags for you to choose from and the back corner of the room seems relatively secluded. You awkwardly let your water bottle roll away from your armpit and trap it between your gloves to set it on the floor nearby. Taking a deep breath, you focus on the mirror at the front of the room and wait for the instructor to arrive.

Ignoring the chatter of other attendees’ conversations, you do your best to tell yourself no one is looking at you and no one’s talking about you. You’re not interesting enough to talk about. You repeatedly chant this to yourself, but still you feel like the subject of every conversation surrounding you. Why couldn’t Jennie or Namjoon just come to the one class with you? It seemed so doable after work, especially with how good you feel after this morning’s first session with Jungkook. But now you’re not so sure you should be here.

Confidence, you remind yourself. You’re doing this to instill confidence. Embracing change and exploring the unknown has never been your forte. It’s unsettling to try something new by yourself. All your life you’ve felt like an outsider when performing any physical activity. No matter the sport, you always seem to feel like you’re doing it wrong. A combination of grade school bullies and unempathetic PE teachers steered you towards a different path in life, a nerdier, less physically active life.

Any time you start to veer back in this direction, your body has a very visceral reaction. You get defensive in your discomfort, burdened by memories too embarrassing and upsetting to properly process. It’s no wonder that even as a full grown woman you still feel like that girl who’d cry in a bathroom stall after gym class. Your pulse quickens, your face heats up and tears threaten to spill from behind glassy eyes. Why did you make yourself do something sport-related? Morning training is one thing, but is this really something you think you can just do by yourself?

Taking a deep breath, you begin to count the bags in the room; it’s all you can do to keep yourself from bolting before the class even starts. Punching things is probably just what you need to deal with these feelings. Just as your eyes reach the bag nearest the door, a familiar face walks past the threshold.

Jungkook is clad in a black muscle shirt and basketball shorts to match, and his hair is tied back into the world's tiniest, pristine ponytail. While he grins and greets the other students in the room, you slink behind the hanging bag you’ve chosen to be your partner for the night, hoping it will block you from his sight. He doesn’t teach kickboxing; you checked. Attempts will be made to combust on the spot if he announces he’s covering for the instructor.

There’s an unmistakably Jungkook cackle. You peek around the bag just in time to watch a girl punch him in the arm. He feigns being hurt, whining that he needs an ice pack for the pain. She feels up his arm and gives his bicep a squeeze, calling him out for faking. He grins that stupid grin you hate so much: the one where he shows off his teeth and his nose is outlined by wrinkled skin.

She offers to make it up to him with dinner and you tune out the rest with a sigh, feeling irritated that everywhere he goes women seem to throw themselves at him. You’re mad at yourself for letting it bother you. It’s not her fault he’s so attractive. It’s not her fault he didn’t fuck you this weekend. It’s all so complicated with him, and it’s not her fault, but still. You’re jealous.

There has to be a way forward, a way you can let this go. Let him go. He was never yours anyway. Another deep breath escapes your mouth. At least your rooted anxiety over the newness of this class seems to be replaced with a comfortable irritation. Maybe you can channel that energy into this activity.

People are already starting to warm up, delivering soft punches and kicks to their bags. You awkwardly stand behind yours without a clue as to what you should be doing other than waiting. Much to your dismay Jungkook crosses the room, the pads of his bare feet silent until he stops two bags in front of you. He sets his water bottle down, a focused look on his face as he begins to wrap his hands in a pretty black and red band. He expertly covers his hand, entrancing you with the circular motion.

He paces as he wraps, sparing a quick glance towards the back of the room. He does a double take, frozen in place as he stares at you. For a second you think he’s imitating a statue, but then he blinks and a cloyingly sweet smile graces his lips. It makes you wish you’d walked out when you had the chance.

“Princess!” His exclamation draws far too many eyes to your corner. “Surprised you’re here after this morning.”

You don’t dare look around the room to see if flirty girl is giving you the stink eye. It’s enough just to feel the gaze of others heating your face like a million laser pointers.

“What are you doing here?” you grumble, hiding behind the bag.

He laughs, holding his unwrapped hand up as if to proclaim his innocence. “Hey, don’t look at me like that. I’ve been coming to this class for the last two years. You’re the newbie here.”

You purse your lips, feeling foolish. Of course Jungkook takes advantage of the training programs offered here. He has his own schedule that has nothing to do with you. Still…

You stiffen as you watch his eyes rake over your attire. He hums thoughtfully.

“W-What?” Insecurity clings to you in all the places your clothing does too.

“Mm. Nothing.”

“What.” You make sure to enunciate the word for maximum transparency of your irritability.

“Didn’t peg you as a boxer. First time?” he asks while flexing his fingers to test the fit.

You fold your arm across your chest and hug your elbow with your giant glove, offering a small nod. He briefly pokes his tongue into his cheek. Is that a sore spot? He got a small taste of your confidence level regarding exercise this morning, or lack thereof. Maybe that’s something he can help you with.

“Don’t worry. It’s really fun. Addicting.” He wiggles his eyebrows at you and his smile puts you at ease.

The instructor walks in and introduces herself, sparing you from having to say more. She turns on some high energy music and has you all doing burpees as a warm up. You already want to die. Apparently you’re not the only newbie here today so she teaches the class how to stand while performing the three main techniques for throwing a punch: jab, cross, and hook.

You make yourself as unassuming as possible as you try to get the hang of each technique. Ten minutes in, you’re out of breath and sweating buckets. The instructor, Dara, watches you a couple times and fixes your weak elbows, asks you to use more force on the bag, and tells you “don’t forget to breathe,” like you’re not out here gasping for air.

When it’s time for a water break, Jungkook turns to look back at you. He looks every bit as sweaty as you feel.

“Doing okay?” He picks up his water bottle and puts his whole mouth over the wide opening to drink.

You nod between heavy pants and free one of your sweaty hands from the confines of the glove. “Yeah… Fine… You...?”

You focus on your own bottle. It’s like you can’t get the liquid into your mouth fast enough. You try to breathe it in like oxygen and subsequently choke out a couple wet coughs. He looks up from his shirt, which he’s folded up to wipe the sweat from his face. The set of heavy glistening creases lining his stomach claim your attention. You choke again for another reason entirely.

“You sure?” he asks, concerned with your apparent inability to breathe like a normal human.

“Just tried to inhale my water. It’s fine,” you joke, walking around your bag until you can no longer see any part of the sculpted perfection that is his body.

“Ah, I’m tired,” he groans. He circles his bag, smoothing unruly wisps of damp black hair from his forehead. “Halfway there though.”

“Hah, only half?” Despite your best attempt to sound confident, your breathlessness betrays your tone. Thank fuck he pulled his shirt back down.

“Don’t tell me you’re gonna give up,” he teases, reaching across to poke your sweaty arm.

“No!” You’re quick to put your glove back on just as the instructor starts the music again.

“Good. You’re doing really well.” He makes sure you can see his smile and wink before he turns back to his bag and starts running through the combos again.

Your anxiety heightens when the instructor tells everyone to find a partner to practice kicks. You’ve been circling the bag to get the hang of moving while hitting, so you look over your shoulder and purse your lips. Jungkook’s eyes are as big as they are nervous when you find them. Being that he’s the only person you know, he seems the logical choice. You don’t want to talk to a stranger. Plus, if you’re being honest you’d rather pair with him before flirty girl can snatch him up.

He’s frozen. He’s used to pairing with the teacher: the teacher that can easily bench twice her bodyweight. You’re giving him those deer-in-the-headlights eyes and it’s hard to look away. He’s never been more terrified of hurting someone.

“Jungkook, do you wanna…?” The uncertainty in your voice makes your own ears flush with the same heat radiating from your cheeks.

Everyone else is already kicking away. He looks uncomfortable even as he nods and forces a smile. He holds the bag steady for you as you practice, though his eyes look vacant. You practice for a few minutes but the exertion has taken a lot out of you. Aren’t you supposed to trade off?

“Kook.” You sigh when he doesn’t respond, delivering your combo to the bag without a care in the world regarding your form.

Bap-bap-bap.

“Jungkook.” Again you practice the combo, this time clumsily adding the two kicks at the end.

Bap-bap-bap… Bap... Bap.

The chains linking the bag to the ceiling rattle but the bag itself barely sways with the way he’s holding it. Why is this so hard? Wiping the sweat from your brow, you tap his arm.

“Hey.”

He snaps out of his daze but continues to stare blankly at you. “Hmm?”

“Can we switch off?” you ask, fighting through your wheezing.

He nods, wetting his lips and moving around the bag. He looks pissed when his fist makes contact. Part of you shudders at the intensity of the motion, the other part fixates on his face as you’re pushed back by the force. Luckily the instructor swoops in at the last minute to keep the bag from smashing you in the face.

Jungkook seems to visibly relax at her intervention. After showing you how to hold, she lets you take the bag back on your own. He starts delivering heavier blows that cause the bag to sway slightly, but you're determined to keep it as steady as possible. You can take it. You want him to know you can absolutely take it.

By the end of class you're on the floor pretending to stretch but in reality you want an excuse to lay down and never get up again. As the rest of the students file out one by one, you're left staring at the flood lights above with a thigh crossed over your knee. Your chest is on fire and it feels like your ribs are going to crack open, chest-burster style. You think you're alone until Jungkook's voice calls out to you.

"You should sit up." His face blocks out the light as he peers down at you, strands of his hair. He offers a hand but you wave him off.

"Just let me die here,” you wheeze. “How can my chest be so sore? My arms should be sore, right?"

"You're not breathing when you hit."

You furrow your brow and turn your head as he walks away. “What?”

"Every time you hit you have to exhale. Like this." He takes a moment to demonstrate.

You hadn't heard them with the loud music and other sounds of practice filling the room, but now they're clear as day. Each time his fists make contact with the bag, he releases a tiny exhale that almost sounds like a breathy, restrained groan. Each one feels like an impact to your own gut.

"It's why some people yell when they hit. You were holding in every breath, every sound. I could tell. You gotta let it out."

"Why didn't you say anything?" you mumble, slowly sitting up and scooting back against the wall.

"Dara told you to breathe but you weren't getting it. I made the same mistake when I started. After that first session, I never made it again. You won’t either, right?”

You raise your eyebrows and nod in thoughtful agreement. Breathing is way too difficult to be an automatic thing right now so you force the air through your lungs and watch him take a few more powerful swings at the bag.

“You know, the reason I've stuck with this class for so long is because it makes me feel free. Weightless. There’s so much that used to make me feel weak and now it’s like…” He hums thoughtfully and presses an open palm to the bag. “I don’t carry it with me every day. It all spills out so I don’t have to.”

“Sounds like there’s a story there,” you say, legs outstretched.

“I’m not some character with a tragic backstory,” he says with a laugh, softly tapping against the bag a couple times. “Waiting to be revealed.”

“I didn’t mean—”

“It’s fine. I just mean there’s no real secret,” he interrupts your fumbling words. “I used to be really timid and shy.”

You scoff and bring yourself to your feet. “Yeah right.”

“For real.” He pauses to let you take a few swings at the bag and notes your form. “Try to relax your stance, though.” He performs the motion slowly to demonstrate. “Confidence only came when I started considering who I am, who I want to be, and merging them together.”

“And you figured all that out?” you question, trying to mimic his posture. “Sounds fake.”

He shakes his head, rounding the bag to stand beside you. “Not at all. It’s something I’m still working on. Like you and that left hook combo.”

Self-consciousness sinks in with him so close, and you show off what little you’ve gleaned from watching him. You push past the clunky unnatural feeling in your limbs to force them into a fluid motion.

He cocks his head to the side. “Slow it down a bit and show me again?”

Swallowing down your pride, you go through the process again, this time painfully slow. “Ah, right there. Try to drop your shoulders a little, and keep this up.” He lifts the tip of your elbow with the pad of his finger.

“Like this?” you demonstrate the motion with uncertainty.

He hums a pleased sound. “Better.”

You fall into a pattern of sharing jabs at the bag.

“So, how did you go from shy guy to…”

“To...?” he wonders, landing a soft combo against the firm surface while quirking a brow at you.

“To someone who makes bets,” you pause to release a couple blows of your own, “about getting into girls’ pants.”

A loud sound forces its way through the ring his lips make. “Long story short? I grew up and girls paid more attention to me. I got used to it.”

There has to be more to it so you take your turn and ask the burning question on your mind. “Can I hear the short story long?"

His elbow drops a bit as he lightly taps the bag, clearly caught off guard. You reach out for his arm just as he’s retracting it.

“Slow down and show me again?” you interject before he can find the words to begin.

When he extends his arm again you press your finger against his elbow similar to his earlier motion. As soon as his eyes are on yours, his face relaxes into a warm smile.

“Helping me keep it up?”

Licking your lips in response is unintentional, but it undoubtedly makes no difference in his perception. “Just returning the favor.”

He sweeps the back of his wrist over his forehead and sighs, mumbling something indiscernible under his breath.

“What?” you ask, truly wondering.

He looks from the bag to you and shakes his head. It’s a dangerous line to walk yet you’re both sprinting toward some imaginary goal anyway. He doesn’t even know what that goal might be, but it seems you’re both eager to reach it first.

Maybe you want to push him over the edge, maybe he’s hoping the same from you. It doesn’t matter. He knows this is the part where he’s supposed to answer and reveal whatever kind of tragedy you think might be lurking amongst his past. The problem is it doesn’t exist.

Still. He flirts, and you flirt back. Normally he’d know how to take it from here, but there are rules in this case. He’d break every one of them if it meant relief from this tension. If he could indulge in you tonight and say fuck tomorrow without consequence, he’d do it in a heartbeat.

Future Jungkook’s problems tend to have a lasting effect on present Jungkook so he reasons there’s benefits to reap from abstaining from impulsivity. Keep walking those fine lines.

“I was just curious. You don’t need to tell me,” you offer, trying out another hook against the bag. Still feels weird. Weirder than this dance with Jungkook.

“Shoulders and hips should be down,” he mumbles again, instinctively reaching out to fix your form. “Like this.”

His palms perch on your shoulders and gently press down. When your back stiffens, so does he, an apology already at his lips for invading your space. Before he can step back you stop him.

“No, it’s fine. Show me.” You lift his hand in yours and aim towards the bag. “Guide me?”

Lines. What are lines? How does he feed them? How does he not cross them? You don’t seem to have a problem. So why does he? Perhaps he could defuse the bomb of his frustration with a heartfelt story, or distract with some kind of history you might find relatable. Instead he finds himself considering how best to blow it all to hell.

Sweat-drenched clothes be damned. He slides his hand over your shoulder and taps the back of your calf with his big toe. “Move this forward a little.”

Your foot inches towards the bag while his arm leads yours in a slow swing.

“Like...”

Bap.

“...this.”

His fist makes contact with the bag with yours secured beneath. His other hand slips over the sheen of your knuckles, directing another slow hit to the bag. The effortless glide of his wet skin against yours should feel disgusting. The heat should feel unbearable. You’re so tired, so overheated, so out of breath, and sore, and sickeningly slick in more ways than one. Your body should be telling you to rest, yet it’s taking everything you have to not give in to the instinct to rub yourself against him like some kind of horny slug.

The weight of his hot, sticky chest clings to your back. His voice is barely above a whisper when he speaks. “See the angle of your wrist? You turn it like this. Strong elbows, strong wrists, relaxed shoulders.”

It’s hard to tell if your legs wobble because of the unfamiliar stance, a lingering weakness from the intense workout, or just your lingering weakness for him. You don’t deny yourself the pleasure countering the weight of his chest with your back. He doesn’t pull away. You don’t pull away. It feels so… intimate.

“Is that all there is to it?” you wonder with a not so subtle wiggle of your ass.

Wetting his lips, he drops his chin down and lowers the tone of his voice.

“There’s also … relaxed hips,” he whispers, dropping his hands to your waist.

The statement is pocked with grit, reminiscent of a sleepy morning in bed. Avoiding the sun. Rolling over. Curling up beneath the warmth of sheets. The weekend comes rushing back in an instant. His arms around you, leg propped up over yours, clinging to your form like he'd never let you go. His fingers in your mouth, bobbing ever so slowly while you suck on them. The shaky breath at your ear, wishing he'd fuck you like that. Nice and slow.

He thumbs your shirt and drums his fingertips over your hips. He slots a thigh between your legs and all but dares you to rest your cunt there. “Strong legs.”

“How strong?” you ask, a slight waver in your tone.

Everything is jelly. You might as well give in to your inner slug. The bulging muscles above his knee welcome the heat of your cunt. The entire room feels like a thousand degrees. Can he tell the difference between your sweat and arousal? While you can’t be sure of the ratio at this point, the urge to feel him beats any embarrassment into submission. It feels good. It feels so good.

“Very.” His fingers dig into your sides and press your hips down to better connect with his thigh.

He can feel you. Hot. Sweaty. Breathless. There’s no time to think or dwell on the best way forward. His dick is hard and you’re here. You’re so fucking hot like this. He rocks his hips in time with yours and watches with satisfaction as your lips part like you’re about to make noise. All he wants to do is spin you around so he can fuck you against the bag. That’s crossing the line though, isn’t it? Not the time. Not the place. If it was…

He drags his nose along your neck with a deep inhale. “I can show you.”

You whimper his name so quietly, so needy, and fuck he’s hard. It would be so easy to take you to his car and give you what you both want. Suddenly he knows he’s in trouble. Where’s the line? Where’s the fucking line? He doesn’t want to stop, but that probably means he should.

“We should go.” He half-groans, half-sighs as he steps back.

The embarrassment hit is immediate. As he shifts, you compose yourself into a publicly appropriate stance. Where does your self-control go when it comes to him? It’s like he’s magnetic. You know better, but you’re drawn to him. You want him. Surely he can’t hurt you twice, especially now, right?

“It seems like you got it now,” he says quietly.

You clear your throat as though it might cleanse the heat from your face. You regain your footing well enough to spin around and assess the situation. Jungkook is already facing away but you can tell he’s adjusting the waistband to his shorts. Proof. Your stomach soars like you’re on a rollercoaster. There’s a certain power you only feel when you know for a fact you’ve caused a boner.

“Don’t want to get locked in after dark,” he jokes, gathering his things.

Don’t you? It’s a thought you share, but refuse to say aloud.

“Um…”

“Sorry,” he mumbles. “That was…”

“Fun,” you finish at the same time he says “dumb.”

His eyes widen and he looks down at the floor, a coy smile curling the edges of his mouth.

“Dumb,” you attempt to cover. “I said dumb. No, I—Same. Bad. Hormone. Dumb things. We— Y’know… Let’s just… forget about it. Cool?”

“Cool,” he says, desperately trying to not burst into laughter. You’re so endearingly awkward and cute and wonderful. Listening to you speak after you get embarrassed is becoming his new favorite hobby. It’s adorable.

You kneel beside your bag, awkwardly putting on your shoes at a weird angle. No way you’re sitting with your legs spread open right now. “I’ll keep practicing.”

“Practice is good. Just…” he pauses thoughtfully, “remember to breathe. This is one of the few places where you can make as much noise as you want. Take up space. Let out whatever is bothering you and leave it at the bag. Stop worrying someone is judging you. Just let it out. We all need this for different reasons. We're all focused on relieving our own stress. And this works. You’re welcome here. This is your space. Claim it."

Blinking a few times, you’re nearly awestruck into silence. A nervous weak laugh escapes you. “That sounded almost wise. Where did Jungkook go?”

He wipes down his slick face with the inside of his shirt with a laugh. It doesn't really help this time since it too is covered in sweat. If you didn’t know better you might guess he’d just climbed out of a pool. Yet the proof is in the tiny puddle of sweat surrounding the bag the pair of you shared moments ago. Your eyes instinctively dart to his waistband. Are you disappointed or relieved to find nothing but a thin line of hair trailing down from his navel?

"Ugh, I need a shower," he mumbles while stretching his feet out in front of him. He looks over at you suddenly and wiggles his eyebrows. "Wanna join me?"

You scoff. "And there he is."

The longer you sit, the more the adrenaline slows for your body to remind you of its exhaustion. The floor is starting to look like a good place to nap and your arm feels like it might not keep you upright much longer if you stay.

He jumps to his feet with a light chuckle and offers you a hand. "Kidding. You know I’m kidding. Come on. You're gonna need some sleep if you're gonna make our 5am sesh tomorrow."

You roll your eyes and grasp his hand with both of yours. "Ew. Don't call it a sesh."

He brings you up faster than anticipated. Your form collides with his, legs definitely more jell-o than flesh and bone right now, knees threatening to immediately buckle when he starts to let go. His laugh gets caught in his throat. Sore muscles flex tighter, warming his chest with a new shot of adrenaline.

One hand is still firmly clasped around yours, trapped between your bodies. His other hand gropes your sweat soaked shirt, long fingers digging into the small of your back. Your legs threaten to stay formless blobs the longer you remain so close. Even covered in sweat he looks so good. He smells so good. Why does his gross sweat smell so good? Pheromones be damned. That’s just not fair.

"… You good?” he asks, voice barely a whisper.

His hand remains at your back and you let it. Swallowing down a wave of butterflies that threaten to spring from your throat, you hum a weak sound of affirmation. His thumb kneads against the fabric of your shirt, massaging gentle circles into the flesh beneath. The butterflies gladly change course and head straight down to your cunt.

Goosebumps erupt across your body. Can he tell? An uneven breath struggles past your lips. The circles stop abruptly and the weight of his meaty palm meets your back. He doesn’t pull you closer, but god you wish he would at least once more tonight.

"This is a good shirt," he mumbles, his breath close enough to mingle with yours. "It's soft."

"Thanks. It was six dollars."

Why is that the only thing you can say? Lightheaded and anxious once again, you reach for his shoulder but your hand falls short, resting flat against his chest. His shirt is soaked through with sweat and you can feel the taut muscles beneath. It’s disgusting. It’s wonderful.

He laughs through his nose. ”Feeling mine now?”

Kiss him. Do it. Get it over with. Maybe this feeling will stop if you just—

"Gross. You should shower," you blurt, using his pecs to propel yourself backward with a push. Gelatin legs or no, you need to extricate yourself from this now. You’ve already done enough tonight.

"Wow," he scoffs, then laughs. “That’s true.”

“I mean I should shower too. Oof—” Chains rattle as you knock into one of the bags. You briefly regard it like you’re about to apologize, but quickly focus back on him. "We should shower.” You reach out to steady the bag so the chains aren’t so loud. “I mean. Not-Not together. Obviously. Like, separately. We both. I..."

“Yeah?”

He watches with raised eyebrows, bottom lip trapped beneath his teeth as he tries to hold back his smug grin. “Oh, go ahead. Finish your thought,” he encourages, allowing his grin to spread.

"I’m good. Good-Oh!” You back into another bag and reach to stop it from shaking as you scurry past it. “Night.”

"See you tomorrow!" he brightly calls after you.

How the fuck are you so cute?

Working out is a high in itself, but the one he feels right now is different. He almost feels invincible. Almost feels like it’s the right thing to do to chase after you. Almost like nothing can go wrong if he just gives in. Catching a glimpse of a dopey smile in the mirror gives him pause. It looks like trouble wearing his face.

He pokes his tongue into his cheek and pulls out his phone, searching for that dating app he downloaded. His chest may be light and buoyant, keeping him afloat in a sea of endorphins, but his legs are heavy with the weight of reality’s anchors. Distractions seem like a better option than mistakes.

#bts smut #jungkook smut #jungkook fic #bts fic #swipe right

[random-thought-depository]

My preferred paradigm for Blindsight vampires is they're kind of like cheetahs and horses: they can do some amazing things, but this is because they're highly minmaxed specialists, there are very significant costs to being what they are, and they're actually kind of delicate and fragile creatures.

- I've mentioned that I think ancient vampires would likely have had the same kind of problems with lack of genetic diversity as cheetahs, and I think ancient vampires would plausibly have had behaviors that exacerbated that (had small group sizes, killed each other a lot, had reproductive hierarchies).

- I also mentioned that I think a plausible cost of these superhuman vampire senses is their high sensory processing needs makes them vulnerable to sensory overload, very much like autistic people.

- I like the idea that vampire hunting/combat mode is similar to dothe; to take full advantage of their superhuman sensorimotor processing capacities they over-ride the limiters that normally exist to prevent them from injuring or over-stressing themselves, allowing them to perform superhuman feats of speed and strength. Obviously this makes them terrifying opponents, but it's also pretty dangerous for them and hard on their bodies; a vampire in this state is dancing on the edge of killing themselves. A very common cause of death for ancient vampires might have been "exploded their heart while trying to do meatspace Matrix-fu on some cave men while being in their sixties."

- Similarly, I wouldn't be surprised if hibernation wasn't really good for them and was a kind of risky thing for them to do. That's a very extreme adaptation to develop from scratch in a relatively short number of generations, it probably had a lot of "rough edges." Remember Siri talking about how waking up from hibernation hurt? Pain is a signal that something stressful or injurious is happening to you; if it hurts it's probably stressful or injurious! It could just be that Siri is human so his physiology isn't optimized for it, but I think it's also pretty plausible that a common ancient vampire cause of death was "hibernated and never woke up," and vampire hibernation isn't good for your health, for us or them.

- If vampires are less social and more conservative with their energy and therefore do less play-adjacent activity, well, that may make their brains more efficient, but play-adjacent activity is also a source of new ideas and innovation. I think ancient vampires may have had a certain rigidity of mind similar to Stephen Baxter's intelligent ornitholestians in Evolution, which might have contributed to their extinction: "The orniths might have fared better had they had a more flexible culture... But everything about them was shaped by their origins as carnivorous hunters... They were hunters who could make tools: that was all that they would ever be…" Being less social than humans would also likely have made them rigid in a way; it's hard to build any kind of civilization if your typical group size tops out at less than twenty people and you're naturally very distrustful of strangers.

#Blindsight #project Blampire fanfic

[hearseisananimal]

wish people hadn't absolutely ran with the word 'manic' because now people act all surprised when they realise that my manic episodes are actually manic episodes and not just like fun regular high energy breakdowns. like no im not cutting my hair and listening to mother mother im actually having a very bad time and acting mean and irrational... also if someone tells you they experience a symptom of a mental illness then dont take it as a joke then get freaked out when you realise they're being 100% serious. yes i do actually hallucinate that wasn't just some obscure abelist joke! no you do not get the right to ask me gross invasive questions because of the abelist stereotypes you choose to believe!

#some of your activism is so obviously performative it hurts my brain #stop using actual mental health terms to describe mediocre shit everyone exleriences when theyre upset #and stop being continuously suprised when mentally ill people experience mental illness #i am gross all the time i am mean or awkward or uncomfortable to be around sometimes #i literally tell people these things then they still get surprised when i act weird or put odd boundries in place #mental health #mental illness #rant #vent

[wish-that-i-was-buckys-girl]

Hi! How are you!? Hope you're good 😁 Could I request a BuckyxFem!Reader oneshot? ❤️

A mission goes wrong. The reader and Bucky are trapped in a cell surrounded by several HYDRA agents. One of them says the keywords to activate the Winter Soldier just at the moment when Steve and Tony appear to help them, they fight against Bucky trying to make him the same again until a scream takes him out of that personality: the reader is wounded, wanting to protect him from another HYDRA agent getting in the way of the bullet. Bucky becomes him again and takes the reader in his arms to return to the quinjet.

Maybe lots of angst and fluffy ending with them confessing eachothers love at the hq?

Thank you so much!!!!!!! ❤️ ❤️ ❤️ ❤️ ❤️ ❤️ ❤️

A/N: Hi guys! Wow it’s great to be back and free from college stress. I received this request two months ago, and again I am so sorry it took this long for me to make it, but writing academic papers had absolutely kicked my ass this past semester. This ask obviously takes place where Bucky has not been to Wakanda yet to get his trigger words removed. I hope you guys enjoy! I am a little rusty, and not sure if I should write from the first person perspective or third person perspective for Y/N fanfictions so let me know what you guys prefer. Happy Summer!

Pairings: Bucky x female!Reader

Warnings: Talks of blood, gun violence. Other than that I don’t think there is anything else.

Word Count: 2.5k

You’re My Endgame

The floor was cold. It’s not like you haven’t endured worse, but the concrete you had been resting your head on was less than inviting. Your body was rigid due to the freezing temperatures and the uncomfortable position you curled your body into. The HYDRA facility you had been captured at was in Lithuania, Bucky promised he knew it like the back of his hand. Things had changed since his work and internal torment as the Winter Soldier, something he wasn’t expecting due to lack of funds on their part. Unfortunately, no one could’ve predicted there were spies in SHIELD funneling crazy amounts of money into new buildings and updating new HYDRA facilities and weapons.

You decided to sit up and stretch your limbs. It had felt like weeks you were being held hostage, but in actuality it was only a day at most. The HYDRA agents kept you and Bucky busy with periodic torture. You’ve been kicked, punched, beaten into the ground even but neither of you talked. Bucky was more familiar with these torture treatments than anyone, but he focused all of his attention on you.

He was the first real friend you had made at the Avengers’ campus. He had trauma, you had trauma, one of the best bonding factors you had both concluded. He listened to stories of your abusive childhood, being trained by your father as his own personal assassin, and he would share whatever he was comfortable telling you. You never poked and prodded. You knew you were more open than most when it came to over sharing experiences. Talking helped some people, others not so much.

You stood up and shook out your arms and legs. Once you stopped, you assessed the bruises on each body part, counting how many had accumulated over the canvas that was your skin. 48 in total. A new record.

You looked over at Bucky to see he was lying in a similar position to you, close enough that you were in arms reach but not too close that you were uncomfortable with his touch. You were both exhausted from the continuous torture, touching was not in anyone’s best interest at this point in time.

He groaned softly, beginning to stretch his limbs out as well. Trying to turn a horrible situation into a lighter occasion (as if that were possible), you cracked a joke in Bucky’s direction.

“Good morning sunshine, I see you decided to join me for our delicious gourmet breakfast” you gestured to nothing behind you on the concrete floor.

Bucky cracked a smile “Good thing I didn’t miss it, I’m starving” he joked back. You understood each other’s humor and personality so well.

“How’re you feeling Buck? I know they did a number on you after me” you looked down at him somberly.

He shook his head “Don’t worry about me. Show me your arms and legs. I wanna see how much they hurt you.”

You rolled your eyes. “Buck I’m fine. I can hold my own just the same as you. We are trained for these situations.”

Bucky rolled his eyes back at you. “Did I ask if you were trained? No. In fact I didn’t ask you anything at all. Show me your goddamn body Y/N”

You didn’t want to stress him out anymore, so you just knelt down in front of him and started showing him your arms. He hovered over them, careful not to touch your delicate flesh. His phase was full of confusion, anger, and something else you couldn’t quite put your finger on. He shook his head, not even wanting to see your legs if this is what your arms looked like. He didn’t want to upset himself even more, which would in turn make you upset.

“Lay back down Y/N. You need to rest, even if it is on concrete. We can’t have your pretty self looking like that when we get back to the compound now can we?” Bucky replied, trying to lighten the mood once again. It was worth a shot.

Bucky always told you you were pretty, never really thinking anything of it. Steve or Natasha was his endgame, and you respected that. You were best friends and best friends always complimented each other like that. You definitely didn’t need to make your relationship more complicated, even if you were desperately in love with him. You would keep those feelings locked down in the deepest crevices of your brain, unwilling to share with anyone.

You smiled towards Bucky, getting ready to sit back down when you heard the door to the basement unlock. You both winced at the sound, turning to look at each other with dread in your eyes. 

Please dear god no more. We can’t take anymore. 

You wanted to keep Bucky safe from HYDRA’s wrath, and he wanted to do the same for you. Given the circumstances however, it was near impossible. Bucky felt helpless that he couldn’t properly protect you against their torture, only adding to his mental torment. He was in pure agony, and hearing that door again made him want to scream out to a higher power he didn’t believe in. 

“Rise and shine dirtbags, we have a new surprise for you today” the first HYDRA agent said with a small smirk on his face. 

You had no idea what they had in store for you today, always expecting the worst. You definitely were not prepared for what they were planning to do to you today.

“You, girl, have you ever met those they call the Winter Soldier?” the second HYDRA agent asked.

You had no idea what he was talking about, honestly thinking he was talking about Bucky. You knew he had been called the Winter Soldier in the past, but Bucky never shared much of his trauma. You didn’t know to the full extent what he was capable of, he never wanted you to know what he was capable of. In response, you nodded with a confused look on your face.

Bucky, however, knew exactly what he was talking about. His heart felt like it had dropped to his stomach, unable to prepare for what was about to happen. He started shaking his head furiously, begging softly. “Please, please don’t do this. I’ll do anything, just please don’t do this. Not with her.” You could see the pain in his eyes.

A third HYDRA agent strutted into the room, just as smug as the other two. He was holding a red book with a black star on it. You thought it was just a log of what torture they had performed on you, but it was much more sinister based off of Bucky backing up into the far corner of the room with absolute dread in his eyes. That’s when the third HYDRA agent started to speak.

“Longing, rusted, seventeen.” Your confusion only grew as the HYDRA agent spoke these words, but your confusion slowly faded as concern took over. You looked over to Bucky who was squinting his eyes as he hugged his rigid body. He was whispering “No, no god please no, please stop.”

You walked over to him gently, crouching. “Bucky? Bucky what’s wrong..”

The second HYDRA agent took the book from the third, continuing reciting the words “Daybreak, furnace, nine.” Everyone’s smile grew wider except yours and Bucky’s. He was starting to shake from fear and anger, knowing what was about to happen. Bucky screamed at you, something he had never done before in his life. “Y/N, get away from me. Just stay away!” 

You were a strong woman, never faltering during a mission, especially in times of crisis, but you felt like curling up into a ball and crying. You were worried, disoriented, and even worse, you couldn't do a damn thing about it. The words kept flowing from the HYDRA agents’ mouths. 

“Benign, homecoming, one” the HYDRA agents spouted in unison. Bucky was screaming in pain. You couldn't bear to look at him, tears streaming down your face as you heard his agony. This was far worse than any torture inflicted on you yet. 

Then, the final word was spoken. 

“Freight Car”

Bucky’s eyes shot wide open. His rigid body remained the same, only beginning to stand instead of hugging himself in the fetal position. That’s when he spoke.

“готов подчиниться”

You understood the meaning, but didn't understand what your best friend had become. That’s when an explosion behind the three HYDRA agents erupted, causing everyone to become disoriented. 

Debris had been blown everywhere, dust clouding your vision and settling all around you. You didn’t see Bucky, you didn’t see the HYDRA agents. All you could see was a glow. It came from beyond where the explosion came from. You began squinting, trying to identify what was heading in your direction. That’s when you began to see flashes of the one and only “Hot Rod” red, along with the Star Spangled Man with a Plan. Although you wanted to smile at your rescue, your thoughts were all encompassed by Bucky. You hadn't known what happened to him, only knowing he was in extreme pain, now missing. You yelled out to Tony and Steve. 

“Over here!! I’m over here. Do you guys see Bucky??”

That’s when you heard a shift in the rubble, only a few short feet from where you were lying. A metal arm had popped out of the ground, reminiscent of the scene in the Evil Dead. 

Thank God. At least I know where he is. 

You worked slowly over to where he had appeared out of the ground. You began removing the stones off of his body with vigor. You could finally see his face and somewhat of his body, calling out his name. 

“Bucky? Bucky tell me if you’re hurt. Bucky please talk to me. You’re scaring me”

His expression remained blank, awaiting orders from whoever was willing to give them first. 

That’s when you heard the faint commands of a fallen HYDRA agent, determined to finish his job. 

“Attack”

Bucky’s reaction was immediate. He grabbed your throat with force, causing you to claw at his metal arm with what little energy you had left. Gasping and kicking your feet as he held you in the air, you tried calling out to him. This was your best friend, surely he had to recognize you. That’s when Steve threw his shield directly at Bucky’s legs, causing him to loosen his grip on your neck.

You fell to the ground coughing, your body begging for air as you inhaled so sharply you thought your chest would explode. Your coughing didn’t stop for a few seconds, only being brought back from reality when you heard the clash of vibranium on vibranium. You looked up to see Steve and Bucky fighting, Steve screaming “Buck! Buck it’s us!”

Bucky replied with angry grunts, not understanding anything but his commands. While Steve and Bucky fought, Tony was busy securing the area, taking out other HYDRA agents who had flooded the scene. You didn’t know what to do, but you knew Bucky was your top priority. You called out to him several times, hoping he would realize it was you. Your cries fell on deaf ears, however, as he continued to fight Steve with all of his might. 

You quickly glanced at everything going on, that’s when you noticed a HYDRA agent Tony had missed while fending them off. He was holding a loaded pistol, directly in Steve and Bucky’s direction. Before you could truly process what was going on, you heard the gunshot go off. At this point you weren’t too far away from them, sprinting in their direction to protect them from the bullet. You launched yourself in their direction, screaming in pain as your body was pushed to it’s limits already in pain. As you fell to the ground, you barely noticed the bullet had entered your right shoulder. Figuring the pain was from landing on sharp stones, you groaned loudly. 

As soon as you screamed, Bucky was ripped from his Winter Soldier persona and back into reality. However, Steve didn't see his realization, landing a punch straight to Bucky’s jaw, sending him staggering back. Both Steve and Bucky turned their attention to you, lying on the ground and bleeding everywhere. Bucky, who couldn’t care less about the fact that he just got punched in the face, moved over to your body with haste.

He looked down at you softly, covered in dirt and blood. His heart wretched in his chest, knowing all of this could’ve been avoided if he just double checked the layouts of the base before invading the building for their mission. “Y/N? Y/N sweetheart talk to me please” he said as he picked your head up gently to lay in his lap. You coughed up a little spittle of blood as you turned to look at him with tenderness in your eyes.

“Bucky? Is, is it you?”

He smiled down at you, with tears rolling down his cheeks. 

“Yes sweetheart, it’s me. Just hang in there for me okay? We’re gonna get you to the quinjet. It’s gonna be okay.” You could hear the cracks in his voice as he spoke to you, but couldn't focus on it for too long. Both your vision and your hearing were starting to waver, going in and out as the chaos ensued around you. 

The last words you remembered hearing before everything went back was Bucky’s voice. 

“Don’t leave me now sweet girl, I need you. Please don’t go, you’re it for me.”

He continued talking, but lost consciousness as he spoke. Everything was dark.

_______________________________________________________________________

You woke up, looking at an absolutely blinding light. You squinted as you opened your eyes, not fully able to open them completely thanks to the mini sun above your head. 

You began to move your limbs, realizing that someone was holding your left hand. You looked over to see Bucky, sitting with you in the quinjet infirmary, his head hung low and gentle sobs escaping his mouth. 

You spoke up softly, unable to speak at a normal tone. 

“Bucky?” 

Bucky picked up his head, eyes puffy and red from the crying, not expecting you to be awake so soon after how much blood you had lost. 

“Y/N? Oh god, oh sweetheart” he stood up and kissed your forehead, not wanting to move your body by embracing you with a hug.

You smiled up at him as he hovered above your face, taking in your beauty.

He spoke with a quiver in his voice. 

“I, I thought I’d lost you. All because I was a fucking idiot who couldn't do my job before the mission, Y/N I am so sorry, I don’t, I never wanted you to see me that way. I’m so stupid, I’m-” you stopped Bucky from continuing his pity party by raising your left hand to his lips, shushing him with one finger. 

You gently removed your hand and lifted your head slightly to meet his lips with yours. You both closed your eyes as your lips met, savoring how delicious you both tasted, even post mission. You deepened the kiss slightly, angling your head so you both had more access to each other’s mouths. You held the kiss for what seemed like forever, finally decided to pull away softly. 

Staring into his beautiful ocean blue eyes, smiling up at him while holding the back of his head, you spoke softly “You are Bucky Barnes, and you’re my endgame.”

#Bucky Barnes #bucky x y/n #bucky x female reader #bucky barnes x reader #sebastian stan characters

[quickspinner]

Oops - Part 1

Part 1 | Part 2 | AO3

Summary: A little too much alcohol, a drunken hookup, it happens all the time, right? Marinette didn't mean to drink so much, and she didn't mean to wake up in a stranger's bed, but she did, and now this morning isn't going at all the way she expected. When Luka asks to see her again, she can't think of a good reason to say no...and the one night she never meant to have turns out to be the beginning of something she never could have anticipated.

Alya thinks its hysterical--only Marinette could take home a one night stand and end up with a date. But when the one night stand turns into a series of hookups, Alya's starting to get concerned. Clearly it's up to her to rein Marinette in before the girl gets seriously hurt.

Rating: M - this is a little spicier than my usual fare but not really explicit? There’s a lot of off screen sex and reference to sexy things and adult activities, some drinking (obviously), cursing/foul language. 

Credit to my tumblr followers for this one, because one day I went "hey, you guys want to see some bits from the folder of fics I'm never going to finish?" and one of the bits I posted was the beginning of this story, and people liked it more than I was expecting, and then it was "well, you know, I did think about doing blahblah" and "I'd sure love to see that!" and the next thing you know I've added five thousand words with no sign of stopping. In Marinette’s words: Oops. So, with much love to my followers and readers across platforms, here's the fic I never intended to finish, and I hope you enjoy it!

I'm splitting it into two chapters but they'll both be uploaded within a few minutes, so if you finish the first part and the second one isn't posted yet, just wait a little and try back. Also, much love to @livrever for talking me down off the ledge and beta reading this one. 

Marinette woke up with a mouth that felt like cotton and a pounding headache. She groaned, and pressed her face into the pillow. It...smelled funny. Not bad, just...not like home. 

Oh. Because she hadn’t gone home last night. At least, not to her home. 

“Are you shitting me right now?” 

Marinette jumped, and sat up, clutching the sheets to her still-naked body. Her head reeled and she whimpered as she pressed the heel of her hand to her forehead. The door to the bedroom was cracked and she could see a sliver of light beyond it that blinked in and out. It seemed her...friend, was pacing in the other room, and from the sound of it, he wasn’t very happy. 

“—crosses a line, Jean. What? No, that’s not the point, Jean, you got me hammered without my consent! How can you not see the problem here? No, you know what, my head is killing me and I’m sick of yelling at you, obviously this can’t be fixed. As of right now, we are no longer friends. Don’t call me, don’t talk to me, if you see me coming just walk the other way. I’m done with you.”

There was a thump and a sigh and an emphatic “Fuck.”  

Marinette just sat there, holding the sheet over her chest, and blinked, trying to figure out what she should do and think through the fog in her brain. She didn’t exactly have a whole lot of experience in these situations. Was she supposed to just…

Before she could form any ideas, he came in with a glass of water and a bottle of painkillers. He had a pair of tattered but well-fitting jeans on with patterned boxers peeking out from the waistband, but no shirt, and there was a lot of muscle and bare skin on display and oh God he had sex hair, and it was her hands that had done it. Marinette swallowed and twisted her fingers tighter in the sheets, suddenly feeling a bit lightheaded.

“Hi,” he said gently. “I’m Luka, in case you don’t remember. Sorry if I woke you. How are you feeling? I mean, hung over, obviously, but on a scale of just let me die to I might conceivably want to live to tomorrow …” He gave her a smile that perhaps wasn’t entirely confident, and Marinette couldn’t help a small smile back. 

“I think I’m not quite up to dancing to the metal band playing in my head, but pretty far from oh God where’s the bathroom, so I’ll take it, all things considered.” She took the glass of water he offered and he opened the aspirin bottle and shook a couple out into her palm. That was sweet, she thought. At least he wasn’t just tossing her clothes at her and kicking her out. How could she have let herself end up in a position like this?

Luka sat on the edge of the bed and watched her take the pills. “Man, you’re really gorgeous. I thought at least some of it would be the booze, but—“ He looked away, clearing his throat. “Lucky me.”

Marinette’s face burned. “Thanks,” she said softly, not sure what else to say. At least he was nice, she thought. At least she hadn’t slept with a jerk. And he’d certainly been...considerate. It wasn’t as if she hadn’t enjoyed herself, just...

“How much do you remember about last night?” he asked. His voice was rough, but he kept it soft. “I’m sorry for asking but I was way more drunk last night than I ever let myself get and I don’t think I blacked out but some things are...spotty.”

“Most of it, I think,” Marinette flashed him an embarrassed smile. “The good parts for sure. The details and...transitions, I guess, are a little hazy. I don’t remember how we got here from the club, for example.”

“But you remember being here, with me.” His eyes fell to her neck and shoulders and he winced. “Man I really marked you up, I’m sorry. I hope that’s not going to get you in trouble.” His eyes widened slightly. “Please tell me you aren’t married.”

“No,” she yelped. “No, I’m not married. Totally single.” She put her face in her hand. “Absolutely, devastatingly, recently single.” 

Luka let out a sigh of relief and gave her a sympathetic smile. “Bad breakup?”

She sighed. “Very. Bad breakup, bad best friend applying bad breakup logic that lands me my very first one night stand. Yay me.”

“Um, I’m honored?” Luka grinned sheepishly. “Although, I mean...it doesn’t have to be. Just the one night, I mean. Not that—” He cleared his throat and looked away. “Even as drunk as I was, I know I had a lot of fun last night.” He rubbed his hand through his hair. “And even before I got too drunk to function I wanted to get your number.” He rolled his eyes. “Apparently one of my so-called friends decided I needed a little extra liquid courage.” 

“I wish I had an excuse,” Marinette muttered, shoulders curling inward. “I just...didn’t want to be sad anymore.” She frowned as what he’d said and the conversation she’d overheard connected in her brain. “Are you...okay?”

“I’m pissed off,” Luka huffed, and then smiled again. “But I’m fine. I didn’t do— much I wouldn’t have done anyway. Just, not necessarily in that order, or that soon. As long as you’re okay, I’m okay.” He put a hand on her shoulder. “Are you okay?”

“I’m...not sure,” Marinette sighed, adjusting her grip on the sheet she held to her chest. “I don’t know how I feel. I definitely did some things I wouldn’t have done sober. You, specifically,” she joked weakly. “Not that you aren’t—not that I didn’t—“

“I get it,” he chuckled. 

“But...I’m on birth control, and…” she turned and craned her neck to look at the spilled box and empty wrappers on the nightstand. “We used protection, and…” she looked at Luka, worrying her lip. 

“I’m clean,” he supplied.

“Me too,” she whispered, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. “And you’re hot and you seem nice and it’s not like it didn’t feel good, and I definitely wasn’t sad for a while, so…” She shrugged. “I’m a little embarrassed but...I think I’m okay too.”

“Well, no need to be embarrassed with me,” Luka grinned. “I’m definitely not judging.” 

They sat smiling at each other for a moment, and then Luka seemed to remember something, because he winced. “Umm...about your dress,” he coughed. “I am so, so sorry but it seems drunk me was kinda impatient and your dress is in pieces on my living room floor.” 

Marinette just blinked at him for a moment...and then she started to laugh. Luka grinned, and then started to chuckle along with her. She laughed harder and grabbed her head. “Ow, ow, oh my God.” Without thinking she leaned forward to drop her head on Luka’s shoulder. 

He stiffened up for a second, but then relaxed, and one of his hands slipped into her hair. His fingers began to rub in small circles. 

“Mmm, that’s good,” she sighed, and felt Luka’s chuckle.

“Well that sounds familiar,” he said, his voice going a little deeper. Marinette shivered. She felt him swallow, and his face dipped slightly towards her. “I like your perfume,” he said, and had to clear his throat again. Marinette’s face warmed.

“Thank you,” she said quietly. His fingers continued to rub her aching head, and the pain actually seemed to be receding a bit, though whether from the massage or the painkillers he’d given her, she wasn’t sure.

She should sit up. He was a stranger, after all, and just because they’d—she wasn’t exactly experienced at this kind of thing but this wasn’t really fitting in with what she imagined a morning after to be like. She probably looked weird, leaning on him like...like they were a couple or something, and—

Luka’s hands shifted and began to comb gently, slowly through her hair, and Marinette let out a small moan. She felt his breath hitch and bit her lip, embarrassed. “Sorry,” she whispered.

“What for?” he asked, but there was a rough edge to his voice that—she was being silly though, he’d performed last night, and then they’d done all that drinking, and...and those other things, and it was no wonder if his voice was—

That voice was doing things to her, though, and reminding her of—things, and this time it was her breath that caught as the fingers that had been moving through her hair kept going down this time, sliding along her spine, raising goosebumps and reminding her that she was still very much naked. 

“Do you, um,” Luka began, in the exact same deep tones that had made her leave the club with him last night. “Do you have anywhere you need to be right now?” 

His fingers stilled, resting at the small of her back, and Marinette couldn’t see his face since hers was still buried in his shoulder. It was hard to think when he was so warm, and her nose was brushing his collarbone, and she’d hardly have to move to press her lips against his smooth skin. 

She barely knew him. But...well...that hadn’t stopped her last night, so...

Marinette took a deep breath, and lifted her head, sitting back slightly to look at him. His breathing was steady as he looked back at her, almost too steady, but his eyes were dark. 

“No,” she managed, barely above a whisper. 

Luka’s hands moved up her back to trail up and down her arms. “Then, do you want to stay for a while longer?” They were swaying towards each other. “Maybe…” They were kissing before he could finish the thought. Marinette put her arms around his neck automatically, but as his arms went around her, pulling her closer, she dropped her hands back down again to rub over his broad, firm shoulders. 

“Again?” he managed to get out between the fevered kisses, and Marinette made an affirmative noise, but he didn’t move until she broke away long enough to gasp, “Yes.” 

He was pulling away the sheet between them even as he wrapped one arm around her and dragged her more fully onto the bed, settling her below him with surprising gentleness. Okay, that was hot, Marinette decided, burying her fingers in his already-messy hair as he began retracing the path he’d marked along her neck last night. Last night had been a really, really stupid decision, but this? As he pulled back to look at her, eyes clear and sharp instead of the hazy, unfocused gaze he’d had the night before, and brushed her hair tenderly back from her face before kissing her again, softly, and then deeply, Marinette began to feel that this morning was by far the best decision she’d made in a long time. 

***

He should get up, Luka thought hazily, listening to his shower running. He should at least put his boxers back on or something. Change the sheets. Make some coffee. Something.

Instead he lay there, limp and relaxed, listening to the shower, and trying to hold on to this feeling of languid contentment.

God, he felt so good. Marinette was an amazing partner, sweet and so responsive, practically melting under his touch, firm and toned but soft in all the right places, and her little gasps and hums drove him crazy. She was bolder than he expected, an amazing kisser even drunk off her ass last night, and her mouth was so pretty and soft, and this morning...his body hummed with echoes of pleasure as he thought about it. 

He rolled over, hugging his pillow, and grinned. He could still smell her perfume. That scent was engraved in his mind; it was one of the things that was clearest to him from the jumbled mix of memories of the night before. Luka remembered dancing with Marinette, dropping his head to hear something she was saying, and inhaling that scent, vivid despite the riot of smells that permeated the dance floor. He remembered being surrounded by it in the blur that was the cab ride home. He remembered gasping it in on the living room floor...did they fall? He thought he remembered one of them tripping over the doorstep. Even just now, with all his senses full of her, he had found traces of it on her skin, at her jaw and right behind her ear. 

Luka shivered, buried his face in the pillow, and breathed deep. 

He’d played a killer set last night, he’d gone home with a beautiful woman who was great in bed, had somehow managed not to humiliate himself despite his spiked drinks, and he had nowhere to be today. This morning would be perfect if he wasn’t dead certain that Marinette was going to leave and he would never see her again. 

He really wanted to see her again. 

Which was why he hadn’t wanted things to happen this way, damn it. He sighed, this time burying his face in the pillow to muffle his groan. He was supposed to flirt with her, get her number, ask her out, think with his brain and not his—hormones. 

He was still going to kill his so-called friend. There was no justifying what Jean had done. If Victor had been working it never would have happened, but he’d called out for the night and apparently whoever had replaced him had been more than happy to make sure Luka’s drinks were stronger than advertised.

Bastards, both of them. 

Even if it hadn’t turned out too badly. 

Rock Giant blared out from his nightstand, and Luka flopped on his back and grabbed for his phone, forcing his eyes open as he answered it. “Hello?” he grumbled. 

Silence. Luka frowned, and opened his mouth, but the person on the other end finally said, “I’m looking for Marinette.” 

What? Luka frowned, and then pulled the phone away from his ear and looked at it. It was pink. 

Right. Because he’d found Marinette’s dead phone on the floor this morning when he got up, and he’d picked it up and set it in his charger, while he took his own to the living room to call and yell at Jean. Then he’d hurled his phone into the couch and left it there.

Shit. 

“Ah,” he said, reaching up with his other hand to run his fingers through his hair. “She’s, um, in the shower. I can tell her to call you when she gets out.” 

“Tell her to call Alya. If I don’t hear from her in fifteen minutes, I’m calling the police,” the girl on the other end of the line said coldly, and then hung up.

“Oops,” Luka muttered, setting Marinette’s phone back on the nightstand with a sigh. He hoped she wouldn’t be too mad at him. He probably should have come up with a more ambiguous excuse, something she could use for a cover if she didn’t want to admit to this Alya person that she’d gone home with a guy, but he wasn’t exactly thinking on his feet this morning. 

He should get up. He sat up with a groan and swung his legs over to sit on the edge of the bed, scrubbing his hands over his face. 

He registered that the shower was no longer running at about the same time that the door opened. Luka looked up and his jaw dropped as Marinette shuffled shyly into the room.

Shit, he’d seen her naked less than an hour ago, why was he still blushing?  She was wearing two of his shirts, a t-shirt with one of his button-ups over it, open at the front and with the sleeves rolled up, cinched at her waist with her scarf from the night before. He couldn’t look away from that scarf for a moment, a pink, gauzy thing the sight of which brought Luka another vivid memory of pressing his face against her neck to inhale her perfume as he untied it. His eyes flicked up to the lovely pattern of bruises along her neck. 

“Thanks for letting me raid your closet,” Marinette said, tugging slightly at the hem of his shirt. She had what looked like a pair of his black bike shorts on underneath. They were too big for her but damn did her legs look good anyway.

“No problem,” he coughed, and cleared his throat, reaching for the glass of water that was still sitting on his nightstand. Ugh, when did he become such a horn dog, drooling like this over a woman who had already more than satisfied him. Why did Jean have to decide to be a jerk last night, of all nights. Luka didn’t want things to end like this. 

“Well, I should...If you maybe have a bag I can put my dress in? Then I can just go and get out of your hair.” Marinette couldn’t seem to be still, feet shuffling, hands fluttering, not looking at him.

I have to fix this, was the only thing he could think as he stared at her. I’ll regret it forever if she just walks out.

“Actually,” Luka said quickly, trying desperately not to sound too desperate, “I was going to ask if I could buy you breakfast.” 

That stilled her. She froze, staring at him, and he forced himself to go on. “No pressure,” he shrugged, “But the café on the corner has a great all-day brunch menu. And I’d like to make it up to you, about the dress.” He grinned sheepishly, running a hand through his hair. Marinette’s eyes followed the motion and he thought he saw pink tint her cheeks. Well, at least it wasn’t just him. “Breakfast probably doesn’t begin to cover it, but it’s a start. If you don’t mind waiting for me to shower.” 

Marinette was shuffling again. “O-okay,” she said. “I’ll, um...I’ll wait for you in the other room?”

Luka chuckled. “Sure.” He waited a moment, but when she just stood there, he tossed aside the sheet covering his lap and stood. “I’ll be quick,” he told her with a grin that he was extremely sure she didn’t see. She squeaked as he passed her and he had to smother his laughter, even as he closed the bathroom door behind him. She was too cute, and her ogling made him feel less like a creep for his own.

Then he cursed and opened the door again, leaning just his upper half out. “Oh, I need to tell you, you need to call, um, Alya? I’m really sorry, but we have the same ringtone and I answered without thinking. Can you call her back before she sends the cops after me? I can’t deal with Officer Roger this early in the morning.”

Marinette paused, and then let out a strangled laugh, dropping her head into her hand. “Yeah,” she sighed, but she was smiling when she looked up at him. “Sure, I can do that.” 

Luka smiled back. “I'll only be a few minutes.” 

He did want to be quick, but he also wanted to be clean and attractive, so he throttled back his impatience as best he could to make sure that he both smelled and looked good. The bedroom was still empty when he came in, but the door wasn’t shut all the way and he could hear Marinette on the phone. He felt a little guilty for eavesdropping, but it wasn’t as if he could help it. 

“—about that but it’s not like I ditched you on purpose. Well obviously I was wasted, Alya, so I wasn’t exactly thinking clearly.  No, I’m really fine. I’m kind of embarrassed and I feel really stupid, but...it turned out okay. Hmm? No, he’s really sweet and considerate. He’s, um, buying me breakfast, so…what? No, Alya, I’m not stupid, I know that. He’s just being nice and—okay that is none of your business! ” There was a giggle that followed that, and then her voice dropped too quiet for him to hear, and another giggle, one that made him smile from the sheer joy evident in it. “I guess I got lucky in more ways than one.” She sighed. “Anyway, you don’t have to worry about me. I really am fine. Not even sick, much. I mean I had a headache for a while, but...” She giggled again. “Luka took care of it. Mm-hmm, so good, Alya, oh my God.” Luka grinned to himself as he dug in his closet to find the stack of leftover merch he had crammed into the back corner. “Nuh uh, also none of your business. Anyway, I’m not dead in a ditch somewhere, and I’ll text you when I’m on my way back, okay?”

Stop being a smug bastard , Luka told himself, but it wasn’t working very well. Given the state she had reduced him to, it was gratifying to know she’d enjoyed herself too. Well, he had known that, he’d made sure of it, but it still felt good to hear it from her. Maybe his odds were better than he thought. He found what he was looking for and tried to turn his smirk into something less incriminating before he opened his door and emerged into the living room. From the way Marinette’s face turned red, he failed. “I really gotta go,” she mumbled into the phone, eyes on him. “Bye, Alya.” 

“I hope this will do,” Luka said, offering her the cheap mesh tote with his band logo on it. “You can keep it, we use them to bag up merch when people by t-shirts and stuff for the band...I hope it’s…”

“It’s fine,” Marinette smiled, taking the bag. The pieces of her dress were already neatly folded on the couch, and she turned away from him to put them in the bag. 

“I’m really sorry about that,” Luka told her, frowning a little. “I’m...not usually like that.”

“It’s okay,” Marinette sighed. “It was kind of flimsy, with just those straps to hold the pieces together. I’m not usually like this…” she gestured with one of the folded pieces, “either. I’m not, you know, sexy like that. I made it because I thought...well, I thought he would like it, and maybe I could wear it for a special occasion at home, but I never meant to wear it out , and then when everything happened, I thought I’d never wear it at all, but then Alya insisted that I had to wear it at least once and…” She shrugged, and slipped the handles of the tote over her arm, smiling up at him. “I’m just as happy to have an excuse not to wear it again.” 

“Well, you looked amazing in it,” Luka told her, the corner of his mouth twitching. “But I have to disagree with you about not usually being sexy. My clothes have never looked so hot.”

She tried to hide how much she enjoyed the compliment, but couldn’t quite manage it, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. She’d had a breakup, he remembered, and probably wasn’t feeling too good about herself when she walked into that bar last night, dressed to the nines, and started knocking back drinks. 

Then her blue eyes flicked up to give him a look through her lashes. “I find that hard to believe,” she murmured, and then blushed. 

Oh he was gone. Luka found himself reaching for her, but stopped his hand before it touched her cheek. “Can I kiss you, Marinette?” 

Her eyebrows shot up. “Now, you’re asking?” 

“Yes, I’m asking,” Luka replied, amused. “Why wouldn’t I?”

Marinette’s eyes darted to his mouth, and then back towards the bedroom. “I don’t, um...think I can…” 

Luka chuckled. “Thanks for your opinion of my stamina, but frankly, me either. I’d be more than willing if I could, but, right here right now? I just really want to kiss you.” 

“Why?” Marinette blurted, and then covered her mouth. Luka blinked, but before he could come up with any kind of answer, Marinette straightened and squared her shoulders. “Look,” she said briskly. “I’m sorry, I just...I’ve never done this before, and I don’t know what...I don’t know what the rules are? The...etiquette, or whatever...I mean I kind of thought once we were done with…” Her eyes shifted towards his bedroom again. “I thought it was just, over? And I would go home? So I’m...I guess I’m confused. About why you’re still...um...breakfast and kissing and all that, it just…why would you still want that, after you—I mean we—aren’t we, you know…” She floundered. 

“Okay, hold on,” Luka raised his hands placatingly. “Relax, Marinette. That was kind of a lot to take in.” Luka chuckled, and looked away for a moment as he gathered his thoughts. “I’m not gonna say I’ve never done this before, but...listen, I don’t have a playbook. This isn’t...a business transaction, or whatever. I just do what feels good. Dancing with you felt good. Kissing you felt good. Everything we did after felt good. This morning felt really good.” Marinette blushed, a smile tugging at her lips. “I just feel good with you. I don’t see any reason to put a time limit on that, just because we’re, um. Worn out.” They both giggled self-consciously, and Luka reached for Marinette’s hand, cradling it in his. “If you want to go, or you need to be somewhere, or if you’re just tired of kissing me—”

“I don’t,” Marinette said quickly, taking a half step forward. “I’m...not.” Luka smiled.

“Then just do what feels g—” 

She flung her arms around his neck and kissed him, dropping the bag on the floor. Luka’s hands found her hips automatically, steadying them both from her hasty move, and the kiss softened as they both relaxed into it. 

“You’re right,” Marinette breathed, sending a shiver up his spine. “It does feel good.” 

Luka kissed her again softly, savoring the soft plumpness of her lower lip between his, and rested his forehead against hers. “I could kiss you all day,” he rumbled, and cleared his throat. “But fainting from hunger probably wouldn’t feel so good, so. We should probably go.” 

“Okay,” Marinette said, and then bit the lip he’d just been enjoying. “But maybe we could...keep doing what feels good? For a while? Until I have to go?” 

“Hell yeah,” Luka grinned, and grinned wider when she rose up and kissed him again. He picked up her bag and offered it to her, and walked her to the front door and opened it for her, his other hand still entwined with hers.

They made it to the landing when Marinette hesitated at the top of the stairs. Looking over her head, Luka saw one of his nosier neighbors staring up at them, judgment in every line of her body. Marinette was frozen under the stare, red slowly creeping up her face. He could sense the sudden panic in her, and put a hand on her hip. 

Luka leaned down by her ear. “You were the hottest fucking thing I’ve ever seen last night,” he murmured, smiling when Marinette shivered and turned her head slightly to listen to him, jolted out of whatever spiral she’d been in. “You completely blew my mind this morning. You’re a goddess. Own it and walk out of here like one.”

Marinette felt as if Luka’s words sank into her skin, warming her in such a way that she almost forgot what they were talking about. She was busy reliving the way he had arched against her, the praises he had whispered into her skin, the way he had clung to her, moaning as he came apart. She did that to him. 

Luka watched as Marinette bit her lip, fighting the smile that was suddenly trying to break out. He brushed his lips against her temple and she looked up at him, still blushing but with a sparkle in her eye that did things to his heart. She reached back and caught his hand, tangling her fingers with his, and marched down the stairs, offering a cheerful smile to the old lady at the bottom. “Good morning,” she said, and Luka grinned shamelessly as they walked out of the door.

When they made it out of the building Luka suddenly pulled back on her hand, and Marinette gasped as he whirled her up against the wall and leaned down. Marinette rose up on her toes to meet him, cupping his face in her hands and they kissed fiercely. Luka braced his hands on the wall and leaned into her. 

“Perfect,” he breathed, though even he wasn’t sure whether he meant her performance just now, or her in general. 

Marinette’s hands slid from his face to his shoulders as she blushed and looked down, but then she looked back up at him, beaming, and Luka couldn’t help smiling back at her as he cupped her cheek and kissed her lightly one more time. “Breakfast,” he sighed, and pushed off the wall. He held out his hand, and Marinette put hers in it, and they were both grinning as they meandered down the sidewalk. 

“How are you feeling?” he asked, and Marinette sighed blissfully. 

“I feel...really good,” she answered. “Thank you.” She paused, and scrunched her nose. “Is that weird to say?” 

“No,” Luka laughed, and brought their hands to his lips to press a kiss against her fingers. “Thank you too. I had a really good time. I’m glad you did too. I’m glad that...well, with the way things started. It could have all gone really badly, or not at all, and...I’m really glad I could show you a good time.” 

Marinette blushed. “It was good. Really, um. Really good.” She sighed. “I promise I know more words than this.” 

Luka chuckled. “It’s okay. Here, it’s this one.” He opened the café door, but he didn’t let go of Marinette’s hand, following right behind her into the café. They were directed to a booth, and he tugged at her, urging her to sit next to him instead of across. 

Marinette only hesitated a moment. Do what feels good . Luka’s arm felt good against her shoulders as he laid it along the back of the booth, and he leaned down and kissed her without any trace of self-consciousness. Marinette’s fingers curled in his shirt. Kissing him felt really good. She should be embarrassed; she should be pushing him away. Hadn’t she heard over and over how important image is, and here she is making out with her one night stand, wearing his clothes, in a public diner booth. 

Do what feels good . 

It definitely felt good. 

“God that feels good,” Luka sighed as they parted, and Marinette giggled. He kissed the top of her head, and then picked up the menu as a slightly wary waitress approached. Marinette glanced up at him in surprise at the rather domestic gesture, but then quickly away again. Stupid. They’d already had that conversation. It was just an impulse, not something to read into. Marinette looked up at the waitress instead, feeling her cheeks heat. 

The waitress didn’t look phased at all. If anything, she looked bored. “Coffee?” she offered in a disinterested tone.

“Um, no, thank you,” Marinette managed to smile. “I’d like some lemon tea with honey, please.” 

The waitress nodded, and glanced at Luka. “Usual, Lu?” 

“Yeah, thanks,” Luka said, flashing a quick grin before looking at the menu again. 

“Come here often?” Marinette teased, and Luka chuckled, then coughed lightly.

“Yeah,” he admitted. “It’s close and I’m lazy, so…” He shrugged. 

The waitress returned and set down a little pot of hot water, a cup with a tea bag in it, and a container of honey. 

Marinette pulled away from Luka slightly to prepare the tea, but his arm remained behind her on the back of the booth. 

“Here,” Marinette said, sliding the tea over to him when it was ready. “This’ll help your throat.”. 

Luka blinked, and then smiled. “Thank you,” he said, and Marinette found herself blushing under his suddenly soft gaze.

“No, thank you,” she said, and he laughed as she reached over and stole his coffee cup. She sipped it carefully. It wasn’t quite as sweet as she liked it, but it was good enough. She glanced up at Luka over the rim, and he was still giving her that soft look. 

“I should figure out a ride,” Marinette murmured, looking away, and she picked up her phone.

“I can get you a cab if you want,” Luka offered, but Marinette shook her head. 

“My roommate’s boyfriend works nights around here, and he should be getting off soon. I’ll see if he can pick me up first.” She smiled at Luka. “If not, we can revisit the offer. Thank you.” 

He leaned down and kissed her again, and she kept him close for another, and her next text to Nino wasn’t entirely coherent. 

They had to disentangle from each other when their food came, but Marinette remained very aware of Luka’s arm brushing her own, and the soft smiles he gave anytime she glanced at him. She glanced away, tucking back a lock of hair to cover up the fact that she was grinning like a fool. Is this what it’s supposed to feel like? she wondered. Was this just like, afterglow or something? Would it fade away once she left?

Luka touched her shoulder and Marinette jumped. He blinked. “Sorry. I was just asking if you got your ride worked out, but I guess you were a bit zoned out.” 

“Sorry,” Marinette said quickly, and stuffed her phone back in her purse. “Yeah, Nino’s going to pick me up here in a little bit.” Luka nodded. 

He put his arm back around her when they were finished eating, and he ordered another lemon tea instead of the coffee she expected. “You were right,” he smiled. “It did help.” 

Marinette mixed it up for him again when it came, and then settled in and leaned against Luka’s side as he sipped it. He smelled nice, and he was warm, and she loved how easy he made everything feel. 

Luka watched Marinette’s eyelids begin to droop. He nuzzled her hair and kissed her temple, but she just smiled, her eyes still closed. She was adorable, and Luka sighed before jostling her slightly.

“Don’t fall asleep on me,” he warned, and Marinette blinked her eyes back open. “I don’t particularly mind, but we can’t stay in this booth all day.”

“Can’t we?” Marinette sighed. “I’m so comfortable. You’ve been...really great Luka. I’m kind of sorry it has to end.” 

Luka took a breath, and took the plunge. “Well, about that. I was hoping maybe we could see each other again.”

Marinette blinked uncomprehendingly, and then blushed as she sat up and looked at him. “Y-you mean, like a...a b-b—” 

“I mean like a date,” Luka corrected, mouth twitching. She was really too cute. “The kind with talking and dinner and movies or whatever. I’d really like to spend more time with you, Marinette. Talking, and not just...well. I’d be lying if I said I wanted to stop doing everything else, but...I want to get to know you.” 

Marinette’s eyes widened. “R-really?”

Luka tilted his head slightly. “Why are you surprised?” 

“I just don’t—I mean I didn’t think I’d be…” Marinette ducked her head, drawing circles in the ring of condensation forming around the base of her water glass. “You don’t even know me.” 

“True.” Luka raised his eyebrows, and shifted his gaze away so he wasn’t looking quite so fully at her. “That’s why I’m asking you out. I don’t know you, but I want to. If you want to call it quits now and go home and never see me again, I’ll accept that, but...it’s definitely not the way I want this to go.”

“I…” Marinette looked down, twining a finger nervously in her hair. “I don’t know, Luka. You’re really sweet and—I really did have a great time with you. It’s just…I don’t want you to get hurt because I’m on the rebound, I…I don’t know if I’m ready for another, um...relationship, right now. I mean...”

Not what he wanted to hear, but...“Okay. That’s fair,” Luka nodded, the fingers of his free hand beginning to tap the table lightly.. “What if we just keep things casual for now? We can go out sometimes, and have some fun together...do what feels good…” he squeezed her hip, and watched her try to keep back the smile that wanted to break out, “get to know each other, and if you want to see other people or whatever, I’m cool with that for now. I’d just really like the chance to spend more time with you. If it doesn’t go anywhere then…” He shrugged, “at least I tried. You’ve put me on notice now, so it’s my choice to take the risk. I think you’re worth it.” His heart was beating so fast, and the tap of his fingers picked up tempo as he watched Marinette consider. 

“Why?” Marinette whispered at last, with a sigh that hurt his heart. Her last relationship must really have done a number on her. 

Luka cupped her cheek in his hand, coaxing her to look up at him. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “I just...have a feeling about you. I’ve learned to trust my instincts about people. I can’t explain it logically, I just...know. You’re someone I want to know. I felt it from the moment I saw you, before I’d even had a single drink.” 

Marinette pursed her lips, looking up at him. “I don’t know how I’m supposed to live up to that,” she said after a long moment.

Luka let his thumb stroke lightly against her lower lip. “You don’t have to live up to anything. Just be you, and let what happens happen.” He bent and kissed her, slipping a hand behind her neck to get a better angle as he plundered her mouth in a way that was definitely not appropriate for a public place. Luka was pretty far beyond caring at the moment though. That this gorgeous, sweet, vibrant woman, could question that someone might be drawn to her, attracted to her for more than a passing moment...it just wasn’t right. 

Marinette relaxed into him with a quiet moan. Her hand slipped under his jacket and pressed into his chest, feeling him up shamelessly, and his own fingers tightened on her hip. 

“So,” he breathed, when he finally let her slip reluctantly away. “What do you say?”

Marinette looked up at him, and bit her reddened lip, and then quietly asked, “Are you free this weekend?”

Luka grinned. “Actually, not so much, I’m usually playing gigs on weekends...how about Thursday? That way I don’t have to hurry away.”

Marinette hummed, and pulled out her phone. He watched the fingertip she pressed against her lips as she considered her schedule, and admired her bright eyes when she smiled up at him. “Okay, Thursday works.” 

“It’s a date,” Luka smiled so softly that Marinette’s heart fluttered. How did he do that, kiss her like that and then do something so—so sweet . 

Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea, she thought as he got out his own phone to swap numbers with her. What if she fell for him? 

But...he sounded like he wanted her to fall for him. Maybe? But what if he fell for her, and she was just using him for sex? Because he’d made her feel so, so good...important and beautiful and wanted and…

It might not even be like that again, she told herself. Maybe I just imagined it because I was lonely and depressed and feeling unwanted...maybe I would be thinking about anyone who gave me some attention that way. Maybe we’ll just...fizzle out and it won’t even be an issue.. 

Luka curled his fingers under her chin and tilted her face up. “You okay?” he asked softly. 

“I…” her voice was shaking, and she took a breath and forced a smile. “Yeah. Just. I’m tired.” 

He didn’t believe her. “You’re okay,” he told her, kissing her cheek gently, and then the corner of her mouth. “Whatever’s going on, it’s going to be okay.”

Marinette’s phone beeped, and she picked it up with relief. “He’s almost here.”

She slid out of the booth, and Luka followed. He left some bills on the table and took her hand as they walked out. 

“That’s my ride,” Marinette gestured as Nino pulled up at the curb. She turned to face Luka, stepping close. He set his hands on her hips and squeezed as she leaned up to kiss his cheek, but she paused, and then turned and caught his mouth instead. Luka moved easily to meet her in one of those slow, deep kisses that made it seem like he had no other place in the world to be. She stroked his cheeks with her fingertips and kissed him again, and then again as she slid her fingers back up into his hair. “Goodbye, Luka,” she whispered, and he shook his head. 

“See you later,” he corrected softly.   

As he let go of her she felt something slide along her hip and looked down to see the pink scarf that had been tied around her waist slipping away. She looked up at Luka’s grinning face as he winked at her and draped the gauzy scarf around his neck. He raised the fabric to his face and inhaled. “See you Thursday,” he told her, eyes twinkling, and turned to walk away. 

Marinette’s knees felt shaky as she stepped down the curb and opened the car door. 

Nino was hunched down in the front seat, both hands pulling his cap over his face. “Geeze, Nette,” he muttered as she fell into the seat and tucked her feet inside. “I really didn’t need to see that.” 

“Sorry,” she said breathlessly, but as she flipped down the visor to check herself in the vanity mirror, she saw pink cheeks and sparkling eyes and a broad smile, and knew that she wasn’t convincing. She pressed her fingers to her lips and, for Nino’s sake, fought down the urge to squeal. 

Her glow dimmed a bit as she followed Nino up the stairs to the apartment she shared with Alya. She loved her friend, but...she wasn’t looking forward to this conversation. She tugged the collar of Luka’s shirt a little higher on her neck, and tried to remember what Luka had told her. She had nothing to be ashamed of. 

“Well well well,” Alya drawled as Marinette slipped into the apartment after Nino. “Your very first walk of shame.” She smirked. “Marinette, I didn’t know you had it in you.” 

“What I had in me was a lot of vodka,” Marinette huffed, and came over to the table, accepting the glass of ice water Alya pushed across to her.

Alya waited until Marinette had the drink at her lips to add, “And a hot guy, apparently.” 

Marinette choked, just as Alya had intended. “Alya!” 

“Don’t tell me he wasn’t, girl,” Alya snickered. “You, my friend, look very well fucked.” 

Marinette blushed hard. She was, at that, but Alya didn’t have to put it so...crassly.

Nino groaned. “You know what, just...knock and let me know when you’re done. I don’t want to think about it.” He went down the hall into Alya’s bedroom and shut the door. 

“So you said goodbye to Mr. Right For Tonight?” Alya asked, tapping her fingers against her own glass. “You have all your stuff, right?” She frowned. “Are those his clothes? What happened to your dress?”

“I have it with me,” Marinette defended, picking up the bag she’d dropped. “He just...thought I’d be more comfortable in something else.” Not for a million euros would she have told Alya the whole truth about the dress. “And yes, I said goodbye. For now, anyway,” Marinette muttered, and caught Alya’s gaze when she looked up. Something in that look made her squirm. “Actually we have a date later this week,” she admitted. 

“A date?” Alya raised her eyebrows. “Marinette, maybe I need to clue you in on a few things about this whole one night stand business. As in, one single night. After which you…” She made a fluttering motion with her hand. “You’re not supposed to get a date.” 

Marinette shrugged, and reached over to pluck a croissant from Alya’s plate, just to have something to do with her hands. “Oops.” 

Alya’s frown deepened. 

“What? It’s no big deal,” Marinette defended, though she wasn’t even sure why she felt the need. “We just...thought we’d like to see each other again.” 

Alya looked troubled for a moment, and then grinned. “It was that good, huh?”

“Well—” Marinette squirmed in her seat again. “It was fine, okay? He just...seemed nice.” 

“Uh huh.”  

“It was your idea anyway!” Marinette pointed out defensively.

“My idea was for you to go out and get buzzed and enjoy being drooled over,” Alya grinned. “You decided to get hammered and then get laid all on your own. I hope you’re satisfied .” 

Marinette couldn’t cover the silly smile that wanted to come up at that, but when Alya snickered, Marinette shook herself back to reality and sighed. “It was probably my imagination making things better than they were. I was feeling pretty down last night and I did have a lot to drink. And it has, you know. Been a while.”

“Maybe started seeing through beer goggles?” Alya teased. “Not that I blame you, I thought he was pretty cute when you were dancing, but I’d had a few myself by then too. Not your usual type, but it’s good to branch out.”

Marinette blushed. She didn’t want to tell Alya that while her memories of the evening were hazy, she remembered Luka in the morning very clearly, not only the lines of his body but the broadness of his back beneath her arms as she clung to him, the ripple of the muscles tensing and releasing against her as he moved, the dark intensity of his eyes and the way they fluttered closed when she did something he liked. 

She picked up her water glass and took a long gulp. No, she hadn’t needed the liquor to be attracted to him. Not at all. 

Still. She wasn’t exactly thinking clearly, even now. “Watch,” Marinette sighed, setting the glass down. “The date’ll be a bust and that’ll be the end of it. We probably won’t have anything to say to each other and we’ll exchange awkward texts for a few days and then we’ll never speak again.” 

“Hmm,” Alya raised her eyebrows. “We’ll see. It’s fine if you want to have fun, Marinette, you sure as hell could use some. Just be careful, always use protection, and don’t let him take any nudes.”

Marinette blushed deeply, and bit into her croissant. “Thanks so much for your concern,” she muttered around the mouthful. 

***

Marinette knew she was in trouble as soon as she locked eyes with Luka and her stomach started doing somersaults. The slow smile he gave her was so distracting that she barely heard his greeting, or the compliment that followed. She didn’t remember putting her hand in his, it was just there, his fingers rubbing lightly over her knuckles. They hadn’t even made it to the restaurant when Luka tugged her into a shadowed corner and kissed her in that slow, purposeful way he had. His voice surprised her a little, smoother than it had been, without the roughness of hard usage, but, she found, just as seductive. Any resistance Marinette might have had crumbled the second he turned them out of the light and breathed may I ? against her lips. 

When they did finally make it to their table, Luka was just as easygoing as he’d been on their first...night, and he meant it when he said he wanted to get to know her. He asked her questions, and seemed interested in what she said, even when she babbled, watching her with a quietly amused smile. He was interesting, too, telling her about his travels for the past year with his band. They had a surprising number of tastes in common. His eyes were fixed on her whenever she spoke, and he was touching her whenever he got the chance, taking her hand or playing with her fingers, brushing her hair back or letting his hand rest on her shoulder. Despite the kisses they shared whenever one of them couldn’t help themselves, his touch didn’t feel like seduction, just tenderness. Marinette felt like the center of his world, and after so long living on the sidelines of someone else’s life, she reveled in it. 

They were laughing as he walked her home.

“You did not,” Marinette gasped, one hand over her mouth and the other curled around Luka’s arm. 

“We totally did. What can I say, it was a full moon and my best friend is crazy.” Luka shrugged, and grinned while Marinette laughed.

“Wait, so are you a werewolf?” Marinette asked teasingly, as they approached the awning of her building.

“No,” Luka chuckled. “Unless you’re into that. If so, I can see what arrangements I can make for the next full moon.”

“You’d get bitten by a werewolf for me?” Marinette giggled. “How sweet.”

“I’d rather be bitten by you,” Luka teased back, and his hand found her hip, and her arms came up around his neck, and then they were kissing. Heat welled up in her, making her push up against him. Luka made a sound low in his throat and his hands slid to her lower back, pressing her closer. Oh, she wanted him, and by the feel of him he wanted her too, and…

Well. There really wasn’t any point in denying their mutual desire, was there. Marinette pulled away to press her lips along his jaw, and he made that sound again as he tilted his head for her. 

“Do you want to come upstairs?” Marinette asked, toying with his collar. “My roommate’s out of town tonight, so we won’t be, um...bothering anybody.” 

“I’d love to,” Luka told her, voice deepening. “I’d hate for you to be lonely, all by yourself.”

“Oh, I can entertain myself,” Marinette said daringly, looking up at him through her lashes. “I have an excellent imagination. There’s definitely advantages to having the real you here, though.” 

“Play your cards right and I’m sure we can manage the best of both worlds.” Luka bent and kissed the join of her neck and shoulder, sucking hard enough to make her shudder. “You can start with telling me how you imagine we get upstairs. Are we making out in the elevator or am I chasing you up the stairs?” 

“Elevator,” Marinette sighed, head tilting as he retraced his favorite route up her neck. “I don’t want to wear your legs out just yet.” She paused to consider. “Maybe you could chase me that far, though.” 

Luka pressed another long, slow kiss to her mouth. “Then you’d better run,” he told her, grinning playfully. “I won’t be responsible for what happens when I catch you.” They both giggled, and then Marinette broke away, running for the building doors. Luka darted after her, staying just at her heels, sweeping her up in his arms just in time to carry her through the elevator doors. Marinette spared a brief moment to wonder what she was doing, being so bold, and in sight of the entire lobby, too, but Luka grinned at her, and she forgot to care. Marinette leaned over him to press the button for her floor, and then forgot everything but his mouth under hers. 

Later, when they said a lingering goodbye at her door, and he asked her if she’d like to go out again, she didn’t even hesitate before agreeing. She’d figure out a way to explain it to Alya later.

Fiction Master Post

#quickspins #oops #lukanette #endgame lukanette #lukanette endgame #luka couffaine #marinette dupain-cheng #miraculousladybug #miraculous ladybug #i'll never not know you #pro lukamari #nsfwish fic #alya salt #depending on your sensitivity #one night stand to lovers

[scripttorture]

Hello! I have a few questions related to your most recent post and the definition of torture. You said:

"A trained person who was never tortured will always out perform someone whose training involved torture."

According to everything else I have seen on your blog, this makes sense - the mental and physical trauma from being tortured have lasting effects which make certain tasks more difficult.

However, this seems to juxtapose certain tropes I've seen in US military training advertisements. For example, "Hell Week" in the Navy SEAL training seems like it would be torture if it was forced upon someone (like if the soldiers didn't sign up for it and didn't have the option to quit.). *Hell Week is when soldiers are training continuously for 5 days in freezing, wet conditions, with little more than 4 hours of sleep for the entire week, under insane amounts of physical and mental stress.

- If someone chose to be tested both mentally and physically, I feel like it wouldn't be torture. However, if the same exact conditions were forced upon someone else (testing their mental and physical limits without their consent or understanding), does your quote above mean that the person who did not have a choice would not reap the benefits of the training/testing? Or would the Navy SEALs be better soldiers if they didn't have to go through 'torturous conditions' during Hell Week, regardless of their choice to do so?

(I used Hell Week as an example, but I meant this question generally. I'm trying to figure out how to best train an elite soldier and avoid any harmful torture apologia tropes, while also making sure that they are able to handle insanely challenging situations)

- My other question has more to do with the definition of torture that you quoted from the UN in one of your master posts. If someone is being seriously injured (pulled fingernails, whipping, starvation etc), but not for the purposes of interrogation, punishment, or intimidation, is that still torture, or is that just abuse? And, regardless of what we call it, would the effects be the same as if it were torture for any of the three motives above?

Sorry if this is long and hard to understand, I can clarify if needed!

It’s not the longest I’ve gotten and it’s perfectly clear, duck*. :) Honestly this is a difficult topic with a lot of nuance, it’s better to take a longer and more thoughtful approach.

 From the stand point of the legal definition and what we study/understand as torture any consensual activity, however extreme, is not torture.

 But here’s where it gets interesting: consent and our attitude to an activity actually changes our response to pain. It may even change how much pain we feel.

 I’m going to take a slightly different example to yours. There are a lot of cultures globally that have practiced scarification, ritual cutting to deliberately form scars. And this can be done for a lot of reasons: membership of a family or clan, coming of age, traditional medicine, religion, you get the idea.

 A lot of people in these cultures describe their scars as incredibly important and the process of getting them as a moving, deep and positive process.

 This does not mean they wouldn’t be traumatised if they were attacked by someone with a knife.

 Being able to approach something painful and see it as positive really changes our perspective. It makes trauma and mental illness a lot less likely. And being able to back out, even if it’s just for a little while to take a breather, seems to make us able to withstand more pain then we would have otherwise.

 The simplest and most famous experiment that dealt with this relationship between our mindset and pain asked people to keep their hands in ice cold water. They timed how long people could do it when they were told to stay silent and how long they could do it when they were allowed to swear. If they swore they could hold their hands under for longer. An average of forty seconds longer.

 Looking back over O’Mara (Why Torture Doesn’t Work, a very good intro to how pain works and what it does to the brain) the way he describes it as by thinking of the experience of pain as a collection of three things. There’s the physical sensation itself, the nerves firing. But there’s also an affective component, how we feel emotionally about the experience and a cognitive component, how we think about it.

 Did you ever play that game as a kid where you stuff as many chilis as possible in your mouth to see who would spit them out first? I… might have done. And from what I remember it hurts an awful lot. But those memories to me are mostly about messing about with my friends, I remember trying to be stubborn about it and I remember us laughing at each other.

 This is a completely different experience to someone being held down and having chili stuff up their nose. But the difference isn’t necessarily in the physical damage done or the physical sensation of pain. It’s in the other components, the emotional response and the rationalisation.

 I also had a filling drilled in my tooth without painkillers as a kid. I don’t know how common this is in the West? It happened in Saudi. Honestly my biggest memory of it is the language barrier between myself and the dentist.

 These are anecdotes obviously but I’m trying to show that you probably also have experiences in your own life that back up the experiments too. The way we think about a painful experience really does make a huge amount of difference. And that means consent matters enormously.

 These soldiers are going into this experience knowing what to expect, how long it will last and that they can stop at any time. That makes a huge amount of difference. Those same factors have drastically increased the time volunteers will spend in solitary confinement for research. I’m pretty sure if I dug even a little I’d find pain studies with similar findings.

 Here’s the flip side: the physical factors are still in play.

 Sleep is an important physiological process that’s essential to normal functioning. Studies on consensual sleep deprivation have shown massive negative impacts on memory along with a host of other things that you can read about here.

 Let’s take a non torture example. A student who stays up all night cramming for an exam is not going to develop the symptoms of trauma that a torture survivors who was sleep deprived would. But the effect sleep deprivation has on memory is due to sleep playing an essential role in preserving memory (and learning more generally.) So they’re both likely to have difficulty remembering things in days just before and just after sleep deprivation. They’re also both more likely to have false memories and catch a bad cold.

 As a result of this memory impairment I question the educational value of anything involving sleep deprivation: you can’t learn while messing up the processes that let your brain remember things.

 There have been cases in the UK of people dying during training for the armed forces. Because while consent makes a huge difference, mindset makes a huge difference- our bodies still have limits. We can choose to push ourselves past those limits and, whatever our motivation or feelings, it can do real harm.

 Personally? I’m unsure of the benefit of these kinds of exercises. As in I’m unsure there is a benefit. Learning is going to be shot, chances of injury are going to be a lot higher- I don’t see anything that could be improved by these sorts of exercises.

 Anecdotally people do report feeling like a closer unit after going through these sorts of routines. That might be the benefit: moral and unit cohesion, possibly self-esteem too.

 If you’re making up something for your story I think it’d be helpful for me to mention a little statistical effect that gets used to justify punishment pretty regularly. Get some dice out if you’ve got them and roll one. Let’s say the number represents performance in some kind of test (because effort and learning matter but our performance also varies because of things we can’t control.) A roll of 1 gets punished, a roll of 6 gets praised.

 Now after you roll that first 1 statistically speaking the chances are your next roll will be better. And if you roll a 6 then statistically speaking the chances are your next roll will be worse. People observe this effect in real life and they often conclude that there’s no point in praising someone but that punishment leads to improvement. Really it’s just a statistical effect, after a particularly, noticeably bad day the chances are things will be better next and vice versa.

 This effect can make it difficult for people to recognise overall, long term progress. Which is the kind of progress you should be paying attention to when designing a training program.

 If you want good performance from people, whatever the metric, the most efficient thing to do is ensure that those people are; well fed, have access to clean water, get plenty of sleep, have breaks and have access to medical treatment when they need it.

 I’d say the main things to keep in mind when designing this fictional training regime are:

Being honest about the effects you describe, ie if they’re spending long periods without shelter are they at risk from exposure? If they’re standing in cold water are they going to get hypothermia?

Remember that even if something is damaging or causes lasting trauma it would not necessarily prevent someone from doing their job. Torture survivors have serious, lasting symptoms but many of them still work.

 I think I’m going to leave that there because I’m not an expert in militaries or training people. And keep in mind that I am a pacifist, read this with my biases in mind.

 Getting to the second question, there is a little more to the UN definition then that. The primary factor is still who the abuser is. For it to be torture (legally speaking) the abuser has to be (or be ordered by) an on-duty government employee, part of a group that controls territory (ie an occupying force). Some countries also count international organised criminal gangs in this definition.

 It’s also important to note that torture can be targetted at someone other then the victim. So if the police arrest the brother of a political opponent and beat him in order to intimidate the politician, that is still torture.

 Basically there are a lot of factors in the legal definition of torture and it’s that way by design. The hope is that you end up with a framework that captures as much government abuse as possible.

 But it also means that there’s a pretty high barrier when it comes to proving torture. Which means that things which are legally torture can be prosecuted as assault, bodily harm or equivalents to these, because it’s easier to get a conviction for those charges.

 Technically you are correct: if abuse done by a government official doesn’t have one of the four motivations in the legal definition (attempts to obtain information, forcing a confession, intimidation or punishment) then it doesn’t meet the definition.

 However in practice I’ve not heard of a case failing because of the motive.

 I’m not a lawyer and I’m not an expert in international law. I won’t say it’s never happened. But it’s much more common for cases to fail for other reasons. Off the top of my head I’d say the most common reason is difficulty proving the abuse took place.

 The most common types of torture today are ‘clean’, a term we use to indicate that they don’t leave obvious marks. If someone turns up with fingernails torn out or the skin of their back lacerated by a whip that is clear physical evidence of abuse. Nothing else causes similar injuries. But if someone turns up at a doctor’s with swollen feet or reddened skin, if they’ve lost a lot of weight or they’re so tired they’re struggling to stand… Well all of those things can be caused by common tortures. But they can also be caused by common illnesses.

 A lot of the deaths from torture today are similarly hard to prove. Beatings and stress positions ultimately cause death by kidney failure. Which can mean that prosecutors are asked to prove a victim didn’t have an underlying health condition. Or take drugs.

 Honestly my instinct is that the motive is the easiest thing to prove. It’s often harder to bring charges against people in positions of authority, regardless of the country we’re talking about. Bringing those charges, proving abuse took place and proving it was done by the person in question, those are usually the tricky parts.

 The difference between torture and abuse is scale. Torture is industrial scale abuse.

 The law doesn’t define that scale but that’s what we’re talking about when we talk about abuse from organised authority. Abusers might have dozens of victims. Torturers have thousands, tens of thousands.

 If you want to explore a different motivation in your story, something outside the legal framework, consider the scale at which this abuse is taking place. Consider how organised it is. If it’s organised and large scale, with multiple abusers, with no prior relationship between the abuser and victims then torture will probably be a better model then abuse. If it’s smaller scale with a more personal relationship and if it isn’t supported by a legal framework/organisation then abuse might be a better model.

 For victims and survivors the difference isn’t so much about the symptoms they personally experience as the… side effect of that scale. Abuse victims are often very isolated and may not know anyone who has had a similar experience. Torture implies a community of survivors and possibly generational trauma. There are also effects to do with access to support, access to medical care and how likely it is that someone will be believed.

 Torture survivors are often systematically disenfranchised in a way that abuse victims are not. Torture survivors are often forced to leave their home country. Anecdotally, based on what I’ve seen globally over the last few years, I think that struggling to get citizenship is increasingly an issue for torture survivors. And without citizenship there’s difficulty finding legal work, getting accommodation, accessing medical care, accessing the legal system etc.

 I do not know whether torture survivors are more or less likely to be believed by their community compared to survivors of abuse. I do not think any one has attempted a comparative study. I do know that the prevalence of clean torture means that many torture survivors are not believed and this puts up a further barrier, making it harder to access medical treatment and bring charges.

 Rejali’s book was published in 2009, so things may have changed a tad. At the time he was writing the average wait for a torture survivor to see a specialist doctor was about 10 years.

 Abuse is to torture what murder is to genocide. And there are difference on a wider social scale as a result.

 I mention all that because I feel it’s relevant but the impression I get is you’re mostly interested in the long term symptoms? In which case, yes the legal definition makes very little difference. The physical injuries caused by particular kinds of abuse don’t change depending on whether it’s a private individual or a police officer holding the Taser.

 The lasting psychological symptoms are not particular to torture; they’re what the human brain does when traumatised. The same symptoms can manifest in people who witness traumatic events but weren’t actually hurt themselves. They can manifest in people who were injured in accidents and they manifest in people who were neglected or abused. Hell, I have a couple of them, though no where near the severity a torture survivors would experience. A sufficient amount of stress is enough for these symptoms to start developing in anybody.

 You can find the general list of symptoms here. There’s also a post specifically about memory problems over here.

 The pattern I describe; that these symptoms are a list of possibilities not ‘every torture victim will get all of these’ holds true for trauma survivors generally. Anecdotally there is some variability with chronic pain being reported more often with some kinds of abuse. That might be because it can have physical causes, psychological causes or a mix of the two.

 Whether it’s torture or abuse there isn’t any way to predict a survivor’s symptoms in advance. Much of the advice I have about writing torture survivors and their symptoms holds true for trauma survivors generally. Which is why I’ll still take a crack at some questions that aren’t about torture.

 Pick the symptoms that you feel fit the character and serve the story. We can’t predict symptoms and that means that there’s no reason why you shouldn’t pick the things that appeal to you.

 And I think I’m going to leave it there. I hope that helps :)

Available on Wordpress.

Disclaimer

*This is a weird English endearment. I had someone ask if this was me trying not to swear. 

#orphicphosphenes #writing advice #tw torture #torture as training #legal definition of torture #clean torture #military abuse #trauma #trauma and consent #pain #pain and memory #sleep deprivation #attitudes towards clean tortures #writing survivors #abuse within the military

[engie-ivy]

I've written a part two for this fic! Read part one here.

What Chance Do I Have?

Regulus has agreed to tutor a classmate in statistics, but quickly comes to regret his life choices when the only chance the guy seems interested in, is the chance of getting to snog Regulus’ older brother.

“You want to snog my brother!” Regulus points his pen accusingly in Remus’ direction.

Remus huffs and straightens his back. “In my defence, your brother is very snogable!”

Part one: Crushin'

Part two: Fallin'

What Chance Do I Have? Part two: Fallin'

Dating Sirius Black is like a dream. No, a fantasy. A teenage fantasy of summer romance.

Dating Sirius Black is sneaking up to his room after Remus’ tutoring sessions and snog for hours on his bed. Dating Sirius Black is hurrying outside when his motorcycle pulls up, while Remus’ mum throws him a worrying look. Dating Sirius Black is Remus’ arms tightly wrapped around his waist while sitting on the back of his motorcycle. Dating Sirius Black is driving up a hill to watch the sunset and wearing his leather jacket when Remus gets cold. Dating Sirius Black is eating take-out pizza in the park late at night with him teaching Remus the constellations. Dating Sirius Black is skinny dipping in the lake at midnight. Dating Sirius Black feels like homecoming and an adventure, an obsession and an escape, too much and never enough.

Also, Remus’ statistics are actually going better. Regulus has given up on banning Sirius from their tutoring sessions. Sirius would just go outside to do all sorts of distracting activities in front of the window, like watering the plants in just his swimming trunks (“What the hell are you doing? We have a gardener! You haven’t watered a plant in your life!”), washing his motorcycle (“If you want to wash that thing, at least pour more water on your motorcycle than over yourself!), or doing his stretches (“What muscles are you even trying to stretch? You’re just standing there bend over. Get your arse away from the window!”). After Regulus sending Sirius away, Remus would go to the toilet and disappear for twenty minutes.

Regulus eventually allowed Sirius to stay, when Sirius came up with the idea of rewarding Remus for each good answer with a kiss, which remarkably improved his performance. Except for one instance where Remus had solved a particularly difficult problem and Sirius had gotten a bit carried away in his reward (the hoisting Remus up on the table throwing the statistics book on the floor-kind of carried away), and Regulus had muttered something about rinsing his eyes with bleach, it was a good arrangement for everyone.

Today, Remus is having drinks with a few girls from his class, Mary McDonald, Marlene McKinnon and Lily Evans. They had apparently taken a liking to him and decided to befriend him, which Remus still finds surprising. Lily Evans and her boyfriend James Potter are the school’s it-couple, and the most popular people in school.

Remus and the girls have gathered for brunch, and some much-needed catch up-time.

“How’ve you been, Remus?” Marlene asks, sipping her tea. “Hardly seen you since the summer hols started.”

“I’ve been good. Keeping myself busy.”

“Ah, right,” Lily says. “You’ve been having those tutoring sessions with Regulus. How’s that going?”

“Yes.” Mary not-so-subtly steaks a pancake from Marlene’s plate. “How are you bearing spending beautiful summer days in the stuffy Black manor?”

“It’s not that bad.” Remus does his very best to sound casual, but he can’t help the corners of his mouth curling slightly upwards thinking about some of the times spent in the Black manor.

“Oh oh,” Mary says, staring at him with a piercing gaze. “Look at his face.”

“Ah, yes,” Marlene says. “I see.”

“Maybe it’s just the heat?” Lily suggests weakly.

“No,” Mary says decidedly, shaking her head. “The combination of a blush like that and the dreamy look in his eyes can only have one explanation.” She points her fork accusingly in Remus’ direction, pancake pieces flying through the air. “You’ve met Sirius Black!”

Remus tries to look unaffected and calmly meets her gaze. “I may have seen him around.”

Marlene leans forward resting her head on her hand. “So he still looks like that, huh?”

“He does Marlene,” Remus replies, forgetting about seeming unaffected. “He really does, and I was very unprepared.”

Mary chuckles. “Some things there’s no preparing for.”

“It doesn’t matter what he looks like,” Lily interjects, looking at Remus pointedly. “You cannot start being friends with Sirius Black!”

Remus rolls his eyes. “I haven’t started being friends with Sirius Black.”

Lily lets out a relieved breath and takes a sip of her tea.

“I’vestarteddatingSiriusBlack,” Remus murmurs in one breath.

Lily spits out her tea, Marlene drops her fork with a clatter, and Mary actually shrieks.

“What?” Lily coughs, dapping her chin with her napkin.

“You… are dating… Sirius Black?” Marlene asks, stunned.

Mary just stares at Remus with something like awe.

Remus shrugs. “We kind of clicked.”

“Dating Sirius Black,” Mary whispers. “Many have tried, and many have failed.”

“Including you,” Marlene says to Mary.

Mary sighs wistfully. “I should’ve taken tutoring sessions with Regulus.”

Marlene whacks her over the head. “I’m pretty sure Sirius Black’s type is cute, freckled guys with big eyes and floppy hair. Not whoever his little brother happens to be tutoring at the time.”

“You shouldn’t be dating Sirius Black!” Lily points her finger accusingly in Remus’ direction. “That guy cannot be trusted! He’s bad news, Remus.”

Remus arches an eyebrow. “He has been nothing but respectful towards me, and has never given me a reason not to trust him.”

“Well, maybe you don’t actually know him that well,” Lily retorts.

“I’ll find that out for myself then, won’t I?” Irritation seeps through in Remus’ voice. “I’m very much capable of making my own decisions.”

“You are,” Lily replies. “If you were making those decisions with your brain and not some other body part.”

“I’m afraid I have to agree with Lily, Remus,” Marlene says hesitantly. “I think you can’t see that Sirius Black is no good for you.”

“Yeah,” even Mary chimes in. “While I know it’s easy to get distracted by that hair, and those eyes, and that smile, and those shoulders, and that arse- wait, what was I saying again?”

Marlene whacks Mary over her head.

“Look, I’m not just dating him because he’s a walking definition of physical perfection,” Remus says. “He’s so clever, and he’s always doing nice things for me, he actually listens to what I say, and he always makes me laugh…”

“Oh god.” Lily is staring at him with a horrified expression on her face. “You’re falling in love with him!”

Remus can feel his cheeks reddening, but he refuses to look away and stares back defiantly. “If I was, I’d be none of your business.”

“I don’t want you to get hurt, Remus!”

“I appreciate your concern,” Remus says cooly. “But that’s a risk I’m willing to take.”

“Fine,” Lily scoffs. “If he does break your heart and you need a shoulder to cry on, you know where to find me. And whatever you do, do not mention him in front of-”

“Hi, Lilyflower!”

“James!” Lily shrieks, whirling around in her chair and her voice sounding three octaves higher than usual. “Hello. Hi. How do you do? Fancy seeing you here.”

James gives her a funny look. “You mean where we agreed I’d meet you to give you back your car keys? Thanks again for letting me borrow your car, by the way.”

“Oh, right. Silly me,” Lily says with a very unnatural chuckle, as James places the keys in her hand.

James glances around the table suspiciously. “What were you talking about?”

“School,” Lily says, at the same time Marlene says “the weather”, and Mary says “cows”.

James looks at Remus, but he looks just as confused as James is.

“Alright then…” James says. “Well, sorry for interrupting your school-wheather-cow discussion.” He bends to give Lily a kiss on her cheek. “See you tonight, babe.”

“Yes, toodles!” Lily says, and James gives her an amused look before walking away.

Lily slumps in her chair.

“I think that went pretty well,” Mary says.

Marlene whacks her over the head. “Cows?”

“I panicked!”

Remus arches an eyebrow and leans forward in his chair towards Lily. “Care to tell me why I can’t mention Sirius to James?”

Lily sighs. “Back when Sirius Black was still in our class, he and James were best friends.”

“More than best friends,” Marlene adds. “Like brothers. Platonic soulmates.”

“You never saw one without the other,” Mary chimes in. “They were on the football team together, sat next to each other in class, were always pranking the teachers together.”

Marlene snickers. “The teachers always said ‘PotterandBlack’ in one breath.”

“Well, yeah,” Lily says. “But then Black started skipping grades, and I don’t know, he must’ve thought he was too good for James suddenly. He just stopped hanging out with him, quitted the football team and didn’t speak to James anymore.”

“That’s rough,” Remus frowns. “Without giving any explanation?”

Mary nods sadly. “It was a though time for James.”

“It really threw him off,” Lily agrees. “It was hard to see.”

“I thought you said you hated James back then?” Remus asks.

“Nah, she didn’t,” Mary replies.

Marlene smirks. “Unless it was in a ‘I hate James Potter and his stupid face, with his stupidly sexy hair and that stupidly cute grin, and those horribly pretty eyes and outrageously broad shoulders’.”

“Anyway,” Lily says pointedly, her cheeks flushed. “The point is that you deserve better, Remus. Someone who treats people as if they’re disposable is obviously no boyfriend-material.”

Remus thinks about it for a moment. “Alright,” he eventually says. “I’ll admit that I see where you’re coming from, but still. I have to make my own judgment from my own experience with Sirius.”

“I respect that,” Lily replies, only a tad reluctantly. “All I ask is for you to be on your guard.”

Remus walks home with Marlene, who’s going in the same direction.

“How are you going to handle it, though?” Marlene asks. “I mean, it must be stuck in your head, the question what Sirius Black’s deal was with that whole thing with James?”

“It is,” Remus replies. “But I’ve come up with an ingenious plan to find out.”

“Which is?” Marlene asks.

“Out-of-the-box as it may be,” Remus says. “I’ll go up to Sirius and ask him ‘what was your deal with that whole thing with James?’.”

Marlene grins. “I can see Sirius Black didn’t just like you for your pretty face!”

“Oh Marls,” Remus throws an arm around her shoulders. “You forget that he met me while I was doing statistics.”

Marlene throws her head back and laughs. “I take it back! It was definitely your pretty face!”

Remus decides to go and see Sirius that very evening. They didn’t make any plans, but Remus figures he can always check if he’s home. He walks up to the Black manor and knocks. After a few moments, an anxious looking Regulus opens the door, only slightly.

“What are you doing here?” Regulus hisses, the moment he recognizes Remus.

Remus is about to answer, when a woman’s shrill voice sounds from the living room.

“You ungrateful brat! After everything we’ve done for you, you’ll choose to shame us?”

Remus blinks, and Regulus looks over his shoulder and then back to Remus.

“This is not a good time,” he tells Remus. “You should leave, quickly!”

A man’s heavy voice now comes through. “You’re embarrassing yourself. And worse, you’re embarrassing your family. I’m starting to doubt whether you’re even worthy of being our son.”

Suddenly, Sirius bursts out the living room, pushes the front door further open, and stalks out into the street. He’s walking fast, jaw tight, and eyes fixed on the floor. He doesn’t even register that he walked right past Remus.

Regulus makes a move as if to follow him, but then the woman’s voice sounds again. “Regulus! Regulus Black, where are you? You get over here immediately. I will not have you talk to your brother!”

Regulus looks terribly conflicted between hurrying after Sirius and making sure his parents don’t freak out more.

“I can go after him,” Remus offers in a quiet whisper. “Then you can deal with your parents.”

Regulus nods gratefully, before disappearing back into the house.

Remus finds Sirius sitting on some steps not far from the house, his head in his hands. He looks up at Remus’ approaching footsteps and startles.

“What… what are you doing here?”

“I came to see you. I was at the door.”

Sirius shakes his head. “I didn’t even see…”

Remus smiles. “I noticed.”

“Did you hear…?”

“Only some bits.” Remus sits down one step above Sirius and threads his fingers through his hair. “Wanna talk about it?”

Sirius shrugs. “I told my parents I was thinking about becoming a veterinarian instead of a doctor. I thought they’d might be okay with it, as it’s still a medical profession, not too much of a deviation from their plan, but apparently veterinarian is ‘an inferior profession much below their status’ and I am ‘selfish, stubborn and ungrateful to even consider it’.”

“I’m sorry,” Remus says softly.

Sirius sighs. “Yeah. I’m just sick of it, you know? Sick of trying to live up to their expectations instead of my own.”

“Is that also why you stopped being friends with James?” Remus asks hesitantly.

“I ruined my friendship with James for the same reason I’ve ruined each good thing I’ve had in my life,” Sirius replies bitterly. “My bloody parents.”

Remus stays silent, and after a moment, Sirius continues.

“They said I couldn’t become a doctor if I kept wasting my time on playing football and acting childish with immature people. Being a dumb fifteen-year-old, I believed them, and considering the option of not becoming a doctor never even occurred to me. It was the plan they had set out for me since the day I was born, it was a given.” Sirius turns his head to look at Remus. “Did James tell you?”

Remus shakes his head. “I heard from others.”

“Right,” Sirius looks away again, but Remus can still see the pained expression in his eyes. “I knew that. Regulus already told me James never even mentions me anymore.”

“Well, you’ve never given him a reason,” Remus says. “James is a good person-”

“He’s the best,” Sirius immediately says.

“Right. If you had just explained the situation to him?”

“I know,” Sirius sighs. “But James was like… the height of cool, and I had somehow managed to convince everyone I was the same. I just couldn’t bear the embarrassment of telling him it was because my mommy said no, so I took the cowardice approach. I just stopped talking to him. I regretted it soon after, but by then I was convinced he already hated me, and it seemed futile to make him hate me again for a different reason.” Sirius runs a hand through his hair. “Now I regret ending the friendship in the first place. Hanging out, playing football, pulling pranks… Life was fun back then, you know?” Sirius looks down at the stone pavement. “Life hasn’t been fun in a while.”

“It’s supposed to be!” Remus says. “Especially at our age. Life’s supposed to be fun.”

“I mean, life was fun these past weeks with you, but those years in between…” Sirius shrugs.

Remus moves down a step and takes Sirius’ hand in his. “Look at me, Sirius. You deserve to play football and pull pranks, to become a veterinarian and live life according to your own expectations, and you deserve to have fun!”

Sirius just stares at him, his eyes seeming glassy.

Remus, suddenly feeling awkward, drops Sirius’ hand. “So, I don’t expect I’ll be meeting the parents any time soon?” Remus meant it as a joke to lighten the mood, especially since he and Sirius aren’t even officially together, but Sirius looks at him intently.

“If you want me to tell them about you, I will.”

“What?” Remus asks, bewildered. “They’ll kill you!”

Sirius shrugs. “Most likely.” And Remus hates the casual certainty in which he says it, and he hates even more that he’s not sure if Sirius means it in a manner of speaking.

“But I want you to know I’m not ashamed of you.”

“I appreciate it, really,” Remus says. “But I don’t want you doing anything stupid for my sake!”

“But Remus,” Sirius says. “Isn’t that the foundation of our relationship? Me doing stupid things for your sake?”

Remus chuckles. “Perhaps, but this is not something that needs doing for my sake! I don’t mind. Well, I mind for as much as that I whish you had decent parents whose heads aren’t so far up their arses, but I don’t mind for my sake.” Remus smirks. “I think it’s kind of hot, actually. Our romance being-” He lowers his voice to a husky whisper. “forbidden.”

Sirius snorts. “You’re insane.” But he’s smiling again, so Remus considers it an absolute win.

“I mean it! We’re like Romeo and Julliet!”

Sirius raises his eyebrows. “You do know their romance lasted five days and six people died?”

Remus shrugs. “We can break that record.”

Sirius raises his eyebrows even further.

“Oh, god, for the number of days! Not the number of deaths! I don’t want anyone to die for our romance! Although, if some tragedy were to befall your parents…”

“Remus!”

“I’m kidding! I’m kidding!”

Sirius shakes his head, but Remus likes to think it is the fond sort of headshake. His suspicion is confirmed when Sirius cups his face between his hands and strokes Remus’ cheeks with his thumbs.

“You’re insane, Remus Lupin,” he says softly. “And I think I’m falling in love with you.”

Part one

#my tumblr writing #wolfstar #wolfstar fanfiction #wolfstar fic #marauders #marauders fanfiction #marauders fic #sirius black #remus lupin #remus x sirius #james potter #lily evans #marlene mckinnon #mary mcdonald

[bleulone]

i love your analysis so much! i have a question as well, like, how do you envision polin's sex scenes ? thanks for your answer (:

    Hey! Thank you very much :)) I have no idea if they are that even good but I’m happy you like them. It’s just my brain tending to produce some iNsIGhiTfUL analyses though they usually end up drowned under a huge wave of stupidity and horrid spelling/grammatical mistakes XD. So, about Penelope and Colin’ sex scenes, I guess we’re getting spicy in this house 🌶. I mean, I don’t blame you. Who’s not hot for Polin ?! The steamy Polin hours have already begun and they’re legit challenging my patience. (Be still my Polin heart, be still).

   Okay, without further ado, let’s talk about sex baby, shall we ? It’s a pretty long answer/meta so bear with me.

    I don’t know if you’ve read Romancing Mister Bridgerton, but a quick reminder (for those who haven’t... yet), there are a bunch of iconic steamy scenes that I’m dying to watch on screen. First we have the famous “thank you” scene where Penelope, now a 28 year-old spinster, asks Colin to kiss her because she doesn’t want to die without having been kissed... then ends up thanking him— which happens to be humiliating for our 33 year-old boy because he thinks that she thinks he did it out of pity while he absolutely did not. The man definitely felt butterflies in his stomach... and in other places as well lol. We also have the ICONIC carriage scene where Colin gives Pen’s generous bosoms™ the attention they deserve. This is followed by his proposal. Later on, after the announcement of their engagement, there’s a pretty hot make-out scene on Lady Violet’s sofa. Finally, we have their first time in Colin’s bedroom, after sneaking out of their own engagement party... which leads Colin to push the wedding date forward. At this point, I just love their horniness, especially Colin’s who’s just so freaking amazed by Penelope for more than 300 pages straight (duh! who isn’t ???).

    When you say envision, I suppose you mainly refer to the way those scenes will be filmed right ? I’m afraid I don’t have an advanced knowledge in film-making but let me start by telling you what elements need to be depicted. I would love Shonda and Chris to capture the real essence of our boos’ feelings : the yearning, the love, the respect and the guilt (specifically on Colin’s side) in their eyes. The more we move forward throughout the seasons, the more we see different layers of the perceptions of they have of each other, going from a childish idealization/immature ignorance to a sudden realization. A mature one. Penelope goes beyond the facade of the charming devil-may-care guy to meet the seriousness and temper of her significant other. Meanwhile Colin discovers how confident, powerful and attractive this woman is and always has been. It echoes what I’ve written about the importance of the gaze in Polin’s love story in this meta. By the time season 4 hits, man... their heart eyes and eye-fucking will jump OUT XD, all fibers of their beings, burning with need. The fact that this evolution took literally years is very emotionally painful, which is why I find it important to keep the slowness aspect of their relationship before and during their love making. I’m really looking forward a slow build-up toward their intimacy. It would differ from Daphne and Simon who merely shared one hell of a kiss in Lady Trowbridge’s garden then shared their sexy times after they married or Anthony and Siena’s rough sex... In fact, there’s a certain (sweet) ardent tenderness in Polin I like due to the fact that they’re slowly (re)discovering each other, as adults. Since they were both introduced in season 1, the audience will have all the time in the world to notice numerous evidences of the many natures of love they have for one another : from an affectionate and friendly love to a more carnal and enduring one.

    Okay so, in terms of filming, with Netflix’s Bridgerton being a show which promotes the female gaze, it wouldn’t be that much of a surprise watching those sex scenes being shot from Penelope’s perspective, like it was the case with Daphne in the first installment of the series. Most of the time, sex scenes in Historical Romance are not gratuitous. Their presence serve an important purpose in a hero/heroine’s journey. In Penelope’s case, they’re here to help her learn to embrace and love herself. In other words, sexuality is synonym of freedom. I don’t know if they’ll show a lot of skin, but I won’t be complaining considering the fact that we’ll have the chance to get a chief kiss treat on screen : a plus size woman in a major successful Netflix period drama getting a love story as romantic and steamy as other more “fit” female characters. No, your weight doesn’t prevent you from being desirable at all. As far as I’m concerned, I haven’t watched a plus-size female character portrayed as an attractive protagonist in a period drama (please if you have, let me know, I can be wrong). Having a beautiful half bare curvy body like Nicola’s being equally filmed like numerous slim actresses will be so inspiring and powerful to watch, especially for (young) women who struggle, like Penelope, to love their body shape which, to them, doesn’t “fit” the “beauty standards”. By showing her female gaze and portraying her as seductive, Pen’s “supposed” imperfections transform themselves into mighty assets, loved and worshipped by our dashing Mister Bridgerton. That’s body positivity at its finest darling ;).

    It will be deliciously erotic watching the undressing process being exquisitely slow, garment by garment, while their gaze are all heated and hungry. Their sex/make-out scenes should be tender and passionate, sweet and raw. The lightning, colored by a dark blood orange yellow or a blue depending the locations^^. Moreover, the depiction of the exploration of Penelope’s desire can translate itself thanks to multiple close ups. For instance, I can imagine a few ones on Pen’s fingers gently roaming over the smooth skin of Colin’s firm chest and back/touching his hair right after he removed his shirt. And a disheveled Colin letting his hands and lips making a journey of their own, mapping, conquering the alluring unknown territory that is her gorgeous voluptuous body... kissing her on the places he knows oh too well will give her pleasure (is this me wanting him to go down on her?— um yeah I sure hope it IS! If he doesn’t, trust me imma riot... AGAIN). Even a close up on her face while Colin is performing his addictively pleasing torment will be a marvelous proof of the female gaze. By the way, why not even adding a post-coital scene after their first time ? I can picture Penelope waking up first and contemplate her handsome soon-to-be husband. She’d bring her hand to his face and let it travel all around his forehead, his cheeks, his lips, his neck and let it rest on his heart— making sure that what she’s just experience was real... obviously, Colin will wake up in the process and he’ll take this as his cue to go for another round of sexy times under the sheets.

   Showing Pen reaction is essential according to me because she was stuck with the idea that she would never experience the luxury of being loved, giving pleasure nor receiving it... she ended up being happily wrong. Throughout her multiple intimate encounters with Colin, I want her to progressively realizes that she can be an active partner. In the carriage, she knew she had an effect on him, but it’s not until their first time that she actually realizes it. Hence the reason why I WANT the mirror’s introduction in one of their sex scenes. Here’s as a little reminder an excerpt from chapter 18 :

“I want to see you sitting up," he groaned, "so I can see them full and lovely and large [about Pen’s breasts]. And then I want to crawl behind you and cup you." His lips found her ear and his voice dropped to a whisper. "And I want to do it in front of a mirror."

“Now?” she squeaked.

He seemed to consider that for a moment, then shook his head. "Later," he said, and then repeated it in a rather resolute tone. "Later.”

   It would be such a shame if the show doesn’t use the incredible potential of this object (/kink). I mean, the symbolism is pretty clear. Penelope has always fled her “ugly” reflection but it seems like Colin wants to show the real her, the beauty that holds every single inch her alabaster skin and the effects they have on him. Thus, I would love to watch a scene where Colin just praises the alluring goddess and siren that is Penelope Featherington. Just imagine! Just IMAGINE the power of this scene : a shirtless Colin sitting behind her on a bed, meeting her gaze in the mirror, his lips touching her right ear, biting and licking the lobe sometimes, whispering all kinda of dirty yet poetic words to her while letting his hands caress her thighs, her hips, her arms, her lovely bosoms™... oof. At the same time, a wonderful and harmonic instrumental music will play in the background and match the melodic partition of shudders, breathes and moans let out by our lovers. I can imagine Luke inspiring himself from his performance in the 2019 short film, Youth In Bed. The way he conveyed the awe and the yearning on his face, in his eyes with his mouth slightly open when he knelt before his partner Shun Yin was just captivating and— and so Colin! I cannot help but bring myself to picture Ethan, the character he played in YIB, in a Polin steamy scene. I cannot unsee this anymore jsksk. I mean, all this gifset radiates this book4chapter18!Colin, you cannot tell me otherwise!

    Also, I would love Shonda and Chris to keep Pen and Colin’s cute/emotional pillow talk. One thing I really love in JQ’s books is the concern she gives to her male protagonists about potentially hurting their partner during the act of penetration. Colin is a rake, and what his experience with women taught him is that he needs to be very gentle with the love of his life. It was so adorable seeing him not wanting to harm her and asking her to tell him if he does anything she doesn’t like 🥺. Plus, before actually doing it, Colin and Penelope shared a few kisses and just laid down side by side, confessing their love. Though our boy kept feeling guilty about not returning her love after all these years. He desires nothing but to make up for the lost time and show his love and desire during this special intimate moment. I hope they’ll keep all of chapter 18’s dialogue. It’s just so telling of our boos’ feelings, you see.

    All in all, I can’t wait to watch those Polin steamy scenes. As much as I may sound crazy, I want them after two other seasons of pure pining and yearning in order to have a very good payoff. I’m not an expert on depicting intimacy on screen, but I loved so far what Lizzy Talbot, the intimacy coordinator who worked on the show, have done in season 1. Sex scenes in Bridgerton seem very real and dive you in the intimacy of the moment, leaving you all flustered and hot. So probs to her! I have faith in her work and have no doubts about what her and the directors will serve us in future seasons. Though, in the end, I think it’s mostly up to the actors, Nicola and Luke, to see if they’re comfortable filming sex scenes.

    If you guys have any suggestions or wishes for those steamy polin scenes, please do share them :) by commenting on this post or by sending me asks! I’d love reading your thoughts/take on this very important matter ;)) 

#bleulone answers #meta and gush #polin #colin x penelope #bridgerton #colin bridgerton #penelope featherington #polin meta #ask #anon #luke newton #julia quinn #nicola coughlan

[gumnut-logic]

Callisto (Part 9 - Retreat)

Prologue 1. Incident - Bit 1 | Bit 2 2. Fallout - Bit 1 | Bit 2 | Bit 3 3. Voyage - Bit 1 | Bit 2 | Bit 3 4. Arrival - Bit 1 | Bit 2 5. Orientation 6. Rescue Site 7. Investigation 8. Recovery 9. Retreat

And I clocked over 5000 words on this chapter, too. Oops. Lots of John one-on-one with both Virgil and Scott. Including a bit of mild whump which I quite enjoyed :D

As always, many thanks to @janetm74​ @tsarinatorment​ @vegetacide​ @scribbles97​ and @onereyofstarlight​ for all their amazing help and support. you guys rock :D

And thank you to all of you who commented and liked last week’s chapter. It all means so much to me. Thank you sooo much for your support with this crazy endeavour ::hugs::

I hope you enjoy this chapter.

-o-o-o-

They dug the pod out of the ice, Lee and Alan tackling it while Virgil assessed Four.

Virgil was exhausted and worried. And shaky if he wanted to admit it, which he didn’t.

Ice echoed in the back of his mind where he refused to acknowledge it.

Eos kept them updated on the now quiescent water levels. There were no more reported seismic incidents. Everything was as quiet as it was before.

Except now the sparkle of crystal was far more sinister.

Virgil would be so much happier being not here.

He managed to activate the functional hoverjets on Four and with some heavy lifter muscles on the end of the appropriate toolset, he was able to relocate some of them to areas on Four’s hull that needed the support. He unwedged her roof from the rock wall, tipped her onto her belly, and, climbing inside, managed to get her moving in a stuttering echo of her usual smooth and darting operation.

The cockpit was partially crumpled on one side. Some hasty oxygen-assisted welding secured part of Gordon’s pilot’s chair back into place. Not perfect but it would do the job for now. It would not be the most comfortable ride.

“Virgil, what are you doing?” John’s voice was exasperated.

“What does it look like?” He had zero patience and just wanted to get his brother’s ‘bird back to Three so she could ultimately be taken home. There was no way he was leaving her here any more than he would have left her at the bottom of the ocean.

“Virgil, you shouldn’t be flying. I’ll take her.”

“I’m fine. Let’s just get this done.” Then he could check on his brothers.

The cave glittered at him through mangled viewports. It was still beautiful, but he no longer trusted it. He wanted out. “Have you recovered the pod yet?”

“Clearing the last of it now.” An indrawn breath. “Virgil-“

“Is it functional?”

An abrupt silence at the other end of his comms sketched out the thinned lips and frown John was no doubt sporting. “There appears to be minimal damage.”

“I’ll meet you in the Dry Cavern. I’ll need help to get Four out.”

Ignoring John’s protests, Virgil pushed the injured sub past the still partially iced in dragonfly and down the kilometre long tunnel to the exit cave.

Reaching the floor of the dry expanse ahead of his brother and uncle gave him a moment to himself. He sat back in the remains of Gordon’s pilot’s chair and closed his eyes.

It was so tempting to just let go, to give in to the phantoms teasing at the edge of his mind. But he couldn’t afford a breakdown right now. Scott was injured and their brothers were depending on him.

He had to keep control.

If only his head would stop hurting.

His eyes did not want to open again.

Consequently, it took John calling his name to ‘wake’ him.

Virgil startled to find both his astronaut brother and Uncle Lee glaring at him through the remains of the marine acrylic in Four’s viewports.

“Virgil?”

“What?”

“Are you okay?”

“I was just resting my eyes.”

John’s lips now appeared to be permanently thinned...and about to call him on his bullshit.

Virgil didn’t let him. “Hook up a tow line. We need to get Four above ground.”

His space brother did not stop glaring, but at least he decided that towing Virgil was better than arguing further.

They could meet half way.

Uncle Lee, sparing Virgil a worried glance or two, secured the line as Virgil sat and watched - an odd sensation since usually he would be the one out there doing what needed to be done. Perhaps it was a sign of exactly how gone he actually was.

Get Four to Three.

Get his brother and Uncle back to the Base.

Check on Scott and Gordon.

He was clinging to his list of goals and he knew it, but the alternative was very unproductive.

He startled again as John signalled his readiness. The dragonfly gently tugged on the line as it lifted smoothly off the ground.

Virgil shook himself and activated the hoverjets best to assist with the tow and then he was airborne. They coasted the long mole-made tunnel, took a sharp turn and climbing the vertical drop made by Three, shot into the open.

Jupiter glared balefully out of the darkness.

From there it was a blur of ‘Virgil, stay there’ and Four being hoisted into the huge, red spacecraft, the close of her hatch and the blessed familiarity of Alan’s ‘bird.

Virgil climbed slowly out of Four as John and Uncle Lee stowed the dragonfly, and clambered to the ladder that would take him to her cockpit. It was likely a further sign of his exhaustion that he had to think which way Three was currently situated. She was nose down, which meant he had to climb down.

The ladder looked like it stretched on forever and a rogue part of his mind pondered exactly how hard he would hit bottom if he just jumped.

He was ever so tired, but he couldn’t stay here, so he forced one foot after the other and began the descent.

Halfway down dizziness hit him again.

It was all he could do to cling to the ladder to prevent himself from falling.

And this time it didn’t go away.

“Virgil!” John’s voice was like a beacon in the darkness of a roiling stomach and a pounding head. Virgil had his eyes clenched shut.

The clatter of boots on rungs, hands caught him under his arms and he was being urged to continue down. “C’mon, not far to go.” John’s voice was ever so soft in his helmet. Gentle. Reassuring.

Virgil took that first crucial step and let himself drop another controlled step while mentally clinging to his stomach.

The dizziness disappeared.

Oh god.

The relief almost had him letting go of the ladder, but strong arms held him and continued to guide him down step by step. His stomach protested the entire way as if this bout of dizziness was the last straw.

John helped him through the main hatch and, from there, Virgil flung off his helmet and stumbled to the facilities.

Fortunately, there was very little in his stomach to expel, but that didn’t stop it from spasming repeatedly.

Low gravity environments sucked.

This would have been the perfect opportunity to curl up in a ball of misery on the bathroom floor, but space bathrooms sucked as much as space itself.

It became very clear that his head and body had had enough and if it wasn’t for John he probably would have fallen to that floor anyway.

“Virgil.” His brother caught him gently, drawing his head to his shoulder. Virgil didn’t have the energy to resist. “You are going to the infirmary.”

“John-“ But his head throbbed and he clenched his eyes shut in pain.

“No arguments.” In the light gravity, John lifted Virgil up and, leaving the bathroom, carried him down the corridor towards Three’s tiny infirmary.

“John-“ This was a first. Virgil usually did the carrying. The thought bounced through his aching head. But before he knew it, he was being strapped into a soft bed.

Opening his eyes would involve more than he had.

Yellow light flickered over his eyelids. Machinery beeped as John mumbled something, possibly into his comms, but Virgil had nothing left. The phantoms swooped in and the ice swallowed him whole.

-o-o-o-

John was used to worrying about his brothers. So often he was so far away when they were in peril. But as Virgil’s hand fell limp in his, John’s heart clenched.

Both of them had been running on adrenalin. He had watched as Virgil performed as he always did when needed despite being ill.

Many times John had listened to his brothers over comms, their voices strained by what they had seen and experienced. Hell, this wasn’t John’s first rodeo, he knew what it sometimes took on a rescue.

He’d done it himself.

That didn’t mean it didn’t hurt when it happened again.

The medscanner flickered over his brother casting his pale skin in an even sicklier shade.

Stress factors were flagged. Virgil’s heartrate was up and his blood pressure was far from happy. But there was no injury.

John frowned. Virgil had been unconscious at least part of the time he was buried in the ice. He was obviously unwell and was showing all the signs of a head injury.

But there was none.

He poked the scanner as if he could drag further information out of it.

But no, it reported Virgil as stressed, tired, possibly exhausted, but there was no explanation for the symptoms he was displaying apart from some tightening of the blood vessels in his brother’s brain. Classic sign of a headache.

“John, all vehicles are stowed. You wanna drive?” Uncle Lee’s voice over comms snapped him out of staring at his brother’s medical readouts.

Virgil was asleep, restless, but asleep. He was safe for the moment. Perhaps it was just exhaustion. His brothers were well known for pushing it too far.

Perhaps it was psychological. It would be fair considering his history with ice.

But it still didn’t quite add up and it gnawed at him. He had seen his big brother tackle this issue before. It still didn’t quite sit right.

But now the priority was to get Virgil back to his brothers, and reunite with Scott, Gordon, Alan and their father.

John double-checked the patient was secure and deployed the bed pivot that would support him when the ship flipped in flight.

“FAB, Uncle Lee.” He said the words at almost the same time he entered the cockpit.

It was strange to be here without Alan. It had been a long time since Three had been his ‘bird. Even then it hadn’t really been his. It had been Dad’s and then Alan’s. John had only been her pilot out of necessity.

Sliding into the pilot’s seat, all his reflexes shifted to the needs of the Thunderbird. Pre-flight was worked through at speed, Uncle Lee providing the input needed.

Eos chimed in with clearance for their flightpath.

Callisto Base acknowledged they would be arriving in minutes.

John fired her thrusters and launched Three into the thin atmosphere of Callisto, pivoting her mid-air and taking off in a southerly direction.

The trip was very short, barely worth igniting her engines, but honestly, John was grateful.

Three hovered in the massive airlock once again and it grated on John’s need for speed. The equations that listed the reasons why those doors were so ponderous gave him plenty of explanation, but he had no patience for physics at the moment.

Landing Three was like exhaling in relief.

Their father met them on the gantry. John towed Virgil out of Three on the bed he was still sleeping on, hoverjets keeping him level and secure. The fact he had not woken despite launch and landing was just a further sign of his brother’s exhaustion.

Uncle Lee followed them out without a word.

If John was irrationally grateful for his father’s hand landing on his shoulder, he wasn’t going to examine it too closely.

Concerned grey eyes stared down at Virgil...

“He’s sleeping, Dad. Exhaustion appears to be the culprit.” His father looked up at him and John swallowed. “That’s all I could find.”

A nod and they hurried Virgil off to the Base medical centre.

Grae had set aside a part of the small facility with enough beds to support the injured Tracy brothers. John, Virgil and their father entered in the middle of an argument.

“I’m not going up to Five! It’s a broken arm, Scott, that’s all.” Gordon’s expression was furious. He was sitting up in bed, his arm in a plastic cast. It was obvious Gordon wasn’t well. There was no spark about him. The impression was grey where there was usually sun.

Scott’s response was appropriate. “It’s enough! You are off rescues until it is healed. You know that is the rule. Health first!” Their eldest brother was sitting in a chair beside the Fish’s bed. A bed behind him had mussed covers and was obviously where he was supposed to be.

It was ever so typical that he wasn’t.

Either way, John took some comfort in finding both brothers conscious despite their injuries.

Of course, that meant yelling.

“We’re in space!”

“You’re not crucial to this mission!”

“It’s underwater! I call that crucial!”

“Gordon-“

“Scott-“

“WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON HERE?!”

Their father’s voice cut across the yelling enough to disturb Virgil who groaned in his sleep and attempted to roll over. The groan turned into a whimper and his brow crumpled.

That shut everyone up.

Scott tried to stand and move to his prone brother’s side, but wavered. Alan who had been sitting wide-eyed next to him, hurried to steady his big brother.

John touched a finger to Virgil’s cheek and murmured soft words of reassurance. The unconscious engineer leant into his hand, eyes still closed, and settled back into his uneasy sleep.

Alan was trying to wrestle Scott back to bed with little success, until their father strode over and made some silent but very firm gestures in the direction of the empty bed.

Scott wilted in Alan’s grip and did as he was told.

But his eyes did not leave Virgil or Gordon alone, darting worriedly between them.

John docked the hover stretcher into place beside Gordon. His positioning was purposeful, giving Scott both brothers at one glance and no doubt allowing his eldest brother the chance to at least relax a little with both of them in sight.

Gordon’s eyes tracked Virgil as John draped a blanket over his sleeping brother.

“What happened?” Gordon’s voice was ever so quiet.

“Ice and exhaustion. He needs rest.” A pointed eyebrow. “You all do.”

John did, too, weariness suddenly hitting him. Such a mad scramble to get to his brothers, get them out of the ice.

“I think perhaps you should sit down, space bro.” Gordon never missed a thing. Those carnelian eyes saw everything. It was what he did with the information that mattered, though.

“John?” A worried pair of foggy blue eyes had targeted him now. Well, that sealed it.

Sure enough, their father turned around and wordlessly led him to a chair. “Sit down, son. They’re all safe now.”

There was a hitch in the man’s voice that had John questioning if he was saying it to reassure himself as much as others.

Regardless, the words had the tension in John’s muscles suddenly relaxing and he found himself shaking just a little.

The mechanics of mild shock sprang to mind and he was disgusted with himself.

A blanket wrapped around his shoulders and his father’s hands squeezed his arm gently.

There was silence in the room for a while. Dad found Uncle Lee a seat and John was ashamed to realise he had forgotten the man existed for a moment there. Perhaps he was as tired as Virgil. Sleep was a long time ago.

A Base doctor came in and confirmed John’s analysis of Virgil’s condition and quietly updated them on both Scott’s and Gordon’s status - all of which IR equipment had already revealed. Perhaps with the exception of Scott’s concussion that while still had him a little wobbly, seemed to have found some healing in whatever sleep his big brother had managed since being yanked out of the ice.

And there was the source of John’s heartrate. Pulling brothers out of the ice had been terrifying. Flashbacks to images sprouted by the news reports all those years ago regarding their mother. Scott’s desperate attempt to hide the reality from his younger siblings, but failing due to the determination of irresponsible media.

John closed his eyes.

-o-o-o-

“What do we do now?” Grae’s eyes were pleading and Jeff wished he had a good answer for him.

He had left the infirmary knowing his friend would be frantic.

Hell, Jeff was a little frantic himself. Berry and Ju were still missing. They only had readings on two out of five missing life signs. They didn’t even know who those life signs belonged to.

“We wait.”

“Jeff, they could be dying!”

“Both life signs are strong. I know it is not the best, but we don’t have a choice. We have to wait.”

“Why? You have the equipment. You, Lee, two of your boys are fine. Hell, I’ll come with you. This is Ju we are talking about!”

Jeff straightened. “I know who we are talking about, Graeme. But the first rule of a rescue is to make sure the rescuers are safe enough to do their jobs and for the moment, I am not willing to send anyone into that cave until we work out what the hell happened!”

“Seismic anomaly. You told me yourself.”

“John is not satisfied with that assessment.”

“Why not?”

“He needs further information.”

“Then let’s go down there and get it.”

“John is working on it.”

“John is sleeping!”

Jeff’s lips tightened and he took a step closer to his old friend. “My sons were nearly killed. I am aware that this is an urgent situation, Graeme. I know what is at stake. But there will be no gain in putting anyone in further danger until we know what we are dealing with.”

A silent hand wrapped around Jeff’s arm and tugged him backwards gently.

Lee.

Jeff had known he was there and old patterns were obviously still in place.

It was reassuring.

He understood Grae’s feelings. Hell, he shared them. But his boys were hurting and, if he was honest, they had terrified him. Seeing first Scott and then Virgil entombed in ice had ripped scabs off memories from so long ago as much as tempting new horrors.

But above and beyond it all, there was something very strange about this situation. Something was off. Everything that made him the astronaut he was, was screaming alarm bells. So, while he could gather Lee, John and Alan and go down there himself, he wasn’t.

Because he trusted his sons and John said no.

Jeff couldn’t help but agree with him.

They needed further information and Eos was working hard to deploy enough probes and up the sensory reach to delve underground and veto that interference. And while John had protested - all of them had protested, except Virgil who had already been asleep - this had been an opportunity to try and get some rest.

Grae sagged where he stood, all signs of the Base commander falling away. “She’s my wife, Jeff.”

Voice ever so quiet. “Believe me, I understand.” He caught his friend’s eyes with his own. “I do.”

Grae stared at him a moment before uttering a wounded sound and turning away. Jeff watched his back as he strode out of the infirmary.

Lee’s hand squeezed gently, but Jeff still stared at the door.

-o-o-o-

John wasn’t sleep. Honestly, he tried. Their father had corralled two more beds into the room with his injured brothers and both Alan and John had been sequestered there. He appreciated it, he did.

But he couldn’t sleep.

And it wasn’t Virgil’s snoring.

He kept running scenarios over in his head. Building and dismissing equations that could explain the liquid water in the cavern and coming up with nothing.

Liquid water demanded the existence of energy to keep it that way, likely with a heat source. Gordon had mentioned a temperature increase before the wave hit.

John’s fingers itched for his information sources on Five.

He was still wearing his suit. He had slept in it often enough not to care. But he had removed his helmet. The infirmary had its own air circulation system separate from the rest of the Base and, really, with his brother’s injuries, they hadn’t had a choice but to break the seals on their suits.

The upside was that he could squirrel under his covers and access his wrist comm and Eos.

His daughter was sending perplexed emojis at him because he had requested text only.

Her use of repeating gifs had the effect he had no doubt she desired, enough to curl up the corners of his lips at least.

His fingers darted across his virtual keyboard with a speed almost as fast as the voice he couldn’t use.

The probe net was in its final dispersal phase and the first of the reports were coming in. Eos had focussed the deployment in a spiralling pattern using the Crystal Cave as the central point and consequently, the information was more detailed in that area. In fact, Eos had doubled up the probe above Burr Crater and the cave beneath it.

His daughter highlighted three other craters, an attention icon flashing on the map. John zoomed in and frowned. There were more lakes.

His fingers darted over the map, repeatedly hitting attention icons flagged by the AI. Lake after lake showed up on sensors. A quick cross-correlation and his suspicions were confirmed. The lakes lay under the younger craters on the moon’s surface. The ones still shining from impacts of recent millennia.

John manipulated one of the probes pulling it from the net and drawing it closer to the surface. Eos threw up a warning that he was causing a brief blindspot, but he didn’t care, he needed confirmation.

Tornarsuk Crater was slightly smaller, but it was fairly equidistant from Callisto Base as Burr and almost as young. The lake registered as similar to the one in Crystal Cave and a network of tunnels branched off from it merging with the network.

Because it was a network. Initial readings tracked tunnels riddled beneath the entire Callistan surface. He couldn’t tell with these readings, but he would bet a lifetimes worth of savings that all the tunnels were made by water. Despite liquid water not being physically possible in these environs.

Not physically possible, but the lakes did exist.

Of course, that led to the question of why the water hadn’t stayed water once it left the cavern. It had behaved exactly how it should when it entered the tunnel. It froze.

Trapping his brothers.

He closed his eyes a moment as images he hadn’t fully processed yet flashed up in his mind.

He let out a sigh.

Focus.

Science was a saviour.

He returned to glaring at the holograms hidden under the blanket. It grew stuffy and he was reminded of many a late night when he was a child, shoving his tablet under the covers in order to read that little bit more despite being told to go to bed.

Memories.

He requested a planetary body analysis and the probe network boosted Five’s scan of the moon, giving him an indepth gravity and mass analysis. The readings confirmed what the Callisto Expedition had reported, that yes, there was an ocean deep under the Callistan crust, and that unlike most of the planetary bodies in the solar system, Callisto was undifferentiated. It had no core, no mantle, just a shallow ocean a couple hundred of kilometres below, sitting on a mix of rock and ice, sealed in by a crust of similar material.

So there was water in the moon. That was no surprise. Europa had proven something similar, but these subterranean oceans followed the laws of physics. They had the pressures required to stay liquid. The lakes did not.

There had to be another reason.

The next step was research. He knew what he knew, but that didn’t mean he knew everything. There must be something to explain the water.

Accessing Five’s library, he initiated a connection back to Tracy Island via the chain of buoys stretching back to Earth.

The covers over his head were suddenly ripped off, the waft of cooler air startling him even more than the sudden appearance of a tall shadow leaning over him.

John’s whisper was cutting. “Scott, what the hell!”

Because it was Scott. It was always Scott.

Well, except when it was Virgil, but this shadow was too tall, had the wrong hair and Virgil was still snoring.

“You’re supposed to be resting.” His brother’s voice had an echo of commander.

“You more than me!” John grabbed at the covers and pulled them back up to his chest. Why, he didn’t know, but there had to be a principle there somewhere.

The shadow of his big brother pulled up a chair and literally fell into it. Elbows dented the side of John’s bed and Scott’s head dipped out of silhouette as he dropped it into his hands.

John’s heart softened. A gentler whisper. “You really should rest. Get some sleep.”

“I did. Virgil is making a racket.” It was muffled as his brother was looking down at his feet, but John knew it was a load of bullshit. They had all been putting up with Virgil’s snoring since the man was born. If anything, it was a sound of comfort and was missed if it wasn’t there when they were together like this.

It was a running joke that their brother’s snoring was a great wildlife deterrent when camping.

John persisted. Scott was notorious for ignoring his health when focussed on an objective. “How’s your head?”

“Fine.”

“If you’ve come over here just to lie to me, I’m not sure I want to listen.”

“Whatever.” Scott ran his hands through his hair, messing up what was usually meticulously neat. “What happened, John?”

John sighed and pushed himself up on the bed until he was sitting upright, covers still on his legs. “You should be in bed.”

“Bed is a waste of time.” Blue eyes caught what little light was in the room and flashed it at John. “I need information.”

And John was the source of that information.

He held back another sigh and instead pulled up a virtual representation of the Crystal Cave and associated tunnel network. “The sensor readings are marred with static, but as far as we can tell water appeared to enter the lake from this tunnel.” John pointed at one of the entrances on the north-east side of the lake. “With the probe network we now have, the closest source of water I can find is under Tornarsuk Crater to the south-east.” He rotated the image until the star-rayed splash of brightness appeared. A flick of a finger and the hologram delved under the crater, bringing up another lake. John focussed the probe, switching to mineralogical detail and many spikes of crystal appeared in the cave. Eos threw up likely chemical formulae that could only be proven with samples, but had an accuracy somewhere near ninety-five percent.

He could not delve under that lake any more than he could under the lake in the Crystal Cavern.

“There’s another one?” Scott’s whisper spoke of widened eyes. “Are they connected?”

John answered by zooming out and tracing the connection via the maze of tunnels between them.

“How?”

This time John did let out the sigh. “I don’t know.”

“Is it a natural phenomenon?”

John stared at his brother. “Nothing about this is natural. That water shouldn’t exist in that state. If water came from the other lake, then how did it get to the Crystal Cavern so fast? Seismic readings epicentre the activity to the north-east of the Cavern, yet the closest source of water is to the south.”

“Can you get any further life sign readings?”

“No.” It was a defeated quiet. “And no further information on the two under the lake. All I can say is that they are there. Interference is almost complete otherwise. We cannot see below the surface, yet I can see all the way to the moon’s lack of a core.” He threw up his hands and the hologram flickered at the rough handling. “It doesn’t make sense.”

Scott was lit up by the light of the hologram. A ghostly echo of his brother’s usual vibrant self. “Is this humanly possible?”

John stared at him. “You think someone is orchestrating this?”

“Could they?”

He threw the concept back and forth in his head. “Possibly. At great expense and difficulty. There would have to be some serious science involved and I would want to know how that water is liquid in this environment. But the ultimate question would be ‘why?’”

Scott let his head drop into his hands again. “Hell if I know.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time something massively expensive and ridiculous had been deployed against us.” Gordon’s voice was sharp in the sudden silence.

And silence it was because John suddenly realised there was a serious lack of snoring in the room.

Sure enough, beside their fish brother the shape of Virgil was moving slowly to sit up. His throat cleared as he settled sitting on the edge of the bed. “So what is the plan?”

Scott straightened where he sat. “The plan is to get some rest.”

“Done that. Feeling better. There are some lives waiting to be saved.”

No pressure.

Gordon’s eyes were catching the light and aimed right at John. “You think this is planned?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“But you think it is a possibility.”

“At this point, everything is a possibility, Gordon. I don’t have enough explanation to make any conclusions.”

“I vote aliens.” And yes, Alan was awake as well, his tousled hair reflecting holographic light.

“You are all supposed to be asleep.” Commander Tracy glared at them.

“Speak for yourself, Scott. I bet you’re sporting a doozy of a headache.”

Scott didn’t answer, but John was pretty sure Gordon had hit a nail right on the aching head.

“John?” Eos’ voice cut through the glares and grumbles bouncing around the room.

“Yes, Eos.”

“Callisto Base is receiving a distress call from Kate Berrenger.”

“What? Relay!”

A terrified female voice cut the air in the room. “Base, do you read? I need help. Uh-“ The voice fell silent a moment, but every body in the room was already moving.

One of the life signs had changed position. It was now located on the same beach where Four had lain crumpled several hours earlier.

John switched to transmit. “Eos, relay! This is Thunderbird Five, Director Berrenger. Help is on the way.”

“Somebody, please help me.” It ended in a whimper.

He leapt off the bed as Scott dashed out the door. “Help is on the way.”

-o-o-o-

Next

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds #thunderbirds fanfiction #John Tracy #Virgil Tracy #Scott Tracy #Gordon Tracy #Alan Tracy #Jeff Tracy #callisto

[icedthoma]

Since requests are open I'll send another one 😅 what about Todoroki, Kirishima and Bakugou seeing their crush fangirl over men figure skating tournament or just videos of some performances. It would be amazing if it would be set in the common area of the dorm and the crush is watching it with others and keeps telling the group how amazing the skater is etc. . (I saw Yuzuru Hanyu on 4CC and I'm not okay, I'm fangirling like crazy) Thank you 💖 💖

Some YOI references bc of a big brained anon

TODOROKI SHOUTO

The type to be lowkey jealous about it tbh

He just wants all your attention to be on him, is that so much to ask??

With the way you’re fawning over your phone and ranting to your friends about how flawless the skater’s performance was, it honestly might be. 

"You must really like ice skating,” Midoriya comments after you pause for breath, an amused smile on his face. “I didn’t know you were this passionate about it.”

“I just really admire the sport,” you admit, finally putting your phone away. “Man, watching all these videos makes me want to go ice skating so bad...”

“I could make an ice rink for you right now,” Todoroki impulsively blurts out, effectively drawing the attention of you and everyone else seated in the common room.

There are stars in your eyes as you lean forward in excitement, the couch lightly bouncing from your movements. “Really? Really?”

He has to try really hard to keep the flames in his heart from becoming externally visible on his left side.

“Absolutely not!” Iida interjects. “Do you know how much of a hassle that would be to clean up?”

The rest of your friends gathered around you mumble in disappointed agreement, eventually dispersing from the common room at their own pace and leaving you and Shouto alone.

You sigh, drawing your knees up to your chest as you lean back on the couch. “It’s probably for the best, anyway. Thanks for offering, though.”

“Maybe we could go ice skating at an actual rink sometime,” he quietly suggests, a hand nervously rubbing the back of his neck. “Just the two of us. But only if you want t—”

He’s interrupted by your body suddenly crashing into his as you hug him tightly, a delighted laugh leaving you. “Heck yeah, I want to! You’re the best, you know that?”

Needless to say, the two of you have lots of fun on your ice skating date 😌

BAKUGOU KATSUKI

Mr. “What’s so great about ice skating, anyway?” ™️

You’re this👌 close to throwing hands with him in the common room in front of all your friends.

But you’ll be civil. For now.

“Come on, don’t you think this skater’s pretty cool? Look at the way he landed that triple axel—”

“The only person he thinks is cool is All Might.”

“Valid point.” You nod seriously at Kirishima to Bakugou’s indignation. “But skaters work really hard to get where they are now! I bet they train just as hard as you do, Katsuki.”

“We have nothing in common!”

“You two have the same first name!”

“Katsuki’s a common name, you idiot!”

Bakugou’s a stubborn guy, so it’ll take more than words to convince him that your boi Yuri deserves some respect.

Everyone’s shocked when he actually agrees to go ice skating with you, obviously to prove that he can do anything better than anyone, he insists.

Definitely not as an excuse to spend more time with you.

KIRISHIMA EIJIROU

Ngl this man is fanboying wITH you.

“Kirishima oh my God did you see how graceful that jump was—”

“Yeah!! It was so manly, wait, can you rewind that part again?”

“Sure!”

The rest of the class is struggling to keep up with how fast the two of you are moving lmao

Ejirou may not know a lot about figure skating, but it does look super cool, and he loves how your face lights up when you point out parts of the skater’s performance, so what’s not to get excited about?

“Hey, do you think I could do one of those fancy quadruple jumps if I activated my quirk and jumped high enough? I could try as many times as I wanted to without getting hurt!”

You squint calculatingly at him, lips pursed in contemplation. “Hmm. Let’s start with a double.”

It is now the rest of class 1A’s mission to keep you two away from any large bodies of ice.

#OOF these were so short im sorry #todoroki shouto x reader #bakugou katsuki x reader #kirishima eijirou x reader #bnha headcanons #bnha x reader #todoroki shoto x reader #shouto todoroki x reader #shoto todoroki x reader #todoroki shouto #bakugo katsuki x reader #katsuki bakugou x reader #katsuki bakugo x reader #bakugou katsuki #kirishima eijiro x reader #eijirou kirishima x reader #eijiro kirishima x reader #todoroki shouto headcanons #bakugou katsuki headcanons #kirishima eijirou headcanons #mha x reader #mha headcanons #todoroki headcanons #bakugou headcanons #kirishima headcanons #kirishima x reader #todoroki x reader #bakugou x reader #bakugo x reader #boku no hero fanfic

[soundwavefucker69]

I know like the whole ableist, fatphobic weight loss industry has severely fucked with our perceptions of like... fitness and stuff. Like believe me, I think it's abhorrent that the idea of fitness needs to be tied with morality, and I think there is literally so much social pressure that if you're going to be fit, you have to BE FIT and spend ridiculous amounts of money a month on a gym, you can't work out on your own, and there's like a fuck ton of pressure to perform to society's concepts of proper care of your body. I think it makes it unnecessarily hard to get into fitness and caring for your body, and I 100% understand why so many people are just becoming more and more sedentary. It's fucking hard to get off work and then go work out. You're tired. You're stressed. You're exhausted. It's just one extra chore.

But like on the flipside, we're in quarantine. A fuck ton of us are working from home if we're working at all, stuck in a seated position, getting weird back pains and stiffness in the neck. Humans are like. Not fucking designed for that.

If you're not capable of it, don't work out. Like. You don't have to. There's no moral obligation to do so. It's not a symbol of character or personal strength. But please. Take a few minutes a day to stretch. Not even work out, not yoga if you're not into that thing. Just stretch out your muscles and maybe move around a bit more. Shit, even pace to get out some energy. You don't have to be flexible. You can literally just stretch to where you're comfortable. Just stretch.

I've started doing yoga again because it's fairly accessible through YouTube and all you need is a mat (seriously don't do yoga on carpet or tile or anything it fucking hurts like a mat IS necessary). But like that's just me. I'm doing it bc like. My executives dysfunction BAD, but moving around that much gets endorphins going, but obviously I can't do it for long amount of times, yoga is fucking hard, but it gets my brain going enough that when I finish I can finally tackle dishes and get things that build up in the house done bc I moved and my endorphins are flowing and I'm not fixated on normal endorphin production re: reading, watching anime, or writing.

But like. You don't have to do that. But just stretch. ESP if you're sitting all day long. Don't let these jobs ruin your back. I personally actually started the yoga bc a.) It's just really fucking hard stretching and b.) My back has been actively trying to kill me from work and I don't want it getting worse. Also I like the breathing. But like. Yeah. Just stretch.

#shrooms is talking #weight loss mention #tw fitness #tw weight

[rainbow-beanie]

Fanart for @dana-chan-the-control-brain ‘s fanfic tech support: chapter 4 weasel words

 The Computer was broken from his thoughts at the sound of high pitched shrieking. His cameras and processors devoted his attention to the distressed little irken in the experiment room. Who was being attacked by the very same weasels he was experimenting with. Apparently, Weasels did not take kindly to having sleep hypnosis parasites planted in their brains.

Zim ran and shrieked and flailed his arms as the little furry creatures crawled all over him, slathering him with bites, claw marks and laser eyes. A quick scan confirmed that these weasels did not have rabies, they were just angry. VERY angry. And aside from Zim’s panicking and mild bleeding from the bites he appeared unharmed. He was just freaking himself out, making the weasels angrier. He was going to seriously hurt himself if this kept up. Even if it was, admittedly, hilarious to watch.

The Computer wordlessly opened up the weasel containment unit without a verbal command.

“Master, contain the weasels in here.”

Zim then slammed the glass door to the containment unit shut. Panting heavily.

Zim peeled one of the weasels off his face, and threw it in the containment unit. He did the same for the one biting underneath his leggings and two others that were chomping down on his antenna and leg respectively.

“Wheeeeeeeeew… ha… that was a close onnnnAUGHHHH!!!”

Zim reached a new octave as he realized he didn’t notice the weasel clinging to his PAK, that had begun clawing the shell, causing a port to open up and began nibbling on wires to it’s heart’s content.

“AHH! NO NONONONONONONONONO!!! GET OUT OF THEREEEE!”

Zim tried to reach behind his back but instead he squeaked and convulsed as his eyes rolled back and his antenna twitched. He spun around in a circle and fell to the floor, before leaning back upright with his bodyweight only. Jerking and moving in an unnatural way. As if he didn’t have control of his own limbs. His arms and legs behaved like noodles as if the weasel was hosting the world’s worst grotesque puppet show. Zim’s tongue rolled out his mouth as his PAK began flashing red as a warning.

Now this was something the Computer WOULD intervene with. A robotic arm descended from the ceiling and snatched the weasel off Zim’s back, and threw it in the containment unit unceremoniously, crashing it into all it’s other bite-happy brethren before sealing them up again.

Zim fell to the ground, moaning and twitching.

Was he alright?

The Computer ran a scan of Zim’s current state. Specifically his PAK. He cross-compared reference to the scan he took on the first day Zim arrived to Earth. He didn’t have time to go over Zim’s PAK data in depth yet. Between GIR’s food experiments and Zim’s animal experiments, he had a feeling he'd be in pretty high demand over the weekends.

“Master,” The Computer began, speaking in an authoritative neutral voice. “Some nerve ending wiring for your arm control nerve is frayed along with your limb systems and several other nerve wirings. I'll plug in and begin an automatic PAK repair as soo-”

“NO!” Zim shrieked, far more panicked then the Computer ever heard him, and that was saying a lot judging by how jumpy he was.

“N-No.” Zim stammered, shakily getting to his feet, swaying where he stood. “There’s no need for an automatic PAK repair… I can do it myself.”

“......I… what? Are you sure? You can barely stand right now.. And your arms are very limp and...shaking....” The Computer couldn’t help but say aloud.

“Ah, Don’t worry, it’s just a little scratch and some loose wires, it’s fine!” Zim extended his PAK legs to walk to the PAK repair work station, as opposed to walking on his little organic legs that were trembling like jelly. Thankfully, that part of his PAK was undamaged as he was able to extend and use his PAKlegs no problem.

“...With all due respect, Master…” the Computer began as Zim leaned his body against the console, trying to figure out how to word what he would say next. “I don’t believe in your current condition that you would be able to repair your PAK manually.”

For a moment, Zim said nothing. He didn’t snap at him immediately like he normally did. Which worried him. He just leaned his head against the console, closing his eyes for a few moments.

“....Master?”

“EH!?” Zim’s antenna shot upwards and he looked confused. As if he wasn’t talking to him a few seconds ago.

That was very worrisome.

“Let me repair your PAK.” The Computer said in the most soft and stern voice he could muster.

Zim’s antenna twitched, as he realized what the Computer was asking.

“Eh.. Ah, no, don’t worry about it! I’m FINE!”

Before the Computer could argue his reasoning some more, Zim turned around so he could face the workbench and detached his PAK onto the work station. The PAK extended a few extra port wires and crawled onto the bench obediently, apparently used to this type of repair from its host. The lifeclock in the Computer’s systems activated, displaying the ten minute time limit in the center screen of every single camera in the home. A normal precaution so Invader Computers were currently aware when the PAK was attached to their Master and if they were at any risk of dying.

Zim arched his back and gave a long stretch that cracked his spine. He took a deep breath as he flexed his arms and claws, and began blinking each eye separately at a time and flexing his antenna individually from each other. The Computer observed him for a few moments. He consulted his database to see if such behavior was common for irkens who performed manual PAK repair. Oddly, there weren’t many instances of manual PAK repair operated by the irken host itself. PAK maintenance drones would repair other irkens typically, but not themselves. Invaders were trained in basic first aid, due to the nature of their job. They had to spend long quantities of time alone, and basic wear and tear maintenance was expected in their line of work.

A few chewed off wires however, that’s a different story.

“...Are you sure you know what you’re doing?” The Computer began hesitantly, suspecting that Zim had no clue what he was tampering with. He can never know with him.

Zim flexed his claws a few more times before he seemed satisfied, and he grabbed the wielding tool from overhead.

“Huh-hmm.” Zim said plainly. “This kinda thing happens all the time.”

“...You…. your wires get chewed out by weasels all the time?” The Computer asked.

“Yes! Well, no. Well.. I just mean… ya know… trainee combat and all that.”

Invader training combat?.... Zim had his wires yanked out of him before? The Computer suspected that was highly unlikely. Due to the nature of an irken’s PAK, and how they held most of an irken’s consciousness and served as a secondary brain to work alongside their primary one, PAKs were strictly off limits from attacking. Especially during training and simulations. In fair duels one of the main rules is to not mess with a fellow irken’s PAK. Everything else is fair game. Punch them in the eye, yank their antenna or grind the heel of their boot into the spooch. Attacking or tampering with an Irken’s PAK is strictly forbidden and would cause low marks and demerits, and in extreme cases, re-encoding.

“...How does that happen?” The Computer couldn’t stop himself from asking.

“Ah, oh ya know how training is..” Zim said distractedly as he began welding and repairing the loose wires. “Stomping or yanking of the PAK to see how long I can last, throwing it back and forth amongst the Elites, hitting it a bit with the brunt of the electro spears a bit too hard…that’s just how it goes. All normal endurance training for only the most elite of the elite.”

…….He was kidding? Right?

"Like this one time during training, my PAK was yanked off and my fellow soilders wanted to see how long I could last, and that skilled Invaders are able to survive past the ten minute mark. Well, my record is about three minutes till. So we waited. They kept it away from me a little bit past my record, one minute was cutting it a little close, but we all had a good laugh about it."

He wasn’t kidding.

“They are just testing to make sure I have the right endurance! They obviously were testing my durability and enguitity! I had to learn a few things about PAK repair if I wanted to complete my Invader training! A few dents and dings like this is nothing.”

.....

The Computer immediately pulled up any information he had based on Zim’s training days as an Elite. He couldn’t find any documented evidence that his fellow elites had bullied him like this, but he did notice the peers he was typically stationed with at the time.

ELITE RED:

SKILLED TACTICIAN AND IMPRESSIVE COMBAT SKILLS

HIGHLY FAVORED BY FORMER ALL MIGHTY TALLEST MIYUKI

CURRENT STATUS: ALL MIGHTY TALLEST RED

ELITE PURPLE

RUTHLESS NO MERCY APPROACH TO COMBAT.

TOP SCORES IN STEALTH

CURRENT STATUS: ALL MIGHTY TALLEST PURPLE

That….

That can’t be right.

That would be impossible.

Logical evidence would suggest that these two were the ones that would purposely mess with Zim’s PAK to give him clear and unfair advantages. However, the Tallest are all powerful and all knowing in their judgements. They wouldn’t have become the Tallest if they were breaking the rules as elites. Even then, while Zim was the runt of his squad, he didn’t deserve such treatment. Either Zim did not know of the protocols or he thought that it was a standard part of training.

But… Zim had to be lying? Right? I mean he’s defective, who knows what crazy thinks?

That’s what the Computer wanted to think. But watching Zim calmly and accurately repair his PAK as if it was normal routine for him suggested otherwise. He’s been at it for about a minute now.

“...Master.” The Computer said lowly and softly, lowering the probability of startling him.

“Hmmm?” Zim responded, laser-focused on his task.

“How are your hands so steady…. You were flailing around with limp arms not to long ago… and your PAK is still damaged.”

Zim blinked up from his work, pausing for a moment before he gave a soft chuckle. It was unlike when Zim laughed loudly to assert his dominance. It was squeaky and soft.

“Silly Computer!” Zim chuckled and he got back to work.

“...Uhhhhh..”

Zim snickered to himself. “You’re a machine, so I don’t expect you to get it.”

What? What was so funny?

“My PAK has been damaged.” Zim then pointed towards his temple. “Not my ORGANIC brain.”

“....I …..”

“Once the PAK is detached, my biological shell draws resources from the organic brain. The nerve endings in those are FINE. It’s the PAK that’s the problem.”

The Computer considered this. While what Zim was saying was true, most irkens didn’t tend to view themselves as a disconnect to their PAK. It was a level of heightened awareness not many had achieved. If an iken’s PAK was damaged, it was common they would still experience pain once it was detached. There were many reports of a PAK being damaged, the PAK thinking that it’s host has broken a leg, and once the PAK was removed, the irken biological shell would still feel as if their leg is broken. Only PAK technicians had this level of understanding on how the PAK brain and organic brain co-exist together.

“You know, for an Irken super Computer, you’re not that smart if you forgot how PAKs work.” Zim snickered.

Oh that little…

“I have not!” The Computer huffed. “Just seeing this level of competence from you is shocking.”

“I know, I know. I am truly amazing!” Zim beamed. Apparently not absorbing the Computer’s insult. Probably for the best.

“Now silence! I need to concentrate.”

The Computer remained silent as he watched Zim work. Zim's hands worked efficiently at a pace that showed he was comfortable making these types of repairs.

Even so, an automatic repair would be faster and more efficient. The Computer took into consideration the stress patterns in his voice and heart rate when he thought he needed an automatic repair. In addition to his reluctance to being scanned or his PAK being scanned.

…...So, he knew he was defective then?

That had to be the logical conclusion. Only Defectives tended to get nervous about PAK fiddling or PAK repair. Although, observing his Master's hands, Zim had no qualms with repairing himself. Due to his intense focus and efficiency, it could almost be described as therapeutic for him.

Then was it the Computer himself he was afraid of?

There was still too much insufficient data for him to make a logical conclusion at the moment. But he will take Zim's comfort in mind when he eventually needs to consult him about PAK and biological repair in the future. Because let's face it, Zim will hurt himself again.

/////////////////////////////

this part made me very emotional, and also made me hate the tallest even more

#invader zim #iz #fanart for fanfic #zim #computer #compapa #tw injury #the tallests are jarks

[teaprose]

cw: anxiety, depression, medication, crappy therapists

I don’t know why I’m writing all this. Perhaps as a bit of a journaling device. This has been a difficult few months for me and due to the situation described below I really haven’t had anyone to talk to about it.

Tl/dr; Don’t suffer in silence. If you are on the same medication for years with no progress: it’s time to change up the medication. And also, you may have multiple therapists that just aren’t the right fit. Don’t be afraid to say so and get a new one.

Just started a new type of anti-depressant. I had been on my last one for over two years with varying doses. I have no idea if this one will work, I only just started it, but at least it’s something new.

Currently having the lovely side effects of extreme drowsiness and dry mouth. Gross.

Anyway... why am I telling you this?

Because please, please, don’t suffer in silence.

I was on my previous medication for over TWO. YEARS. while also going to therapy for the last four. My first therapist I saw for about two years for my anxiety and depression and she was a complete waste of time. She spent more time telling me about her adopted son and his issues than my own. I had never been in therapy before and didn’t realize how wrong this was. I was paying her weekly to help me through trauma and instead I would leave barely getting a word in with no actual treatment plan in place.

My second therapist, we’ll get to in a bit....

The point is... If you’re not seeing improvement after being on a medication for over two years it’s time to try something new. If your therapist isn’t working with your best interests at heart, get a new therapist.

Now medication: Every brain works differently. For some Lexapro will work, for others Prozac, for someone else something else. And then there are the doses! You get 5mg, you get 10mg, we’ll start with 5 and make our way up to 20!

Medication is not one size fits all.

Anyway, since last year I had been trying to get in to see a psychiatrist with the help of my therapist. My medical doctor can only prescribe anxiety and anti-depressant medication up to a certain dosage. For anything else you need to see a psychiatrist. Well, great! So let’s set up an appointment with the clinic psychiatrist. Easy peasy.

That was almost a year ago. Therapist kept saying “oh yeah, I’ll reach out to them” over and over and over. I should have spoken up then. After all, it took me months to get the results of my ADHD and BPD assessments back and she admitted she hadn’t sent them to her supervisor in a timely manner. 

(P.S. Assessments are meant to be done with 0 bias. They should not be completed by your main practioner except in extreme cases. My case is that she was the only one licensed to perform these specific assessments at the clinic and it got approved by her clinic supervisor).

Then, in May, roughly eight months since suggesting I see a psychiatrist and that she’d get me an appointment... my therapist ghosted me.

But me, being me, and my mental health, being it, just stayed silent. She said she was going through some things, including a family death, and she needed to take a month off.

Okay. A month. I could go a month without therapy. And so there I sat a month later waiting for her text or her call or her email. Well... one month became two. And then three. And now almost four. I eventually reached out at the end of month three and asked if I’d be seeing her again. She said she was on sabbatical. 

She said I could no longer meet with the psychiatrist on staff because I was not actively being seen by someone at the clinic. 

She said she’d get me reassigned to a new therapist. That was a month ago. I never heard from her again or anyone at the clinic.

Based on previous experiences I doubt she ever reached out to them.

So.

I lost my chance to see a psychiatrist and be put on proper medication because my therapist “went on sabbatical” and didn’t think to reach out to her clients and get them reassigned. And I didn’t reach out because I didn’t want to be a bother. Because my therapist was going through something and I didn’t want to make things more difficult for her.

I have my MSW. I know that you don’t go into therapy without a reason. But when that reason starts to interfere with your therapeutic work you are supposed to have the training and the supervision to help you. Your personal issues should never effect your clients who are already going through their own personal issues. Issues they are trusting (and paying) you to guide them through.

Now to the good news!

Fortunately my husband is also in therapy and he mentioned to his therapist how I hadn’t been to therapy in about four months. (She works in the same office).

I ended up meeting with her twice and within two weeks I had 

a psychiatrist appointment lined up (I met with her this past Saturday)

a new therapist whom I will meet tomorrow

And when I met with my husband’s therapist she told me that there is no need to suffer in silence. I had come to the clinic looking for help and been abandoned. And to have been left on the same medication for over two years when it obviously wasn’t doing anything, was just taking time away from trying something new where I could have been getting better.

I know, I KNOW, how hard it is to find your voice in moments like this. We don’t want to be a bother. We don’t want to cause trouble. We don’t know if they’ll believe us when we’re hurting. We don’t want to hurt their feelings if we want a different therapist. There are so many reasons we don’t speak up.

But please.

Don’t suffer in silence.

Find your voice and advocate for yourself.

You are worth it.

#tea text #please don't reblog #maybe i'll write something more rebloggable if people are interested #anxiety cw #depression cw #medication cw #therapy cw

[dogsliampaynedoesntinstagram]

Your questions about bearding and stunt girlfriends have climbed inside my brain and totally taken over this week, it is so interesting to think about what if, anything, could be done to reduce the vitriol aimed at stunt girlfriends and beards. And then I think about Tom Holland and Zendaya and, while I wouldn’t consider myself particularly active in that fandom the way I am in this one, I’m active-adjacent enough that I’ve seen some of the fan response. From what I’ve seen, none of the fans of Tom’s who believe him to be gay are publicly renouncing their precious claims and planning a Tom and Zendaya wedding, but the absolute disgust that exists with Olivia and Taylor and El and Danielle isn’t there, either. I do think it’s because Tom and Zendaya were friendly before they started dating (or “dating” depending on your beliefs) - Zendaya isn’t some random blonde model pulled off the Victoria’s Secret runway to push Tom further into the closet, she’s a longtime colleague and friend and they seem to genuinely enjoy spending time with each other. Personally, a set up like that for Harry or Louis is what would make the bearding and stunts more tolerable, for me. I don’t really care about the relative level of fame of the girlfriend or if she does or doesn’t have her own career and passions. I care that she is someone Harry or Louis are comfortable around, to whatever extent possible under the circumstances. It breaks my heart to think about how much it must suck to have to engage in these stunts at all, and then thinking about how much that suckiness would be compounded by being forced into a stunt with someone you only sort of know or don’t get along with makes my chest hurt. I understand that stunts and bearding are necessary right now. I hate it, but I know that as much as I wish I could, I can’t exactly do anything to change it. It would be easier for me to swallow though if the boys were set up with people they seemed even moderately compatible with and comfortable around.

Thanks for the thoughts about Tom and Zendaya anon. I do agree that they seem like they might be an exception to the general vitriol. I don't think either Harry or Louis have anyone in their life like Zendaya, but I'd be interested if there were any candidates.

You seem to be telling very specific stories anon and specific stories that distress you - I am going to push back a bit and suggest that the stories you are telling are not obviously true, and they're not the only possible stories.

Why do you think it's the stunts that would suck?

There are lots of other parts of the closet that seem to me that they'd be much worse than hanging out with a woman and have people see it: having to change the way you interact with the world so you're less likely to be read as gay, having to deny and hide your relationship, being disconnected from other queer people and culture, because you can't interact with it, constantly policing how you perform and engage.

For the stunts to be breaking your heart, I think you must either be erasing the other parts of the closet, or assuming that the stunts are somehow the whole closet. I just don't think it's sustainable to assume that pretending to date someone would be the bad part of a being a closeted popstar.

And then my second question - is why on earth are you imagining that they're being 'forced into a stunt with someone you only sort of know or don’t get along with'? If it makes your chest hurt why not just respond to that fear with: 'Harry and Louis make their own history, even if not in circumstances of their own choosing. There are lots of options when it comes to pretending to date someone. The fact that they're doing this suggests that it's the best option for them at the moment.'

And beyond the specifics - why would you be assuming that Louis or Harry don't know or get on with the people they are currently pretending to date? Harry chose to work with Olivia. There's every reason to believe that he's compatible and comfortable with her. They chose a strategy in London that involved a lot of low key hanging out. Why would he do that if he wasn't comfortable? And Louis seems to go on holiday with Eleanor every year. He doesn't need to. It's not necessary for persuading people they're togehter, particularly with his habit of not existing in time and space. Why imagine that they don't get along?

And this all comes back to the point I was making to the another anon. It's the closet that does harm. And being seen spending time with women is so far from being the worst of it.

#I do think it's so important #to understand that fake relationships are not the closet #and to assume that Harry and Louis have some agency in how they navigate the closet #whatever limitations may or may not be on them

[ectonurites]

for the character headcannons ask game, jason and cass?

ALRIGHT ALRIGHT im putting this one under a cut because it got SUPER long bc i cant shut up ever

lets start w jason

A (realistic headcanon): 

ok using the ‘realistic’ category here loosely but GOD i love the idea of Damian & Jason having interacted while Jason was staying with the League before getting dunked in the Lazarus Pit. like. this obviously would need to be set more in preboot and following the Lost Days & Batman Annual 25 version of Jason’s resurrection, but god the idea of it just makes me scream in a good way. Like... these are things Jason likely doesn’t remember very clearly once he’s brought back to life more fully by the pit because he was uh pretty catatonic, but Damian being a little kid and knowing about the boy that his mother keeps around the base, that she’s trying to help bring back to health. Damian not even knowing that’s his big brother, just that he’s a presence that shares his mother’s attention. Jason again being unresponsive but like, ok god you know that part of lost days where Talia shows the others observing him that he only fights back at those he perceives as genuine threats trying to hurt him, 

Because Jason can perceive that she’s safe, she’s not actually trying to hurt him, he trusts her because she saved him? thinking about lil child Damian who is ya know already being trained in fighting stuff and like the idea of him trying to provoke Jason just to see what happens but Jason not fighting back because on some level be it his connection to Talia or even little baby Damian visually reminding him of Bruce, he knows that Damian is safe too 🥺 

and then when Jason and Damian meet again in Gotham as Red Hood & Robin respectively, Jason not really remembering because there was so much going on back then for him, but Damian realizing that oh... that was Him

B (hilarious): 

alright so if we are looking at comics currently, in modern stuff jason is what, like 22? hes old enough to drink in the US but still definitely early 20s so around my around my age, thats what im using as a basis here. if we adjust timeline and still consider his death having happened when he was 15, that puts it around 2013. and then coming back to like interacting with people about three years later if we still kinda base things off of the preboot timeframe (since we never got a super solid retelling of the timeline of death -> resurrection -> training -> tries to get revenge aside from knowing he went to the all-caste instead of the lost days version of the story) making him reenter the regular world and stuff around age 18 in 2016. meaning a solid three years of pop culture that he was entirely missing, and like im sorry but he really doesn’t strike me as the type to bother looking into what he missed, he’s kinda busy focusing on other stuff. lets take a quick look at some major things from those years. 2013 gave us ‘what does the fox say’ and ‘the harlem shake’ . 2014 had that time U2 just put a fuckin album on everyone’s phones, The Fault In Our Stars movie came out. 2015 introduced the phrase ‘Netflix and Chill’ and the whole blue & black vs gold & white dress debate happened. imagine any of the other batkids (or even arguably roy during rhato stuff) bringing these things up and jason’s ensuing confusion. thank you for your time

C (heart-crushing): 

so. there are two specific instances from rebirth era Jason i want to bring up here and much like a lot of these it’s less a headcanon and more of an inference based on observations, but i wanna take a sec to discuss Jason’s relationship with other people’s death. early in rebirth, Tim ‘dies’ from that whole thing in detective comics. he didn’t actually die, we as readers know, but in-universe they all very much so thought he was dead. frustratingly a lot of the batfam wasn’t really shown mourning him aside from in the Detective Comics Rebirth title itself (which just. when a major character dies even if its temporary- that should have a ripple effect) BUT an exception to that is in RHATO 2016, where we get this offhanded comment in Jason’s internal monologuing

similarly later when Roy, who like, had an incredibly close relationship w Jason that had just gotten mended before Heroes in Crisis, gets fuckin murdered in that whole thing... Jason doesn’t go to his funeral either. He leaves a dramatic voice mail and then visits the grave on his own later, choosing to instead keep working on the mission they’d started rather than going and taking the time to mourn properly.

Jason’s relationship with death is incredibly complicated, obviously. He has died, he has come back, and he now is willing to cross the line most other bats won’t and will kill people when he deems it necessary. I think thats something important though- he doesn’t just like... go around killing for fun (usually, some writers preboot made him a little murder happy but even then usually this still was vaguely followed) he kills people he thinks deserved it. Like, even looking back at the mess of Morrison’s Jason during Batman & Robin 2009, Jason was still trying to bring a sense of justice with who he was killing (”punishment that fits the crime”), it wasn’t killing for the sake of killing. He sees things in this kind of almost black and white ‘people who deserve it’ and ‘people who don’t’ way, and he has no problem dealing with death when it’s with the people he thinks deserve it. 

but when someone who doesn’t in his mind ‘deserve it’ gets killed? i think he just goes into total avoidance mode. throws himself into other things he’s doing, tries not to dwell on it too much no matter how much he still thinks about it (this is especially evident in him consistently telling people “i’m fine!” after what happened to Roy, despite bringing Roy up literally like every few issues for a WHILE after he died and very clearly still struggling with it, Artemis is the only one who gets through to him on it a little bit) 

but yeah, I just think that from Jason’s relatively unique situation of having been murdered, he knows what it’s like and he is perfectly fine wishing that on people he thinks are bad and deserve it, but it crushes him to imagine the people he loves and cares about having to experience something as painful as what he went through. not to mention the whole “I came back, why do I get a second chance at all this when they, who are a much better person than I am, probably won’t” mindset we get some implications of him having 

D (canon is a coward and won’t) 

hello DC i am once again insisting a batfam member is bisexual

CASS TIME

A (realistic headcanon): 

ok so we know cass likes ballet. thats canon. however i think we also should in general explore cass experiencing other types of dance/performance as well, be it herself as a performer or even just watching. like... god imagine her & like my brain just automatically for group activities puts her with tim steph and duke but also for this in particular I feel would be a Jason embraced activity, but like them going to see a broadway show or some other professional theatre or something, and her just being enthralled by the reading of body language of the performers! like again by any point in current stuff cass does have like, the ability to speak fine (reading still hard tho) but even so I think like. okay im a theatre kid if that’s not obvious from the Everything About Me but one thing I always do after seeing a show is ya know spend dinner afterwards discussing it with whoever i saw it with.

I just think that like, bringing those people i just mentioned to the table to discuss seeing a show after would be so FASCINATING because cass would bring this whole perspective of critiquing their acting on a whole different level- not based on how well they delivered lines out loud, but by what their body language was saying as they moved on stage. like im very amused by the idea of cass getting a totally different picture in her mind about what a character’s motivations were because she was paying way more attention to what their physicality was saying vs the words that were written and how they were delivered. i think the debates her and the others would have would be EPIC there. jason defending the text as it was written adamantly and cass being like ‘ok yeah sure but thats not what they did’

B (hilarious): 

cass having no concept of money because why would she bother? is SO funny to me. like it’s not that she couldn’t be reasonable if she wanted to, but like, she knows that the Waynes are well off so it’s not something she actually needs to be concerned about, so she just goes hog wild. takes steph out to fancy dinners and makes steph order for them since cass ya know doesn’t really read the menus, and steph’s like ‘jesus christ this costs-” “don’t worry about it” “but cass-” and she just holds up one of bruce’s credit cards and steph’s still like “but you don’t even know the range-” “it is fine”

bruce does not have the heart to tell her to stop

C (heart-crushing): 

i mean this is pretty much canon but especially now after death metal where she’s remembering, not just being told by a guy using weird alternate timeline technology, that she used to be an adopted member of the Wayne family... like that hurts so bad. To look at these people who have ya know been kind to her, Bruce has still been a father-like figure to her (i mean literally from the moment they met in New 52 canon during the flashback in Batman & Robin Eternal, where he’s telling her that she’s not a monster just because of what people forced her to do.... that she’s a hero... that hug.... dad behavior), and they do to some extent treat her as family... But to then really know, to feel and remember that she was actually adopted! She was a part of their family. To look at how she’s been calling herself Orphan while working with them this whole time... that’s so heartbreaking! I have cried about this idea so much! I want so badly a conversation between her and Bruce now where he offers to officially adopt her again, I need it so bad and if it doesn’t happen at some point in the next year or two I will be so distraught.

D (canon is a coward and won’t) 

i want an in-depth exploration of cass’ relationship to her own gender. being raised without language and you know with so much of her life being independent (remember: CASS RAN AWAY AROUND THE WORLD WITHOUT REALLY KNOWING ANY SPOKEN LANGUAGE) and outside of an organized society impressing too much of gender expectations on her, i feel like the way she experiences it would be very unique! like sure she’s so far been fine with being assigned ‘girl’ (ya know that comes with batgirl, and how people just automatically treated her based on how she looks) but in terms of gender expression and like her actual relationship with ‘traditional femininity’ etc like... because of how she was raised I just think she’d have a really different perspective on it that could be cool to explore, and I think she’d fall outside of the binary after she really thinks about how she identifies.

tldr on that: she/they nb cass is what i’m getting at here

#onwater #jason todd #cassandra cain #sam writes

[meangirlsx]

hi sam! uh it’s been a while since we’ve talked, how are you? how’s life?

uh... i know that i literally only come to you when i need latin help, but i’m taking the NLE (National Latin Exam) tomorrow, and this affects whether or not i earn a credit for the class i think and i’ve been doing old tests to see how i’ll do and i think i’ve been doing okay, like i’ll pass okay

but do you have any tips or anything? study or test related? or really anything? 💛

Hey Olive!

You’re gonna crush it! I can feel it!

1) Trust yourself. We're good at remembering things without realizing. If you have a gut instinct on a question, there’s a good chance there’s a reason.

2) I hope you’re already asleep and this is irrelevant, but if you’re not, try to get some sleep. I know it’s hard to fall asleep the night before something big like this, but getting a good night’s sleep is really beneficial. It will help you be at your best.

3) Drink water. Obviously you don’t want to end up having to pee in the middle of the test (or a section of the test, if this works in sections with breaks in between), but hydration will help you stay alert, engaged, and focused.

4) You might have a nervous stomach, but try to eat at least a little something. It will help maintain energy level and focus.

5) I don’t remember for sure, but I’m guessing it’s timed, so try not to let yourself get bogged down on a question. You can come back to it. Sometimes our brains like to keep working on questions behind the scenes and answers come to us a little later during the test.

6) If you end up with extra time, it can’t hurt to look over your answers. Sometimes a later question will give us some information that will help an earlier question. But if you don’t have the time, don’t worry about it at all. You’ve worked so hard for this and you’re going to do great.

7) Try to speak positively to yourself about the test. You don’t have to focus on being nervous or worried about what you might not know. Remind yourself how much you’ve studied, how hard you’ve worked. You deserve to be proud of yourself no matter what happens. A positive mindset can help you feel calmer, more prepared, and able to focus better on the material.

8) Don’t worry if anyone finishes before you do. We all take different amounts of time taking tests and performing certain tasks.

9) For any multiple choice, if there’s one you think might be right, obviously choose that. But if you genuinely have no clue, you can try picking one letter to consistently use as a guess bubble, to sort of let statistics work in your favor. During the ACT and SAT, I liked to use C.

10) Remember to breathe. We tend to let our breathing get a little faster when we’re nervous and stressed. Actively letting yourself breathe more slowly will help you stay calm and focused.

And if it helps, think about how cool this is, in a way. You’re studying a dead language. You’re learning about an incredible culture. You’ll be taking a test, but it’s on these amazing things, and I love that we live in a world where we’re able to learn about them.

You’ve got this!!! Wishing you so much luck and sending you so much love! I'd love to hear about it afterwards. I can tell you my favorite Latin phrase my teacher ever taught me, too.

Kick some ass! Love you!