#something about being put in a system where you’re constantly told that you are a fuck up and a bad person

[hop3wrlds]

the damage of being in the troubled teen industry is slowly starting to seep out of my skin n i think i am loosing my mind a little bit

#JUST SMILE AND WAVE BOYS #me when i start to realize what it’s done to me #i feel so disgusting i want to r!p my skin off #i truly feel like i’m becoming a monster #or i’ve been a monster idk #i don’t consider myself a TTI survivor #no one physically harmed me but like #something about being put in a system where you’re constantly told that you are a fuck up and a bad person #actually traumatized #troubled teen industry #troubled youth system #actually ptsd #foster system

[bonny-kookoo]

Jungkook

𝓣𝓪𝓴𝓮 𝓒𝓪𝓻𝓮. [Running Free (Final)]

Decisions have to be made- you can't just run away from them.

Tags/Warnings: Hospital/Medical AU, Doctor!Jungkook, slightly aged up!Jungkook, Hybrid!Reader, Dog Hybrid!Reader, comfort, romance??, Fluff, happy end I guess, we finished another one yay

Length: 5k words

-> Masterlist

There is no taglist for this fic.

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You’re being released from the hospital this week.

He’s not too sure how he feels about it, but he knows it’s for the best. The longer you stay in, the more you gain the risk of catching an infection that’ll be resistant to most medication due to the natural environment of a hospital- and you also deserve to go home, wherever that might end up being.

He’ll miss the daily visits, and he will most of all miss the hospital- but he’s made his choice, long term wish of finally having his own office as a hybrid specialist in the city soon to be coming true. The building is currently being renovated from the core, to soon become a place where hybrids can finally be treated without having to have their owners or partners drag them hours away to another location. This had been his dream ever since he’s started med school-

And it looks like if everything goes smooth from now on, it’ll finally come true.

You on the other hand, clearly can’t wait to get outside.

After multiple sessions with a professional, you’ve slowly come to learn that most of the things you’ve been taught weren’t actually true at all. While it’s correct that certain hybrids can’t be outside alone, for most hybrids it’s just a general suggestion- there’s no law against going out alone. So now that you know that you can actually go outside, you constantly ask him if he’ll take you-

And he’d love to, but he just doesn’t have the time.

So instead you’ve gone out with Jimin a few times, while Jungkook would eagerly listen to all the fun stories the nurse would get to experience with you. If he was up for it, you’d probably be really happy with him- but Jungkook knows that Jimin has his reasons for not even thinking about taking you in.

“She’s scratching her ear a lot.” Jimin mentions at lunch, and Jungkook instantly focuses. “I think she might’ve either developed an ear infection or it’s something that’s been brewing for a while.”

“Well, her ears fold over quite a bit so it wouldn’t be surprising.” Jungkook hums as he eats his food. “And since she’s not been outside much her immune system probably isn’t the strongest. I’ll take a look at it later, see if it needs anything prescribed.” He offers, as Jimin falls quiet for a moment, watching the doctor. “what?”

“You have to let her get discharged-“ He starts, but Jungkook instantly shakes his head.

“I will, I will, I’d never do that.!” He argues. “I just want to make sure everything’s alright before she leaves.” He says quietly into his food.

“You could just take her home.” Jimin chuckles. “you’d get to make sure all the time then.” He teases, and Jungkook rolls his eyes.

“Its not that simple. I told you.” He reminds his older coworker, who nods.

“I know, sorry.” He brushes the topic off, before Jungkook’s name is being called out, making Jimin sigh with sympathy for his friend. “I’ll have them wrap it so you can heat it up later?” He asks, and Jungkook nods as he wipes his mouth already standing up.

“Thanks.”

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“hm, yeah, it all looks like it.” Jungkook hums as he inspects your ear, before taking out some cotton swabs and a cleaning solution. “But it’s not bad. Most likely just your immune system being a little over-protective.” He reassures you as he moves to put some of the cleaning solution on the ball of cotton.

“is that bad?” You wonder. “when will I be normal?”

“You’re already normal, don’t worry about that.” The doctor tells you before he holds up your ear to both clean and disinfect it- something you slightly move away from, as it’s uncomfortable. “no no, stay here, yeah?” He tells you, but it’s hard. “you’re doing great..” he mumbles the praise as he makes sure to do a good job while not taking longer than necessary. “Jimin said you saw ducks today?” He tries to distract you, and it seems to work.

“they were in a.. pond, nearby. But there was a fence so I couldn’t get close.” You explain, making Jungkook chuckle. It’s probably for the best you couldn’t- you could’ve fallen into the ice cold waters or gotten lost otherwise. You’re not used to being outside, and Jimin doesn’t have a good sense of what you’re capable of doing and where you should be more supervised than someone else.

You’re holding onto the pink and white little plushy, and he’s again reminded of his choice.

Did he make the right call? Hopefully, because he honestly doesn’t really think that a situation like this will ever truly reoccur like this again. But he had sat down yesterday to go through everything, just to come to a clearer answer for himself. This isn’t something to take lightly, and again, sometimes letting go is the best option to take.

For the rest of the day, you don’t see Jungkook anymore- and neither do you see him the day after, as you’re sitting on the edge of your bed, shoes on your feet and bag packed. Jimin had shed a few tears at seeing you go- but you told him you might visit without needing actual help for once.

The care worker looks nice. He’s wearing a jacket with an official emblem on it for hybrid social work- and he seems really friendly. “You ready?” He asks, and you nod-

There’s no use in waiting for something that won’t happen, after all.

In the small van, you watch all the people and cars pass you by, while the car radio plays slight music on low volume. “if you don’t like the place I’ll bring you, you can always call the number in the phone, okay?” the care worker says, and you nod. The phone you got has a very simplified, easy to understand user interface installed, so it didn’t take you too long to understand how it works. It’s still however quite odd to hold it in your hands.

Everything you thought you knew had been a lie.

“Don’t be afraid to speak up. We’re always just a call away.” He offers, before he parks in front of a tall apartment complex, fancy, high security. He’s being asked twice about where he wants to go and what his name is, as he walks around with you, elevator chiming happily before it opens.

Everything is so.. big. Fancy. Expensive. You shudder, as you remember the last time you’ve been to a place like this.

Will it be the same again? Someone rich and famous buying you just to lock you up and feed you lies? You worry. You really want to go back to the hospital.

When you walk out the elevator and wait in front of another door, you become anxious. But just for a moment, because you start to.. smell something.

And when the door opens, you finally know where you actually are-

As you stand right in front of doctor Jeon, who’s smiling kindly right at you and your wagging tail.

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Jungkook’s apartment is big, very high up in the tall building, and smells like him.

There’s a room just for you, and he’s also got many windows- from the regular balcony and smaller windows in your room, to large one’s going all the way from the floor to the ceiling, showing the tiny city below in the living room. You’re currently sitting on the floor right in front of them, as Jungkook approaches you, sitting down next to you. “You like the view?” He asks, and you nod.

“Do you think I can be an ant now, too?” you ask, and he looks at you a bit confused. “the people.. they look like ants.” You say, pointing to the people all the way down on the ground walking around despite the late hour.

“would you like to be one of them?” He wonders, having brought you a pillow to sit on now- one you happily take.

You nod. “they.. get to have phones. And they meet friends. Or eat at restaurants and drink. Or they buy large stuffed toys.” You explain, and Jungkook realizes that this must’ve been your standard.. or rather only form of entertainment up until now.

Instead of experiencing life, you only got to watch it in silence, secretly.

“Well, you already have a phone. And if you want, we can go eat at restaurants and cafes too- though I might not get you coffee.” He chuckles, watching you look at him now with drooping ears. “it’s bitter.” He explains, and you nod at that.

“Hm.. then maybe something else?” You ask. “but not chocolate. That makes me feel bad.” You tell him, and he internally cringes. Of course it makes you feel bad- you’re a hybrid, and therefore sensitive to it.

“we can check if a Café has hybrid alternatives. I’m sure there’s one.” He tells you, and you smile, tail swishing around a bit as you yawn. “now come on, let’s go to bed.” He says before he gets up, and you look up at him.

“Can I sleep here?” You ask, and much to your surprise, Jungkook nods easily.

“sure. I’ll put your mattress here then.” He offers as he disappears into your room to fetch just that and some bedding to make you comfortable.

This really is quite different from your old home.

You watch how he carefully creates a good bed for you on the floor in front of the window, not just slap everything down there and have you do it yourself. No, this is caring- he even brings out your pink and white plushy that you’ve been given back at the hospital, before he smiles at you who moves to crawl beneath the blankets. “if you need another blanket, there’s one on the couch. And if you end up not liking it here just wake me up and I’ll help you set up your bed in your room again-“ he explains, when your tail just starts wagging wildly beneath the thick bedding.

“Thank you “ You say, and he smiles gently, before he leaves you be.

Even long after he’s switched off his own lights as well, you’re still awake, watching the people down below go about their late night activities. From groups of friends drunkenly stumbling home to couples holding hands, office workers waving for a cab home and policemen patrolling to make sure everything’s alright.

You feel like right now, you’re just one of them as well. Just another being, existing in the same world and same universe as them, experiencing your own life.

And with Jungkook at your side, you already feel like this is going to be the best life ever.

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When you wake up the next morning, it’s slow. Steady. A smooth transition from dreaming to becoming conscious.

Your eyes are still closed while you realize someone’s touching you- but with no ill intentions. Instead, the hands simply adjust the blanket over your body, tucking it back into place so you won’t get cold. He makes no efforts to wake you up at all, instead, Jungkook simply rests a hand on you shoulder for a moment, before he leaves you be.

You can hear him do something in the open kitchen nearby. Your ears tilt towards him, a reaction out of your control.

When he sits down wit his coffee in hand on the couch nearby to watch TV, he catches your now opened eyes- and he smiles. “Good morning.” He offers, and your tail can’t help but react to it as it begins to wag beneath the covers. “slept well?” He asks, and you nod.

You look around for a clock.

“It’s a little past one PM.” He tells you, and you sit up straight at that, shocked. “don’t worry- if I’d wanted you to wake up earlier, I wouldn’t have let you sleep this long.” He reassures you, setting his mug down on the coffee table in front of him. “But it looked like you needed some proper rest, so I let you.”

“I'm sorry.” You mumble, looking to the other side to see the windows show almost nothing from the world outside, fog thick and heavy in the air.

“No need to be.” Jungkook promises. “if you want we can go out later- but the weather isn’t too nice, so we could also very much just stay in today.” He says.

“Don’t you have to work?” You ask, wondering how this will work out in the future as well. Will you have to stay home alone often? Will he at least let you look out of the windows in that case?

“I took my vacation and I’m also finally working on getting rid of all the overtime I’ve collected this year.” He chuckles. “Mostly to help you get used to things, and to.. You know, have you get to know me better.” Jungkook explains, and you nod.

“So... when you go to work again, I’ll stay at home?” You wonder, now relaxing again as a yawn interrupts your words a little, before you stretch your limbs, falling back down onto your makeshift bed.

“We’ll see. I might have someone check in on you once during the day, or I’ll take you to work with me. I’m not too sure about that yet- but we’ll figure it out along the way.” He reassures you. “Right now I believe you should get up and wake up properly, huh?” He laughs, as you nod, slowly standing up to roll up your bedding, struggling a bit to hold it all at once, before you walk into what he showed you is technically your room.

Jungkook smiles. Of course, you don’t have to do this- you could very much just leave it right there and he wouldn’t be bothered, but if this is something you want to do willingly, he will let you. It’ll be very helpful to get you into a comfortable routine as quickly as possible, so he can figure out if he can leave you by yourself, and if so, for how long.

He knows you’re a lot more independent and intelligent than your past owner thought you were- but you still haven’t ever had to live completely on your own, so no one, not even you yourself, knows how you’d handle that. If something was to happen, lets say you drop something in the kitchen and it breaks, it could very much send you into a panic and cause you to get hurt unintentionally. And with him not being home, this could become a problem.

But thats only something in his mind for now. He’ll figure this out somehow.

He has to.

When you come back out the bathroom after getting ready for the day, Jungkook can’t help but laugh a little, waving you closer to where he’s sitting on the sofa. “Turn around for me.” He chuckles, properly pulling your tail out through the designated opening in the back of your shorts. “There we go.” He says, and you sit down next to him now, looking at the windows.

“Why can’t I see the city anymore?” You ask him, and he sets down his coffee, cup now empty.

“Because the clouds are too thick.” He explains. “We’re basically in the middle of them, so that’s why you can’t see.”

“We’re in the clouds?” You ask, mesmerized, and he nods.

“We are.” He agrees.

“So if I went on the balcony, I could touch them?” You wonder, and he laughs.

“I mean, technically? But they’re not soft or anything, so you might be disappointed.” He warns you.

“But you’d let me on the balcony?” You ask, and he nods.

“Clouds are just wet though. You’ll just get a shower, basically.” He laughs under his breath, though he does walk into your room with you, to unlock the glass door to the balcony with a key. “Careful though. Can I hold your hand?” He asks, and you nod, though you clearly look confused. “Just so I feel a bit calmer.”

“Why you?” You ask, not really sure why he’d feel any better holding your hand. “Are you scared of the balcony?” You question him, but he shakes his head with a smile.

“No, but I’m scared of you falling.” He reveals.

“Oh.” You simply answer, taking his hand at that, before you step out into the cloudy outdoors-

But just for a moment, because you quickly realize that Jungkook was right-

Clouds aren’t all that fluffy at all.

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You’re out for the first time with Jungkook, and he has to admit, you’re nothing like he thought you’d be like.

You’re so incredibly great at controlling yourself and your reactions to things, always almost instinctively reaching for him if something becomes too much or if something makes you unsure. It makes him feel incredibly proud- because you clearly already have accepted him as your safety person, always relying on him if you feel like you can’t handle something. You always trust that he will do it for you- and he does, even if he only notices doing it in hindsight.

You sometimes seem to get a bit overwhelmed with eye contact from other hybrids and even humans, and he also notices the way you visibly shrink away from anybody trying to talk to you directly. Its most likely a trained response, taught to you with simple conditioning, and he feels a bit upset about it. But its not all that bad as he thought it might be- overall, you’re handling this day out very well.

You’re currently sitting in a hybrid friendly cafe, your eyes wide as you look at the delicately decorated milk foam on top of your hot chocolate that’s specifically made so that you won’t end up with a stomachache. Jungkook can’t help his smile as he watches you enjoy your little treat- the slice of cake you’re eating clearly being enjoyed to its maximum as you savor every bite.

“Did you know you can actually order all by yourself here?” Jungkook tells you, and your ears instantly tilt towards him at that, as you lick your lips clean of the milk foam from your cup.

“Really?” You wonder. “Me too?” You ask him, knowing very well that technically, hybrids of your category aren’t usually allowed to make any purchases by themselves.

But Jungkook nods. “They have a program here.” He explains. “Basically, I’ll pay upfront, and they’ll take your photo and ID so you can get food or something to drink here anytime you’d like, all on your own.” He informs you, and you nod, amazed.

He noticed that things like that make you feel good. Giving you any form of independence, even if it’s just a somewhat illusion, boosts your confidence. And he loves seeing that.

“But I always want to come here with you though.” You say.

“We can.” He nods happily.

“But I can order?” You ask, making him grin.

“Of course.” The doctor agrees. “I can get you an independence card too, once we both got more comfortable with each other.” He tells you.

“Why’re you doing all that?” You ask, a bit confused as you cut another piece of your slice of cake. “Like.. I always thought guys like it when their hybrids are all.. Dependent and stuff.” You shrug.

“Hm. Maybe because I like seeing you happy. And offering you these things makes you happy.” He explains his intentions.

“Would you ever like me as a girlfriend?” You bluntly ask, and Jungkook stutters in his movements a bit, caught entirely off guard. He’s never really ever thought about that at all, and he’s not sure if he really could- but he can’t deny that he does like you, a lot, already. Not to that degree, but he has to admit-

That could change.

“I’m.. Not sure yet.” He admits. “I can’t tell you a full on answer yet. Why do you ask?” He wonders, and you shrug.

“Just asking.” You tell him. “I’ve been told that hybrids can’t be real girlfriends.” You just say, and he fills in the blanks inside his head by deciding that this narrative must’ve been fed to you by your past owner. It’s a common thing a lot of people who’ve never met any hybrid personally say- because they believe that hybrids are nothing but abominations, or forever unable to really decide anything for themselves, when in reality, this isn’t true at all. Just like regular people, hybrids are all different- some will always have to rely on people, while others don’t need any help at all. There’s even hybrids who have full work permits, live on their own, have families and normal average lifes. It’s more common than one might think.

“That’s not true.” Jungkook denies.

“But like, could a hybrid and a normal person even have children?” You ask, and Jungkook nods.

“There’s evidence that hybrid-human pregnancies are generally safe and usually progress normally. The children inherit some hybrid traits depending on gender of the parent and child themselves, but it’s a lot less and therefore especially the visual traits are typically a lot less prominent.” He rants, taking a sip of his iced coffee before he continues. “It’s actually really interesting, because the children usually end up a lot more resilient to common infections like the flu or the common cold- but it’s not very clear as to why. I personally think it might be because viruses that infect humans behave differently in hybrids- so maybe because of that they’re less vulnerable to these things. They do however show up with problems more common in hybrids though, like eye problems or psychological issues.” He continues, and only after a moment or two does he notice you’ve stopped eating, now just watching him with a smile on your face. “...sorry. I was kind of getting lost there..” He apologizes, but you just laugh, tail wagging wildly.

“No, no, go on!” You cheer him on. “I love that face you make when you talk about stuff you like.” You say.

“The face I make?” He chuckles. “What face do I make?”

“I don’t know- your eyes sparkle, and they get all round. And you gesture with your hands.” You explain. “I didn’t understand most of it, but I’ll still listen.”

And Jungkook smiles.

Because honestly-

That's all he could ever ask for.

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Jungkook has definitely changed his mind on you now, almost a month after living together with you.

You’re very open with your affection towards him, a whole lot better at sensing someone’s attraction than a normal human would be, since you don’t really care about what he could be implying with his words- you only take into account what you know how to interpret. And that’s other cues, like body language, scent, and actions.

You don’t try and read between the lines- you just see things for what they are. And apparently, he’s not very good at hiding any of his growing feelings towards you at all.

And with your confidence rising under his care, you’ve become a real threat to his sanity he feels like- because you’re actively flirting with him, finding way after way to make him flustered left and right, always catching you off guard. And the worst part is that he slowly leans into it, accepting it, and also has begun to initiate such contact as well.

Well, its not really a ‘worst’ part. If anything, it feels like he finally found what he’s subconsciously always been looking for.

You’ve been sneaking your way into his bed at night- and somehow, that evolved into you permanently sleeping next to him in his bed, something that you both just quietly agreed on. This is however, right now, the first time you’re both actively cuddling- slowly testing the water so to speak as you quietly take new steps towards each other. Nothing has to be said in this moment- there's no words needed to really communicate with each other.

He’s never seen you this close, and neither have you.

His hand slowly moves to hold yours, before you place your palm on his, comparing your hand sizes before you giggle still a little sleepy. He doesn’t know why, but somehow, he just feels like its the right thing to do in this moment, as he pulls your hand closer to kiss the back of it, eye contact he holds with you visibly sending out the message he wants to with success as your eyes widen, before you smile a bit shy.

He already has plans on how to incorporate you into his work in the future, so he can always have you somewhat at his side, while also giving you a genuine task you can manage.

You suddenly move closer to him, as he lays on his back now, you hugging him closely so you’re almost halfway on top of him, basking in the physical contact you have with him. You’re both only dressed in comfortable sleeping clothes, nothing but underwear and lazy shirts, and you love this. It’s like you’re currently living in a vacuum, time having no meaning, outside world simply waiting for you both to be ready to continue at any time.

But for now, you just want to stay like this. Close to him.

And its also very clear that he doesn’t mind this situation either- not one bit, as he initiates contact as well, hand running over the length of your arm as he leans his head close to yours. “We have to get up soon.” He tells you, and your ears instantly move towards the sound of his voice, though you whine in protest, clinging to him now. “We can’t stay in bed all day.”

“Why not?” You wonder, leaning your chin on his shoulder. “I like being in bed with you.” You say, wagging tail making it clear that you’re very aware of how this sentence could also be interpreted.

“Do you?” He answers, not backing down anymore as he usually would. “we’re just being lazy. That’s boring, no?” He asks, and you laugh a little, before turning onto your back next to him.

“Well, yeah. But it doesn’t have to be.” You propose, and at that he moves now, leaning over you ad he looks at you beneath him.

“You’re right.” He agrees, voice low because with you being this close, there’s no need for much volume in his words. “I could think of a few things we could do.” He purrs down at you, and you grin, comfortable and even excited. You know exactly what this could mean, and you’re actively seeking this out- you know he likes you in a more personal manner than just hybrid and caretaker. This is so much more than that already.

He just needs to give you a sign- and this might be it.

“Such as?” You ask him, clearly expecting something from him. And he knows what it is.

Wordlessly leaning in to kiss you-

An action that’s instantly returned, in a silent confession of love.

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“this is such a genius idea.” Jimin says, watching you effortlessly keep the young hybrids occupied in the waiting area, while Jungkook goes through patient after patient. “They’re so calm like this. No wonder you’ve become the most sought after doctor for young hybrids.” He tells the younger doctor, who smiles at the scene in the waiting room- all the usually very fidgety hybrids of different kinds listening to you telling them a story, visualized by some stuffed animals you’re holding.

“I couldn’t do it without her.” Jungkook simply says.

“Well, I’ll have to go start my shift in the ER, or Yoongi will rip my head off.” Jimin laughs, before he waves at you, and then Jungkook. “take care!” He says as he leaves-

And Jungkook smiles, as he waves his friend and former coworker goodbye.

"Take care.”

#bts imagine #bts fanfic #bts fic #jungkook imagine #jeon jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook imagine #bts jungkook imagine #hybrid imagine #bts jungkook fanfic #jungkook x reader #bts jungkook x reader #bts jeon jungkook imagine #jeon jungkook fanfic

[ipegchangbin]

saw u reblog a pervy changbin post 😩 spare some pervy skz thoughts maybe 🤲

— skz and perverted thoughts.

sub ! skz ot8 , dom ! gn ! reader 

🏷️ perversion. somnophilia. voyeurism. blasphemy. invasion of privacy. individual scenarios of 8 pining perverts. sorry anon for the late response!

— you’re the reason why bang chan never sleeps.

he knows that neither of you are together…yet. you usually sleep over at his place though, a one-bedroom apartment with an uncomfortable couch, so you’re forced to sleep next to him. chan never tells you this but he gets hard every night you sleep over. he refuses to admit—no, he will never admit that he gets hard to the idea of you sleeping soundly next to him, in nothing but your sleepwear. 

chan constantly thinks about waking you up from your sleep after you’ve taken your clothes off. chan knows that you sleep without underwear — he watched you slip into your pants without putting anything under — and he wants your bare skin on his. he hasn’t seen your eyes fluttered shut in slumber since you two face away, but he thinks about how you could dominate him with the mere awakening of your irises. he wants to shock you so that you can shock him back. chan wants to feel your heavy breath on his heavier exhales instead of the gentle sighs he so desperately wants to wake. he wants to grind on your legs, dig his face in your neck, and whine as you take care of him while half-awake. 

but no, he can’t have that, he can never have that, so he fantasizes. stroking his cock, once, twice, thrice, four times, while you count your sheep to slumber at the same pace.

— minho feasts on whatever eye candy you are.

he can only keep to himself for so long, staring from the chair opposite yours. he’s too dignified; minho hasn’t made his feelings clear with himself, let alone you, so he can’t do much. all he can do is look from a distance. stare. drill his eyes into every single inch of your smooth skin until his pupils dilate. fuck, you’re just his type. oh god, you’re so close yet so far. 

and he wants you to be close. close the physical distance. close in on the friendship and become something more. close, moan “minho, i’m so close.” he wants to have you cum on him, finally let yourself go after ruining him to the point he’s writhing and crying under you. after staring at your hands intertwined with your best friend’s, he realized so badly that he wants your hands on his neck, knocking the wind out of his system. choke him until he wiggles and begs wordlessly for breath—or for more? he can’t tell. he’d be willing to give up the act of being so stuck-up around you and offer a rare sight that only you can see. but no.

the only sight you see of him is a good friend zoning out. minho looks so distant but he’s there, fantasizing, daydreaming about your body, how fucking good you would sound while praising him. you’re so distant, yet you’re right there, like a mere feast for his eyes, but he wants you to eat him alive, feast on him the same way.

— it’s only you who can distract changbin.

your voice echoes through his head. changbin can’t focus on anything else and his vision tunnels. you’re the light at the end of it.

you told him off numerous times to do his job right. it had been a bad day and he tried to sympathize with you — but getting turned on from being scolded doesn’t count. he can’t help the thought of being told to shut up before being called all sorts of names. he daydreamed about getting pounded on the desk, the chair—maybe the floor, where you can ride and degrade him? he wants your fitted suits discarded alongside his. changbin just wants you to lose it on him, use him to let every drop of anger out, slap him, mark him, spit on him, use him. show your true colors instead of acting polite. break in front of him the way he breaks beneath you.

suddenly, you tapped his shoulder, then his screen, sternly reminding him to “get the fuck back to work, darling.” he’d shift his legs to hide his painful and leaking erection.

the cycle continued. you’d scold him, he’d get too horny to function, making you scold him again until it was only the both of you in left the office working overtime. it’s so wrong, getting off on your emotions that you almost can’t control. but damn it, your voice is too pretty, he wants to hear it scream, tell him off, again and again.

— you made hyunjin question everything.

the search bar has “friend walked in on me masturbating.” hyunjin can’t believe he typed that. it’s so unlike him to search for things that weren’t substantial, but maybe self-discovery is just as important. you aren’t watching anymore. but the question just…doesn’t quite cut it. 

he types again. “friend walked in on me masturbating but i liked it.” the results are dubious, some suggesting that it’s normal. some are porn videos — he watched as a lean, tall man got pinned down by another person, getting punished by someone peeping on him. he’s deleting the words key per key, tapping backspace until he’s on the last few letters. “i think i like my friend.” no, he already knew that long ago. “i want to fuck my friend.” no, he’d been fantasizing about that for years. you’re the reason why he masturbated in the first place, thinking of how you could ruin him, fuck his mouth with your crotch, drain him of his cum, fucking his own release back into himself. holy shit, hyunjin, that’s so bad, so bad…

“i want my friend to fuck me.” bingo. but not quite — he just can’t remove the image of your shocked, flustered face, the way you went all red, the way you hesitated and panicked. did you like what you saw? because his dick does.

hyunjin types again. “voyeurism kink guide.”

— jisung shouldn’t get too excited over you.

shock was written all over his face when he found out you liked him back, that you rejected your other best friend all because of him. imagine him riding the highs of the validation, basking in the image of you two being a couple. he loved that you saw nobody else but him.

imagine him riding his pillow to chase his high of release, basking in the image of that plush material being your lower half instead. he loved that you fucked nobody else but him.

maybe he got too pumped over the wrong things. shutting the door behind him and refusing to eavesdrop any longer, he shoved his pants down, frantically freeing his hard cock, and thought of you. you, possessive, in love with him as he was with you. jisung wanted you to own him, make him yours. he wanted to be shoved in between your arms and held up on the wall first before plummeting to the bed, whining and crying nothing but your name. he wants to forget his own. he wants the hands of his longtime crush to crush him and leave his ass bruised and his back arched.

he’s filthy. jisung stared at his hands, coated in cum that won’t stop flowing, wondering if you’re cool dating someone whose first thought about you was sex. sex with feelings, he swears, but he huffs and keeps going, overstimulating himself.

— it was you and a train ride felix couldn’t stand.

he was trying to read the tale of orpheus and eurydice, standing in the moving train, but he ripped his eyes off his book the minute you stood in front of him. stunning, amazing. curse god for making the train cramped today, his erection kept brushing against your legs.

felix felt fire surge between his legs as he took a whiff of your scent, an alluring aroma making its way down his system. you looked like a dream, like a doll that god herself sculpted out of love. he wanted to get a taste of you. he wondered if this is what couples in public transport felt like, dragging their hands down each other, feeling the other up through and under the layers of clothing. how much could he leak when one of your fingers traces down his v-line? felix wondered about the thrill of getting caught, the thought of whimpering just a little too loud for other people to hear, to shift his legs in the wrong way, hitting the wrong person, alerting everyone of your lewd antics. but why, why did he want you to do this to him?

you stood tall until you didn’t, losing balance on him. you thanked felix for catching you, but you didn’t turn his direction for long. like orpheus, he followed you, his eurydice: he can’t let you face him after everything he imagined. he tried not to drool and stared at the back of your head, hoping to only see your face after the train ride.

— seungmin’s the sinner you shouldn’t forgive.

was it his fault if you locked eyes with him first? he looked at the altar and scanned the image of the deity before him, questioning his morals, a feeling he hadn’t felt ever since he kept a penny to himself in first grade. 

he heard you chant in the pew beside him. “i offer my body to you.” he heard you say it, over and over, parts of your body folding into prayer position. you were hypnotizing to witness. seungmin couldn’t help but eye down your irresistible features, watched the glow from the lights hit your face and body in just the right way. he wanted to touch you, a living statue, and he wanted to put a show in front of the altar. he wanted you to ruin him, his upper half hunched over the head of the kneeler. or maybe he wanted to kneel in front of you as he took you in his mouth, tasting every bit of you, licking every drop of your essence as if it were holy water.

you were a fallen angel. sent from the clouds down to the earth to test his temptation, and he was giving in. but you weren’t a messenger, you betrayed your god, and you indulged in his sin, never forgiving him, damning him to the flames of lust for an eternity. he’s gross, but you’re an angel, and he’s chanting his prayer:

“corrupt me, corrupt me, corrupt me, i surrender myself, my body and life, all to you…”

— you should put jeongin where he belongs.

he’s insecure. for the first time in the decade-long relationship, he’s insecure about his place in your commitment. jeongin wasn’t sure if you loved him that much.

that was, until he “accidentally” found your journal entries. he also “stumbled upon” the messages you wrote about him to your friends. he remembered this thrill, similar to the time in the early stages of your relationship where he’d snoop on things such as your plush toys, shirts, underwear…he got a bottle of your perfume just to spritz it on his pants, pretending you were jerking him off from below.

now here he was, surfing through your written words about how much you loved jeongin. you truly loved your boyfriend — but nobody was like him, fucking into his own hand while seeing you gush over him in your friend’s messages. he wanted you to gush all over his cock, his body, his face, only to slap him and scold him, forcing your arms on his cheeks to make him face you in fear. he wanted you to stop him from dealing with your stuff, telling him to mind his own things — exactly the same way you found out he was messing with your underwear before.

jeongin’s thinking please, just please, put me in place, don’t make me go anywhere else, i’ll never doubt you again. i’ll drown in you. 

#skz smut #sub!skz #sub!bang chan #sub!chan #sub!lee know #sub!minho #sub!changbin #sub!hyunjin #sub!han jisung #sub!jisung #sub!felix #sub!yongbok #sub!seungmin #sub!jeongin #sub!i.n #💬 z is writimg #<3 a lovely anon #💌 ipeginbox

[goldenlikedayl1ght]

blank space - m. murdock

a/n: uhm... this one is dedicated to my friend arin who doesn't like daredevil but is encouraging me to be more unhinged. i hope you guys enjoy because i had a blast writing this. possible part two in the works, please like and reblog with comments and feedback <3 warnings: i cannot emphasize this enough-- DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT there is so little comfort to all of this hurt. matt is abusive and mean and reader is tortured and quiet and readers dad is an addict and a gambler and also stabbing, cursing, talking about fucking, sub/dom dynamics, nicknames, fem reader, lmk if i missed any! word count: 3.5k summary: Your dad makes your life horrible. Matt can make it worse. paring: dark!matt murdock x reader now playing: blank space (taylor's version) - taylor swift "so it's gonna be forever/or it's gonna go down in flames?/you can tell me when it's over/if the high was worth the pain"

You never meant to get involved with him.

Really, it wasn’t anything you did.

 As usual, it came back around to your father, who had a bad gambling problem, as well as a substance issue, and would often be tempted to gamble big prizes for things like coke or heroin. He would bet money, college funds, heirlooms, your house.

But of course, he couldn’t pay these debts.

Your mom had been gone for quite some time, and you suspect this is where your fathers’ addictions stem from. But you’re trying to just make your way through your adult life. You had gone to a local college, unable to afford much else. Now, you worked in a dingy little office where they constantly abused your work ethic.

Between your grief, his constant betting on your lively hood, and your asshole boss, you felt your bones grow tired. Not the sort of tired that could be fixed by a good night’s sleep. The sort of tired that could be fixed by a new life, not that you had the means for that.

You think your mother would haunt you for the rest of your days if you abandoned your dad.

Friday night came, and you were ready to go home to the small apartment you shared with your father, and drink some wine, and get a nice sleep.

You had been told by your boss that you needed to stay late to translate paper files to the digital system. No, you would not be getting paid overtime.

It was dark by the time you finally left, your feet aching in your heels as you made your way through Hell’s Kitchen, wanting to get home so as not to start crying on the streets of New York.

You don’t make it home.

As you turn the corner by your block, you notice a van creeping up on you. How long had it been following you? If you weren’t so tired, maybe you would know.

But the van pulled up next to you, and you did the only thing you could in this situation. You started to run.

Only, you made it about ten feet before you twisted your ankle with these stupid fucking heels. As you fall, you let out a cry of pain, and before you can think, two men are outside the van. They grab you by the arms and pull you into the van, the whole time you struggle.

Someone puts a black hood over your head and wraps duct tape around your hands. Your ankle is fucking aching.

You aren’t sure how long you drive for, but someone is then pulling you out of the van and drags you along. They give you an opportunity to walk but your ankle hurts to the point where you can’t walk.

They drag you again, and your foot is dragging, and holy shit, you can’t believe that your biggest concern while being kidnapped is how much your ankle hurts.

Eventually, hood on your head still, you are sat in a chair. Your hands are untied, and you want to jump up and fight, but you know your ankle won’t help you here.

They quickly tie your hands back to the chair, with rope this time. Whoever ‘they’ are.

You’re starting to have trouble breathing, because you’re realizing what sort of situation, you’re in right now.

You’ve been kidnapped for something; you have to assume in some way that it’s to get back at your father.

The hood is pulled off your head, and your eyes take a moment to adjust.

The room you’re in is dark, dingy. You know there’s two people behind you, big enough to carry you. You can hear water outside the room, assuming you’re in an abandoned office by the docks. Then, there’s three people in front of you.

One is a man, with long blond hair. He wears a nice suit and is just standing in front of the door. Another is a woman, with even longer blond hair and she also dons rather luxurious apparel. Your dirty work clothes make you look meager next to her.

The last is a man with dark hair. He wears a simple, rather expensive suit, and red glasses.

If you weren’t on the verge of a meltdown, you’d probably realize how hot he is.

Oh, he also holds a knife.

The blond man talks first.

“So. Do you want to start, or should we?”

“What?” Your ankle throbs.

“I guess we should, then.” He hums. “Do you have five grand worth of heroin on you, dear?”

You could throw up.

“I—”

“No, of course you don’t. You and your boyfriend probably used it all.”

What is he talking about? Now, on top of being in pain and panicked, you’re confused.

“The man you live with?” The woman finally speaks. “I assume you two used all the heroin he stole.”

You realize she means your father. You realize that your father stole five grand worth of heroin. What else did he steal?

“What else does he owe?”

“No, darling,” she scoffs, “We ask, you answer.”

“I don’t do heroin.”

“So, how do you know he owes us more?”

“Took a wild fucking guess.” You spit. “Figured you wouldn’t kidnap someone over five grand, figure money is no object.”

The man with the knife steps out of the shadows. Your heartbeat races, and he chuckles. He crouches in front of you.

“You’re a spitfire. I like that. In fact, I love that in a woman, don’t I, Foggy?” He turns his head back slightly.

Foggy answers.

“That you do, man.”

His head turns back to you. But you get the impression by his glasses that he can’t see. So how is he looking right at you?

“If you give us some sort of sass like that again, I’ll stab you and make sure you feel every second of pain.” You whimper, and he laughs again. “Not so cocky anymore, are we, sweetheart?” He stands and goes behind you, his arms landing on the outside of your own, caging you in. He leans down and whispers in your hear, “Is this.. turning you on, sweetheart?”

You don’t answer.

“Answer me.”

“No.”

“Liar.” He whispers back, the knife gracing over your ear. He cuts your ear just enough to make it bleed, and tears slip down your face. He makes his way back to the front of you and crouches again. “I’ll ask you again. How do you know he owes me more?”

“I figured he would, when gamblers start, they don’t stop.”

“Not only did you lie to me again, you also just gave yourself away. Lie to me again and I hurt you worse.”

Your foot that isn’t hurt goes up and kicks him in the face. At least it tries, because his reaction is too quick, and he grabs your ankle.

“Bad, bad girl.” He tuts. He lets go of your leg and picks up your other leg, the one with the bruising, swollen ankle. You start to shake. His hand squeezes the wound and when you yell in pain, he just coos at you. “Aw, does that hurt, sweetheart?”

You’re busy crying.

“Answer me!” He demands. It shakes you to your core. You realize you do not know who you’re dealing with, and you’re even angrier at your father for jeopardizing you like this.

“Yes!” You sob, and this seems to satisfy him. He takes the knife in his other hand and slowly cuts open your stocking, loving the way you’re shaking with fear.

 “Keep moving and you’ll cut yourself.”

You try to calm yourself down, on the verge of a panic attack. The knife grazes your leg, and he starts to focus in on your thigh, twisting the knife around your skin.

“How do you know him?” he asks. And you aren’t sure why you try it. You don’t know how he knows when you lie.

“I’ll find a way to pay you back, just let me go, I promise, I’ll tell you where he is, just—”

Then you feel it.

The knife pierces your thigh and is lodged into your leg. You scream in pain, gripping the arms of the chair. Fuck, it hurts. Your vision blurs, and you’re unsure whether it’s from pain or from your tears.

 He stands up in front of you, ignoring the stares from Karen and Foggy. He knows he might have gone a step too far for someone he’s pretty sure is innocent in all this. But he can’t help himself. He likes hearing you wither in pain, and he likes being the person administering the pain. He has all these things he’s in control of, but at this moment, no one else is in the room. It’s you and him, in a rather intimate moment.

He pats your chin, “C’mon, focus, right here, sweetheart. Tell me the truth and I make the pain go away.” He tells you, breaking through the wall of pain and fear that blocks your ability to think.

“He’s my father!” You finally cry out. It comes out as if you’re yelling in church, screaming to God a confession you can’t bear anymore. The only thing missing is your position on your knees, but being below this man like this is as close to an altar as you can see yourself being. “I know he has a gambling problem, and I know he has a drug problem but that’s it! I don’t know anything else, I just lost the parent roulette, okay?!” Your words come gasped out, in between sobs and when you’re not too distracted with your pain.

He seems to be satisfied with this. He gets back down, closer to the ground. Now he’s the one at the altar, but the devil has no place in a church, only between your thighs. He tilts his head and kisses the inside of your thigh.

“See? Good girls get rewards.” Bad girls get stabbed. He stands up, and with him, he pulls at the knife. Blood gushes as you cry out in pain again, sure he'll leave you to bleed out, to be fed on by rats.

He drops the knife at your feet and adjusts his tie.

“What should we do with her, boss?”

“Go get her father.” He says, “But don’t let her go just yet. I’d like to keep her a while.” You think you’ll be sick. “Knock her out though, we don’t want her knowing where she is.” That’s the last thing before the butt of a gun meets your head.

It’s a nice relief from the pain.  

• • •

You wake up on a bed with silk sheets. It’s almost nice enough for you to forget about the whole situation. Maybe your whole life has been a dream, and really, you’re a rich housewife for a man who loves you deeply and your mom is still alive.

But then you sit up, and your stockings are ripped, and your heels are gone.

A brace wraps around your hurt ankle. A bandage wraps around your thigh. The pain isn’t there anymore, you’re not sure what drugs have been given to you.

The room is rather barren, you realize, with little to no works of art or even photos, and it’s rather dark. It’s also freezing cold, a central air system whirling around you. You wonder, if you’re a prisoner, then why put you in a room like this?

What is happening?

The door opens and immediately you went to defend yourself, though there were no weapons around you.

The man from the night before steps into the room, and he looks... casual. He wears dark jeans and a tee shirt, his glasses discarded. Bandages wrapped around his knuckles.

“Oh, good. You’re awake.” You don’t respond, just stare at him. “I’m Matt.”

You stay quiet.

“You’re not being tortured anymore, honey. If you want, you can lie and be mean now, I don’t bite. Not anymore. Not unless you want me to.”

“I’m Matt.” You repeat, unable to believe it. “You stab me in the leg and kidnap me, and you go as casual as ‘I’m Matt’?” He grins.

“I told you; I love a woman with some fire.” You wonder how many times he’s used that line on people. “Telling them they’re beautiful just doesn’t hit the same way when you’re blind.” He says, going over to a door, and when he opens it, you realize it’s a closet.

“I want nothing to do with you.”

“No?” He turns to you, and smiles. He says your name. How does he know it? “You went to college for Marketing, cute. No siblings. Your mom died a few years ago, after a long battle with cancer. I’m sorry.” This sounds sincere. “You were engaged once, but he cheated on you and is now married to the other woman.” And he goes back to stinging. “Your father, I know all about him. David is an addict and a gambler. Now, addict, I could deal with. Addiction runs deep but it can be managed. It’s the gambling that frustrates me, and Sweetheart, If I’m frustrated, you must be riled up. He gambles everything, I should know. He gambles it to Foggy, who shares it with me.” He hums. He picks clothes out of the closet and heads back to you, “The pants are your size, but the shirt is mine.” He tells you, laying the clothes out in front of you. “Don’t worry about me watching, or anything.” It’s almost enough to make you smile.

You get changed, the challenge of slipping into the slightly lose jeans the hardest part. The bandage fits right in there, but even whatever pain meds have been given to you, aren’t enough.

“So, your father,” You groan, your face in your hands. You get it, your father is awful, and he hates him, but you know that your father is awful, and you know that you hate him. Why must he keep involving you? “I know, sweetheart, you’re in pain, and you hate him, but just stay with me on this.” he says, a cooing tone to his voice. You don’t know why, but you’re compelled to listen to him. “Your father forces you to live in this small apartment, because you’re the only one who works, and he always manages to find your money to gamble away. But it’s not just the money, it’s your electronics, your nice shoes, any pills you have in the house. And really, by doing all this, he is gambling you. Because not only is he risking not being able to pay his debts and someone taking you, but you’re tired. Aching for absolution that will never come. But the worst part is that even though all this stems from his grief around your mom, he gambled her wedding and engagement rings, the one you were always told you’d be proposed with.”

Tears well your eyes.

“Please, stop.”

He sits next to you on the bed, and you don’t have the energy to move away from him. In fact, you lean against him ever so slightly. He must know it too, you figure, since he can tell when you’re lying and when your heartbeat races. He’s warmer than you imagined. He’s a beacon of warmth in this cold, dim room.

He takes something out of his pocket, and then drops it into your hands. It’s a necklace, just a simple chain. Three things hang on it. A silver charm with an ‘M’ on it, and two rings. Your mom’s engagement ring, and her wedding band. You thought you’d never see it again, not after you came home and went to your jewelry box only to find out from your dad that he had lost it in a poker match a few weeks before.

You clutch the necklace in your hands.

“M for Matt?”

“Or Murdock, whatever you’d like.”

“You’re in charge, right? Just how in charge are you?”

“I run everything. There isn’t a corner of this city that I don’t have men in.” So, he’s the kingpin. The boss. Matt Murdock, a man feared by all, gentle to only you. Only for this moment.

“You’re not going to let me go, are you?”

“Bun, I was never going to let you go. But I don’t think you want to leave, either.”

You stay quiet. You can’t run. He made sure of that. Was he always going to stab you? Had he decided that from the moment he heard you whimper or was it your reaction to his pet names that did you in?

His fingers come up to graze your ear gently, but you flinch, since it’s where he had cut you.

“Bunnies are always so sensitive to the ears. Fragile. It’s not like you can hop away. Besides, you need time to heal, and I could take away all the pain. No more mean fathers, no more mean bosses, and no more mean thoughts.” He says gently. “I could put you back together.”

His voice is soft, as if his intentions are as well, but you’re sure he’ll destroy you. He will not put you back together, only break you down, collecting tiny pieces of you for his collection.

You consider it. You would never have to work again. You would never have to do anything again. You would never have to see your father again.

You turn your head, and nod.

“Okay. Okay, I’ll stay.” It wasn’t as if you had a choice in the matter. But nonetheless, He grins, and takes the necklace from you, only to wrap it around your neck, and clasp it on.

Despite the rings being something you had longed for, the ‘M’ alone weighs on you like a boulder.

He tilts your head gently, his fingers brushing against your chin, and you look away, ashamed of what you have done. He grabs your chin and keeps you looking at him. He leans forward and for a moment you just stay, feeling his hot breath against your lips. Tears escape from your eyes and run down your cheeks. He tuts softly and kisses your cheeks where the tears lie.

“Sh, Sh.. It’s okay, sweetheart,” he comforts. His other hand trails down to your thigh, where two of his fingers find the stab wound, and push into it. You whimper in pain, grasping his wrist. He sighs deeply, “Pretty noises.” He hums. “I would never deny you anything, bun. But if you deny me what I ask, it won’t end well for you. Understand?”

You nod, but when you aren’t verbal, he pushes down harder, the bandage and his fingers soaking with blood.

“Tell me. Tell me you understand.”

“I understand, Matt.” You manage to whimper out. He takes his fingers away and kisses your cheek.

“Good. Good job, honey.” He says softly, bringing his fingers up to his mouth and licking your blood off them. “Sweet, sweet girl.”

He leans forward and kisses you, and it’s full of a gentleness you weren’t sure he was capable of. You kiss back, afraid of what he’ll do if you deny him again.

He winds up kissing you to sleep, not mad at you for falling tired as you kiss. You lay with him in these silk sheets, freezing cold as you cuddle into him. He relishes being wanted. You accept that this is love. He feels you shivering and pulls you closer.

His hands slip beneath your shirt, his fingers tickling the bottom of your torso. You whine when he does this, burying your head in the crook of his neck. He laughs, kissing your head.

“It’s alright, sweetheart. I’ll buy you blankets. Blankets, Diamonds, anything you want.” He tells you. You’re tired. You just want to nap. You want him to give you more of the drugs that dull the pain of your thigh, and you want to eat something homemade that you didn’t cook yourself.

You want to give in and remain thoughtless. Just be happy with him since no one is looking for you anyways.

But as you drift off to sleep, feeling his hands crawl along your skin, you begin to plan. You’ll let him think you’re in love with him. You’ll let him love you, fuck you, put you back together. You’ll be his bunny, his arm candy, his toy to dress up and do whatever the fuck he wants. You’ll let him think he owns you.

He’ll know that he does.

And you’ll become close to his friends too. You’ll dress in pretty dresses, and he’ll pretend he’s oblivious to how much everyone wants you.

 And then, when your wounds heal, you’ll run.

You’ll flee the country, you’ll change your name, dye your hair.

But you don’t yet realize how relentless he is. How deeply enamored of you he is. By how determined he is to have you.

Escaping the devil will not be as easy as you think it might, not when he can hear your heartbeat, not when he can smell you, not when he wants you.

And it doesn’t help when he gives you the honor of killing your father.

That’s when you start to fall in love with him.

#matt murdock x you #matt murdock #matt murdock fic #matt murdock angst #hurt/no comfort #matt murdock x reader #matt murdock smut #matt murdock dark #dark!fic #dark!matt murdock #matt murderdock #matt murdock imagine #matt murdock x y/n #matt murdock/you #daredevil #daredevil fic #daredevil fanfiction #daredevil netflix #daredevil x reader #kingpin matt #dead dove do not eat

[ilguna]

☼ hunter and the prey (Gale Hawthorne) ☼

summary; Gale's restless that he can't hunt while he's sick, so you take it upon yourself to help him out.

warnings; swearing, animal death. weapon use, ehh gore.

wc; 3.8k

–

In your time of dating Gale, there’s only been a few times where you can remember him getting sick. It doesn’t happen often, he’s got a strong immune system compared to most people. He’s also got a few siblings, which also might be a factor as to why he’s so resistant to the illnesses that spread around District Twelve.

Besides, he goes out of his way to be very careful with staying healthy. He doesn’t like being put out of commission, because that means he’ll fall behind on the routine that he’s worked so hard to perfect over the years. If there’s anything you know for sure about Gale, it’s the fact that he’s set in his ways, and he doesn’t like to change if he doesn’t have to. 

When you first started dating him, you thought that the two of you weren’t going to work out because of it. He didn’t have extra time to spend with you, because it was constantly filled with movement. He’s not really a fan of idle hands, which means he’d much rather find something to do instead of relaxing for even a minute.

It was a hard couple of weeks, until it clicked. You figured out that you had to fit yourself into his schedule somehow if you wanted to be with him, and you did. If you could be around him enough to develop feelings for him, then you could find a solution for this minor problem.

If he went to run errands, then you were on your feet to join him. You’ve been all over District Twelve, thanks to him. You never thought that you’d have to go inside of the Hob, because you manage to scrape by without it, but Gale brought you inside because of trading business. He introduced you to many people that knew him by name, and recognized your face from being around him often. 

And if he was babysitting his siblings for his mom, you were suddenly babysitting with him, too. It was the quickest way you could get them used to you. The good news is that they’re younger, and therefore impressionable. It didn’t take long before you were being hounded each time you came through the door.

The only time you try not to go with Gale is when he’s going outside of the fence, and it’s not because you’re afraid of what’s out there. You’ve gone out on a dare before, and separate times of your own free will to explore what’s out there. You used to sit in the middle of the woods with your sketchbook to draw out what you saw around you. If it weren’t illegal, you would’ve built yourself a house out there already and moved. 

The reason why you don’t go with Gale is because most of the time he’s going out there with Katniss. You met her a good handful of times prior to dating Gale, and now you see her all the time because they’re best friends. The last thing you want is to take away their hunting day, especially since you’ve managed to squeeze yourself into most of Gale’s week already. They can have a day together, and you’ll have to get over being bored for a few hours.

If you really wanted to go out there with Gale, all you’d have to do is ask, and he’d find a day where it would make the most sense. The two of you would have to clear your schedule, aim for a sunny day, and have a reason for going out there. And it usually ends with Gale hunting while you try to draw the deer before he kills it.

It’s not really appealing.

“How much did this medicine cost?” Gale asks hoarsely, holding up the glass bottle that you bought from the local medical shop. If you even stop foot into a doctors office to buy it, they’ll suck your soul from your body as payment.

You give Gale a look, “Don’t ask questions that you know will hurt your feelings.”

“I can’t accept this, then.” He places the bottle onto the table by his bed. “I told you not to buy me anything.”

“And I told you that I don’t care.” You smooth the hair out of his face, and then press the back of your hand to his forehead. He’s warming up again, you should grab him a cold rag. “If you don’t drink it, then my money’s going to waste.”

Gale sets his jaw, glaring at you. He knows that he’s already lost this fight, because that’s the last thing he wants to hear, that you’ve wasted your money on him. “Fine.”

You give him a slight smile, “I’ll go grab a spoon and another rag. Do you want me to get you a glass of water?”

“No, I’ll be fine without it.”

You get up from where you’re sitting on the side of the bed. You leave his room, heading down the hallway and to the living room, where Rory, Posy and Vick are playing. Hazelle’s in the kitchen, carefully chopping up the vegetables you bought for the soup that Gale will be eating later. You and her have decided not to tell him that it came from you. He’ll lose his mind if he finds out.

“Is he doing okay?” She glances at you.

You pull open the drawer that has the silverware, pulling out a spoon, “Yeah, he’s just mad that I got him the medicine.”

She lets out a laugh, “I told you he would be. I really do appreciate your help.”

“I know.” You smile at her, “I’m going to grab him another rag, he’s warming up again.”

“Dinner should be ready soon, are you going to stay?” She rests the knife against the cutting board.

“I wish I could, but I promised my mom I’d be home because she needs help cleaning the house. We’re having guests over.”

“Do you want to take any of the soup home?” Her eyebrows lift.

“No, it’s fine. I got everything for you, and it’s nice to have leftovers.” You smile, “I’m going to give him the spoon and leave the medicine here. It’s the strong stuff, but it should knock out most of the pain.”

“Thank you, (Y/n).” 

“It’s no problem.” You wave her off, heading to the bathroom. 

You wet a clean rag, making sure the water’s cold. You wring most of the water out until it’s damp, before leaving to go back to Gale. He’s sitting up on his bed now, looking over the bottle.

“Is this the sweet kind?” He asks, looking at you, “Tell me you didn’t spend that much on it.”

“No, because that would be lying.” You set the spoon down, and hand over the rag, “It's on-brand, that’s why it costs more.” 

You sit back on his bed, watching his face. He sets the vial back onto the table, “I’m going to be so behind on hunting. Katniss said she would do her best, but we’ve been having trouble catching anything lately.”

“That’s what I’m here for, right?” You ask, giving him a smile.

He shakes his head at you, “No, I don’t want you spending any more money on me. I’ll handle it.”

“How, Gale?” Your face twists, “You can’t go out there and hunt right now, the heat’ll kill you.”

“What other choice do I have?” 

“Stay in bed and heal.” You raise your eyebrows. “You push yourself too far, you know that? It’s the reason why you get brought down so bad when you get sick.”

“No, I’m used to it by now.” He looks away, “Tomorrow’s got to be the last day.”

You let out a sigh, straightening up, “Speaking of tomorrow, I won’t be in until late because I’ve got plans with my mom. I’ll come in as soon as I can.”

“How late?” His eyes are back on your face, “You expect me to stay in bed without you here?”

“You have your mom.” You laugh, “Shouldn’t be any later than noon. I don’t want you worrying if I come late, though.”

“No promises.” He says, sitting back against the pillows.

“I’ll see you tomorrow.” You smile, getting to your feet, “Your mom says that dinner will be ready soon, also.”

“See you later.” He places the rag on his forehead, head falling back as he closes his eyes.

You leave his room, sweeping the door behind you, but it doesn’t shut all the way in case he calls for Hazelle. You say goodbye to the kids on the way out, giving Hazelle a hug, promising to be back tomorrow.

The good news is that you don’t actually have plans with your mom tomorrow. You’re cleaning the house today for tomorrow because she’s the one that has plans. You, however, already decided two days ago that you were going to go beyond the fence for Gale.

This isn’t the first time he’s complained about not being able to hunt, and the fact that Katniss is going to try and catch him up. The both of you know she means it when she says that she’ll try. The issue is that she’s got a busier schedule, she’s watching her sister most of the time. And Primrose isn’t a fan of watching Katniss hunt.

Which leaves you, because you’ve got the mobility and experience of going outside the fence. You wish you could just give them the last of your savings for emergencies like this, but Gale will never forgive you for doing that. And money’s useful for a while, but he’s got a commitment to the people in the Hob, he’s got to trade with them instead of spending his money somewhere else.

You already know where Gale hides his bow, and the spots where he sets up his snares. You just need to follow the path and take your time with the arrows. He says you’re impatient with the bow because you watch him use it all the time, which is true. He’s able to aim and release within seconds, and you don’t want to wait for the perfect moment to shoot.

It’ll be a long day tomorrow.

—

You let out a yawn, not bothering to cover your mouth. Tears appear in your eyes for the hundredth time, you wipe them away. They’re little reminders that you’re up far too early and you would give anything to go back to bed right now.

You glance over your shoulder, checking behind you to make sure that no one is following you. When you go out of the fence, you’re not normally this paranoid. However, most of the time you’re carrying a sketchbook and colored pencils, not an empty bag, a hunting knife and lunch.

You’re going out for a completely different purpose.

There’s no one behind you. You creep up to the fence, getting close to listen for a few long seconds to make sure you don’t hear any humming. You’ve never seen the fence on before, but there’s a first for everything. You’ll be screwed if you get caught on the other side.

When there’s silence, you toss the bag between the gap of the wire, and then you pull the middle one up far enough for you to step through. You let go, reaching to grab your bag, watching as the wire bounces up and down. When you’ve got it secured on your body again, you begin to walk into the woods.

You follow the path that Gale walks, between a tree and a bush, through several patches of grass. Half a mile in, the land begins to dip, leading you down to the tree where Gale hides his bow. As for Katniss’ it’s a mile to the left to spread it out far. When they come to hunt, they don’t play around with chance.

You find the tree with the snarled root, weaving in the air before plunging back into the earth. The base of the tree has a small gap that undoubtedly holds all sorts of bugs. You hold your breath when you reach in, grabbing the bow, and carefully navigating it out. You have to go in again for the arrows that are leaned up on the inside.

You pull five out, which is more than enough for you. You’ll be lucky if you can even catch two without Gale here to guide you. You’re mostly banking on the fact that Gale’s snares have been successful with him gone. It’ll save you a lot of time.

Either way, you start heading in the direction of the first snare, being sure to keep an eye out for anything that might be hiding. It doesn’t take too long before you get there, and find your first rabbit. Gale has the snares set so that it strangles them, because he doesn’t like killing them himself. And it saves him time so he can move on quicker.

You untangle the bunny, pressing your lips together when you lift its limp body, before setting him inside of the bag. You reset the snare, one thing that you’re decently good at, before heading for the next one, further along the bank. Him and Katniss will pick up his bow, walk this path while he takes the rabbits, and then her bow is on the other side. And they like to hunt for hours after, too.

You watch nature come alive, the sun rising from the horizon. There’s nothing else to do. You’d hum to yourself, if you weren’t so afraid of getting caught out here. You also have to keep an eye out for unexpected hovercrafts. There’s been times where they’ve materialized out of thin air, scaring the shit out of you and Gale. 

The next snare is empty, so you continue going. However, you don’t make it far before you’re stopping dead in your tracks, and slowly lowering into a crouch behind a bush. You reach for one of the arrows that are resting inside of the bag, pulling it out, and lining it up on the bow.

A deer.

You’d have to get this shot perfectly to even entertain the idea of taking it down. If you so much as miss and hit its body, it’ll run too far for you to catch it. Gale will be down an arrow, and you’ll feel like an idiot for thinking you can take it down in the first place.

You pull the string back farther.

On the other hand, if you nail this shot, Gale won’t have to worry about coming out here for the next few days. The rabbits are nice and all, but people would go crazy for a piece of a fresh deer, let alone a whole one. It would take you so long to drag it back to the fence, and you’re not even sure how you’d be able to get it into town without people lunging for it, but the look on his face would be worth it.

You breathe carefully through your mouth, keeping the bow steady while you adjust when the deer moves. Its head dips, eyes disappearing. It can’t see you, which is exactly what you need. You’ve seen Gale take down a deer before, and after he told you it’s a hard thing to pull off with one arrow, but he did it.

Which means you can too.

You aim for a spot behind the lower shoulder, because that’s where Gale got, and it went down immediately. It’s hard to run when you’ve got an arrow through your weak spot.

The deer begins to move, you rest the string for a second, waiting to see how far it’ll move before it stops again. You prepare the arrow again, and freeze when the deer looks right in your direction. You can’t move, or it’ll run. They’ve caught onto the hunters in the woods.

Your arms begin to shake from the strain to keep them in this position. You’re about to give up and put it down, when the deer lowers its head again. And right after, you find the tuft of hair that you need to aim for. You fix the arrow, and then release it, watching it shoot through the air and impale the deer within seconds.

It miraculously hits the spot you were aiming for, and you take off after the deer, because its first instincts are to run when it’s hurt. It’s a pain in the ass to run uphill, especially when nature is whipping at you every chance it gets. You manage to keep sight of the deer, and that’s all that matters.

You lose track of how far you run, though, and how much time it takes to catch up to it. It collapses from losing too much blood, and when you catch up to it, it’s struggling to stay alive. You reach into the hunting bag to grab the knife, biting the inside of your cheek. You really, really don’t want to do this.

It takes you too long to muster up the heart to kill the deer, and you start the new journey of dragging it back to the bank where the snares are. You’re sweating and miserable, but you leave it there temporarily while you quickly go through the last of the snares. You pocket three more rabbits, and then go back to the deer.

You spend two hours dragging the deer back through the path you took to get down to the bank, depositing the arrows and bow back into the tree on your way. You leave the deer halfway in the treeline, where you’ll be able to find it.

You sprint out of the trees and to the fence, pausing briefly to make sure it’s quiet before you cross it. On the other side, you start running for Katniss’ house, hoping that she’s home, because she’s the only way this deer is going to get inside of District Twelve without you getting arrested.

You’re out of breath and soaked in sweat when you get to her house. She answers the door, leaving only a gap to see who it is, before she opens it fully. “(Y/n), is Gale okay?”

“Yes, he’s fine.” You gasp, coughing from the way the air tickles the back of your throat, “I went hunting for him, because he was worried.”

Katniss gives you a look of pure judgement and disbelief. You open the leather bag, showing her the dead rabbits inside. The expression drops, she nods, “Do you need help with the Hob?”

“I need help dragging in the deer I killed.” You say.

Katniss blinks, and lets out a laugh, “You didn’t kill a deer.”

“It’s dead with an arrow through its lungs right now. I got it to the treeline but we both know it’ll get torn apart the second I bring it inside. I need help.” You say.

“You’re serious.” She says, it’s not a question, “Give me a minute.”

She shuts the door, you back off of the porch, crossing your arms. It only takes her two or three minutes before she comes out, wearing her booths and the leather jacket she wears while hunting. She walks around to the side of her house, grabbing a wheelbarrow.

“This is the only way we can do it.” She says.

The two of you make the trek all the way back to the fence, where you tell Katniss why you decided to do this for Gale. It’s simple really, you want him to get better faster, and the only way that can happen is if he relaxes about the hunting problem. Katniss agrees, and then she tells you that you just did him the biggest favor.

At the fence, you bring Katniss to where you left it. She helps you get it to the fence, underneath it, and lifts it into the wheelbarrow. This is when she tells you that you have to bring it to Gale’s house. It’s significantly closer, and there you can get Gale so the three of you can bring it to the Hob, because it needs to be sold immediately.

While on the way there, Katniss inspects where you shot it, agreeing that you got it in the right place. You tell her how you chased the deer through the woods and she laughs at you slightly. 

“We’ll be set for the rest of the week.” Katniss says, “Assuming we’re splitting it.”

“Of course, you and Gale will split the winnings. It’s only fair.”

“You don’t want a part of it?” Katniss asks, “I’m sure you could get in good, too.”

“No, this is for you guys.”

When you get to Gale’s house, Katniss sends you inside so she can keep an eye on the animal. Hazelle answers the door, “He’s been worried sick about you.”

“I told him not to.” You sigh, going straight to Gale’s room.

You push the door open to find that he’s pulling on his shoes, face screwed while he does it, “I’m going, mom.”

“No need to.” You say, Gale’s eyes shoot up.

He gets to his feet, crossing the room and pulling you into a tight hug. He squeezes you against his body, “Where have you been?”

“I thought I told you to relax.” You laugh, head falling back to look at him.

He presses a kiss to your lips, holding you there for a minute, until he pulls away, “How could I? You’re late.”

“I think you’re delirious.” You laugh, backing away from the hug, “Come here, I want to show you something.”

“Is it an explanation?”

“More or less.” You pull him to the front door, where you can see Katniss on the other side, arms crossed over her chest.

“You were hanging out with Katniss?” He asks, ducking under the doorway. “Holy shit.”

“I think you’ve got a keeper.” Katniss muses, “Or we’ve got another partner.”

Gale looks at you, “You went hunting?”

“Well, yeah.” You shrug, “You were worried, so I went out and did what I could. I got four rabbits from your snares and reset them for you. And I found a deer along the way.”

“Found?” He asks, laughing, “You shot a deer? With who’s bow?”

“Yours, of course. I couldn’t imagine taking Katniss’.” You murmur, crossing your arms across your chest, “It took me for-fucking-ever to drag the deer through the woods. I had to get Katniss to help me.”

“Are we taking it to the butcher’s or the Hob?” He asks, looking at Katniss.

“Depends on where you think we’ll get the most from it. The butcher will take a portion, and then we can sell it for more at the Hob.” Katniss raises her eyebrows.

“We split it three ways?”

“Two.” You say, “Just you and Katniss, I don’t need it.”

Gale gives you a look, “We’ll save a part of it so we can eat it at my house, how about that?”

“Deal.” You smile.

#ilguna #gale hawthorne #gale hawthorne imagine #gale hawthorne fanfic #gale hawthorne oneshoe #gale gawthorne x reader #gale hawthorne x you #gale hawthorne x yn #gale hawthorne x y/n #gale imagine #gale fanfic #gale oneshot #gale x reader #gale x you #gale x yn #gale x y/n #thg #the hunger games #fluff #requested

[xexiar]

Character Analysis: Bakugou Katsuki. Part 1

As always: Disclaimer: This is for fun. I am not a professional psychiatrist, nor claim to be. These are my thoughts and opinions. If you do not agree, thank you for at least reading, but DO NOT comment!

——

Bakugo Katsuki from embodiment to conflict to acceptance.

When we first meet Katsuki we’re introduced to child who is told he is special. From the fact that he is smarter than his peers and his “quirk.” Based on both current real world and in universe society this is a harmful mindset to give a child.

Being told he’s “perfect” is a double edge sword. We are mainly informed about the ego effects of such concept. And as we interact with younger Katsuki we can see his ego goes unchecked. But the moment his beliefs is challenged is when he becomes conflicted.

This is a brief moment where we witness a more troubling reality he has. Because until now we see him always outside and not in places that has a huge adult interaction. Up until this point his only person of adult age is within school. So, he’s always alone. He’s put into a situation he has to define himself. Nobody is helping him.

What happens when you’re left alone? You would look for anything that would bring some sort of comfort. This is where I believe he attached himself to the persona of All Might. Besides being in a hero society, he gravitate to what makes him feel safe.

Now add this idealization of needing to be perfect. Every adult in your life repeatedly telling you the same thing. But what if he messes up. When being constantly praised when you did good then to suddenly have it all stop over something so small. A child would take this absolute rejection and would do everything they can to never feel that way again.

This is exactly what happened in the river. Everyone is praising and saying how Katsuki is fine. Saying how he’s the best and doesn’t need help. Then to be seen as not perfect, to be seen that you need help. The conflict behind his eyes was painful to watch. To question if he should accept he needed help or keep up the face that he’s perfect. He choose to keep face, because that’s all he knows.

And as he grows he has to deal with the pressure to stay perfect. It’s an  adrenaline rush to be seen and acknowledged. If he’s not in the spotlight he has to face the uncomfortably that comes from the quietness.

The only time we witness him being an aggressor is when he’s in a “pack.” Indicating this is not something he would do alone. This is another troubling sign of the whole concept of “perfection.” It’s all a performance.

The performance is showing his strength. Proving to everyone why is amazing. Which proves internally he does not feel this way. In fact, it points to his lack of self worth. The belief from childhood that if he’s not perfect than he’s worthless.

Now keep in mind up until he started going to UA he has been going to public school. Public schools are notorious breeding grounds for the pack mentality. Especially since it’s a way to keep yourself safe. It’s also a battlefield for survival. And with an unchecked structure system, it becomes a free for all. Even the teachers harm students.

Now, place a growing child who is pressured to be perfect. Because his self worth is attached to how people see him, especially adults. He has to preformed for not only his safety but for reassurance.

To have perfect grades. To have a perfect record. To be seen as the strongest. To be the absolute number one. These all stem from the belief that he has to be perfect.

But the core belief that drives him to be perceived as perfect is that he has to do it alone. Because nobody is going to help him. We see this time and time again that he does everything on his own. When he gotten bullied by older kids nobody came to save him. When he tripped and fell into the stream everyone was saying how he’s fine. The people around him keep enforcing he’s on his own.

Constantly being reminded perfection doesn’t need help. You are either born perfect or you’re nothing. Then to have a person who is said to be “nothing” still look at you as a person. It conflicts everything you been told. Even if Izuku wasn’t in the picture, these feelings would be present.

When he’s not preforming he’s still keeping a front.

Due to these beliefs of doing everything on his own and achieving perfection, he struggles hard to constantly be on top. To constantly be in this pressure and in the spotlight, he understands full what it takes to stay at the top.

And around this time he has become numb to empty praises. Which is another factor of him seeking to not just prove he’s perfect but to rightfully earn because off all his hard work.

The rejection to praise he did not earn.

So when he loses to Izuku, who has been proven to be physically weaker, it breaks him. Not in the sense of “I lost” but in the sense of “I failed.” Lost and failure are two different concepts to him. It’s proven that failing gives him extreme anxiety. Which hints at many levels of internal struggles.

Panic attacks.

———

Part 2 Part 3

#bakugo katsuki #mha #character analysis #fiction #psychology #personal observations #bnha bakugo katsuki #kacchan #embodiment #childhood #psychoanalysis

[allthingsencanto]

I’ve been wanting to say this for awhile, but if I’m being 100% honest, I absolutely LOVE that Mirabel didn’t give a shit about Isabela’s problems at first, and was only focused on saving the miracle during their confrontation. A lot of people have said how they didn’t like that, saying how Mira didn’t even care and thought that she didn’t even do anything to warrant Isa’s breakthrough or the candle glowing, but I disagree, and I’ll tell you why!

Now I will say that this is one of those situations where I felt the people who said this didn’t really take the time to really think about the situation, even if I respect their opinions. For starters, put yourself in Mirabel’s shoes. The movie is told through HER EYES, and for most of her life, she’s seen Isabela as this selfish perfect prissy princess. They’re polar opposites, Mirabel is goofy, imperfect, and a screw up, she got the bad end of the stick when she didn’t get a gift, and then you have Isabela, her perfect older sister who everyone looks up to, Abuela favors her, people fawn over her, and is pretty and perfect in every way. In Mirabel’s eyes, nothing bad ever happens to her, her life is a dream as Mirabel describes, and it ticks her off to see her sister living such a perfect life, while Mirabel herself is constantly struggling, constantly trying to prove herself and be cool. Most importantly, let’s not forget how Isabela had treated Mirabel throughout the film. I don’t think it’s a controversial take to say that she was very mean to her younger sister, even if you understood where she was coming from or felt sympathy. At the end of the day she still was mean, only breaking the relationship between the two further. You had Mirabel trying her best even if she fails from time to time, then there’s Isabela, who’s seemingly walking on air. You can tell these two haven’t had the best relationship in a good while, and what makes it worse is that they can’t even TALK it out to one another about it, due to the unhealthy system Abuela has created. As an audience member, when you keep all of this in mind, of COURSE Mirabel would get upset about having to hug Isabela, and not want to listen to her older sister’s problems, an older sister who she sees as a person who has no worries in the first place due to her image and actions. For me personally, it’s definitely one of those “You’re upset?? You literally have all you could want in the world, what else could you possibly need? What could you be upset about? What about me??!”- situations, and these are REAL life issues. In life when you have someone going through a hardship, there will be some people out there who either aren’t going to believe you, or more importantly, think they have it WORSE than the other, and see that the other person has no right to be upset. That’s just how it is sometimes, and as an audience member, people should be able to see WHY Mirabel acted the way she acted towards Isabela.

It’s true when people say that Mirabel only cared about saving the miracle, she cared about her family and wanted to do this, that’s what was on her mind at first, and she didn’t even care when Isabela confessed that she didn’t want to marry Mariano. HOWEVER, I don’t think this was a BAD thing, like a lot of people thought it was. People need to keep in mind that had the film showcased Mirabel immediately understanding and kind like she is with her other family members, it wouldn’t make any sense, and more importantly, that compelling lesson she needed to learn would have been erased, that said lesson being “Don’t assume that some people aren’t going through their own hardships no matter how they present themselves.” Isabela is still a human being despite her flaws, we ALL have our own problems in life at the end of the day, and that’s what Mirabel needed to learn. I for one LOVE this lesson, because it’s something society needs to learn. It’s a good lesson to teach kids, and most importantly, having Mirabel not care at first shows that she’s FLAWED. I’ve stated before that I love flawed characters, it shows that Mirabel is not one note, she’s a complex human being who will make mistakes, a human being who isn’t perfect and won’t act rationally herself from time to time even if she’s a sweet girl, and that’s a GOOD thing. Making your main protagonist 100% perfect and innocent sucks the fun out of everything because you want to identify with them as a PERSON, and make them feel real and fleshed out, like for example, even though Judy Hopps from “Zootopia” (Another Jared Bush and Bryon Howard flick btw) was sweet, kind, lovable and determined, she herself had flaws, the major one being that she found herself having a prejudice against predators, something she didn’t think she had and never WANTED to have. Seeing a likable character screw up, make mistakes, and LEARN from them is not a bad thing in the slightest! This makes it all the more satisfying when Mirabel DOES wake up and realize her sister had her problems as well, saying “You just seem like your life’s been a dream since the moment you opened your eyes. All I know are the blossoms you grow, but it’s awesome to see how you rise”- because it’s her expressing WHY she acted the way she acted, and that even though she’s only known her sister to be this flawless princess throughout most of her life, she’s happy to see her in a better state. Isabela NEEDED to lash out to someone, she NEEDED to argue with her sister because she’s never been able to express the frustrations about her struggles to ANYONE, and when she finally opens up, she realizes she’s capable of more than what she once was, which in MY eyes is a metaphor for how we can always improve, always heal and have a better outlook and understanding.

Lastly, people need to realize that even though Mirabel didn’t care at first, the candle didn’t burn bright for no reason. The candle burned bright not only because Mirabel pushed Isa to open up (even though it was unintentional), not only because Isa learned she could do more and didn’t need to be perfect, but because of Mirabel’s SUPPORT, her unconditional love. At one point in “What else can I do?”, Mirabel as said before states that it’s awesome to see her sister rise, and takes her hands. The two then head to the roof, Isabela planting plants everywhere, with Mirabel hyping her up, smiling, encouraging her to seize the moment and embrace her imperfections. After Isa does exactly that, getting her perfect dress covered in a variety of flower colors, she hugs her sister and says she owes this all to her. Not only did the candle burn bright after Isabela had her wakeup call, but it burned brighter because the relationship between Mirabel and Isabela changed, it IMPROVED. Mirabel now sees her sister as someone who’s imperfect, but someone who has their own struggles and can embrace who they are, instead of a perfect rich girl, and despite their quarrels, she still LOVES her sister, and is happy for her. Isabela now views her sister as a wonderful helpful person, instead of a screwup who has no responsibilities. Now don’t get me wrong, I’ll make a separate post regarding Isabela as a whole, because I do have some things to discuss when it comes to her and how she treated Mirabel, but the fact of the matter is, people really need to keep this all in mind when they complain about Mirabel not caring, or Isa having a breakthrough and the candle healing for no reason! That’s all I have to say for now, I’ve talked quite a bit, but I hope I gave some insight, and if not, hopefully you can see where I’m coming from! I love the relationship between these two at the end of the day, because their petty sister dynamic feels 100% real and accurate, as well as the movie teaching you that you never can fully see what the other person is feeling, even if they are our own family members, and present themselves as the opposite. Remember, everyone is human, everyone struggles in one way or another, but that doesn’t mean they have to go through it alone. Thanks for reading! 🌺🌸💕🦋🦋

#encanto #jared bush #walt disney animation studios #disney’s encanto #lin manuel miranda #mirabel madrigal #walt disney #bryan howard #disney animation #family madrigal #isabela madrigal #encanto analysis #encanto isablea #what else can I do #encanto movie #encanto rant #encanto mirabel #alma madrigal #sister dynamics #Disney #encanto disney #encanto characters #zootopia #musicals

[americanphancakes]

I wanna talk about my mind for a little bit

I was gonna save this until after I posted the last Wingless Angel chapter but I can’t post it yet. Pretty sure my mind wants me to get this out of my system first.

So hi everyone, how are you? How have you been? Honestly if you’re still following at all I’m delighted.

I don’t want this to come across as some excuse for all the unfinished fanfic I left behind 3+ years ago, which is why I wanted to publish WA first, so I hope you don’t take it that way. But I ended up stumbling upon an aspect of my mental health that I’m still trying to address and since I never really saw anyone post or talk about my particular issue before very recently, I wanted to share it in case it resonates with anyone.

(Clearly stuff has changed, this is where I'd normally put a "read more" but.... I guess that's not a thing anymore?? Hopefully this isn't a huge annoying wall of text on everyone's dash, oof.)

I’ve posted before about my ADHD. I’ve been getting treatment for it for 10 years now, and for all that time, medication & other coping mechanisms have been helpful to a point, but only to a point. There was still something left that was keeping me from functioning, and I couldn’t tell what it was. All I knew was that I had no will of my own, and I’d spent the last 10 years trying to create situations where the people in charge were asking (or implying that i should do) things I considered good to do. “People in charge” meant anyone besides myself. If someone was not me, they automatically had authority, simply by virtue of being someone external to me.

I did a lot of research trying to find something that matched up with my experiences & feelings, even partially, and I looked into things like PDA autism and even just the people-pleasing habits common with other ADHD folks.

At some point, with therapy, I did learn how to say “no” to other people’s demands of me. I learned to set boundaries. But I was still profoundly uncomfortable with dictating what I was going to do, especially if anyone else was ever going to be aware of it.

When I was a little kid, i was told “no” constantly, and that’s not hyperbole. I’ve cited the story many times of falling in love with the violin when I was 9 but immediately being told “No, you’re going to play the flute.” So I played the flute, but without any passion for it I couldn’t figure it out and I quit, and my mom never stopped making me feel guilty about it. But that wasn’t the only example of that kind of thing. I wanted to play soccer; mom said play basketball, so I played basketball. I wanted to play piano; mom bought me a guitar and my sister got the electronic keyboard. (We eventually switched, but I never felt like I could fully commit to playing the thing). I wanted to learn Spanish or Japanese in high school; mom told me to learn French, so I took four fucking years of French.

My feelings and wishes were effectively not a factor in what I was allowed to do, what goals I was allowed to pursue, unless I was staying in my room and out of everyone’s way (and even then I had to make sure I jumped up to do what was asked of me if I got called from another room). Eventually I learned, as a survival mechanism, to just obey. It wasn’t worth fighting anymore because I was systematically robbed of my individuality at every turn. Something happened when I was 13 that I will never talk about publicly and she played "good parent who has her kid's back" for about 5 minutes before siding with the bad guy. I brought it up years later and she was mad I'd never gotten over it. And all that is on top of being raised to be a "good little capitalist drone" who needs to be perfect and efficient at all times. I was never supported. I was never given grace. So I never gave grace to myself, because if your own parents don't give you grace & time to learn and be flawed, then clearly you don't deserve any, right?

I finally cut my mother out of my life not long after the pandemic began, a few months after having gone no-contact from my father (mostly due to his casual racism & transphobia, which cost me at least one very close friendship when I was a kid, and was unkind to my child in a way I could not abide). My immediate family - spouse and kid - are the only family I have left now. And it sounds tragic on paper, because it is, but until I finally got away from my mother's voice in real life I couldn't filter through the recordings of her voice in my mind so I could finally throw them away. And that knot is still being untied. Honestly this is 10 years into a very long mental health journey, when you think about it, but I wish I'd cut my mom out of my life a very very long time ago. I wasn't angry about lost time when I got my ADHD diagnosis. I was angry about it when I realized that yes, this had been abuse, and I hadn't been courageous enough to get away from it sooner.

Because that dehumanization resulted in me having no will power of my own, and that extended as far as simply not wanting anything anymore. I like things, sure, but anything I WANTED for myself was out of the question, especially if it involved other people in any way, but honestly even solo pursuits became impossible for me to will myself to do. For right now, when I have something I want to do, I'm telling my friends & husband to order me to do it. Because I won't do it otherwise. And it's a potentially dangerous workaround, but it's all I have for now. I and my therapist are hoping that once my brain registers that what other people are telling me to do is aligned with what I want to do, maybe it won't depend on other people's commands anymore and I'll just take control of my own life for once. But that may not work. I'll have to wait and see.

So what does this have to do with my abandoned fics? Well, it had started to become more difficult to write because the adhd "shinyness" was wearing off anyway, but I'd been doing a good job of pushing past it because people liked what I was writing. I could see my skill getting better, and engagement was going up, and that was really motivating. But then... I stopped writing fic all of a sudden because someone made a post about finding it shitty when writers wrote about COVID in their fics, and.... that was sort of a last straw that broke me, because I do exactly that in the last WA chapter. So I just turned tail and ran away. I tried to push through and write & publish the chapter anyway, because it was the LAST chapter and I knew people were waiting on it, but I just couldn't bring myself to do it. Even having OSBB obligations didn't get me writing again, and given that obligation, the shame I felt about not having finished those stories weighed on me so badly that I couldn't even interact with you guys on Instagram, despite you having been so kind to me in the past. Let's face it, that goes WAY beyond adhd rejection sensitivity, that's a trauma response. I saw one bit of honestly well-reasoned critique of work that wasn't even mine, and I just ran. Immediately I felt like I was no longer allowed to take up space here. I felt unwelcome here in this corner of the internet world, just as I have always felt like I wasn't allowed to take up space in the physical world for almost my ENTIRE life. And the shame I already feel about myself normally was compounded by what I felt was a cowardly thing to do, which prevented me from returning. Now that I've accepted that, yes, I am an abuse victim whose life has been MASSIVELY and MAJORLY affected by that childhood trauma, I'm finally able to address it properly. Over the last few weeks I've been changing the direction of my therapy and my self-talk (reparenting yourself is HARD) and I'm feeling some improvement, but progress isn't linear so my burst of motivation the other night fizzled out, and I'm genuinely sorry for that.

So... yeah, I'm trying to come back and get those fics finished. I'm grateful for any of you willing to be patient with me. Consciously I KNOW I deserve any support willingly given to me by any of you, but I FEEL like I don't. So yeah. Thanks. <3

#long post #me irl #i'm sure i had a tag for original posts but i dont' know wtf it was #it's been awhile #I'm too damn old to already have so many regrets #i'm mourning a lot of goals i had once that are no longer options #or even things i'm not as interested in doing anymore #like i'm still sad i didn't do them in the first place even tho i don't wanna do them now #but some stuff i really do want to do #and i hope to regrow my childhood will power soon enough that i can do them #cuz yeah there is a proper midlife crisis going on now #i am halfway to death if i'm lucky #and my life has never been my own #so i'm trying to seize it back but it is really hard to do #I feel like tumblr is the only site that would know where this post is coming from #anywhere else i know it'd just be seen as a sob story excuse or something #i mostly just wanted anyone who's been an abuse victim in a similar way to realize that that's what it is #because i resisted accepting it for so long #and it cost me so much time

[allthingsfangirl101]

TOS Chapter 26: New Life

Masterlist

Six Months Later

Hawkins was slowly recovering from the last year. The kids were healing and the town was rebuilding. The only person who wasn't moving on was Steve. The video store reopened and he and Robin went back to work, but he felt stuck. He went through his days, going to work and checking on the kids.

Steve started carpooling the kids to school, dropping them all off before heading to work. He'd then pick them up after his shift and take them back to his house or to one of theirs. He did this so he could spend time with them but also because he was hoping their stories and chatter would distract him.

It didn't work.

As much as he tried to distract himself, nothing worked. He was constantly thinking about Alice. He hasn't stopped thinking about her since she left Hawkins.

He knows she's been on her own before but it felt different watching her go. He felt guilty being surrounded by his friends, knowing that Alice was alone.

Steve unlocked the video store and turned off the alarm system. He got the store ready for opening, his thoughts never drifting from Alice. As he restocked the returns, he noted numerous movies that he would love to watch with Alice in his arms. As he put away the order of new candies, he slowed down as he put Alice's favorite away.

"You look like you're a lost lovesick puppy."

Steve turned around to see Robin walking into the store. She tossed her bag onto the counter as she jumped over it and landed next to him.

"It's about Alice, isn't it?" She said gently. "Steve, if you really miss her, why don't you try to reach out to her?"

"Because I have no idea where she is," he sighed as he put down the now-empty box. "And I have no idea how to reach out to her to check on her. It's driving me crazy, Robin."

"Can I ask you something that will probably make you angry?" She sighed as she hopped onto the counter and playfully kicked her feet.

"Doesn't really matter what I say so sure," he mumbled as he ran his fingers through his hair.

"Look," she started, "it was pretty obvious, to all of us, that you care about Alice. And yet. . ."

"Yet what?" Steve pushed.

"Yet you let her leave without fighting." Robin jumped off the counter and walked over to him. For the first time since Steve met Robin, she hesitated to speak her mind.

"Just say it, Robin."

"You've fought demogorgans, demodogs, Russians, and Vecna. You walked into every fight, not focused on how scary or how crazy all of this was. You focus on the safety of those around you. You never hesitate to put your life in danger, to fight whatever comes your way for your friends. But you didn't fight for a girl? It doesn't make sense, Steve."

"I asked her to stay," Steve tried to defend himself. "Multiple times. I practically begged her, but every time I did, she told me we would never work. She said it was pointless. She claimed that she couldn't just walk back into her old life, acting like nothing was wrong."

"Like she didn't die and come back to life?" Robin sighed before continuing, "She wasn't wrong, Steve. Alice died years ago. She can't have a life in Hawkins."

"That doesn't mean she couldn't have a life with me," he cut her off. Robin stared at him but he couldn't keep eye contact. Steve looked away, hoping to find something to busy himself with.

"Steve," she said gently, "you have a tendency to take care of people without a second thought."

"So what?" He asked, his anger building, "I take care of people. Why is that a bad thing?"

"I don't think that the reason she pushed you away was because she couldn't live here in Hawkins," Robin clarified. "I think Alice was pushing you away because she wasn't used to someone taking care of her without a second thought. She wasn't used to having someone jump to help her whenever she needed it. And that's what you did, Steve. You never hesitated to take care of her. No matter the risks to yourself. It scared her."

"I didn't mean to scare her," Steve mumbled. "I just. . . I wanted. . ."

"You wanted to take care of her," she finished for him. "There's nothing wrong with that, Steve. Nothing about how you treated Alice was wrong. She just wasn't used to it and didn't know how to respond to it."

Steve angrily turned around but didn't walk away. Without turning back toward Robin, he asked, "What do I do?"

When she didn't respond, he turned toward her and asked again, "What do I do, Robin? How do I fix this?"

"I don't think you can," she said, dropping her voice. She started to walk away but stopped. She turned around with a small smile on her face. "All you can do, Steve, is hope that she realizes the mistake she made and comes running back to you."

"You really think she'll come back?"

"She should," Robin shrugged. "No one in the world would take better care of her than Steve "the babysitter" Harrington."

                                * * * * *

Steve took the closing shift so Robin could go to a movie with Vickie. He spent the rest of the night restocking the candy shelf, checking movies back in, and helping customers find something to watch for the weekend.

All the while, never thinking about anything other than Alice Creel.

After work, Steve went and helped the Wheelers take some stuff to the school clothing and supply drive. They had just finished their third load and had returned to the house to take the final stack of boxes.

When they were done, the kids asked if Steve wanted to hang out. He declined, making up a list of chores he needed to do at home. Instead of watching the kids play D&D and argue about their strengths, Steve spent the rest of Friday night busying himself at home. He cleaned his room, the kitchen, and the entire downstairs area, and got started on cleaning the basement before forcing himself to go to bed.

Steve woke up the next morning and went to the video store. After the last couple of months, he was willing to take the full-day shift every day. They didn't get business first thing in the morning or throughout the day. He'd get a few customers at lunch, a couple more in the afternoon, and a larger group in the evening.

At the end of the day, he locked up and headed home. He pulled into his driveway, not entirely sure how he'd gotten there. He turned off the car and leaned his head back against the headrest. He closed his eyes and took a slow, deep breath.

As much as he wanted to, he couldn't sit there all day. He opened his eyes, suddenly hit with a feeling of being watched. He looked toward his front door, not believing what he was seeing.

"Alice?"

Steve got out of his car, barely breathing when he saw Alice standing on his doorstep.

"I'm liking the vest," she chuckled as she walked down his steps. "But I would kill to see that sailor uniform that Robin said you guys wore when you worked in the. . ."

Steve cut her off as he ran to her, grabbed her face, and pressed his lips to hers. Alice wasn't at all caught off-guard. She smiled into the kiss as she slid her hands up his chest and wrapped her arms around his neck. He let go of her face and wrapped his arms around her waist.

Alice giggled, slightly breaking the kiss, when Steve picked her up and spun her around. They finally broke the kiss as he gently put her back on her feet. Their foreheads were pressed together as they caught their breaths.

"I didn't know if I'd ever see you again," Steve whispered.

"I'm sorry," Alice said softly as she slowly leaned back.

She kept her arms wrapped around him but didn't look up at him. She focused on her shoes as she tried to remember the speech she worked on the entire drive here. As she gathered her courage, she slowly looked up and into his eyes.

"Steve," she said under his breath, "I'm sorry I left. I was scared and I didn't know. . . I've never. . . I'm sorry, Steve."

"I accept your apology."

Alice let out a sigh of relief but it quickly got caught in her throat when Steve added, "On one condition."

"What?" She stuttered.

"Promise me that you'll never leave me again," he said, sounding as if he was begging her. "And if you have to leave, you let me go with you. Please, Alice. I don't care where we are. I care about being with you. And I will do whatever it takes to be with you. I'll go anywhere you want. I'll take whatever little job I can find wherever we go. I would leave everything behind for you."

"Why?" Alice couldn't help but ask. "You'd leave your home, your family, your friends? All for me? Why?"

"Because I love you, Alice Creel."

Alice grabbed Steve's face and smashed her lips to his. She felt him smile as he kissed her back. She couldn't help the moan that escaped as he tightened his arms around her and pulled her closer to him. Before they could get too lost in their kiss, Alice broke away and leaned her nose against his.

"I love you too, Steve Harrington."

The End

#TOS #The Other Survivor #orignal content #steve harrington #steve harrington book #Stranger Things season 4 #joe keery

[ina-nis]

“It’s great you feel comfortable enough to share with everyone here!”

I do not! I feel like I don’t have a choice!

It’s a cry for help.

And I’m not being listened to.

I’m begging to be seen, begging to be witnessed, validated and reassured, but the help and support I receive is so detached and impersonal it ends up making me feel so much worse.

I’m putting myself out there. I’m reaching out however I can. I’m making myself vulnerable and approachable by sharing my story, showing my truth unfiltered, showing how I’ve been working towards bettering myself, too. I’m sharing the joy and the pain, it can’t get any more transparent or clear than that and yet...

The way I feel their comfort is so disconnected... because I keep on looking for things they cannot give me...

Even here!

Deep inside, I expected “maybe I’ll find some people I can get close to”. It’s been an year (and several years on my other blogs). There’s nothing. I know it’s not because I’m doing the wrong things or anything like that, I’m not.

It’s just that this is the wrong place to find what I’m looking for, huh? The right places are wrong for me, or so it seems.

What am I supposed to do?

What else can I do? What else should I say?

Heed to my cry for help. I’ve told you what I want, what I need, the things I’m struggling with, the things I’m working on.

I know I’m deserving of love, of lust even. I keep fighting internally, yelling at myself that this is not my fault and it’s not like I’m undesirable or unlovable - I know that’s a lie - I know the issue is that I’m probably looking in the wrong places and maybe for the wrong people but... there’s no such thing, is there?

It can happen anywhere with anyone at any point.

So what has to change is the way I look into things, huh?

And this is where things always get so frustrating... for example: of course the way I feel their comfort is so disconnected, it’s because I keep on looking for all the things they can’t give me! I just need to think about all the things they can actually give me! So simple!

Isn’t that a form of avoidance though?

Yes, sure, let me just focus on the things they can give me (that I already know they can and are not the things I am looking for) and that way, magically, I will not feel these awful feelings that are rotting me from the inside out.

Oh, so that’s called “reframing” or “looking on the bright side” or something along those lines?

It feels like avoidance because it is.

I avoid my loneliness to focus on something else while still lonely. It’s no wonder it doesn’t work.

“It’s because you’re so focused on being lonely/on your loneliness.”

I’m not. I’m constantly trying to focus on literally anything else but this. And what happens when you avoid something that affects you a lot? It gets more entrenched and feels even more intense...

Then the dialogue becomes more about how I can “embrace” or “accept” this, to which I retort: I love solitude, it recharges me and a very high percentage of my life and passions revolves around solitary activities, things I can do by myself. I have already accepted it, I have embraced it fully, it doesn’t make it any less painful or soul-crushing.

Ironically, I feel like the reason and hope I’m holding onto solely - regarding me being unable to “accept” a solitary life and give up on my longing and love, and literally stop struggling and swimming against the current - is the fact that I know, have witnessed, have lived with people who are awful, abusive and severely mentally ill who made little effort to improve. They have relationships! They have a support system, they have something to call family, intimacy and whatever else I’ve been seeking for so long.

I keep thinking if a person like that, if people like that can have all these things even though they’re absolutely fucked up why can’t I?! When I’m actually putting so much effort in treatment and improving my life for myself and to able to connect with others.

I can only imagine the types of relationships I’ll obtain as someone who is healing and trying to move forward and be better. They’ll be good ones.

That stuff gives me hope I’ll find someone for me. If they found someone for them, there will be someone for me too.

It’s probably a matter of time.

I’ll keep on crying for help. I’ll keep on reaching out, showing the joy and the pain. I’ll keep on doing what I can. I’ll keep on asking for what I need.

I’m doing the right thing.

I have to believe it.

#avpd #avoidance #avoidant #avoidant personality disorder #loneliness #inanis post

[scary-senpai]

Hello! I once read your post about Bang's red flags and it was very eye-opening to me 'cause I liked his char and chose to ignore all his behaviors 😩😩 Thank you very much!🤝🌷🌷

Oh, thank you so much for writing, lovely Internet Stranger! I’m assuming you’re talking about the one from my main blog, “Bang is made almost entirely of out red flags" ^_^ You probably are, because that's literally the title... But I know I've posted about him on here, too.

I think the "red flags" essay was the first fandom essay I ever wrote? I think I hammered it out at some wee hour of the morning and went to bed fully expecting OPM-Tumblr to come for my kneecaps during the night. I was pleasantly surprised to see that most people seemed to enjoy/appreciate it.

So, I’m glad you enjoyed my essay, but I didn’t intend to guilt you or make you feel wrong for liking a particular character. I do my best to keep my language at least somewhat neutral and not to be too harsh about anything, but I’m certainly not out to yuck anybody else’s yum. Also, when it comes to the “constantly beating your disciples thing”… I sometimes wonder if I’m being too harsh considering the piece of media. By and large, the audience is here to open up a beautifully inked can of whup-ass, not to watch an estranged disciple hug it out with his former mentor (although there’s certainly a highly invested/very vocal subset that is dying to see that).

I think it’s definitely okay to like a character even if they aren’t exactly a role model (or even if they’re the opposite of a role model)—I feel like that’s sometimes the point, actually. We can dissect behavior in fiction to an extent that we can’t in real life, so it’s a low-stakes place to talk about human behavior and gain insights applicable IRL. I appreciated Bang’s character more after I put all the pieces together. I mean, which is a more interesting story? Bang is the perfect mentor, and Garou goes down a dark path anyway? Or Bang does his best to help Garou but makes some notable missteps, and perhaps comes painfully close to getting it right, only to fall victim to a longstanding character flaw—I don’t know, maybe losing his temper at a time when Garou most needed compassion and patience? The second example is more interesting, I think—it gives us something to talk about.

I try to own up to my own bias, because I do find myself projecting a lot of my own emotions on Bang and Garou’s relationship. Around the time I started watching OPM, I had transitioned out of my long-time job in a rather toxic environment. It was my first real job out of school, and I worked for 7 years under someone who was very brilliant and had overcome some of the same obstacles that I did, but unfortunately he was also quite angry and downright manipulative at points. I stayed for a long time because I didn’t know any better, and I’m still kind of untangling that, honestly. He taught me a lot about systems, operations, and human behavior, and all of the skills I learned are fine as long as you use them in a neutral way--my boss was just super mean about everything. (He had mostly worked in high-stress finance jobs although we were in healthcare/human services, and I assume he was just carrying out the cycle of abuse when he told me things like: "if you worked for me at JP Morgan, you could get fired for making a mistake like this." ...And my mistake was double-sided copies instead of single-sided ones. Like, I am a salaried employee working 60+ hours per week, and I am still barely making rent, my guy. For JP Morgan money I will gladly eat your files instead of shredding them.) In any case, I feel a little conflicted when I pull these lessons out, even if I’m using them differently… like, "ugh, ex-Boss, why did you have to be so mean and so brilliant and so right all time..." It almost seems a bit like the scene where Garou pulls out Fist of Flowing Water Crushing Rock on the Tank-Toppers because he has no other choice. So actually, instead of thinking back to my ex-mentor I try to think of that scene instead ^_^ it saves me dredging up something unpleasant.

#one punch man #opm #meta #bang #eventually he went on medical leave and I ended up running pretty much the whole company #I made really good money towards the end *but* still way less than I should have been #which actually kinda f*cked them over because they didn’t think they had the budget to replace me #and because the pay scale was messed up junior roles in another location still made more than me when you controlled for cost of living #I managed to fix *the entire payscale* before resigning but you know #nobody’s going to suddenly get paid less just because I got butthurt over salary #anyway he messaged me on LinkedIn last year #and he said ‘you’ll always be executive director to me’ (because the most sr title I got was assistant ED) #even though we did not have a functional ed for years #so I blocked him and I still feel bad even though I shouldn’t #I am optimistic that I will recover from all this some day #now I work for therapists :) #10/10 would highly recommend #a significant pay cut but my day ends at 5 #I can’t put a price on working for reasonable people that value ethical decisions #it’s very much ‘your money or your life’ sometimes

[percontaion-points]

Firstlife chapter 15

Today’s review might be difficult for some; reader discretion is advised

Click to see the rest of the snark & image descriptions

Chapter 15

“Without us, you have nothing.” —Myriad

This line taken directly from the “abusive boyfriend” handbook. 

“How can one girl be the tipping factor in the war? How can one girl decide the winner?”

A tense pause. “How about we pretend there’s only here and now?”

According to a lot of reviews on goodreads, not one single reason for the war is ever actually provided. 

The fact that Killian can’t/won’t answer should have been a huge sign that something was wrong with the overall plot of this series. 

At the sides of the table are nine kids; most look to be under sixteen. Two of the boys—twins—can’t be older than thirteen. 

“Meet our Generals. They weren’t ready to ascend to their roles, but after their mentors were slaughtered, they had no choice.” 

Nine kids...and I’m to be the tenth.

Again highlighting how fucked it is to have a military system set up like this. 

Why are there no adults in charge? Why doesn’t the king step up and say “Hey Bob, you’ve been here for 150 years now. You’re now a general.” Not a literal child!

“Our King and Queen,” Killian says with unmistakable awe. 

“The King...he kind of looks like...” 

“Archer. Yes.” Bitterness has displaced his awe. “Archer is one of his many sons. One of his biggest disappointments.” 

Wait. Stop. Go back. “Archer’s dad is the King of Myriad?”

[...]

What drove Archer to give up his parents and his realm? 

I’m going to throw out into the void, if only because I’ve been down this road before, but I’m betting that Archer’s father was too busy running the war effort to give a shit about any of his children. And when he was paying attention, he was probably a verbally abusive shitfuck who constantly rubbed every tiny mistake into Archer’s face. Probably about 75/25 for physical abuse/not. Leaning more towards, if only because this book opened on waterboarding a teenage girl. 

Then he goes quiet, and that’s even scarier. “I’m not. And now I’ll prove it.” He raises the gun and— Boom!

Chapter 15 summary: Ten is startled to see Killian and runs outside of the Troika safety bubble without thinking about it. By the time she gets out there, Killian isn’t there, but there are two other Myriad shells. Right as I’m starting to wonder if it wasn’t a trap, Killian actually does show up. 

He takes her into a nearby tent, where he feeds her strawberries, and insists on showing her more of Myriad. She’s like “This isn’t propaganda if he actually has feelings for me!” Because somehow in her mind, those two things are randomly incompatible. 

So he shows her a bunch of stuff, including where he lives. One of the shots is of the king and queen; as mentioned, the king is Archer’s father. (He doesn’t say that it’s Archer’s MOTHER, only that the king is his father.) That Archer grew up in Myriad, but then betrayed everybody and signed Troika when he came of age; it’s a huge embarrassment to the king. 

He continues on and shows the 9 war generals, and Ten would be… well. Number ten. Much like me, Ten does not understand why literal children are in charge, or how one person could drastically tip the scales to win a war that’s been going on for millenia. 

Ten then insists on seeing James, so Killian shows her. Except that what she sees is basically derogatory “boys being boys” talk between James and two other men. Ten is sickened, but mostly angry with herself that she fell for his ruse. 

She mentions that Archer told her about Dior, and Killian tries to convince her to sign by saying that she can put in a loophole to save Dior. Ten is put off by that, and tries to turn his shell off randomly. He refuses to be shut down, and knocks her to the ground while mocking Archer’s fighting ability. One of the other Myriadians from the start of the chapter shows up with a gun, insistent that Ten was attacking Killian. He gets angry at this coworker of his, and shoots her. 

#Firstlife #Everlife series #chapter 15 #shitty society is shitty #Killian Flynn #Tenley 'Ten' Lockwood #shitty writing is shitty #What Is Happening #what is this even #what is this bullshit? #Archer Prince #how predictable

[redrobin-detective]

love language

“Ben,” the voice said softly, “wake up.” It was familiar in a way Ben couldn’t put his finger on. 

“No, mom,” Ben groaned, “five more minutes.”

“Not Mother,” the voice said with an amused huff. “Been longer than five minutes, worried now,” it continued on awkwardly. Ben frowned, confused by the situation. He opened his eyes and sat up to assess what was going on. At least that was what he tried to do.

“Woah,” he gasped as he found he couldn’t move much at all. He didn’t really have sensation or form, there was nothing around him to see and no eyes he could use to see anything with. Ben felt like his brain was spread thin, like cream cheese on a bagel, making every thought feel strange and disconnected. “Where am I?”

“Safe,” the voice soothed and Ben couldn’t help but believe. “Always safe with me. We’re away from attack now, recover here for Grandpa Max or Cousin Gwen to find us.”

“Us?” Ben fumbled as he added up the words in his head. “Wait, you’re the Omnitrix, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” the voice - which now that he was listening Ben recognized as his own just a slightly different pitch and intonation - said happily. “And you are Master, Ben Tennyson.” 

“So wait, am I inside the watch?” Ben asked. That would explain his lack of a body, his whole brain was just floating around inside the alien device. It was weird and a bit scary, no wonder Ghostfreak didn’t like it. “Are you in my body?”

“Sorry,” the Omnitrix said almost apologetically, “was necessary. You were unconscious, your life threatened. Had to access your nervous system to get you to safety. Switch back now?”

“No wait, not yet, I wanna talk some more,” Ben pleaded. “Could you always do this? I feel Azmuth would have shadowbanned me ages ago if he knew he could.”

“This was an emergency, we will always do what is necessary to save the Master’s life.” the Omnitrix responded, it’s words coming more naturally now that it was getting used to it. Ben could practically feel the device flicking through his knowledge language and vocabulary to better communicate. It should feel invasive and yet somehow wasn’t. “And Creator does not get an opinion on the Master.”

“Harsh,” Ben responded back, “what do you got against Azmuth? He did make you, helps fix you when I mess up even though he doesn’t have to.”

“Creator tried to separate us,” the Omnitrix bit back harshly. “He lied to Master, drugged you and attempted to remove me from your person. It did not ask either of us, simply decided a child could not handle the responsibility.”

“Woah,” Ben had gone to Galvan Prime many times, fallen asleep quite often. How many times had Azmuth tried to take the device from him?

“Only once,” the Omnitrix chimed in as if reading his thoughts which, oh, it probably was. Weird. “We shocked him to unconsciousness, to prevent him from trying again. We will not be separated.” 

“Protective, aren’t you?” Ben chuckled awkwardly. It was one thing to know Azmuth wanted to remove the watch, it was another to realize the watch wouldn’t let that happen.

“You are the Master,” it said fondly, “We love you, more than anything in the omniverse. We would watch it all burn if it meant keeping you safe.”

“What?” Ben asked flustered. His parents said they loved him constantly, same with Grandpa and Gwen. But this felt different. “Why? Like seriously, why me? I’m 16 years old and I’m just as much a mess as I was at 10.”

“We...” it paused as if thinking. There was a vague feeling of moving and Ben wondered what the watch was doing in his body. “We can’t explain, Master was just right.” 

“Many wanted to claim us,” the Omnitrix continued. “For many Earth years, we were pulled across the universe, searching for the perfect host. Creator grew tired of the debates, the lies, the deaths that followed and eventually abandoned us. It told us to choose wisely who could use our power. Kings and warriors and scientists demanded it and still we did not relent. None were worthy until you.”

“Seriously?” Ben questioned, “I was like a C student with unmanaged ADHD and about 4 complexes stuffed in a trench coat. Plus we met on accident, Xylene was trying to send you to Grandpa.”

“We like Grandpa Max,” the watch hummed, “but he is too much of solider. Sometimes he even forgets your his family. When the pod opened and we scanned you, we only found your curiosity and wonder. You were the first being to look upon us without ulterior motives. It was, nice.”

“I get that,” Ben mumbled to himself, more than used to everyone in his life expecting something or other from him. 

“We, too, were curious about you. Creator did not add human DNA in our storage. He only cared for relevant species at the time, Earth and it’s people were as alien to us as we were to you.”

“Is that why you latched on?” Ben asked again. 

“Partially, we knew were under attack and needed some manner of escape. It wasn’t going to be forever but we found we liked you; your bravery, your creativity, your love... it inspired us. You went from Host to Master and we bonded more permanently.”

“Huh,” Ben said thoughtfully. “I never really realized you were alive, that you chose me.” He chuckled sadly, “I turned out to be kind of a disappointment, huh?” 

“No,” the watch responded forcefully, enough to startle Ben out of his dark thoughts. “We love you, all of you. All your successes and failures, flaws and strengths, we love them all. We are one in the same, bonded in entirety. We will spend the rest of your days together and when your natural death comes, we will die too. There will be no Master after Ben.”

“So even when I’m just messing around...” Ben asked, changing topics from that heavy comment.

“You taught us how to play and we learned,” The Omnitrix teased. “You ask for Humongosaur too much though, we can have our own fun.”

“Oh so you’re the reason I always get the wrong alien,” Ben laughed. “You’re gonna get me killed one day!”

“Never,” the Omnitrix said warmly but with a steely protectiveness in there. “We will always protect you.”

“Hmm, I guess so,” Ben hummed. “What’s going out in the real world?”

“The battle is over as far as we can see. No sign of Cousin Gwen, Friend Kevin or Partner Rook. Grandpa Max was still in the satellite orbiting the planet last we heard. Do you wish to return now that the danger has passed?”

“Nah, not yet,” Ben sighed, enjoying a few minutes without someone needing him. “I know my body is in safe hands. Tell me more about some of the bozos who tried to wear you.”

“Aurius the Magnificent was one of the more annoying,” the Omnitrix said in the tone Ben used when he was feeling petty. “Just put me on and demanded that I chose him. He did it in front of his whole court and was so frustrated when I would not attach. His concubines laughed at him.”

“Oh man, how embarrassing,” Ben cackled. He let go of his worries, of his responsibilities, of everything and just basked in the familiar tones and the omnipresent love around him. 

#ben 10 #the dialogue hit me like a shot and I practically spider crawled out of the bath to reach my laptop #this would be like the prologue before the possessed omnitrix au I wont write #this is like half fic half meta lmao #just really wanted to impress on the watchs utter love for ben but also how scarily possessive it is #it knows him inside and out and chose him above all others #its too attached now (in all meanings of the word) it would kill the universe before it allowed ben to die #which is uhhhh something #watch also has Opinions on the people in Ben's life #esp Azmuth and Grandpa #but at least it has good memories of Max #its PISSED that Azmuth tried to separate them once like 6 years ago #anyway here's some whatever i cranked out in like 45 minutes #now dinner

[reidjumpers]

would you ever write something along the line of the minimal loss episode reimagined. so instead of emily being in the ep it’s the reader and spence has the biggest crush on her. it kills him knowing that she’s getting hit and bruised. yeah i don’t know if you would do it but i love that idea.

GUESS WHAT I really love this idea too so I tried to rewrite Minimal Loss reimagined. Please emphasize on tried.

“Which one of you is the FBI agent?”

Spencer could feel his blood run cold at the question Benjamin Cyrus fired at him and you. He subtly glanced towards your direction, pressing his lips and tried his best to maintain his composure. He watched you shift on your seat a little bit, eyeing the gun on Cyrus’s hand intensely.

“Why do you think one of us is an FBI agent?” Spencer furrowed his eyebrows in faux confusion.

“God will forgive me for what I must do,” Cyrus said calmly. Too calmly. Spencer gulped as he heard the clicking sound of his gun. He caught the sight of you gaping and eyes widened in horror as a gun aimed against his head.

“I- I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“One of you does. Who is it?”

“Me,” your voice was firm, slicing through the thick tension. Spencer slowly turned his head towards you with a wide eye. You glared at him with an eye that screamed don’t you dare at him, determination and fear swirled together in your eyes made him shiver. He could feel dread and helplessness slowly sinking in. “It was me.”

Cyrus lowered his gun that aimed at Spencer, slowly turned his direction towards you. Spencer shot you a glare and silently demanded you for explanation at your stupid sacrifice. You had just deflated your own fear and bargained for your safety in order to save him. There was a bitter taste curled and overwhelmed him at the tip of his tongue upon knowing he couldn’t do anything to diffuse the situation.

Spencer let his shoulder sink a little bit as Cyrus silently holstered his gun into his pants, allowing himself a brief relief upon knowing that he didn’t have to watch your demise today. It took everything inside him not to jump and inserted himself in between you and Cyrus as he yanked you to the ground by hair and a sound of your pained whimper filled the room. He couldn’t even bring himself to flinch when a rifle aimed towards him as his eyes fixated on the sight of you being dragged across the room.

“I told you not to put me in this position!” Cyrus snarked, releasing his hold on you and slammed you to the concrete floor. Spencer bit the inside of his cheeks and could feel the tip of his fingertips go frozen as dread and fear pumped rapidly into his system.

The sound of you being slapped filled the room made him flinch a little bit. He glanced briefly towards the rifle against him, giving him a brief break from the horrifying sight before him. Spencer could feel anger and disappointment filled him with the knowledge that he couldn’t do anything besides watching you being beaten mercilessly by Cyrus. It was supposed to be him. It was supposed to be him who took all the beating instead of you. You were everything good left in the world and you are a living reminder that there are lights and hope in life despite all the horror and worst face of humanity he was constantly being contaminated with.

What would he do if you were gone then? The brief horrifying thought flashed before his eyes as he watched Cyrus slammed your defenseless body into the ground again. He could feel hot tears prickling in his eyes at the thought of living his life in void and helplessness if you ceased to exist before his eyes. Spencer collapsed his balled fist into his lap as the realization that he couldn’t live without you washed through him.

Spencer squeezed his eyes shut as your body was slammed against the wall and hit the mirror, refusing to picture the sharp shard of glass cutting your skin.

“Proverb 23rd tells us that bloods and wounds cleanse out evil,” Cyrus recited as he yanked you by the collar again and slammed you against the wall. Spencer could feel anger and disdain boiled inside him as he watched your body helplessly fall into the floor after the impact of your collision with the wall.

“I can take it,” you said with a firm voice. Spencer caught your eyes briefly as your eyes flickered in between him and Cyrus that stood in between you and him.

His heart fell into the bottom of his stomach like a heavy sandbag. He knew what you meant from your firm stares alone. You only said that to reassure him and signal the team outside not to come in a rush. It was a minimal loss situation, Spencer had concluded. He drew a sharp breath as he mentally prepared himself for a situation where he couldn’t possibly save everyone and had to accept however many people he could save while others perished.

Spencer glanced up to meet your eyes again before Cyrus moved to block his sight. He furrowed his eyebrows at the sight of your eyes screaming I’m fine, I’m okay at him with blood flowing freely from your broken nose. Dread settled painfully in his bones that the possibility of the team having to choose between your life or his was too close than he liked.

He blinked his eyes to shoo away the tears that threatened to fall. He couldn’t afford it. He couldn’t risk blowing up another cover that guaranteed his life when you had sacrificed yours for him.

Cyrus beat and slapped you for another round with disdain painted clearly on his face. “Pride comes before the fall,” he said as he punched your stomach and slammed you to the floor, thinking you were antagonizing him as you repeatedly said you could take it. Spencer let out a relieved sigh as Cyrus took a step back from you and left you shaking with pain on the ground, instructed Cristopher to tie you up and took you upstairs.

Not today, he reassured himself. Forcing himself to be satisfied and grateful for your spared life. Not today.

***

Spencer had just successfully coaxed Cyrus into testing the negotiator for the FBI and proving them that they were not a liar and ensuring your safety. Disgust and anger brewing at the pit of his stomach every time Cyrus glanced his eyes towards him. He somewhat marveled at the plain trust Cyrus gave him effortlessly. The memory of him beating you hadn’t left his mind, still painted fresh and clear as if it still happened before his eyes. He had to mentally restrain himself from glaring in disgust at the thought of Cyrus molesting a child and beating you up until bloody and bruised.

“What is it, Christopher?” Cyrus addressed his man that had been trying to shot down Spencer’s suggestion regarding the situation. Only then Spencer turned his attention fully at him who had been pacing around in agitation repeatedly.

“Some of them had been talking about leaving,” he sighed.

“Leaving?” Cyrus pressed his lips together as Christopher affirmed his question. Spencer balled his fist and hid it inside the pocket of his pants as he waited in antagonizing anticipation with whatever next step Cyrus would take. “Wake the baby. Let’s get them meet the orphan that they made.”

Spencer nodded mutely at Cyrus’s decision. He let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding this whole time, letting himself loose a little bit and allowed himself to feel relief washed through him. Cyrus had taken the big bait and he had ensured your safety with his lies and negotiation skill. It was the least thing he could do after what you did for him.

He knew he would be damned if he couldn’t get you out of his god forsaken place alive. For now he just has to give and surrender with whatever fate is waiting for him into the hands of the team waiting outside. He took one longing glance outside from the window, wishing that he would be staring into the starless sky with you right now.

***

Spencer watched from the back silently as the members of the cult filled the empty chair inside the chapel one by one. What was once an empty and quiet chapel now buzzing with life and the air was stale and raked with fear. The negotiation test went as smoothly as Spencer could wished for. He heard Rossi rattling out your identity to Cyrus in exchange for your safety from a speaker phone as they released the orphan into the team outside.

You emerged from the opposite end of the chapel, a swarm of children and women pushed through from behind you. Spencer stared and watched the way the sunlight that slips through the chapel window fell into your skin. The glowing sunlight from behind your back casted a halo behind your figure. He noticed that your blood had been cleaned up and there were a few specks of dried blood on the collar of your shirt. Some newly formed bruises littered your face, angry and red and was a painful sight to behold. He hated it.

Cyrus was listing out names from the list he had written the day before as Spencer slowly made his way towards you. Everyone’s attention was focused on their leader calling out the names on the altar, but Spencer’s focus was solely on you. Your eyes were watching Cyrus solemnly as you leaned yourself into the wall to support your weight.

Spencer lifted his hand to touch your face and stopped midair before he realized a tad bit too late. His finger twitched painfully with a burning desire to feel you underneath his fingertips, but he couldn’t risk another round of beating and blowing up plans that had been rolling quite smoothly so far.

Guilt surged inside him like the sea, disdain and bitterness brewing and threatening to explode from the bottom of his stomach. He could feel himself dying a little bit inside at the frightening state you were in, all because you were sacrificing your life for him. For his sake when he wasn’t even sure he deserved it.

You finally acknowledged his presence and spared him a glance. Your eyebrows furrowed together in distress and Spencer had to restrain himself from the temptation to put his thumb in between your eyebrows and smoothen out your stress wrinkle between your eyebrows. If he could take away all your pain, he would.

“He looks pissed,” you whisper-yelling at him. Spencer couldn’t bring himself to respond to your words. Even after you took the downfall and hard beatings for him, you still think about other’s well-being instead of yours.

You took another glance towards him from the lack of response from his part. Your eyes scanned his face briefly before your lips twitched into a soft, reassuring smile. “I’m okay. It’s not as bad as it looks.”

Spencer shook his head, refusing to believe your words. “I’m so sorry,” he croaked, his voice hoarse and full of regret scratching his throat painfully.

“No, no,” you shook your head and quickly squashed his apology. “No apologies. We both know one of us has to take it.”

“But why should it be you?” Spencer hissed through his greeted teeth. His distress and agitation, and overall emotions that he had been trying to tuck and buried it away seeped into the surface. He could feel his mask cracking and threatened to be broken, and he was thankful for the roaring voice of Cyrus listing out names that masked his own. “Why should it be you? Why couldn’t it be me?”

“He had a gun against your head, Reid!” you hissed back with an equal amount of emotions laced on your voice. “I couldn’t risk it. I couldn’t let them kill you. I know they would kill you first if one of us refused to answer. I can’t, Spencer, I—” you took a sharp breath and glanced away from his prying wide eyes. He could hear your voice wavering and your eyes glossed with tears. “Look at the people he’s releasing.”

“It’s the one who failed the loyalty test,” he observed. The previous slip of emotions was being put to the back of his mind again as he noticed the new fact he just found. “I’ll get word to the team, wait for the sign from outside indicating what time the raid will come.”

You stared at him with a wide eye, confusion and fear swirled together. You looked so vulnerable and small like that, like a polished porcelain that could crumble into dust anytime. Spencer nodded firmly and gave you a reassuring smile, silently asking you to believe him. He almost jolted with surprise when you grabbed his hand and squeezed it tightly and briefly, understanding what he was trying to do.

“Be careful,” you whispered.

He nodded and turned away to make his way to Cyrus, not believing himself to utter any single words without breaking down. He was determined to make sure you were safe and would make it out alive, whatever it takes.

“Told her she shouldn’t have blinded you like that,” Spencer told Cyrus with a faux exasperation and disappointment. He shuddered when Cyrus nodded sympathetically.

“To either of us,” he corrected him sympathetically, which made Spencer want to do nothing but curl up in disgust. Cyrus jerked his chin towards your direction and addressed Christopher, “Bring her back.”

Spencer watched you being dragged up by your upper arms into wherever they were keeping you. He forcefully gulped and shook away the lump of dread on his throat, disbanding it as soon as it was formed. His eyes were apologetic and yours were nothing but filled with determination and forced bravery.

Those who had failed for the test were ushered out of the farm through the front door. Spencer mentally counted the amount of people who walked out into a guaranteed safety, relieved that it held a much greater amount that he had prepared. It was only a matter of saving the rest and finding a way in for the team to bring you and him out of this place.

Cyrus was making his final and last negotiation call with Rossi, asking for a fried chicken and its sides for their last supper and the presence of media to document his sacrifice to God. A suicide attempt to bring down himself and his faithful fanatic followers was a more appealing option to him rather than surrender himself to the authority apparently. It was obvious from the first time Spencer stepped into the building, but it still didn’t fail to fill him with dread and fear.

“I’m always looking for signs of things to come,” Spencer explained to Christopher with a polite smile after he demanded how he had known Cyrus’s plan of final act of sacrifice all along. He maintained his gaze firmly and silently wishing that the team would catch his words through the parable microphone planted outside. It would be his only hope and way for them to come in.

***

Thick smog and fire blinded his sight and blocked his way. Spencer stumbled upon a block of brunt wooden log as Morgan dragged his limping body outside the chapel. Cyrus was dead, but Jesse had finished his suicide mission by blowing up the chapel and the rest of the building. He could hear sirens blaring outside and faint sounds of wails and fearful screams mixed together in the air.

The thought of you trapped inside the building flashed before his eyes for a moment. He didn’t have a moment to glance back to make sure about your whereabouts as he kept coughing and stumbling, Morgan’s grip still firm on his upper hand to drag him outside into safety. Fear started to paralyze his body that he nearly fell into the concrete fall face first. He just needed to see you, to make sure you were safe.

He didn’t know that the sight of armed soldiers and police cars could bring an immense amount of comfort for him. Spencer nearly cried at the overwhelming relief that he was out unharmed, slipped by the last strand of his hair from his ultimate demise. But he couldn’t allow himself to be relieved and comfortable before he knew where you were. Before he knew if you were safe.

“Spencer!” your voice came faintly in between the chaotic sirens and the sound of angry fire eating up the chapel. “Morgan!”

Spencer watched you squirm out of Emily’s embrace, running limpy towards him. He knew he had burst into tears as soon as his eyes landed on you, safe, alive, although littered with bruises and dried blood on your shirt. His shoulders sank and shook as your arms wrapped around him tightly, all the horror, fear, and dread that he didn’t allow himself to feel in the past few days before had rushed into him and knocked all the air out of his lungs.

Relief and comfort of knowing you were safe in his arms was a breath of fresh air for his burned lungs. Usually he would squirm at the thought of touching someone, but the steady rise of your chest as you breath against him overcame all the unfortunate uncomfortable thoughts that came with the activity of hugging someone.

“You’re safe,” Spencer gasped as he released you from his embrace. He was aware that everyone was watching him hugging you and he fought all the mortification that slowly crept up his cheeks. He tried to mask it away as being a relief to find his coworker made it out alive from the sticky hostage situation.

“I’m okay, I’m okay,” you reassured him with one last firm squeeze on his arms. He wanted nothing but to pull you into his arms again, shield you for any harms lurking in the outside world. The anger that had been forgotten on the back of his mind surged inside him again. But he had to be satisfied with only one final squeeze as you parted from him to be checked by the paramedics.

The flight back to Quantico was quiet and a peaceful one. Everyone was winding up and breathing from the horror of the case that just wrapped up. Spencer tried his best to distract his mind with his book, burrowed in the furthest corner of the jet as the comforting and steady hum of the jet lulled him to sleep.

You slipped into the empty seat right across from him. A weak smile and a timid greeting were exchanged between you and silence followed right after. Spencer knew what conversation would follow after this, and he didn’t want to face it just yet. He had stopped reading from the moment you took the seat and watched him with careful eyes, but he still put up the act in the hope it would steer you away from bursting his bubble.

It did not. Spencer didn’t put up a fight as you gently took his book away from his hands and placed it gently on the table.

“I need you to listen to me,” you started with a firm voice. You were wearing the nice lilac shirt that Spencer liked, and the bruises on your face had started to heal and fade away. “What Cyrus did to me is not your fault. It was my decision and I would do it again.”

Spencer opened his mouth to say something, but you tilted your head with your lips pressing together, discouraging him to counter your statement. He took a sharp breath and shook his head.

“Do you hear me?” your voice was softer this time. Your hands silently reached for his and held them gently. Your thumb made a soothing pattern on his knuckles, a reassuring and determined smile was on your face. Spencer couldn’t look away even if he wanted to. “Do you hear me, Spencer? I will do it again. It wasn’t your fault. It was my decision.”

“I know,” he answered finally.

“Thank you.”

“Please know that I will do the same for you.”

His words had caught you off guard. You stared briefly before nodding, patting the top of his hand gently with your hand as you gave him a really bright smile. Spencer let himself sink further into the comfortable leather seat and let relief washed through him again. Everything will be okay.

#spencer reid #minimal loss #criminal minds #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you #cm #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid angst #cm fluff #cm angst #mgg #matthew gray gubler #minimal loss reimagined

[milliedazzledust]

I'll Come Back for You (Bucky Barnes imagine)

REQUEST: ANON - something where he is in winter soldier mode and protecting the scientist (y/n) where she is the only one who can sort of calm him down after a mission

ANON - winter soldier!bucky being protective over his scientist who’s forced to be take care of his health and she’s being kept there against his will too

ANON - Bucky Barnes request about how both reader and Bucky are each other support systems? It could be like a headcanon, how would the reader comfort him while how he comforts her so forth and so on

WORDS: 3506

A/N: So I don't know if I was inspired or if I just wrote too much, but I'm not sure this story's good. Anyway, feedback is really appreciated and I hope you'll like it :) (also don't forget to tell me if you want to be on my taglist ^^)

“What happened this time ?”

Her voice was only a whisper in the quiet room. The broken man silently sat on the examination table while she stuck a needle in his functioning arm. He didn’t speak, didn’t even flinch. This masquerade had started the moment she had set foot inside Hydra secret base. They had brought her against her will to take care of their most valuable soldier. It was always the same dance, rehearsed a million times since she had met him. After each mission, each murder, he’d come to her. She’d fix his physical wounds, take care of his arm and let him go.

More than often, she found herself feeling sorry for him. She knew what Hydra was doing to him, she’d heard the screams echoing in the distance. It would keep ringing in her ears for hours. Sometimes, the simple thought of picturing what he was going through was enough to bring her to tears. No one deserved to suffer this way.

The Winter Soldier was a cruel man, an assassin. She had seen him in action, had even been attacked the first time they were introduced. But despite being the necessary tool to take care of their valuable killer, she liked him. This wasn’t a place anyone could handle, not even him. And while she was aware of the danger Hydra represented, he was a different story. The man he once was had been trapped in a small corner of his mind, disconnected. His hands were his own, but his actions were dictated by an army that had invaded his head long ago. He was a machine turned on and off at will by the power of ten simple words.

��I was stabbed” Was his only answer. He didn’t give any detail, simply raised his shirt so she could inspect the injury.

“Do you feel any pain ?”

He blankly stared at an invisible point on the wall, avoiding looking at her. He was aware anyone could be listening.

“Soldier ?” She called him, stopping her movement and waiting for his response.

“I don’t feel anything” His voice was emotionless and a chill ran down her spine when he spoke. He was detached, impassive, a statue unaware he was capable of sentiment.

She cleared her throat, trying to stay focused on her task. She cleaned the wound, took his vitals, wrote down the conclusion of her examination and prepared what she needed to sew him up.

When she was about to administer the anesthetic, he suddenly grabbed her wrist. She caught her breath, frightened, but made no movement. For the first time that day, he turned his head to look at her. Whatever she saw in his eyes was enough to ease the tension in her shoulders and she relaxed.

“It’s okay” She whispered, a kind smile on her face. “This is propofol”

She knew he would recognize the name. She had spent countless hours explaining everything she was doing to him in detail so he wouldn’t be uncomfortable or scared. He was a super soldier that required extreme measures of treatment.

“No drugs,” He told her.

“You might regret that decision once I start to put the stitches in”

“I need to stay conscious,” He explicated, almost begging her. “Please”

She didn’t argue, only glanced at a camera behind her recording their interaction.

“Alright” She conceded. “I’ll switch to saline”

He nodded, grateful she wasn’t pushing. She turned her back carefully so her table was no longer in the camera’s field of view and he watched her emptying the needle and filling it with a harmless mixture of water and sodium chloride. Nothing that would put him to sleep.

“Have you ever been to Greece ?” She asked him out of the blue. He stared at her curiously. “I’ve always dreamed of visiting. It has the longest coastline in Europe, with so many islands between the blue Aegean Sea to the east, the Mediterranean Sea to the south, and the Ionian Sea to the west. Can you imagine how beautiful it must be ?”

She kept talking for a while about the country, the books she had read and the films she had seen about it. His eyes stayed on her the whole time, his head tilted to the side, wondering why she was telling him all this. Not that he minded, he loved listening to her. She had the power to calm him down. He was constantly on high alert, ready to fight whomever he was told to kill, prepared to endure whatever torture they had prepared, but this room and the woman inside were his only small moments of peace. Her voice was the music he desperately needed to sooth his soul.

“Why are you telling me this ?” He wondered out loud.

She smirked. “To take your mind somewhere else than here. Seems like it worked”

He glanced at his stomach and realized the stitches were already there. Too engrossed in her story, he hadn’t noticed or felt anything.

“How…”

“Funny how magical words can turn out to be, isn’t it ?”

She could swear she saw the flicker of an emotion on his face looking back between his wound and the woman, but just as quickly as it came, it was gone.

“Thank you, doc”

She hesitated a moment before gently taking his hand on her own.

“Be careful” She muttered. “There’s only so much I can fix”

“I will” He promised. “Are they … are they treating you right ?”

She shrugged. “If threatening to kill me is what you consider right, then I guess I’m a real princess in a castle”

He ran a jerky hand through his hair and seemed to be looking for the right words to say but never spoke.

“Can I ask …” She began, curiosity getting the best out of her. “What is your real name ?”

When his gaze fell on her, all she saw was pure panic. Her question, as simple as it may have been, had surprised him. He didn’t remember, didn’t even question anyone, because it hadn’t mattered. He didn’t need to be more than a ghost to be able to kill.

“I’m sorry” She apologized. “I shouldn’t have asked. I didn’t mean to…”

“I don’t know” He admitted.

She gulped and looked away. His eyes held too much confusion and despair. Coming face to face with the enormity that was this man’s fate was sometimes undeniably heartbreaking.

“Can I call you Winter, then ?” She suggested.

He seemed to ponder for a while before offering her a small smile. “Yes, yes I’d like that”

It hurt to see a glimpse of happiness on his face for something as simple as a name and the woman didn’t realize that what she had just given him was the shred of an identity. A tiny piece he would hold onto. He was living inside a nightmare he had no idea he was trapped into, and if she dared to help, she would pay it with her life. So all she had the power to do was give him a name. Make him feel alive again.

The next time she saw him was only a couple of days after, carried by two agents, head hanging low and barely conscious. His clothes were stained in blood and his metal arm seemed dislocated.

“Patch him up” One of the men coldly ordered. They dropped the injured soldier on the ground like he was nothing more than an object, not even human.

She rushed to his side, checking his pupils first with a flashlight to rule out any intracranial damage to his brain. She did the same on his chest with a stethoscope, searching for any potential life threatening injury. When she moved to his shoulder to inspect the metal bones, he regained consciousness. Maybe it was the sight of yet another scientist above him or the touch of her fingers on his skin, but the man was quick to react and got on his feet in no time. His human hand wrapped around her neck tightly and he pushed her body with force against a wall, choking her. She tried to speak, but the action had been so sudden and violent that she was unable to move a muscle. He was in a trance, eyes filled with hatred that she knew was not directed toward her. Whatever he was picturing in his mind had awakened the assassin. She was the threat and he was in a game of survival.

She whispered his name several times but it was only after a minute, when she was on the verge of passing out, that he seemed to realize what he was doing. He stared at her with wide open eyes and released her from his grip. Her body fell on the floor before she started coughing, struggling to catch her breath.

“I’m…” He tried to speak, looking down at his hands in horror.

“Water” She managed to whisper.

He brought the woman a bottle and tried to help her on her feet. When he reached for her, she involuntarily flinched. A pure reflex. She didn’t miss the sadness on his face as he recoiled from her.

“I didn’t mean…”

“I know. It’s alright”

“I could’ve killed you” He said it more to himself than to her.

“But you didn’t” She laid a hand on her chest, taking a deep breath to try and calm her heart rate. “What happened ?”

“You touched me,” He explained.

“I touch you all the time” When he smirked, she realized the double meaning behind what she had just said. “Hm … why would it be any different today ?” She immediately changed the subject.

“Usually, when I’m unconscious I can … sense them around me. Working on me. And I can’t move but I still feel the pain”

Once again she was at a loss of words against the heaviness that was the burden of his life.

“Are you sure you’re alright ?” He repeated almost in a childish voice.

“I’ll get over it, don’t worry” She tried to reassure him. It didn’t seem to work. He took a temptative step, making sure she wasn’t uncomfortable. He moved his hand toward her neck, deliberately going as slow as he could. His eyes stayed on hers, watching out for any sign of fear. “What are you doing ?” She said in a breath, a different kind of shiver rolling down her spine.

“I need to make sure I didn’t hurt you” The sincerity and concern she heard in his voice were unsettling. She stared back in disbelief, but didn’t move. This was the closest they had ever been and it almost felt unreal for both of them. Too good to be true, especially in a place of nightmare like this.

He tilted her head to the back, still looking at her, and softly brushed his thumb over her skin. A bruise was already starting to appear. She saw the change in his eyes, the regret and sadness when he lowered his gaze. He kept inspecting her from all angles possible, making her chuckle in the process.

“Are you done, doctor ?” She joked.

He tried not to smile but miserably failed. “Almost. Haven’t found a diagnosis yet”

This time she laughed.

“C’mon, I’m not the real patient here. I need to take a look at you” She glanced at his metal arm, still dislocated. He was avoiding using it and she had noticed.

He sighed but didn’t remove his hand from her neck. Instead, his thumb slowly reached her cheek and he gently stroked her skin.

“I wish I could get you out of here” He whispered. “You don’t deserve any of this”

“Neither do you”

He clenched his jaw and plastered a tight smile, refusing to acknowledge what she had just said. He lowered his arm and sat on the examination table without saying anything.

“I’m gonna … hm … I’m gonna need to cut your shirt open” She gulped, trying to keep her cheeks from getting any warmer.

The man smirked and grabbed a pair of scissors nearby that he handed to her. She took it but didn’t dare to look at him, too uncomfortable by the situation. As she cut his shirt higher and higher, her hands started to shake. He could see her shifting her weight from side to side and desperately avoiding any eye contact. She was embarrassed and he was enjoying every second of it.

When finally she had taken it carefully off his body, she huffed in frustration. There was no denying that he had beyond toned muscle structure, verged into defined and well built curves.

“Is it… is it alright if I touch you ?” She allowed herself to take a glance at him, and rolled her eyes when she saw the smirk on his face.

“More than alright, doc” He teased her.

The moment her hands came in contact with his skin, he involuntarily flexed his muscles. She took a sharp breath, trying not to lose focus when she cleaned his wounds. She looked up at him to make sure he wasn’t in any pain, only to realize he was already staring. What should have been a quick glance turned into something more, a moment that lasted a little too long. When he leaned in toward her, she suddenly seemed to notice the lack of space between them. She cleared her throat and took a step back.

“Quit flirting, Winter” She reprimanded him with a playful grin.

He laughed. It was the first time she heard that sound and she couldn’t help the giggle that escaped her mouth. He looked so carefree and alive, so human. She was finally meeting the man behind the assassin, and he troubled her even more than the silent killer.

“I kinda like to see you flustered, doc”

She ran a hand through her hair, trying to hide her obvious nervousness.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about” She pursed her lips to keep from smiling.

“Sure you don’t” He sniggered.

She rolled her eyes. “I’m gonna need to put that shoulder into place”

Instead of talking, he grabbed her hips and considerably shortened the distance she had put between them. Her eyes widened from both the sudden gesture and the feeling of his fingers on her body.

“Go right ahead, doc”

She leaned in toward him to have a better access to the injury, ignoring the unexpected shudder. She was practically over him, a hand on his shoulder, the other on his broad back. If he felt any pain when she pushed the bones back into place, he didn’t show.

“All good ?” He muttered, heavily breathing. She was about to ask if he was okay but the words stayed stuck when she realized how close their faces were. He wasn’t hurt, no, he was perturbed by her presence. He could smell her perfume and see the hair raising on her neck. Whatever he was feeling, she felt it too.

“Do I make you nervous, soldier ?” She said, a smile building on her full lips.

“You have no idea, doctor”

She turned to face him. They locked eyes and, for a moment, none of them moved. The atmosphere instantly changed when he bit his lips. He bent closer and closer, and this time she didn’t push back. When finally he kissed her, she froze in place. He was about to draw back when she grabbed his neck, deepening the kiss. A sensation she couldn’t comprehend took over her whole body. He didn’t rush, took his sweet time lingering his lips over hers. She could swore her knees would have given out if he wasn’t holding her in place. Her chest was fluttering and she lost all sense of time. He pulled back from the lack of oxygen, but not before caressing her mouth one last time.

“Too much?” He inquired quietly.

She shook her head, laughing. “No. Just enough”

“I’ve been dreaming of doing that for a while” He admitted.

“Quite the change of attitude. I could’ve sworn you wanted me dead only ten minutes ago” She joked.

He pouted, not particularly happy she was reminding him of his previous outburst.

“You’re all set up, Winter” She announced after one last look over his chest. “No major damage”

“Have you checked my heart ?” He joked with a smirk. “I think it’s beating a little fast”

She coughed to try and hide her laugh.

“I’m afraid that’s not fixable” She started to write her report, ignoring his lingering gaze on her. Her brain was still fuzzy from the kiss they shared. “Unless I stay away, which would probably ease your … discomfort”

“Who said anything about discomfort ? That’s a kind of pain I’d rather enjoy”

She raised an eyebrow, not missing the way her own heart palpitated.

“Don’t play with fire, soldier”

He smirked. “Between us, I’m trying to delay the moment I’ll have to go through that door again”

This time she lost all joy and raised her head from what she was writing on her report to look at him.

“You’re strong enough to leave this place, you know”

“Leave where ?” He asked.

“Somewhere you’ll find who you really are”

“Does that somewhere include you ? ‘Cause you should know I won’t go without you”

She walked up to him and took his hands.

“Save yourself while you still can, Winter” She sadly replied.

“What about you ?”

“I’m just … collateral damage” She exhaled.

He gently pressed his forehead to hers.

“I promise I’ll come back for you after that last mission”

“I’ll hold you onto that”

He planted a soft kiss on her lips, making her forget once again where they were and what their reality was.

“I’ll take you to Greece” He whispered. “Just the two of us. Wouldn’t that be great ?”

“It’s a date” She grinned, making him laugh.

“You’ve got yourself a deal. We’ll get out of here” He swore. “And I’ll take you dancing under the stars of Mykonos”

He didn’t know then that he would never have the occasion to keep that promise. They would have more moments, stolen from the chaos of this place, but nothing more. Weeks later, he would hear rumors about treason and compromising positions. He would understand too late they meant her. She was his weak point, and the Winter Soldier couldn’t have any weaknesses. She was disposable, he was an assassin with superpowers. All the recordings they had proved he no longer could be operational so long as she was still breathing.

“Buck, you alright ?” A voice suddenly spoke in the agonizing silence.

He turned around to his friend, brushing the tears he didn’t realize had started to fall. Standing in the empty room, he couldn’t move away from the dried patch of blood on the floor.

“Yeah, I just need a minute” He shook his head, trying to make the painful memories disappear.

The man behind him began to inspect the place, searching through scattered papers around a desk.

“Dr. Y/N Y/L/N” He read.

Bucky closed his eyes, clenching his jaw. The simple sound of her name was enough to widen the open wound inside his chest. He sat on the examination table one last time, without her. Forgetting he wasn’t alone, he let himself wander into his most precious memories. He remembered the taste of her lips, the smell of her perfume and the touch of her skin. Every detail engraved in his head forever.

“Did you know her ?” The person asked.

“Yeah”

The man stopped what he was doing and observed the former assassin for a solid minute. He looked heartbroken.

“Bad memories ?” He inquired.

“Not in this room” Bucky sadly smiled.

“What happened ?”

“I don’t want to talk about it, Steve”

The Captain hesitated for a moment but didn’t push. He was aware his friend was still healing and whatever the place was, it was part of his pain.

“Is she dead ?” He only questioned.

He gulped and tilted his head backward to keep the tears at bay. “They took her away from me” His voice cracked when he spoke. He was not able to stop the violent sob that escaped his mouth. He wanted to say so much more but the lump in his throat was far too heavy.

“I was too late,” He whispered. “I promised I’d come back for her but I was … too …”

His shoulders started to shake as tears ran down his bloodshot eyes. Steve rapidly closed the distance between them and hugged his friend, letting him express his sadness. They stayed there until he was calm enough to take a deep breath.

“You ready ?” The Captain inquired.

The broken soldier silently nodded.

“Where to now ?” Steve asked him. “You’re free to go anywhere you'd like”

“Greece. I have a date in Greece”

Taglist below the cut

@partypoisonsblog - @tylard-blog1

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes imagines #bucky barnes fanfiction #the winter solider x reader #the winter soldier imagine #the winter soldier imagines #the winter soldier fanfiction #winter soldier #winter soldier x reader #winter soldier imagine #winter soldier imagines #winter soldier fanfiction #tfatws #fatws

[pretty-boys-book-club]

Lovebug (Chapter 4) | Bylines to my heart

Summary: You are a young journalist navigating the turbulent job of reporting for a local newspaper in D.C. What happens when you constantly bump into a cute boy genius? Can FBI agents befriend journalists? Can they fall in love with one?

Word Count: 4.9k

Previous Chapters: 1 | 2 | 3

“I fell in love the way you fall asleep: slowly, and then all at once.” ― John Green

Janet is a surprisingly nice woman. You strike up a conversation and discover that you have many things in common outside of work, even with your significant age difference. Not only has she taken you to a wonderful place for lunch (and paid for it!), she is using the last few minutes of your lunch break to help you pick out an outfit for your weekend date.

"I can't believe you guys met like that! You're obviously nervous, anyone would be." She says, as you slip into yet another dress inside the fitting room booth. "But there must be something exciting about knowing you're dating a genius."

"We're not dating, we're just going to the theater together. I don't know if he's interested in me that way."

"You're not dating yet . From what you told me, I'd say he is more than interested. But if he's not, it's his loss." You open the curtain, showing Janet the clothes you're trying on. She grins: "This one for sure. Not only does it fit you perfectly, but it also makes your eyes pop out."

Keep reading or read it on AO3

"Are you sure? Isn't it a little flashy?"

"Well, I guess you want to get his attention, don't you?" You laugh, she isn't wrong. But is Spencer the kind of man who would pay attention to how you dress? You don't think so. "You need to feel comfortable, that's the most important thing. But I won't deny, this dress looks wonderful on you."

"I'll buy it, you're right. And even if it's not a date, at least I'll feel confident." you look at the image in the mirror, feeling happy with what you see. You really want everything to go smoothly. At least you'll get to see Spencer again. Is it a date? Neither of you have called it that way. You feel the worries creeping up. It must show, because Janet is quick to reassure you.

"It's going to be alright! You'll tell me all the details later, so this poor married lady can dream of young romance once again!" she jokes. You laugh, but nothing makes the dread in your stomach go away. Janet seems to notice it.

“Being in a negative mindset doesn’t allow you to put your best self forward and shine.” she mentions. “As soon as a worrying thought pops into your head, let it go. Just focus on all the fun you’ll have.”

"Wow, that's actually really good advice”, you’re surprised.

"Yeah, I know." she says humbly. "But it's true."

"I think our lunch break is over," you say, checking your phone as you pay for your clothes.

"Ugh, tell me about it. I still have to finish two more articles to go up on the website today."

"About crime?"

"Unfortunately, yes. I always wonder why I didn't major in Political Science, I'd kill to write about politicians and scandals instead of blood and tragedy. You were brave to cover that conference at the last minute, I'll make sure John knows about how you managed to do great work despite the circumstances."

"Thank you, it's very nice to hear that coming from you."

"That's what friends are for." Friends . You like the sound of that.

—

The case Spencer is working on is wrapped up in a couple of days, with them catching the one responsible for the sarin gas attacks, a man named Mitchell Crossford, who attempted an attack on the LA FBI building, placing dozens of feeding devices in the trunk of another guy’s car, luring him into a parking garage where many employees would gather (and where the ventilation systems to the entire building were located). They got to evacuate the building before anyone got hurt, thankfully.

He's so glad to be back in D.C. because it means he'll get to see you. He's been trying his best to hide the nervous feeling that's been stirring inside of him all this time. He avoided answering Penelope’s questions (So they met? Why hadn’t he told her anything? They had coffee? They texted and he didn’t even mention it?!), tried not to think too much about the little smiles Rossi and Hotch gave him when he left the office on Friday, he did not even make visual contact with Derek, so sure he was that he would find everything out without Spencer even opening his mouth.

So when he takes the elevator and Emily joins him, he knows he's safe. Or so he thinks. One look at him, nervously fidgeting with his phone, is enough for her to read him like an open book.

“I won’t tell them anything if you’re not comfortable.” she says, in a low voice, as if sharing a secret between them.

"What?"

"Reid, c'mon, I saw you two at the station back then. And now you're constantly checking your phone. For a person known as a technophobe, that's unusual. So, two plus two, means you're going on a date with that cute reporter."

"How…?"

"Spencer Reid, I think sometimes you forget you're not the only one who knows a thing or two about profiling." Spencer tries to apologize, that's not what he meant, but Emily puts up a hand telling him to stop. "Don't worry, I know you're used to keeping most of your personal life from us. But you're really bad at hiding when you're nervous."

"I wouldn't say I'm nervous. I'm excited to see her, sure. It's just… Ever since Maeve, I’ve been avoiding getting attached to someone. And trying to keep work and relationships apart.”

“Oh, trust me, I get it. I’ll talk all you want about my cat Sergio but I wouldn’t even dare say the name of the people I’m dating”, she laughs.

"People? In plural?" Spencer asks her, his eyes widening.

"None of your business, Dr. Reid." She smirks. The two stay quiet until the elevator reaches their destination. "If… If I may give you some advice, and this is probably the most clichéd dating advice ever, don't think too much about it. You're more interesting when you're being yourself."

Now, Spencer is replaying her advice in his mind for the past hour. Even though Emily told him not to overthink it, surely he should put some thought into the date, as "under-thinking" can be just as disastrous. Just don't freak out. If he freaks out, Spencer’s just going to panic. What is there to panic about? Nothing, right? Nothing at all. He’s fine.

He makes sure to look presentable, since his appearance will set the tone for the rest of the night. Appearance is key. If he looks sloppy, hair messy or tie crooked, what kind of impression will that make about how he handles the rest of his life? Don’t forget cologne. He doesn't blindly grab pants out of drawers and shirts off of hangers. He really tries. He lays his favorite shirt, a pale purple one, the tie he got from Hotch last Christmas and he still hasn’t worn, a black coat in case it gets cold, his best pair of trousers and mismatched socks in purple hues to match. He even ties the shoelaces of his Converse shoes twice, to avoid having to do them again during his way to the theater.

Then there’s the folder Garcia gave him. The folder with all the articles you wrote, the works: screenshots of profiles on social media, pictures you posted online. Hell, Penelope even checked if there was any criminal history before the date – which there isn’t, of course not. It’s just a brown folder with “Special Assignment” written in Penelope’s loopy cursive, adorned with glitter. Not the most subtle thing, but it made Spencer laugh when she handed it to him. He’s not sure if he wants to actually read all of this or if it’s better to leave things to the imagination. He decides to leave the folder on his countertop, unread.

He's even prepared himself by reading everything he could find about bees, seeing as that was the subject of the book you bought back when the two of you crossed paths for the first time. He armed himself with the most random of trivia: like the fact that bees can detect human faces, which means they can recognize, and build trust with their human caretakers. Or that 1 out of 6 of the world’s flowering plant species wouldn’t exist without bees. Or that D.C. residents can apply to keep a personally-owned honeybee hive, part of an effort by the Parks and Recreation department to support urban beekeeping and to increase pollination in the city. How neat. And even after exhausting all the tangents in his brain, there's still time to spare.

What is he supposed to do with these 10 extra minutes? He decides on just sitting down, looking at his watch. He can't risk doing any kind of activity and sweating through his shirt. If he starts to sweat, it’s going to look like he jumped in a lake on the way to the theater. Spencer has read enough studies to know that imagining yourself succeeding in a high-pressure situation makes it more likely that you will succeed when actually in the high-pressure situation. So he deduces that the same logic must apply to a date: he does a mental walk-through of how things will go, from the moment he steps out of his place to meeting with her, from finding the seat at the theater, grabbing something to eat and to returning home.

Spencer pictures the most charming, charismatic version of himself throughout, and how the conversation will naturally flow from light jokes and occasional comments to more romantic topics, maybe even a few incidental touches. He found a study at the New School for Social Research that says that reading literary fiction — that means Chekov or DeLillo, not Baldacci — has been shown to improve social skills, like empathy, social perception, and emotional intelligence, in the short-term. So he grabs one book from his shelf and reads for a bit. He checks his watch: it’s not time to go.

Even if he’s been looking regularly into the mirror as he’s prepared for the date, he knows better than to underestimate the value of that final review. He takes a look at his outfit in the full-length mirror, examining his posture and facial expression one last time before he steps out the door. This is the time to get a look at the man his date is about to see, making sure your first impression will be on point.

—

You haven’t dated anyone new in a long time, so you find yourself double-checking to ensure that you have everything you might need while you're out. You mentally check yourself, going through all the list of things that you should do as you get ready to make sure everything goes smoothly. It's safe to say that you are a little guilty of throwing logic out the steamy window in favor of giddy excitement.

You shower and put on some nice clothes, practice perfect posture in your mirror again and again until it starts to feel a bit more natural. You brush and comb your hair to the most flattering hairstyle you can do by yourself, you apply the perfect amount of products to your face to feel like you look a million bucks. You listen to a playlist compiled with all your favorite songs, loudly, as you get ready. You even texted Spencer to confirm everything, wanting to make sure that you're both on the same page about details like time and place you're meeting, and he lets you know that he’ll be there, at the door of the theater.

So now, you are hyping yourself up, standing in the mirror and telling yourself how great you look. You need to be your own number 1 fan before going on that date, and the more you tell yourself that you are the best, the more you are going to believe it.

You tell Spencer to meet you at the theater door at 7:00 p.m., and despite your best efforts to take your time getting ready, you still manage to arrive at 6:48 p.m. That's 12 whole minutes to kill before he arrives, 12 minutes that feel more like 20 because you're slightly nervous and jittery and keep looking at your watch. It's hard not to feel like you're loitering. You hold the tickets in your hands, after picking them up from the box office, hoping that he won't stand you up. He wouldn't, right?

The National Theater has seen Pennsylvania Avenue grow from the muddy main street of a fledgling capital, to the ceremonial avenue of a great world power. Festive inaugural parades and raucous demonstration marches pass on the avenue in front of the building. Inside, drama and merriment reign. You think the historical nature of the place makes your encounter feel even more special. Still, a question remains inside your mind: is it a date?

You see other theater-goers walking inside to the foyer, showing their tickets to the doorman. Some people give you curious looks. You’re in an awkward place beside the door and people need to excuse themselves a couple of times to get inside the theater. You finally see your companion approaching, but Spencer's still a few blocks away, so then you just have to awkwardly wave and watch him make his way towards you, stopping at crosswalks.

“Wow, you look… You look great”, he is smiling at you and you feel heat spread throughout your chest. He sounds out of breath, no doubt having walked all the way from the metro to the theater. He has a small paper bag with him, but you don’t want to seem too prying so you don't comment on it. “I’m sorry for leaving you waiting, the metro took a little longer than I calculated.”

“It’s fine.” Your eyes meet for a minute, smiles spreading on both of your faces. “I’ve already got our tickets. One for you.” you hand him the piece of paper. “And one for me. Are you ready?”, he nods.

You walk up to the doorman, who quickly glances at your tickets before letting the two of you pass the velvet-rope, herding you past them in single-file. Spencer walks behind you as you look around the foyer, impressed by how beautiful it is.

“I didn’t know it was so beautiful inside. It’s my first time here.”, you say, louder than you intended, as the place is buzzing with conversation.

“The National has operated longer than any other major touring house in the United States.” Spencer tells you, matter-of-factly. “After its opening on December 7, 1835, the building was destroyed by fire and rebuilt on the same site five times during the 1800's. That’s why part of the original foundation can still be seen in the basement of the building, which was rebuilt in the 1920's, and given a major renovation which was completed in 1984. The history of this theater is a panorama of American culture: a who's who of the stars of the past, the present, and, undoubtedly, the future.”

"It certainly is very imposing." You look around, noticing the luxurious decor who has stood the test of time.

“It’s a really cool place. Rumor has it that it even houses the friendly ghost of actor John McCullough, who was reputedly shot and killed by a fellow performer.” you widen your eyes in surprise. He looks really happy to share his knowledge with you, gesticulating a lot with his hands and it makes him look adorable. “The supposed murder weapon, a rusty pistol, was unearthed under the stage in 1982, near where McCullough's remains are, right beneath the stage.”

“So, I take it you’re a fan of ghost stories?”

“Actually, I am. It might come as a surprise for some people, but as Shakespeare himself wrote: ‘There are more things in heaven and earth, than are dreamt of in your philosophy’. So, I try to keep an open mind.”

You walk up to the door leading to the orchestra section. An usher takes your tickets and walks you up to your seats, which are located at one of the first rows. Spencer lets you follow the usher, walking a step behind you.

“After you.” You two soon find your assigned seats and since two of you are sitting at the end of the aisle, Spencer lets you sit first. You quickly thank him and notice the way your bodies brush against each other as you walk past him.

“These are great seats.”, he sits down beside you, his tall legs having to bend to fit between the seats. You give him the program for the show. "Did you know that Shakespeare was also very fond of bees? Though not, as far as I can tell, he wasn't a beekeeper, bees are one of the animals that appear most frequently in his works."

"Really?" You ask, though you can't for the life of you understand why he's talking about bees during a moment like this. Is this some type of coping mechanism?

"Yes, in fact, he uses them as a link between the natural world and humanity. Nowadays, we tend to see bees as a part of the environment, of our food supply, of a world that we value but aren't part of. Back in his time, bees were valuable because of the useful symbolism they provided for the monarchy."

"I had no idea." You say, and before you can continue, he launches himself at another ramble.

"Actually, there's a long history of bees being used as symbolism in literature. The ancient Greeks and Romans viewed honey as a symbol of love, beauty, and fertility-"

"Spencer, wait a minute, did you think I was interested in beekeeping?" you tease him.

"You aren't?" He looks at you confused. He is just a boy after all. A goofy boy who recites facts to girls to impress them.

"No!" You laugh. "Gosh, I mean, I think bees are cool and important to our ecosystem and all, but I got that book for an event I was covering."

"Oh, I see… I'm sorry. I don't know why I kept telling you all these facts. I have, I have this thing, like a nervous tick. My mind never stops speaking. In fact when I was a little boy, my mom used to say there was never a word I met that I didn't like."

"You're rambling,” You say, an amused smirk on your face.

“Am I?” He looks so cute—with his brows furrowed, a nervous look in his eyes, worried he has said the wrong thing.

“Uh-huh. But you're cute when you ramble.”

"So, what about today? Are we here because of some story you're writing too?"

"Well, to be completely honest, I did get the tickets in exchange for writing a review on the play, yes." You confess, drawing his gaze from the brochure in his hands to your eyes. The beautiful brown eyes of his. Velvet upholstery tickles your arms as you settle into your seat.

“Oh…” he looks deflated, and you're afraid to have offended him in some way or another.

“This doesn't mean this isn't a date." You try to correct yourself. "What I mean is, do you want it to be a date?”

"Oh, this was supposed to be a date? I wasn't sure of it." He surprises you by the way he says this jokingly, smiling openly. Damn, his smile is beautiful.

"Don't play with my feelings, Dr. Reid." You pretend to pout and he laughs at the gesture. “Is it a problem if this is a date?” You search his eyes for an answer.

“No, it's not a problem. In fact, I was hoping it was.”

"That's good, then." You try to hide the smile that leaves your lips. You still feel like you owe him an explanation, though. "But in all seriousness, they usually give front row tickets to the press. It was a nice excuse to go out with you. I would have found one way or another of asking you out, free tickets or not. But since I’m writing about the play, I’ll have to pay extra attention to, you know, the actual play instead of paying attention to my handsome date.”

“I'm flattered, thank you." He giggles. Spencer Reid actually giggles and it's adorable. "And in that case, I have something that might come in handy.” he hands you the paper bag he's been holding this whole time. You open it to find a beautiful hardcover edition of the play you’re about to see.

A million compliments scramble about in your mouth, but only “Wow” comes out. You look at Spencer. He holds out a breath, waiting for you to say something else. You look down at the book in your hands once again. “Spencer, this is beautiful. Thank you so much.” You grab it between both of your hands, eyes skimming over the cover.

You hear the pre-show announcement letting you know that the play is about to start. A humble appeal asks the patrons to turn off their cell phones, so you make sure to do so and see Spencer do the same. The lights of the theater begin to dim. Okay, you're about to be shoulder to shoulder for several hours. This is serious stuff.

You soon find yourselves in silence. You could probably hear a pin drop, because you are both the kind of people who would never ruin another person's theater experience. But you are also experiencing something together; escaping to the same fictional place. The stagecraft is magnificent. It is rooted in the language of the play. The actors, melding word to flesh, make you believe in their characters’ impossibly lyrical, grotesque or otherworldly experiences in the fairy-filled woods at night, as well as in their daylight selves in the ordered world of the court. The dynamic interaction of the actors and the set on stage bring the level of authenticity home in a way that makes you feel like a part of the show instead of a casual observer.

There are few things more thrilling in the theater than its capacity to bring people together, turning complete strangers into a breathing living organism. You realize that you and Spencer are so absorbed in the play that you mimic each other's behavior, leaning forward in one of the more dramatic scenes, breathing together – or holding your breaths. You laugh in unison one moment, find yourselves sheepishly wiping away tears at another.

Your eyes meet, and there is nothing more pleasurable than that fleeting conspiratorial smile that passes between you that silently says isn't it just fabulous that we're here sharing this, a sign you are both quite clearly loving the experience.

After a couple minutes, you place your elbow on a small part of the armrest, leaving enough space for Spencer to do the same. Soon enough, you notice in the corner of your eye that he rests his hand on the armrest as well, and you instinctively bring your arm really close to his. But you try not to be obvious. You wait for a few minutes and find that you’re both trying to touch each other’s arms with the slightest of touches.

And when one of your fingers brushes against his, he doesn’t move your hand away. He just sits back and goes back to focusing on the stage. There is also something about a live performance that makes things more real, and more dramatic. And during those 90-plus minutes, you're building up excitement for what to talk about later. The moment you hit the bright lights of the theater hallway, conversation flows freely. You can share your interpretations of the play, how you envisioned the characters, little details you noticed.

—

“Going to the theater has been a treasured pastime for hundreds of years.” Spencer points out as the two of you walk up to the street in front of the theater.

“It’s been ages since I watched a play.” you admit, still holding the bag with the book he gave you. Spencer feels so content to see how you delicately rest the bag against your body, as if afraid to lose it. “Do you want to get some coffee? Or, judging by how late it is, maybe dinner. Hell, I could even go for dessert.”

“Anything, as long as it’s somewhere where we can actually hear each other. And you let me pay for it.'' he answers. The night can’t end so abruptly. He still has so much to share. And share he does.

You look at your phone, brows furrowed in concentration as you search for somewhere with glowing reviews to take him. Can't have the last part of the date be ruined by taking him to a dodgy restaurant. “I think there’s a really nice place a few blocks away, from what my phone is telling me.”

After the both of you have had something to eat, you indulge yourselves in a nice bottle of red wine, something the waiter recommended to you. Neither you or Spencer know enough about wines to know if this is actually a good one, but the company makes it taste like the best wine you've ever had.

Obviously, even though Spencer doesn’t want to get ahead of himself – it is your first date after all –, he makes a mental note of the wine label and vintage, something quite easy for someone with an eidetic memory like himself. He's sure that if things are going well and you’re still together in a month, a year or a decade’s time, a bottle of the first wine you enjoyed together will be a wonderful romantic gift.

"Did you know that wine increases the release of dopamine and serotonin in our brain? That means that wine can make us feel a surge of positive emotion." He gesticulates, too absorbed in the scientific data. "Actually, chemically speaking, not just wine but any alcohol stimulates the release of several neurotransmitters including serotonin, dopamine, and opioid peptides. These natural brain chemicals will produce pleasurable feelings like euphoria, reward, and-"

In a short moment, so fast you have no time to react, a waiter bumps into Spencer's hand, which in turn knocks the glass of wine in front of him, spilling all its contents into your dress. For a moment, you're speechless and distraught by your sudden state. You're soaked and your clothes are completely stained. You watch as Spencer gets up, apologizing profusely as he does the best he can do under the circumstances and engages in damage control. Taking a bunch of napkins, he begins blotting and dabbing, trying hard to keep a stain from forming. It's no use, though. You feel yourself blush at the fact that he's touching your chest and, like you do when you're nervous, you begin laughing, stopping the movements of his hand.

"Spencer, stop, there's no point in scrubbing this. The dress is ruined, but accidents do happen. I'll be fine. There’s no use crying over spilled wine." He goes back to his seat, looking down.

"I'm so sorry I did this, Y/N, I really am. I can have it dry cleaned, if you want." He hides his face in his hands. He drops them when a thought occurs to him: "Or if you have hydrogen peroxide and soap, you can dilute them…" You stop his rambling by taking his hand in yours, a gesture that calms him a bit. A sign that there's still hope of turning this around.

"It's alright, Spence, it's not my first rodeo. Windex usually does a good job of getting rid of this kind of thing. I'll get around to it tomorrow, don't worry. Besides, it's just a dress, not the end of the world."

"Are you sure? Let me at least buy you a new one."

"How about you make it up to me by continuing what you were saying? Something about alcohol and happy feelings." Even though your dress might be ruined, you still end up staying at the restaurant talking for ages, neither of you making any effort to end your date. You talk for so long that the waiter has to mention a couple of times that they are closing the place, but there are a few places nearby open late if you want to continue the conversation. It’s then that you two decide it’s time to grab a taxi to your apartments. You go your separate ways, smiles on your faces.

—

You’re tired, your dress is stained and your makeup looks messy from sweat, but you still have enough energy to send Spencer a last text before going to bed.

03:17 AM

Y/N: If I were to give our date a Yelp review: 5 stars. Spilled wine on my favorite shirt, but my date was so cute I didn’t even care.

Spencer 📚☕️: Hey! I think I must’ve been a little clumsy because I was nervous.

Y/N: I think you mean tipsy lol

Y/N: Hope I get another date, for which I will be sure to wear something black.

Spencer 📚☕️: I hope so too :]

Sleep soon finds you. You have peaceful dreams, all of which involve a beautiful genius.

A/N: Any thoughts on their first date? Hopefully I was able to write the proper first date jitters one gets when seeing someone they really like. More chapters on their way :) As usual, thank you for reading! – Cat

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