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as-is-above-so-below · 1 year

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The Captain - Simon Riley x Sniper!Reader, Wife!Reader

Knackered & Insatiable

summary: Ghost’s sniper wife (reader) joins Task Force 141 on an op, against his wishes warning: MDNI, mentions of violence and death (ofc), blood, SMUT Note: I cannot believe how much you guys LOVED Part 1!!! I've written three pieces in my life (check out my Ao3 for my other works lol) and none of them have ever gotten this much of a response. Thank you so much for your praise and overwhelming support, it really means a lot to me as a first-time writer :) Enjoy and blessed be! << Previous | Next >>

Ghost swirled the drink in his glass before lifting his mask up just enough to sip his whiskey. The team had insisted on getting to know his wife before they returned to England and Ghost “stole her away forever”, as they’d put it. He knew damn well, now that she’d met everyone, there wasn’t a chance in Hell she would let that happen. And while he may put on a good show of being a grump about it, secretly, he was glad. It was almost nice to see her mingling with his frie–team over a few drinks (hers being a bottle of water) and a football (she would call it a “soccer ball”, but he digressed).

He watched Soap, Gaz, and Freyja bobbing around the open space, kicking the ball back and forth, occasionally playing keep away. Gaz slid at her in an attempt to knock the ball loose from her control, which she swiftly countered and danced around him, laughing maniacally as the man shouted at her in protest. His lips tugged at the corner in a grin, shaking his head lightly at her antics.

She’d dressed down into her standard t-shirt but kept her boots and uniform pants on, her hair tied back out of her face. Without her gear or outerwear, even her oversized shirt, her bump protruded slightly where the shirt tucked into her belt. He’d been told that every person carried differently; her bump was small, due in part to her exercise regimen. God, he’d missed her.

He’d even been gracious enough to allow her time to gossip with his teammates, spilling (some) details about their relationship. How they met (work), who made the first move (classified), how Simon proposed (he didn’t); so gracious that he let a few embarrassing remarks slip past his radar.

Just a few.

“Did you know he has stretch marks–”

He whistled through his teeth. “Oi, watch it,” he warned, jerking his hand in front of his neck as to say ‘cut it’.

“But the stretch marks, Si!”

Ghost’s eyes traced her movements, wild hands pointing at her thighs, hips, underarms, and knees. He chastised her with a warning sound, and the three huddled together in whispers, no doubt continuing to quietly discuss topics they shouldn’t. He had a feeling he would be seeing a lot more of his fellow soldiers outside of the base. They eventually continued their game again.

Price took a seat next to him on the bench. Ghost said nothing. “How far along are you now?”

He took a deep breath, calming himself. Bold of Price to ask about the child he willingly endangered. “Fourteen weeks.”

John’s head bobbed, and he leaned back against the building behind them with his arms crossed. “Still struggling with the morning sickness, I see?”

That much was obvious. “The doctor said it should clear up soon. Usually only lasts ‘til ‘bout now,” he explained, still not meeting his eyes, choosing to follow his wife.

Silence passed between the two, the chirps of native bugs and shenanigans from the team filling the air.

The weight of his upper body on his forearms became uncomfortable, and Ghost sat back too. He sighed through his nose, keeping his sight forward. “I didn’t ask you not to call her for this job as your Lieutenant. I asked as your friend.”

John hesitated, mulling over the fact as he carefully chose his next words. He didn’t come up with much. “I know. I’m sorry.” What else was there to say?

Nothing.

Ghost nodded once, satisfied, and threw back the remains of his drink. The most important thing was that she was okay now. He knew the Captain was desperate for another player on that mission, and he was confident Price wouldn’t do it again.

Price seemed to understand that he had been forgiven. “Want another?”

“Negative, sir. She’ll lose steam in a minute.”

Sure enough, as predicted, she gave up her game and relented the ball to Kyle. Soap cheered with his arms in the air, sloshing his beer a bit with the motion. Freyja looked over her shoulder at him and raised a brow, eyes shifting toward their building. He acknowledged her request as she wished the others a good night's rest, rising to follow her to bed. Ghost fell into step a few paces behind her when a sharp whistle caught his ear. He turned his shoulder to look, and saw Soap with his hand out, gripping an imaginary leash with his tongue out as Gaz walked ahead of him like a dog.

He flipped them off and continued behind her.

~*~

The minute they returned to his quarters, Freyja had thrown herself down onto the bed like a sack of potatoes, not even bothering to strip out of her uniform. Ghost took her idea and, in his uniform, carefully straddled her waist. He offered her each of his hands, and she immediately went to work removing his gloves, smiling warmly at him. She gingerly traced the outline of his lips through his mask, a questioning look in her eyes. He accepted and tilted his chin up, allowing her to slip under the edge of the mask, drawing it up and off his head, leaving him with just the black paint on his face. Freyja plopped it on the headboard above them with his gloves.

“There he is.” Her cheeks were warm and rosy from the dry heat of the area, and all of the jogging she did outside.

“Hi, sweethear’.”

She tugged him down by his blonde locks at the nape of his neck, capturing his lips in hers. He dropped his weight onto his forearms, keeping away from her belly while his lips moved slowly against hers. A month had passed since he saw her, let alone touched her. However, when she nipped fiercely at his bottom lip, pulling a soft moan from Simon–

“Love,” he groaned, forcing himself to break away, as much as it pained him. “I don’t have it in me right now. I’m absolutely knackered.”

Freyja turned up a brow at him. “Wow. I’ve never heard that one before. Are you okay?” she asked, rubbing her thumbs against his cheekbones.

His head leaned into her touch, melting in the palms of her hands. The effect she had on him was something he’d never experienced before and was what drew him to the soldier. Quick and cunning, skilled and strong, but also impossibly loving and soft and gentle. Nobody had ever shown him the kind of attention she did, and he found himself craving it when they would inevitably separate for deployment.

He didn’t want to argue with his wife again after not seeing each other for so long, but the pit in Simon’s chest wasn’t budging either. Simon sighed and turned his head, pressing a kiss to her fingers. “I was serious when I said I’m pissed.”

“Simon, I know I shouldn’t have–”

“No, just– let me talk.” He brushed a loose hair from her forehead. “I…I don’t ask much of you. I asked – no, told you to do one thing. To stay home and protect our baby.”

Her brows pinched together, maintaining eye contact with him. “Simon, I can take care of myself,” she whispered, a bit confused.

“I know you can. I’ve seen you in the field, seen what you can do. You’re capable of slaughtering dozens of men at a time without breaking a sweat.” Simon rolled his shoulders to move off of her, laying on his back to stare at the ceiling. He rarely got so upset with her, if ever. Even rarer that he became a stuttering mess that couldn’t string a sentence together properly. He hated the feeling. “Why did you do tha’? What if you’d gotten hurt? What if someone comes after you when I’m not around? Wh–”

“Stop. You’re spiraling again.” Freyja turned onto her side, worried eyes studying his features. He’d picked up the habit since the pregnancy tests (seven of them to be exact) turned positive. “I–I know I messed up. I’m so, so sorry, Si. I didn’t…didn’t want to hurt you. I promise I won’t go out again. I just–” Her eyes watered, and she dragged the heel of her palm against the dampness on her cheek. “I’m h-having such a hard time. I love this baby, but I feel so–so useless just sitting at home.”

Oh, sweetheart… “Budge up,” Simon muttered, his voice gravelly as he tapped her thigh and scooched down a bit himself. His right arm slipped under her hip while the other tugged her shirt up to reveal their growing baby. Simon smiled softly at the sight and peppered kisses all over her bump. He eventually nuzzled into her chest and draped her leg over his hip before wrapping that arm around her waist. “I’m sorry I ‘aven’t been round. I know how much you miss work. But just look at this precious thing you’re making, Frey; you’re creating a whole person in there. My strong, drop-dead gorgeous wife and beautiful son–”

“Or daughter.”

Simon’s deep chuckle vibrated against her chest and belly, warmth blooming there. “Right. Or daughter,” he pressed another kiss to her chest. “You’re the strongest person I know. Just you watch. I’ll be home for a good long while now; we can work something out with Price, and get you some desk duty so you’re not sat at home twiddlin’ your thumbs all day. Keep you busy, yeah?”

Freyja nodded in agreement, smiling down at her husband. “Okay,” she croaked, sniffling a bit.

“Good. Now go to sleep, love. I really am knackered.”

“I love you, Simon.”

“I love you too, Frey.”

~*~

Soap rapped his knuckles against the door for his Lieutenant’s quarters after (again) failing to locate Captain Riley in hers. He waited for a breath and was about to knock again when he heard an affirming grunt from the other side of the door.

“Aye, if I see any naked bodies–” He poked his head into the room, finding the two tangled up in each other. Fully clothed, thankfully. He barely caught the bare strip of Simon’s cheek from his angle. He immediately piped down when he realized she was still sleeping. “Lieutenant?”

“Wot?” he grumbled, not moving from his comfortable position. Soft and warm.

John remained silent, eyes shifting between Simon and the sleeping body next to him.

“What do you need, Sergeant.”

“I don’t want to wake ‘er, sir,” he whispered in a hushed voice. He truly didn’t want to face the consequences of waking a pregnant Riley. He was, however, less worried about the wrath of his Lieutenant and more about his other half.

Simon turned his chin up slightly, focusing on her steady, soft breaths and even heartbeat. In the first weeks of her pregnancy, before leaving for deployment, she had taken to sleeping like a rock. Obviously, that fact was still true. He settled back into her t-shirt.

“She’s fine. Speak.”

Soap hesitated but took his word for it. “Ah, Captain said we’re good to go. Wheels up in thirty.”

He grunted again, still unmoving. ”Alright. We’ll be ready.”

He could sense the Scot still stuck in his doorway, continuing to disturb his peace, and his irritation grew. “Quit hoverin’, Johnny. I said we’ll be ready. Get out,” he all but growled.

“Sorry, sir.” Soap turned to leave but stopped himself. “Almost fo’got, wanted to give ya’s a warnin’, it’s pishin’ it doon out there.”

His patience had grown thin and irritability impossibly higher. “Speak. English.”

Soap’s mouth opened with a turned lip, just about to quip a snarky retort–

“It’s raining fuckin’ hard.”

His eyes blew wide, jaw dangled loosely, staring at the previously silent form the soft, sleepy voice came.

“Thank you, love.”

“I—How— Beg your pardon?” John stuttered, pointing between Freyja and Ghost in utter shock.

Her grip on her husband tightened with a groan, eyes fluttering as she tried to adjust to the morning light. “What? What did I do?” she mumbled, curving her back inward to stretch, her neck popping.

“But–I don’t– You know Scots?”

“Oh. I suppose. Cannae ge’ the accent righ’, though,” she said, exhibiting what was indeed her very poor attempt at a Scottish accent.

Still, he gawked at them, unmoving. He eventually snapped out of his reverie, a wicked smile creeping onto his face. “Jesus, I’m sorry Lt. but I think I’m gettin’ hard,” he teased, the tip of his tongue sticking out between his teeth.

Simon blindly reached for the mask above his head, scooting up a bit for a quick kiss before slipping it on. The black war paint around his eyes remained, but more worn and smudged with sleep. The Sergeant Oooh’d in the background. “Johnny, what did I tell you ‘bout flirting wit’ my wife?” He swung his legs over the side of the bed in a sitting position.

Freyja followed him, sitting up and pressing her chest against Simon’s back. She wrapped her arms around him, rubbing her palms across his sternum and abdomen, fingers dipping into the ridges of his muscles. “Simon, you really shouldn’t make threats you don’t intend to keep,” she pressed her lips against the warm skin at the back of his neck. He hummed softly, leaning back into her.

“Who said I won’t?”

“Alright, alright, I’m not tryna cock-block,” Soap threw his hands up in defense, backing out of the doorway. “I’m goin’. Tarmac in thirty.”

The door clicked shut behind him, leaving the couple alone again. Simon moved to stand but was immediately restricted by her arms and legs as she whined. “Can I help you?” he asked, settling back down and glancing at her over his shoulder.

Freyja rose to her knees and tugged at his shirt, untucking it from his waistband. “Maybe,” she said against the side of his throat. “Depends.”

“On?”

“Are you Simon,” her fingers pressed into his waist. She licked a stripe on his thrumming pulse before closing her mouth over the spot, sucking generously. Simon hissed through his teeth and dropped his head against her shoulder. “Or Ghost?”

“God, you are insatiable.”

“Only when you don’t give me what I want.”

“And wha’s that?”

“Been a while since you fucked me stupid, yeah?”

A deep growl tore from him, and he whipped around, pouncing on her. The balaclava and skull plate flew across the room. His lips crushed hers, teeth and tongues smashing together. Rough fingers wrapped around her throat, holding her down to the mattress as he leaned over her. “Your British is fuckin’ shit.”

“Mmm, what’re you gonna do about it?” she challenged, smirking against his mouth. She loved instigating him, even more so now that her hormones were through the roof. The last week at home had been almost unbearable.

Freyja’s eyelids flickered at the sudden pressure, not enough to cut off oxygen but enough to effectively shut her up. She felt her walls flutter at the sensation, a puddle forming in her underwear.

“Good girl,” Simon practically purred, dragging his lips down to the underside of her chin, nipping at the skin, followed by a soothing lick at the affected spot. His free hand crawled down her body, rising and falling over the various curves before stopping at her pants. “Is this what you want?”

She nodded vigorously, so he swiftly unfastened the fatigues and dove his hand in. “Mmm, so needy for me. I’ve barely even started, sweetheart,” he slipped two fingers through her soaked lips, sucking a bruise at her throat. He ground his aching bulge against the edge of the bed, searching for some relief. Simon swirled tight but lazy circles around her clit with her collected juices, getting a muffled moan. “Like that?”

“Mhm…”

“Use your words, Frey.”

“F-Fuck– Need you, Si, n-now.”

He cocked his head to the side, releasing her throat to unbutton and unzip his pants. “Already? I’m feelin’ a bit, peckish love. Not gonna let me have a taste?” He slid down to his knees, nibbling down over her t-shirt and pulling the zipper of her pants.

“NO!” She shouted, and his eyes shot up to hers with a brow quirked. “N-No, I need you to fuck me. Please, Simon,” she begged, her voice desperate.

“Fast and hard, eh? A’right.” Simon stood, then hooked his hands behind her knees, yanked her to the edge of the bed, and flipped her over, her feet firmly planted on the floor. “Careful,” he pressed softly against her bump, keeping her stomach off the bed.

The sniper growled at him, starting to get frustrated. “Simon, I swear to fucking God– Ah!” she squeaked when a much firmer hand shoved her face into the mattress.

“Naughty girl… I’m getting there. Be patient,” he ordered. He waited until she showed her understanding with another sharp nod. Simon finally pulled her pants and panties down to her knees. “Fuckin’ Hell,” he moaned, admiring the view as he dropped his pants enough to pull himself out, giving himself a few strokes. “Who’s this cunt belong to?” he asked, dragging the tip through her folds.

“You, it's all yours!”

Eager to please, Simon rested one palm on the small of her back as the other slowly eased himself into her. His head dropped back, unable to help the soft moans and whimpers at her walls around him. “F-fuck, never get sick of this sweet cunt,” he stilled himself in her when he bottomed out. “Not even in you for a second ‘n I already wanna cum.”

She pulled her hips forward, desperate for him to move and, as promised, fuck her senseless. Bruising fingers gripped the extra flesh at her hip with a groan. “Naughty,” he repeated, drawing out of her to the tip before diving back in just as slowly. “Maybe if ya beg some more, I’ll give it to ya.”

Freyja whined as his cock dragged painstakingly slowly along her insides. “P-please, please fuck me, Simon. I need your cock so bad. I’m desperate,” she begged, her hands shaking as she gripped the scratchy blanket under her with white knuckles. “Been w-waiting so long for you to come home, please!”

Simon twitched inside her, his wife’s begging scratching just the right spot in his brain. “Ngh, fuck Frey.” He slammed into her, his eyes rolling into the back of his head while he started a steady pace.

“God, Simon, ‘s so good–”

“Look at me,” he said, turning her chin with his thumb and forefinger. “Say it again…My name.”

Her smirk almost immediately wiped off her face when he brushed her clit again, eliciting another breathy, gasped moan. “Simon!”

“Mmm, again.”

“S-Simon…fuck!”

“Cum for me, love, cum on my cock. Wanna feel you–”

She stared into his eyes, the sounds of his hips slapping her hips, the wet sounds of her sex thrumming between them, and her heavy pants thrumming between them until she finally pulsed around him, her pitch kicking up an octave. “Ah, Simon, I-I’m cumming, fuck!”

“Jesus fuck–! Y/N, Y/N,” he whined, choking on her name as the tight coil inside him snapped and spilled into her, his hips stuttering. Simon’s chest rested against her back when he dropped his hand next to her for support. He stilled, echoing her name over and over while he pumped her full of his cum. She was grinning back at him over her shoulder and dragging her nails up and down his forearm, humming at the warm pool inside her.

Simon slid his free hand under the back of her shirt, stroking between her shoulder blades. They stood unmoving, panting, staring at each other for what seemed like an eternity. His spend was starting to creep out around him, turning into milky drops threatening to break free and fall to the floor. He could stay like that forever, her gaze holding his as he warmed his cock in her–

“Hey Ghost–”

THUNK

The tip of a black combat knife sank into the soft wood of the door frame, a breath away from his nose. Kyle stopped short of passing through the threshold, the door only open a crack. “Bad time, got it,” he said, his voice cracking a bit before the door clicked shut again. “Sorry!” his voice muffled by the door between them before his footsteps scurried away.

Freyja giggled and pressed her face into the mattress, attempting to stifle her laughter.

“Not funny.”

“Really? I thought it was a little bit funny, Lieutenant,” she said, wiggling her hips against his. Simon’s breath hitched, and both hands shot back to stop the movement.

“Ey, none’a that. Be a good girl or you won’t be getting a thing out of me later,” he threatened, raising a blonde brow in challenge. She pouted up at him in return but nodded with a disgruntled Fine, slowly leaning forward until he popped out of her with a groan. The woman eased herself up until she stood fully and turned to face him, standing on her tiptoes to reward him with a sweet, lazy kiss. When Simon was least expecting, she swiped a finger along his dick, causing him to jerk at his sensitivity, collecting their mixed fluids before popping the digit into her mouth. “You’re a minx, y’know that?”

“Mhm.”

“Hn.” He pulled her panties and underwear back up for her, fingers lovingly caressing their growing baby when he went to button them again. He wasn’t proud to admit that he hadn’t reacted well to the initial news of his wife’s pregnancy. Simon had never wanted children or a family before her, given his experiences with his own as a child. The last thing he wanted was to turn out like his father, an abusive, mean drunk with a violent streak and an inclination for scaring the pants off little Simon.

That all changed at their first ultrasound. The soft thrum of the baby’s heartbeat echoed off the walls of the small room and burned into his mind on a constant playback. His baby. Their baby.

Mine.

He supposed the second-trimester hormones were a nice touch, too.

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youvebeenlivingfictional · 26 days

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left behind

Pairing: Gurney Halleck x Reader Rating: T Notes: Still simping for Gurney Halleck. Shocker. Set during Dune Part II.

No physical descriptions, no use of y/n. Not beta-read, so probably riddled with typos that I won’t find until I hit ‘post’.

Warnings: Angst; fluff; yearning; pining; they're in love, they're just idiots.

Summary: You’ve spent months fighting to honor all of your ghosts, but there’s no one whose memory you've tended to more than Gurney’s. On the evenings when your nightmares played keepaway with your peace, you reached for his memories first and held them the tightest.

He’s a far cry from the man that you once knew. You don’t recognize him for a moment—but as he grows closer, and the flash of his smile becomes apparent, your insides curdle and twist as if you've sipped the Water of Life.

And when Paul points you out—when his mouth forms your name, his gloved finger jabbed in your direction—you see the man's expression fall and muddle. You’re not sure what with: shock, disgust, confusion?

But before you can decipher it—before the man can take another step toward you or away from you, Chani is taking hold of your shoulder and guiding you away from the wreckage of the destroyed spice freighter. You don’t fuss or fight, or insist that you have someone to see, something to say. You still hardly believe your eyes. You don’t trust that what you've seen isn’t an effect of the spice, or a hallucination—one of those jinn that Stilgar warns you about when you go for walks alone at night.

It wouldn’t be the first time that your tired eyes have carved the likeness of the man you once loved out of dust and heat.

“If I’d known,” He tries, “I could’ve gotten you off of the planet. I would’ve—”

“I wouldn’t have left.”

“You still can, and should. You’d be safer on Caladan.”

“My place is with Paul.”

His grip is a vice as he grabs your wrist and roughly tugs you to face him. Your feet stutter and stall in the sand, annoyance rising in your belly. It’s only stoked by the righteous fury waiting for you in his eyes. He seems unaware or uncaring of the testy audience that his antic draws, the slowed steps of the Fremen around you; their shushes and tuts; their low, murmured chittering warnings in Chakobsa, filling the canyon with whispered threats.

“And mine is not?” He hisses. You study his face for a few testy, silent moments before you finally wrestle from his grip.

“I couldn’t say where your place is, Gurney Halleck.”

Sleep is uneasy. The stillness and silence of the dessert makes you fidget and squirm in your tent. You can only keep your eyes closed for a moment or two before they open again. You map the ceiling of the tent, mark its occasional fluttering in the odd breeze. You try not to think of the little centipedes, or the trapdoor spiders.

You fight not to think of the man just feet from you.

You’ve spent months fighting to honor all of your ghosts, but there’s no one whose memory you've tended to more than Gurney’s. On the evenings when your nightmares played keepaway with your peace, you reached for his memories first and held them the tightest.

You’ve struggled to keep every little bit etched into your mind: his voice, his smile, his laugh, the murmur of his balliset. You’ve remembered the slip of his hand over your arm, your back, your side as he corrected a movement in training. You've remembered the call of his voice over the battlefield, roaring over your pounding heart as you ran into hell together. You’ve fought to hold the last look of him in Arrakeen—the blend of passion and sorrow in his eyes as he charged the Harkonnens.

But you’d lost sight of him in the skirmish, and found your way to Paul. You’d been certain that so few of your fellow soldiers had survived, positive that any who had would have fallen into Harkonnen clutches.

Some nightmares draw up images of Gurney in their chains once more, fighting against his bondage without Leto there to free him again. Others have him limping from the shadows, bleeding, imploring and begging you to tell him where you had gone when he needed you most.

Is he awake over there? Or has he learned to doze peacefully, to drift off to the shush of spice over the sands of Arrakis? Does he dream of Caladan, of her deep oceans and grey skies?

Does he think of you? Of your nights together in the barracks? Of sharing a drink?

You push yourself to sit up now, drawing a deep breath in through your nose as you fight to slow your pounding heart, to unpick the knot forming in your belly.

You try to hide from him in the company of others. Your place with the Fremen is far less precarious than it used to be, and they happily draw you into their conversations, keep pace with you as you walk. Whenever Gurney gets too close, they cast him a wary look and bunch in closer to you. It warms you as much as it makes you uneasy.

You’ve no reason to be protected from Gurney. He would never harm you, despite what his grabbing your wrist may have made them think. But you’re not rushing to correct them, either. And when you’re certain that you feel him watching you, you force yourself to refocus on the company of your friends.

The worn, high walls of Sietch Tabr are an unexpected respite. Perhaps it’s the knowledge that you’ll be able to slip into the crowd and elude the former Warmaster for just a little while longer. Hands pat you on the shoulder as you pass, murmurs of greeting washing over you as you venture deeper underground.

You want as much rest and quiet that this brief break will afford you. You’re certain that Gurney will keep close now that he and Paul have been reunited, and you can’t blame him—in his shoes, you would do the same. You have no intention of letting yourself be kept away from Paul, or away from the action, so you’ll have to brace.

“Did he hurt you?”

If the question had come from anyone else, you may deflect—turn away, start toward the next windtrap. But Chani’s question isn’t abrasive, despite its bluntness. You keep your eyes set resolutely on the filter that you’re removing, twisting it from its position and lowering it to your rucksack with the others that you’ve collected.

“A long time ago,” You finally admit.

“Does he know?”

“No.”

Chani’s silence is as heavy as her gaze. You just shrug, chasing her quiet curiosity: “It isn’t that easy.”

“Why not?”

“He wouldn’t understand.” Or care.

You hold your hand out for a fresh filter, and fit it once she’s passed it over.

“He’s a good man,” You add. “Smart, and strong.”

“The others think he’s a spy.”

“They thought the same of me.”

“...That’s true.”

“And the same of Paul.”

Chani falls quiet at the reminder, and the mention of Paul’s name. The two of you collect the remainder of the full filters, each stewing in your thoughts. You finally speak again as you make your way back to the sietch.

“Will you tell the others to lighten up on Gurney?” You cast her a sidelong glance just in time to see her lips purse contemplatively.

“They won’t take to him easily,” She argues.

“They should try.”

“You should lead by example.”

It’s your turn to purse your lips. You know that she’s right, and it irritates you. But you nod grudgingly. It shouldn’t be too hard to crack your own shell. For all of your pain and heartache, you have missed him. Your mind has been racing with memories since you first saw him again.

When you return to the sietch, he isn’t hard to find. Stilgar points you in his direction, and warns you not to waste your time or water on such an unclever man. The words, accompanied with a wink and a light pat on the shoulder, offer a much-needed lightness as you wind through the cool, quiet halls.

You don’t bother to try and sneak up on Gurney—there’s no point. He always was a vigilant tactician, as wise in the ways of his soldiers as of his enemies. His head tips toward you a touch as your footsteps grow nearer, but he doesn’t take his attention away from the mural on the wall.

“How do they get off?” He asks. The question makes you balk, briefly stalling your brain before you manage—”What?”

“Of the worm.” He gestures toward the wall, at the illustration of a small figure riding a sandworm. Ah.

“They slide off,”You tell him, “Or run the worm until it tires and slows.”

He grunts, nodding slowly. “You’ve learned a lot these last few months.”

“I’ve had to,” You admit, then amend: “We all have.”

Gurney nods again. “You seek me out for a reason, or were you just going for a walk?”

You’re tempted to lie. Gurney is no truthsayer and you were adept at concealing your true feelings from him once.

“I wanted to apologize.”

“For what.”

By the way that he says it, you know that he’s leaning digging the knife in, just a little. You can’t blame him; if you were in his place, you’d do the same. You draw in a deep breath, curling your nails into your palms.

“I…Should not have received you as I did when we found you in the desert.”

“You didn’t receive me at all.”

“And that is what I mean.”

You eye the floor as you feel Gurney turning to look at you, hold carefully still as you feel him approach you, your fingers still curled tightly into fists.

“If I had been able,” He says softly, “If I had known about you and Lady Jessica and Paul—”

“I know,” You whisper.

It’s a moment before he reaches out, taking hold of your hands. You pull in a soft, stunned breath at the touch; his hands are warm, and rougher than you remember. He turns your hands over, thumbs sweeping across the half-moons that your nails have dug in.

“There’s still time,” He offers, and before you have a chance to misunderstand his meaning, he presses: “To return to Caladan.”

You try not to let it sting you—the thought that this man has had you back for just a few days and is already chomping at the bit to be rid of you. Your fingers involuntarily flex, brushing against his where he holds you, still.

“There is,” You agree, “But as I said, my place is here, with Paul. Yours is, too.”

“Yes.”

You give one last, small nod before you draw your hands back from his. You take a step back, too, desperate to create space between yourself and Gurney. You clear your throat, tucking your hands into your pockets, out of reasonable reach.

“You should rest,” You offer. “Whenever we—Paul will want to get back out there as quickly as possible.”

You don’t give him a chance to respond. You turn away and stride back to where you sleep, forcing yourself to be secure in the knowledge that you’ve spoken, reconciled, and will move on.

Gurney is a good fighter, and a smart man. Your countenance has surely bounced off of him like sound from a wall. He’ll conduct himself in an appropriate manner, fight well, make his worth known to the others. You’ll approve of him publicly, encourage his company and conversation where you must, and hide from it where you’re able. You’ll still shield your discomfort, the embers of your misguided love in the sands of Arrakis, and burn your passion out in leveling and destroying Harkonnen soldiers and spice freighters.

Gurney always taught you to turn your feelings, your passion—any strong emotion—to guiding your fight, regardless of whether or not you felt in the mood for it when the need arose. You can do so now. You’ve always been a good soldier—and for him and his sake, you know that you will be the best.

Acceptance is slow. Gurney and Stilgar do not mesh quickly, but their shared belief and care for Paul keeps them on as even a footing as they can be. They still butt heads, still insist that they know better, but concede that Paul knows best. It makes for amusing conversation, watching the two bat their causes back and forth before ultimately yielding to your former trainee, Maud’dib, the Lisan Al-Ghaib. You try not to love it as you watch your wise Warmaster bite his tongue for Paul’s sake. You know that Paul appreciates his guidance, and, where it’s necessary, his compliance.

But when Gurney turns to meet your eye—to level an all-knowing look of ‘Can you believe this?’ or his imploration for back-up—you force your expression to a neutral set, merely arching a brow, as if to ask what he’ll do next.

You can see his frustration grow as you remain neutral, but you can’t bring yourself to side against the people that have accepted you and given you shelter for months. You’re certain that as much as it frustrates him, he understands, even if he doesn’t agree with you.

It doesn’t stop him from sitting beside you during meals. It doesn’t stop him from covering your back when you work with the others to take down Harkonnens, to level a freighter. It doesn’t stop the two of you from being near one another during briefings, or sharing knowing looks when you watch Paul and Stilgar disagree. Paul always was an ornery child, and it’s neither a surprise, nor an affront when he argues with authority. Hell—you wear it as a badge of honor, and you’re certain Stilgar does, too.

When you lose your pack in the midst of battle and your tent is destroyed, you know that you have other options. At worst, you could take an early watch, use the tent of someone that takes it on later. But Gurney’s hand pats against your lower back as he passes you, the words, “Come on,” Push out of his gruff mouth before you can even think to ask or argue.

You watch him go for a moment before you force yourself to follow. It’s been a long day of fighting, and you’re not willing to make it longer by nit-picking with him. You just follow him to his tent and duck inside. The two of you undo the clasps and fastenings on your stillsuits in silence. You take a little longer, hesitating and glancing back every few moments as you undo the suit. It’s been long since you’ve undressed near him, and even then you’re certain that he didn’t take notice. Now, the space is nearly cramped with the two of you, filled with the sounds of zips and pops. Once you’ve disrobed, you hurriedly change into your nightclothes—a flimsy, thin top and a pair of loose fitting pants.

By the time you turn to face him, Gurney has laid out the pad that you’ll both sleep on, cushioning you from the sand as you rest. He hasn’t taken up his place yet, and while you’d like to linger until he’s made himself comfortable, you force yourself to lie down and curl up on your side. You feel more than hear him settle beside you, the pad shifting slightly as he sinks down onto it. The two of you lay in the dark, still silence for a little while.

“...What happened to your balliset?” You can’t stand the quiet, and can’t bring yourself to ask about anything else.

“...It blew up.”

“Paul?”

“Mhm.”

“Damn.”

He huffs a soft laugh that warms you, and you smile.

“We’ll get you new one,” You promise before you can stop yourself.

“The Fremen don’t have one?”

“They have something like it. I’m sure you could learn.”

You hear him shift beside you, and squeeze your eyes shut as his warm breath brushes against your neck.

“Would you want me to?”

“...I want you to do anything that you like, Gurney Halleck.”

“Anything?”

“Mhm.”

You think that he’ll let it end there, and that he’ll let you both drift off into a peaceful sleep. Bu when his arm curls around your waist, you know that you won’t be able to sustain as you like.

You try to fight it. You want to be a rock in his arms, cold and unmovable—but when his arm winds around you, you melt into him like butter on warm bread.

Waking is slow. It’s accompanied by murmurs of Chakobsa around your tent, and the shushing of sand and spice around the tent. You sigh softly, shifting between the softness of the mat, and the hard body against yours.

You don’t dare open your eyes.

You can feel his lips and beard brushing tenderly against the curve of your jaw, his fingers flexing against your skin and curling in the hiked-up fabric of your top. You hum softly, tipping your head to the side and letting your forehead knock gently against his. You don’t know if he’s awake, but you’re not willing to open your eyes and find out. You expect him to draw back, to extricate his body from yours. And you wait to pull yourself fully from sleep, to draw your stillsuit back on and push away the sensation of being wrapped in his arms.

Neither of you make any such move.

His lips drift up a touch, pressing tenderly against the crest of your cheekbone. Your hand lifts as if on its own, smoothing against his rough cheek as a heady hum leaves your lips. Gurney’s grip tightens on your hip, pulling your body flush against his as his kiss brushes down to the upturned corner of your mouth. Your breath catches in your throat, fingers smoothing higher to curl in his hair as his hips roll gently against your side.

“Gurney.”

His name leaves you wrapped in a breath, wary that anything louder will wake him, truly wake him before you’ve had a chance to savor his touch. But he just groans, his nose brushing nuzzling as his lips sleepily find yours. You part your lips unthinkingly, tongues tangling as you trade syrupy-slow kisses.

It must be a dream—you've gone sleeping walking and been taken by a jinn. This has to be a trick or a trap—but as Gurney presses cloesr, covering his body with yours and spreading your legs wide to make room for him, you can't bring yourself to care, even if it is. You blink sleepily up at him as he draws away, holding your gaze as you gently comb your nails over his scalp. Your focus is only broken when someone taps on the top on the top of the tent, and Chani's warning of, "Breakfast," Breaks through.

Gurney glances up before his gaze flits to yours, awaiting your approval. You smile, giving a small shake of your head.

"I'm not very hungry."

Gurney's smile widens, eyes brightening with mischief as he lowers himself closer.

"Neither am I."

Tag list: @missredherring ; @fantasticcopeaglepasta ; @massivecolorspygiant ; @blueeyesatnight; @amneris21

@ew-erin ; @youngkenobilove ; @carbonated-beverage ; @moonlightburned ; @milf-trinity

@millllenniawrites ; @chattychell ; @dihra-vesa ; @videogamesandpoorlifechoices ; @missswriter ;

@thembosapphicclown ; @brandyllyn ; @wildmoonflower ; @buckybarneshairpullingkink ; @mad-girl-without-a-box ;

@winchestershiresauce ; @lorecraft ; @kmc1989

#Gurney Halleck x Reader #Gurney Halleck x You #Gurney Halleck/Reader #Gurney Halleck/You #Gurney Halleck fic #Gurney Halleck imagine #left behind

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im-fckn-threaded · 1 month

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Hey fellow freaks of tumblr,

at the ripe old age 35 I'm beginning to suspect I might have ADHD. Actually I've been carrying around that thought for some years now. There's currently noone in my life I can talk to about this. My partner refuses to believe me and stresses that I'm totally normal and like everyone else (I'm beginning to suspect he's got ADHD too and just thinks his experiences are the norm). But I don't see other people struggle with the same things I struggle with. I'm trying to get a doctor's appointment at the moment, which isn't easy.

What brought me to this point is the fact, that I'm pretty sure I have rejection sensitive dysphoria along with some other symptoms that make my life a living nightmare. Especially work, where I have little control over the environment.

Can the ADHD-side of tumblr maybe give me some tips on how to deal with RSD? It's going to take a pretty long time to get an appointment for diagnosis, so I thought I might try out some things in the meantime (it can't hurt, right? I mean, my hair dresser, who has ADHD and takes Ritalin for it, offered me her pills and I was very tempted. But maybe it's a bit of a smoother start to try some behavioral things first).

#adhd #mental health #rejection sensitive dysphoria #neurodiversity

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opertabry · 9 months

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wrong number smau ➝ skidaddle (half written)

synopsis ➝ peer pressured by your group members, you ask a fellow idol for her number. but when you texted her that night, you realised that she wasn’t the person you were texting. what you didn’t know was that she gave karina’s, aepsa’s hotshot visual and leader, number to you.

chapter 34 ➝ skidaddle

call her crazy, but jimin needed to see you. she needed to tell you that she was stupid, that she had already fallen in love with you. and maybe she was slightly crazy, standing at your apartment’s front door (eunchae rang her in). she was still deciding whether she should chicken out or not - and she would have, if it wasn’t for the fact that you opened the fucking door.

“y/n! hi? weird seeing you here..” she sheepishly blurted out, cheeks tinged with a subtle rosy hue. she began to fiddle with the hem of her shirt - a telltale sign that she was nervous. you were just confused because, that is not eunchae.

“jimin, i live here.”

“right right. i mean, i’m sorry for just randomly showing up like this, but y/n, i know i messed up, and i need you to know that i want you, i’m not scared anymore! not if it’s with you.” you raised an eyebrow and leaned against the doorframe, a small chuckle escaping you when you saw how flustered she was, okay that was not what you expected at all.

“what are yo-”

“after yesterday, i realised how much i wanted you. how much i have taken you for granted and i need to get this off my chest.” she interjected, with a rush of courage surging through her.

“aren’t you suppo-”

“no, no! hold on, let me say this. there was a point in time where i wanted everything in my life to be perfect, i didn’t want to get myself hurt again. but now that i’ve met you, i swear every moment is perfect with you, because i’m with you. i don’t care if i get hurt as long as i have you. i’m not scared, y/n. not if it’s with you, so please, please give me another chance.”

“liste-”

“and i know i’m not thinking and i know i don’t have you anymore, i’m just doing what i want to do. i’m showing you me. who i really am.” she cuts you off yet again.

“jimin, if you would let me finish. what i was going to say was, are you stupid or what? because i thought you knew that you’ve always had me.”

she blinked, and as the seconds pass, realisation began to seep in, like a gentle wave lapping at the shores of her consciousness. her lips twitched, breaking into a relieved smile as she exhaled a breath she hadn’t even realised she was holding. “oh.”

“you want to come in?” your soft gaze had her legs feeling like jelly.

“YE-“ she coughed, reeling in her desperation and replaced it with a more composed (not really) response, “um i mean, yeah. yeah. sure?” you push yourself off the doorframe and she followed your lead, gently closing the door behind her. her gaze remained fixated on you, a pool of adoration and anticipation swirled in her eyes.

you made your way over to the fridge, grabbing a bottle of water. and as you wordlessly hand the bottle to her, your fingers brushed against hers, lingering a second longer. she timidly accepts it, shooting you a meek smile as she takes a sip. you lean against the kitchen counter, your forearms supporting your weight.

the room was heavy with unspoken words, feeling suffocated, you decided to break the silence. “so.. you sure jeno is not going to be a problem?” your voice a mixture of curiosity and concern, a genuine question that had been lingering in your mind for some time.

“yes.” jimin affirmed, her tone was resolute and carried a conviction that made you believe her. her voice softened as she added, “but can you please.. stop what you have going on with jiwon? i don’t like sharing, especially when it comes to you.”

your lips thinned, a flash of anger igniting within you at the mere mention of her name. you struggled to rein in your emotions, “there’s nothing going on,” you replied tersely, words laced with defensiveness.

“okay.”

her response hung in the air, leaving a trail of doubt in its wake. you could sense her skepticism, and it pricked at your patience. “you don’t believe me?” you furrowed your eyebrows, your lips forming a slight pout.

she shook her head, a small smile gracing her lips. “no, i trust you.”

“there is no jiwon anymore.” you reiterated, hoping to erase any trace of doubt that lingered in her mind.

“right, yep.”

you swiftly made your way around to her side of the counter, closing the physical distance between you. you tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, sending shivers down her spine. “just you.”

her breath caught in her throat, her lips parting as if to say something, but words seemed to have failed her. “just me.” she managed to whisper, her voice laden with longing and uncertainty.

“jimin, why are you so scared?” you inquired gently and held her gaze, fingers tracing a soft path along her cheek bone, setting her skin on fire.

“i don’t know” she shrugged lightly, her voice laced with vulnerability.

“yes, you do.” you countered softly, your knuckles brushing against her skin. “and if we want to make this work, we need to communicate.”

a blush crept up to jimin’s ears, and she let out a shaky sigh, her guard slowly lowering. “my ex.”

“okay..” you acknowledged, knowing that there was more she needed to share, “you’re going to have to say a little bit more than that, babe.”

“he, uh, cheated on me, with my best friend at the time.” her voice cracked as she cleared her throat. “they both told me it was my fault because i was hard to love and i wasn’t good enough for either of them.”

“who’s your best friend right now?”

“yeji. wait, why?”

“so i won’t go anywhere near her.” you decided with a determined nod.

“no, what? she’s still your friend, i won’t take that away from you.”

“doesn’t matter to me. if it makes you uncomfortable, i would give up anything for you.“ you held her gaze, sincerity unwavering.

“it doesn’t make me uncomfortable, but that’s really sweet y/n.” jimin looked at you softly, warmth radiating from her. her teeth captured her lower lip, a nervous habit she had developed over the years, and it only added to her charm. she was trying to suppress the rising smile that threatened to spread across her face.

your focus was on her lips, the way they moved when she spoke, the curve of her smile that you found adorably captivating. you made no effort to conceal your interest, allowing your stare to linger on her. not that she minded, anyway.

“stop it.”

“stop what?” she smiled at you innocently but the shine in her eye suggested she was anything but.

“making me want to kiss you”

“and why haven’t you?” the words slipped from her lips in a soft whisper.

“because..” you leaned, your lips tantalisingly close to hers, enjoying the way her rapid breaths brushed against your skin. just as her eyes fluttered shut, you pulled away, a mischievous glint in your eyes. “you, my love, have a flight to catch. so skidaddle.”

a whine escaped her, frustration and amusement evident in her tone. slowly, she opened her eyes, her lips curling into a teasing smile. “god, you’re so obsessed with me, you’ve even memorised my schedule.”

“i am very much obsessed, sweetheart. now leave before i literally kick you out.”

“you wouldn’t.” she gasped, feigning shock as she dramatically placing a hand over her chest.

a smirk tugged at your lips, a spark of mischief dancing in your eyes.. “did it once, i can do it again.”

she stared at you, stars twinkling in her eyes.

you urged her softly, “jimin, go.”

she reluctantly left your arms and walked over to the door, her fingers curling around the doorknob. she paused and glanced over her shoulder. “call me later?”

you nodded, “was already planning to, babe.”

a wide grin adorned her face, and she sent you a knowing wink before she slipped out the door, leaving you breathless and very much in love.

where can i find me a yn

previous ⌊ masterlist ⌊ next

taglist ➝ @aeongiies @rd0265667 @kyaitosz @haerinkisser @mightymyo @limbforalimb @yoontoonwhs @sewiouslyz @jisooftme @justme-idle @noooodlessstuff @yerisdumbass @awkwardtoafault @pandafuriosa60 @jiwoneiric @haechansbbg @koeuh @beawolfbealionbeyou @masuowo @rinapomu @1luvkarina @uzumakioden

#aespa #aespa karina #karina x reader #yu jimin x reader #yu jimin #karina #smau #gxg #idol au #lesserafim #kpop #aespa x reader #lesserafim x reader #yoo jimin #yoo jimin x reader

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gffa · 7 months

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I finished Rise of the Red Blade this morning and I think I genuinely liked it, to the point that I started mentally composing essays about the main character's journey and the parallels she had with other Star Wars characters and how so much of this book supported everything I've been saying about the dark side and what it does to people, as well as unreliable narrators, and even things where I thought they might be swerving into unfair critical territory on the part of the narrative wound up ultimately being almost delivered to me on a silver platter for how I was fucking right. But I don't think I would recommend it and would even anti-rec it to fellow Jedi fans who have had their nerves scraped raw, unless you are into sharp-edged female characters as much as I am. This book is for all the fans who want a hot mess of a female character who is allowed to be cruel and mean and wrong and all up in her head and unreliable and have moments of absolute yearning that made my heart ache for her and moments of awesome and that she gets to fail and be consumed by the dark and her story is worth telling. If I can love Anakin Skywalker through his descent into the dark, I can love Iskat Akaris through her descent into the same place. This is a book about what it's like to choose the dark side, to believe she's right and that she's free and that she'll get everything she wants--except it's all just kind of nothing in the end. She believes so strongly that the Jedi wronged her, that they never cared about her, that their beliefs were empty, but she says this deep in the dark side and everything we can see outside of her perspective shows that they were trying to help her, she just isn't allowed to go around embracing anger and violence. And it's a book about how mental illness makes it hard to see things clearly. As someone who has struggled with it for my entire life, who only really began to make progress once I accepted that my brain lies to me when it tells me that my friends and family find me to be a burden and would hate me if they knew the real me--ohhhh, do I see a lot of myself in Iskat Akaris. And it's a book about how it doesn't half-ass that descent. She gets to be genuinely cruel. She gets to be genuinely whole-hearted about her beliefs in the dark side have set her free and is good. She gets to be genuinely a giant ball of uncontrolled emotional thorns that she uses to hurt herself as much as other people. This is a book that's not afraid of making its main character unlikeable and, through that, making her beloved to me. If you're not into a book with sharp edges and hissing lies about the Jedi, then skip this one, just don't even read this review, because it's not going to change your mind. But if you're like me and love drama and love when a narrative doesn't actually spell things out for you, but provides all the context you need if you actually watch what the Jedi say and do, not what Iskat says they say and do, it delivers a story that I think supports my view of the Jedi pretty well. This is a story about choosing the dark and all the darkness that comes with that. It's not nice, it's not gentle. I mean, it's still a Star Wars book, but if you like awful women getting to actually be awful in ways that you can sympathize with, the ways that male characters so often get to be, then I genuinely enjoyed this book for that.

#lumi.txt #star wars #novels #novels: rise of the red blade #<--blacklist that if you're not into this kind of book

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arionawrites · 5 months

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actually wait i can just make a post about this lmao

diabetics who may struggle to get the insulin they need, read below the cut 👇

hi! i’m ariona and i’m a type one diabetic and have been since i was 14! i struggled a lot to get the insulin i needed for a long time, but now, closing in on a decade since my diagnosis (nine years in february!) i and my fellow diabetic family members (an aunt and two cousins) have become fortunate enough to wind up in a place in life where we altogether have a LOT of extra insulin, thanks to being lucky enough to have decent insurance either through our state (washington) or through our jobs, and also thanks to my badass endocrinologist who is ALSO t1d who writes my prescriptions specifically to get me as much insulin as my insurance will allow every month.

basically: we have a lot of insulin, more than what we need for an emergency backup stock, and we’re at a point where we’re worried that it might start to expire before it can be used and have been looking into places we could take it to help people who need it more than we do, that way this literal life saving hormone can help keep people alive.

we have:

mostly novolog (mostly vials, but i believe some pens as well)

humalog (not much, but some)

some lantus pens

i currently take fiasp but have no negative reactions to novolog or humalog, so i can use either of them in place of fiasp as well

my insulin gets delivered so we have easy access to like little coolers and ice packs that can be used to ship insulin, and i’m not super well off financially but i will happily pay shipping if i can afford it to send this insulin to anyone who needs it!

i don’t want money, i don’t want anything in return. when i was first diagnosed we struggled a LOT with getting the insulin i needed, especially since i struggle badly with insulin resistance and it took a few years before i was being given the amount i needed to not constantly battle super high blood sugar, and thankfully i had a pharmacist at the time who was willing to bend the rules for us in order to save me multiple hospital trips, and now that i’m in a place capable of doing the same for others, i want to

my dm’s are open, my ask box is open, if anyone is in need of insulin or even just wants to take a couple vials for backups just in case, please reach out!!

EDITING TO ADD:

we also have extra supplies in general! i used to have a medtronic pump and have a lot of extra supplies from that, and we have a shit ton of syringes and stuff. idk how shipping syringes would work ?? but i can look into it and see what we can do!! basically if you need something, there’s a chance we have it, so reach out!! if we don’t have it then i can also do some research to see if there’s anywhere i can point you to instead to help you out!!

#diabetes #actually diabetic #type one diabetes #t1d #insulin #novolog #humalog #fiasp #lantus #diabetic

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aspd-culture · 11 months

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I think the House pfp makes me like you a lot more, lol. /srs

We love our very problematic but extremely, sometimes painfully, unflinchingly honest and mostly accurate portrayal of (SPOILERSSSSSS) canon ASPD. Tbh, one of the few accurate portrayals I've seen and the only one that doesn't cover it up with "but he's a good person" or "but they learn to love and change their ways and no longer are like that yay they're cured" or pair the representation with a side of demonization. Special interest infodump below:

We know House does bad things, but in light of that, the show forces you to stare in the face the questions: What does it mean to be a bad person? If it's your intentions, do your bad actions not matter? If it's your actions, do your intentions not matter? Does the effort not to hurt people in spite of your pain and trauma and maladaptive worldview not matter, no matter how hard you try, if you fail? How many failures is considered "being human" and how many makes it "being a bad human"? Does a good or bad person even exist with how fluid and nuanced life and human nature is? Can you, as a fellow flawed human, define a good or bad person and if so what gives you the right? The show demands you look at this man with low empathy and learn to feel for him whether you like it or not. And so many prosocials completely misunderstand the show and paint him as the antagonist when the entire point of the show is (imo) to humanize the people you shove into the "bad" box. Also hhhh I hate the people who say "House is autistic that's why he acts like this!" Nope nope nope he is literally diagnosed with ASPD. Do I think he's got autism too? Possibly, but I think he may understand social cues, body language, subtext, etc too well for it to be that. I would personally guess ASPD+ADHD+MDD. One of his major specialties is dissecting the social boundaries not because the doesn't understand them, but to show the blind spots they leave, the disservice they do us. He knows what he does is against the norm, he knows he doesn't speak like the people around him and he knows how to do it right. He just *doesn't* because he finds value in removing that and finds no value in others' opinions on him. He knows he is seen as terrible and does not care to change it, not because (imo) he was not accepted as a person but because he was traumatized against people as a whole. See also, MIA and unknown father, questionable mother, shitty stepfather, and all the things he hints at but does not tell us outright. House is a lot of things, but socially unaware is not one of them, and whilst there are autistic people like that who are prosocial, I think the show addressed this clearly in the early episode of the autistic (they used the n*zi term but I will not) child who gives him the PSP or gameboy or whichever it was. House sees some of himself in that child, but it is clearly addressed that it's not quite right - that House relates but does not seem to click properly with being autistic. However, in the "soci*path" patient episode, House heavily struggles to separate himself from her, and finds himself repeatedly coming up empty on reasons they aren't the same. In fact, when he finds out it is reversible, it seems to me like he is simultaneously glad to have figured out the puzzle - and maybe to save her from his suffering - and distressed and jealous that she gets to get out of this. She will get to meet people who did not know her that way and be like them and feel like them and feel like one of them. Unlike in the autism episode, the characters around him seem to believe he has it as well. If he is autistic, he has ASPD as well - diagnosed in fact.

It's such a damn good show.

You did not ask for my (as restrained as possible) infodump about House, MD but you activated my special interest trap card.

#house md spoilers #dr greg house #house md #gregory house #I will live and die by my love of this show #and I have not finished season 8 yet #and I am not ready no matter how it ends #tho admittedly season 8 does kinda suck only in comparison to the rest of it #aspd-culture-is #aspd culture is #aspd culture #actually aspd #aspd #aspd awareness #actually antisocial #antisocial personality disorder #aspd traits #anons welcome

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bookishwithathought · 25 days

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ACOSF Bonus Chapter Breakdown

Part I - Azriel and Elain

***IT IS LONG, BUT I WANTED TO DOWNLOAD ALL MY THOUGHTS ON HERE. IF ANYONE READS IT THROUGH, BLESS YOU. WILL CONTINUE IN FUTURE POSTS***

**This is just me, analyzing the life out of the bonus chapter and all the possibilities. My thoughts and no one else's. If you agree, great. If you disagree, love it. If you want to share why you disagree, love it even more. If you are disrespectful while disagreeing, I kindly request that you move along and if you insist you will be left to argue with yourself**

The bonus chapter can be divided into 3 main parts (4 if you want to separate Azriel's interaction with Clotho from Gwyn's part): Azriel and Elain, Azriel and Rhys and Azriel and Gwyn.

Possibilities:

The listening shadows could hear or sense Elain nearby and encouraged Azriel to go to sleep, to go to his room and not run into Elain in the sleep deprived state he was in, with his tortured thoughts, because they could sense he might act impulssively/rashly with her.

Q: "If this is the case, why would the shadows be vague?"

A: It could be because they will not directly interfere with his personal life. They are his companions, not his master. And if the Suriel could be vague with Feyre, so can Az's shadows.

2. They simply noticed how tired Azriel was and wanted him to get his rest.

**It's interesting that SJM included the descriptor for the shadows. If it's not potentially significant for the moment, then why bother?**

Azriel's struggles in the romance department are nothing new. They certainly didn't start with the introduction of Elain. This is a male who pined for a single female for 500 years. It was noted throughout the series that he looked at her with longing and yearning. He hoped against hope that the bond would snap into place with Mor. Then he gets to see his beloved friend and brother Rhys find his mate, not only having the bond accepted but Rhys himself be accepted and loved. As we see above he was elated, because he would never begrudge his brother's happiness, especially considering all he's endured. Meanwhile he is left to wonder why the bond still hasn't happened for him with Mor.

Then Cassian finds his mate and in this finds love and another layer of joy is added to his life (at this point Cassian and Nesta were on the way but Nesta was not fully there in accepting the bond) and Az, as happy as he is for his fellow bastard-born Illyrian brother, is again left wondering why he hasn't received what he probably believes he is due.

"What's wrong with me?"

"Why not me?"

"I want what they have, so why don't I get to have it?"

"What about me?"

His "razor-sharp thoughts" and "wants and needs" directly correlate with his envy of Cassian and Rhys, and what do they both have? Mates and mating bonds to two (mostly) good females who complement the males and (in Feysand's case at this point) love them as they are.

***Prior to this BC, throughout the series, there have been moments where Elain gives Az attention.***

Possibilities:

Azriel has latched on to the person who is giving him attention, redirecting his wants and needs to Elain. Implies seeing Elain as a mere outlet for his desires, which were previously directed at Mor. Implies that he could've just as easily redirected to anyone who gave him attention because those wants and needs aren't specific to a person.

* Outward validation vs inward acceptance?

2. Azriel has begun to have genuine attraction for Elain as he got to know her.

**By this point in the BC there is no mention of neither Elain nor Mor, it's just Azriel ruminating over his thoughts and feelings.**

It seems as though Azriel has Elain on a pedestal.

Possibilites:

Putting Elain on a pedestal as a positive: Azriel holds Elain in high regard.

Putting Elain on a pedestal as a negative: She represents everything he lacks in himself. She is light and color and brightness and he is unworthy of it.

Possibilities:

Azriel doesn't need the shadows to read her because he doesn't need his shadows at all around Elain, which is also why they're never present around her.

Azriel is a skilled spymaster and interrogator who is trained and has centuries of experience in reading people's tells, and Elain is poorly skilled at hiding or masking hers, making it easy for Azriel to read her body language and facial expressions.

To note on "subtle and unnoticed": Elain doesn't want others to see the gift either because of potential embarrassment or because she feels guilty and doesn't want any negative backlash/reactions.

Possibilties:

Elain's quickened breathing and hand shaking are because this moment is the culmination of all the attraction she's allowed to grow for Az overtime.

This is a sign that Elain has finally grieved and moved on from Graysen and is ready to entertain another relationship. It's a good sign for her character growth if this is the case.

The secretive, forbidden, wrongness of the moment is eliciting this response from Elain, causing excitement.

It certainly hints at attraction here. Elain has been depicted as a more reserved person, so this is quite bold for her.

*Scarred fingers: There's a sense of shame and unworthiness here. Avoidance is often negative.

*Not buying her mate a present: Az could be subconsciously noting this as evidence that this moment is ok in an attempt to appease his guilty conscience. What other significance could pointing this out have? Why would Az note this? If anyone has another perspective, please share.

*Headache powder: Az, looking at it every night, is allowing himself to entertain whatever attraction he has directed toward Elain. Entertain his questions of why he doesn't have a mate and love when his brothers do. It can be a romantic gesture, or it can be toxic obssession depending on where you stand. Again, ruminating.

*Elain is the reserved type, and we can see it in how she won't even finish the sentence "With Nesta and Cassian living there with you..." It's endearing to me, and refreshing, that she is different from her sisters.

*Why would Az feel the need to suppress the impulse to chuckle?

Possibilities:

Az likes to keep his emotions masked and guarded at all times, because expressing feeling is like losing control and he needs control at all times.

The feeling of guilt of sharing this moment lingers over his head.

He knows Elain is reserved and wants to respond accordingly.

Thinking of Nesta and Cassian together brings up to surface the feelings, the wants and needs, the envy we previously see him grappling with, yet Elain's joke adds a layer of lightness to his thoughts.

*Azriel is someone who greatly respects the Mother, their belief system, even if he's not a devout follower, and therefore deeply respects the mating bond. He is at war with himself, on one hand keeping that deep respect and reverence for the mating bond in mind while on the other sensing the push of his feelings against reason.

There's almost a feeling of guilt here. Az has gotten to know Lucien and works with him since Lucien reports to Az regularly. Az knows Feyre wouldn't allow Lucien to be around if she didn't find him worthy of being involved in her life, and Az trusts Feyre.

He couldn't stand the sight of it: Possibilties

Azriel can't stand the sight of Elain and Lucien as a pair exclusively, the scent.

Az is surrounded by several pairings (Feysand, Nessian, Amren x Varian) and it's suffocating to him.

He is overwhelmed by the idea of the third sister given to another while he feels as though, out of everyone there, he's wanted the bond the most and for the longest time.

By this point in the series, Az is feeling the loneliest he's ever been, yet his desires for a partner and the mating bond only grows ever stronger. His aloof mask is cracking and his desires are leaking through, coming to the surface.

A note on the scent: Since the BC is from Az's POV and Az focused, it makes sense for the author to only talk about Az scenting the bond. Doesn't mean others in the room can't or don't or haven't.

Clearly Az knows that how they're going about their mutual attraction is wrong. It's not even so much as what they're doing, but the circumstance surrounding it. They're crossing an unspoken line, making this moment feel wrong.

To be continued...

#azriel bonus chapter #azriel shadowsinger #elain archeron #acosf #lucien vanserra #wandering mind #sjm give us peace #gwyn berdara #gwyneth berdara

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tortured-demigods-department · 4 months

Text

an unhinged (and unofficial) dissertation on the pjo fandom

so i don't usually post anything that isn't my-works-related, but i had a...mildly heated discussion with a fellow film student tonight about the pjo show and it's got me thinking. bear with me, we'll be here awhile.

as we all know, the first season of pjo has ended. i've stayed relatively OFF tumblr and other social media during this time, but i know there are a lot of OG fans who are (in their words) "massively disappointed" in the show. most of the complaints i've heard have been during in person conversations though, so this post is mostly going to be referencing real complaints i've heard.

i've been a part of this fandom since i was thirteen. that's nearly eight fucking years of my life that i've devoted to the pjo universe. i have written and consumed YEARS' worth of fanfiction, i have read and reread every book so many times i can quote them forwards and backwards, and i went to the bookstore every single year on the new books' release dates to pick up my copies in-person. this fandom, these characters and this world have brought so much joy to my life, and i don't think i could ever fully articulate that in words. when i think of this series, i genuinely feel nothing but happiness.

but a few years ago—around the time i started college—i started distancing myself from the fandom for one glaring reason. this fandom can be such an...angry place? like, genuinely, i don't know how far it goes back—maybe all the way to the release of HoA, honestly—but i wasn't here pre-HoA, so all i know is that i very much remember how much people hated ToA when it came out.

here i was, having the TIME of my life with apollo and his silly little haikus, and people are going to war over how the series' writing quality has gone to shit and how everything was better before, blah, blah, blah. IN SPITE of everything that series gave us—discussion of the repercussions of child abuse and ptsd, representation of lgbtqa+ characters, and deep psychological messages that really teach young readers, i think, how to better understand themselves and their emotions and deal with them in healthy ways. and it just wasn't fun to be in a fandom where, as soon as you go "hey, did you read the new book?" they scoff and roll their eyes and only want to talk about how terrible it is. (i also missed all the discourse on the sun and the star when it came out—PHENOMENAL read, btw—but i've read some things that lead me to believe that it wasn't well received either, in spite of how lovely it was.)

so...it's dramatic to say i "left" the fandom, but i certainly withdrew from it. deleted my pjo ao3 and tumblr, started over with a different fandom. but the love has always been there, and the show starting really helped spark it fully back to life.

but now, the same thing is happening again, i'm noticing. remember back in the day, when we only had the shitty fucking movies, and we were like "man, ANYTHING would be better than this garbage. literally just give us actors who are the right age and we'll be happy." well, now we have PHENOMENAL kid actors who genuinely are having a good time playing our beloved characters, and instead of supporting them, we're STILL complaining about them not being "portrayed correctly"?

i've talked to so many people who complain that percy is "too smart," which is kind of a bullshit insult to percy's canon character. in the books (at least the first five) we're seeing things ONLY from percy's pov. he's a kid who's struggled with learning disabilities and been told he's an idiot all his life by everyone except his mom—but as others have pointed out way more eloquently than i could, percy is a very intelligent and powerful individual while maintaining his goofy fun personality, which is WHY so many people love him so much. he's complex, and i think they managed to capture that really well in the show even amidst all the changes.

don't get me started on the fucking racism towards leah sava jeffries—i'm honest to gods ashamed that there are racists who call themselves pjo fans. she is so talented, and everything we ever could have hoped for in an on-screen annabeth. ALL of the kids are—there's literally no argument to be had there.

and then, if people aren't complaining about the casting, it's the series' writing. or there's too much exposition. rick is changing too many things. the directors don't know what they're doing. it's not a TRUE book adaptation. (someone said that to me, and i genuinely laughed because i thought they were joking. when the MOVIES exist, they wanted to make that comment about the show.)

are there some things i would change about the show, given the opportunity? god, yes. the set design for the underworld was horrendous. (in my opinion, of course.) but here's the thing. i have spent eight years of my life waiting for this show to happen, and in that time, i've learned a lot about how much goes into successfully producing such a complex series. how much money and time is spent, and how many people have to be on board to make it happen. it's genuinely kind of miraculous that we're even getting this show at all, considering all the ways it could have failed before it even made it out of pre-production.

and i think we, as fans, sometimes forget that we aren't owed this. we don't own the percy jackson franchise. it makes me so sick and tired when authors or artists in any capacity feel like they have to cater their works to the masses, because they know they'll get thrown into the fucking fire if they don't. rick and becky riordan didn't have to got to the trouble of producing this show for us. they chose to—everyone involved chose to—because they wanted to make something fun and enjoyable not only for the fans, but everyone who chose to be a part of it.

do you know how insane it is that, when you read pretty much any interview of pjo bts, everyone talks about how fun the production was? i've been on film sets. they can be ABSOLUTELY miserable when they're not done right. but eight months into production, the kids were still laughing and having a good time, everyone's still giving 100%, they're excited, it's fun. walker was willing to go into a diving tank for a full fucking day in order to get one scene—i know i would never have that kind of dedication, and i bet 99% of you wouldn't either.

i know this has gotten really long-winded, but i've said all of that to say that...i'm kind of tired of fans trying to bring down the show, and more than that, trying to bring down each other for having a good time. as i've said before (many times, i'm sure), i waited eight years for this, and i have had SUCH a fun time watching it. assuming we get a season 2 renewal, there are going to be even more new fans coming in than we've already gotten from season 1, and i want this fandom to be a fun and positive place for them. for all of us. we don't have to miserable and angry all time. we can critique the show, sure—it's not perfect, and it was never going to be—but we have to remember that television is an art form, and that art is subjective even when it involves our favorite characters. and we can accept that and still have a good time, because it's just more fun to have fun, you know?

this fandom has always had so much potential to be the BIGGEST, most supportive and kind and loving fandom. with how much representation this series has, with how much content we've been given, with the SHEER massive number of us...i've always thought we could be a really, really great community. maybe it's impossible to hope that we could be the best fandom on earth, but if nothing else...could we all try to just be a little bit kinder? genuinely, as cheesy as it may sound...it's just nicer when we're nice to each other. and when there's so many real things in the world to be mad about...i would much rather this be a place where we can come to at the end of a long day and just...feel at home. personally, i just think that would be really, really nice.

#percy jackson #percy series #percy jackson tv show #percy jackon and the olympians #percy jackson fandom #heroes of olympus #trials of apollo #pjo show #pjo fandom #pjo series #me ranting for five million years #i wish i could bake a cake filled with rainbows and smiles and everyone would eat and be happy...#she doesn't even go here #with all of that said i'm going to bed #i have class at 8am tomorrow and really should NOT have spent this much of my night writing this

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receival · 2 months

Text

castlevania, season 2 starters.

the following is a collection of sentence starters from the netflix original, castlevania.

i’m going to get something for your cough.

don’t move. i’ll be right back with some medicine.

i hate that you’re not here, every day.

i’m amazed any of you are still alive.

what do you need? tell me, i’ll give it to you.

i will not be silenced. just let me help!

please, you don’t know what you’re doing.

you don’t know what you’re going to bring upon yourself if you harm me.

i’ll leave. you’ll never see me again.

stand up like a man.

what the hell was that?

you can’t hate livestock. they are simply what they are.

you understand why they all must die.

the matter is closed.

you sicken me. do you understand?

stop whining about cruelty. this is the world.

only the death matters now.

and i’m standing here sad and angry because they’re together, and i’m alone.

this is the part where you’re supposed to tell me i’m not alone, (name).

you are really very not good at this.

i learned to travel alone early in life. maybe i just got too used to it.

you had a family, though?

i know a little bit about what you’re feeling. i’m sorry.

i was right about you the first time, you know. you are rude.

i’ve been called worse.

i actually came to apologize for my outburst.

i should have held my tongue, so i apologize.

i’m a nice person. i am. i know how to be nice!

so, how do we proceed?

i want to go home.

have you been drinking again?

i was under the impression it was destroyed.

you’re guessing though.

fortunate, then, that i chose not to kill and eat you, (name).

such a merry band we are.

eat shit and die.

yes, fuck you.

i’ll be honest with you. i don’t have a better idea.

i’m trusting you, (name). don’t make me regret it.

everybody regrets it in the end.

you will cease this infantile squabbling.

and what insights have you, (name)?

i will speak with you alone.

i suspect he still wants to sleep with me.

what advantage does my anger buy you?

i’m still not completely clear on why you don’t catch fire in the daylight.

god, you still think you’re funny.

he’s gone mad, and from that, there’s no recovering him.

oh, the world will still be here, (name). trees will still grow, birds will still sing, animals will still hump away in the undergrowth. but you won’t be here. none of you.

the sun will still set, but you will not see it rise.

you hear that?

no further.

what did you think you were gonna learn?

please don’t be angry with me anymore.

even after everything in your life, you’re still a sweet boy who believes in love.

i’m sorry. i just wanted to help.

i love you too. that’s why i do this. this is how i love you.

you stop fucking around, you do as you’re told, you never use the word ‘love’ again.

no such thing as love in this world.

[why do you do that?] / choosing my own actions and injuring myself to a world of horrors.

you struggled so hard to come back home.

you came home regardless.

do you really think that’s enough, (name)?

your intellect cannot be denied.

i believe you are actually worried about (name).

the fire in him has gone out somehow. it’s as if we’re looking at the embers of the man.

there are things we can do that don’t require his decisions.

why are you so fascinated by that?

we need to ensure it does not fall into the wrong hands.

is it you?

tell me what you need.

they must be stopped. culled.

my fellow humans have never treated me with love, and i’ve punished them for it.

i wouldn’t have them suffer.

will you join me?

it’s hard to imagine you playing.

his was your home?

you grew up here?

wasn’t the worst way to grow up.

who remembers that sort of thing?

is there a point to these questions?

i’m disturbed to find that o had more of a childhood than you did.

just help me clear it.

i didn’t know it was a fucking magic door.

are you coming or what?

my family. all that’s left of us.

bloody hell. is that what i think it is?

careful, (name). you almost sounded excited about something.

it couldn’t be. could it?

what on earth is that ugly thing.

you’re not even a little bit impressed?

may i speak to you?

are you going to continue questioning me?

get out before i slit you up the middle and bite out your heart.

this isn’t a war, (name). it’s a suicide.

i’m not gonna fuck you, (name). i’m too pissed off.

you stupid bastard.

what the hell was that for?

no, no, no, that’s not fair.

just tell me what it is.

you’re a cockwart, (name).

you are an adult. you do not have to rise to his every barb.

he’s pissing me off like it’s his job, (name).

i just want to do my work, (name).

you don’t say something like that out loud in this place!

say the words. so that i know you are still my friend.

you saved me. the only person in the world who ever lifted a hand to protect me from anything.

you are still my friend.

i have no fear of death. it always sounded peaceful to me.

i will be loyal to the end — and beyond.

they will never see us coming, and fuck them if they do.

no one has a right to your true beliefs.

you’ve given me purpose, and treated me with respect. a lie wouldn’t change that.

you don’t owe anybody anything.

i believe you are the only one who grasps the necessity of it all.

are you still my friend?

are you okay?

tired. a … bit lonely.

my dusty old sheet is big enough for two.

i’m not sad.

i wish you would stop doing that. it’s sick.

you would betray (name)?

it’s not betrayal unless the old man decides to be difficult about it.

thank you for showing me the truth.

my work here is almost done.

the end of this will be practically merciful.

i am also concerned that you enjoy him too much.

am i not working hard enough?

you’re afraid. you worry that you might have made the wrong choice.

perhaps you’re just an angry teenager in an adults body.

i don’t think i’ve heard you tell a joke before.

(name), you are a marvel.

you have caused this to happen. be proud.

i admire your resolve.

but those times are long gone.

i no longer have the strength for these petty decisions.

that’s all that matters. they all have to die.

do you know why i had to do it?

when i say ‘what’, that doesn’t mean i’d like to ask even more questions.

would you please — oh, you are the most annoying — just stop!

see? god hates me!

are you asking my advice?

so long as it brings silence.

well, i’m armed with a … a stick. so i’ll understand if you want to run away now.

you have nothing left but me.

you did it, (name).

i’m pretty good, right?

you’re the best.

they will not reach you while i live.

you would give your mortal life to preserve my immortal one?

you have a soul, i think.

perhaps you simple deserve a better fate than to die instead of me.

i choose my death, as i chose my life.

i told you before, i won’t let you do it.

i grieve with you … but i won’t let you do this.

you couldn’t stop me before.

i am no ordinary vampire to be killed by your human magics.

you didn’t kill me before. you’re not going to kill me now.

you want this to end as much as i do.

this entire catastrophe has been nothing but history’s longest suicide note.

not quite close enough.

my boy. i’m — i’m killing my boy.

i must already be dead.

(name), step back. let me finish this.

you’ve saved countless lives. but it’s alright to mourn the man, too.

he died a long time ago.

what do you think he’s going to do now?

i do not break things.

you’re giving me your home?

protect it. make something out of it.

keep moving. i’m not in the mood.

what do we have here?

is that really the best you have?

i simply don’t have time to deal with shit like you every time i want to sit and take a drink.

why would i want to stop now?

how on earth did you come to that decision?

this is the closest thing i’ve had to a life in … i don’t know when.

you’re the closest i’ve had to a friend.

so they’re barricading their homes and sharpening their stakes? that’s fair. can’t say i blame them.

you won’t stake me to death with that, (name).

where will you go?

i’ve been thinking about it all day. i still don’t understand.

(name) is dead. does that trouble you?

poor (name). stand up for me.

don’t worry. we’ll look after you.

(name) — what are you doing?

go to hell!

you are my pet now.

be well, my friend.

don’t let that idiot get you into too much trouble.

is this what i’ve got to look forward to?

#rp sentence starters #rp sentence meme #rp ask meme #rp prompts #roleplay memes #sentence starter meme #sentence starters #ask memes #ask prompt

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drowninginblox · 3 months

Text

I have a self insert related thought-

Why aren’t there religious y/n’s?

I understand that it sounds cringe, and it kind of is, but I think I’m at a point in life where I want to see people struggle with religion in my media. Like the whole struggle of being in finding their own conflict through something harmless or in someone they care about and just watch it blossom into something that the doctrine they were raised with teaches may be either divine or demonic. I want that so much. (Specifically, if it’s Christian extremism slowly being broken down. I would advocate for other religions but I do not know much about the extremes.) The best part being when it’s neither- it’s just a fact of life. So I continue to munch on this thought, and I realized that I wanted it so badly in the TMNT fandom.

To my fellow, self shippers, think of the amount of angst and slow burn we could get out of this concept! Regardless of the interaction!!

Thank about it!!

You ain’t telling me that a person who is born and raised in the church meets one of the turtles and say “oh yeah, that’s completely normal.” Fuck no! If they’re in so deep that theyre “holier than thow” types they sure as shit are contemplating what the fuck is going on to the point of getting on their knees or paralyzed in prayer. Bonus points if this bitch is one of those motherfuckers that don’t believe in evolution. I want to see those panties rocked with the realization that evolution is a reality. AND can bd fast-forward, and reround. All the while fucking a 6- 8ft tall turtle on the side. I fucking need that shit as a slow burn.

Although I it would be fucking hilarious if Casey Jones bags someone, and immediately after they’re done the premarital sex- they’re having a revelation. And then Raphael or Michelangelo knocks on Casey’s bedroom window with a fucking Domino’s Pizza shouting about the preplanned movie night.

Or- if you’re into April, the same shit can go OR If your into the flavor of her with ninja or phycic powers- depending on how it is played out it could be glorious. I’m thinking friends to lovers for the me at school or on a job and you slowly develop April as a character and the person in question thinks oh my God this person is so perfect. I want nothing but the best for them I have feelings for them, they confess she’s into it. (Bonus points if it’s lesbianism btw) and things go good and then suddenly foot clan attacks or some shit. She knocks out her powers and just as the fights over and she’s nearly done the fucking turtle show up- GOD DAMN. Is the one to knock you off of the pedestal then these fuckers are!

I don’t know man I just really want someone to make this. I’m too tired to make it myself rn.

#don’t mind me I’m on my freak shit #religious trauma #tw religion #self shipping #fanfic #tmnt 2k12 #TMNT #raph tmnt #mikey tmnt #tmnt april #tmnt leonardo #tmnt 2003 #rise of the tmnt #rot tmnt #tmnt donatello #casey jones #teenage mutant ninja turtles #processing trauma through fanfiction #we love to see it

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celestialholz · 1 year

Note

For some reason, I’m seriously wondering if Brassius is /younger/ than he looks, like…Cyrus does NOT look 27, yet there he is. And Brassius was confirmed to have had physically and mentally torturous younger years as an artist struggling for recognition. I’m not saying he’s also 27 mind you, he’s more likely in his late 30’s, /maybe/ early 40’s if we’re being generous.

This…also brings up the potential of an age gap in his and Hassel’s relationship, depending on when they met. Hassel’s likely in his 50’s (somewhere on the low end, maybe), meaning they might have anywhere from a 10 to 15 year age gap in their relationship!

I’m not saying there was any orbiting mind you, they were both fully-grown legal adults when they met, and all my homies hate orbiting—but it’s something to consider, given we don’t have canon ages for every character outside of a very small few.

Ah, my dear anonymous friend, today I must have a chat with you all on coding.

Cyrus looks like this at 27 because he's wrong. His storyline is finding a way to mend the 'incomplete human spirit', and yet in his design and actions we see his flawed viewpoint. The narrative asks you to consider that if this is what perfection looks like, why is everyone else different? Why does everyone else look their age, or younger, and yet they're somehow incorrect? It's because everyone else isn't wrong. Cyrus' cold heart is draining him of his youth and vitality - he's too serious, and so it shows upon his skin. He's a commentary, a man too driven and too angry at entirely the wrong thing. He will unleash the literal embodiment of Satan to 'save us all', which is dictator language if I've ever heard it. It's why he wears grey, white and black - at his 'core', where the white undershirt is (the colour of purity), he has good intentions, or at least believes he does; his jacket is grey because he's morally ambiguous, lying to his team with again, what he thinks are good intentions - he's saving everyone, isn't he, what's the sacrifice of some good soldiers compared to that? And it's predominantly black, because his heart, and his thoughts, are literally 'dark.' He's a walking red flag on virtually every level, which makes the fact that his name literally means 'sun' particularly funny. He thinks he's bringing light to the world, but all he's bringing is darkness.

Contrast all of that to this lovely fellow here.

Brassius is physically marked by time because of both illness and depression - he was never 'wrong' in the way Cyrus is, so his lines and frown are a measure of struggling rather than a mental issue. The transformation here is palpable - the man we see jumping from rooftops and being the King of Drama is not necessarily young accordingly, he's alive. He's living his best life later in that life because he never could before - he's been healed, physically and spiritually, by Hassel. The coding here is of a youth unfortunately missed - he was drained of it too, but in an entirely different manner. Hilarious, because as I've pointed out before, Brassius is moon-coded to Hassel's sun coding - he's reflected his light, and now shines in his own right, whereas Cynthia - whose name similarly means 'moon' - is a reflection of Cyrus, the 'good' mirror to his wild ideals.

The difference lies not only in narrative, but in coding. Cyrus is a petulant youth, shouting at the world that won't listen until he makes them; Brassius is a grandpa-esque figure of art and wisdom. He's seen shit, and therefore he's basically every child's adorable little gay uncle. He's not jumping off windmills because he's full of youth, especially when we know from his rematch that it hurts his knees - he's jumping off windmills because he can. Because he's living now, because he's a role model, because he basks in literal sunlight... which is probably why he trains Grass-types, narratively. Needs that photosynthesis. <3

Likewise, speaking of men who are living nowadays...

Here is a man who has also been through some shit - the burden of responsibility vs. the freedom of being your authentic self, who has also been healed by finding his little free-spirited, unapologetic artist husband. You'll see looking at them together like this, the only thing really distinguishing the two in wrinkles is the lines around Hassel's mouth... which is pretty easy to explain away as continuous frowning, when you've spent a good portion of your life hiding your true softness and trying to be the head of the family your heritage expects you to be.

It's a very different and beautiful take on the Sinnoh dynamic, honestly. Where Cyrus and Cynthia are at odds, both fighting for their own greater good, the sun and the moon here are in harmony - they're equals at every turn. One heals the other, and vice versa; they're both role models for young people; Brassius' art depicts them both to varying degrees; Hassel shows up at gym two; Flapple is half of them each... neither seems inadequate at all. Even the skill gap evens up, because they become very similarly levelled during the gym leader rematches.

And when you've got coding like that...

Is Hassel the older one, here? Oh, almost definitely. We don't know any canon ages in Paldea except Dendra, who explicitly tells us she's 25, and therefore, Tulip must be a very similar age as they grew up together. Everyone else is up for debate, really, aside from the kids obviously being kids. But this has all been a very long way to say, dearest anon, that I don't think this age gap's as wide as you might think. :) I think, in the spirit of equality, Brassius looks older than he is, and Hassel does too, because they've both had lives of turmoil - if I had to stick numbers on it, Brassius is early 40s, and Hassel's late 40s. But as you rightly point out my unknown pal, there's no orbiting here. This is a healthy and wonderful relationship of absolute equilibrium, as my meta masterpost on them will explain more easily than I can summarise here. Both of them are utter sweethearts with good hearts, and everything they are is built on mutual respect and appreciation. But you don't usually achieve mastery of your craft, and especially not after early disadvantages, unless you're of a certain age. These two are endgame life material, the 'happily ever after' of achieving true self-worth as well as true love. They stand as our in-game grandpas for a reason. :)

#ephemeralartshipping #hassius #hassel x brassius #hassel #brassius #pokemon scarlet and violet #love me some inbox meta honestly <3 #pride month win once again! these artists are gay and completely equal!#ask #answered

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chokememaximoff · 10 months

Text

Regrets & Resilience III

Abstract:As the avenger's final night with Matthew Murdock unfolds, their shared training journey culminates in an intimate understanding. Meanwhile, across town, Wanda's guilt-driven reflection reveals that her emotions run deeper, leading her to confront her own feelings.

TW: flirting between reader and Matt, implications of a intimate night spent together.Thats all if those are even tw's.

After six months of grueling training and shared struggles, the time had come for me to return to the compound and rejoin my fellow Avengers. The darkness that had once consumed me had transformed into a new way of seeing the world, a world where my other senses had become my allies. But before stepping back into that life, there was one more night to share with the man who had been my mentor, Matthew Murdock, and his friends Foggy and Karen.

We found ourselves at a lively bar, the energy of the place infectious. As the night wore on, laughter and camaraderie filled the air. Matthew's voice, always a steady presence in my life, now took on a lighter tone, and I found myself drawn into conversations that ranged from mundane to profound.

Foggy's infectious humor had us all in stitches, and Karen's stories kept us all engaged. And Matthew, well, he was a revelation. His wit and charm were unexpected, a far cry from the intense training sessions we'd shared. As the hours melted away, I felt a newfound connection to him, one that went beyond the mentor-student dynamic.

Amidst the laughter and clinking glasses, our banter became more playful, more charged with an unspoken tension. "You're telling me you can sense my heartbeat from across the room?" Matthew's voice was tinged with skepticism, his eyebrows raised in mock disbelief.

I grinned, feeling a thrill at the challenge. "Don't believe me? I could pinpoint the exact moment your pulse quickens."

Foggy chimed in with a smirk. "Careful, Matt. She's got super senses now. She might expose all your secrets."

Matthew's eyes met mine, a spark of amusement dancing in their depths. "Oh, I'm counting on it."

The evening wore on, the bar growing louder and more alive as the night deepened. With every shared laugh and exchanged glance, the tension between us seemed to grow. At one point, Karen excused herself, leaving just Matthew, Foggy, and me at the table.

"Ever thought that your newfound senses might pick up on more than just heartbeats?" Matthew's voice was low, a challenge in his eyes.

I leaned in, my heart racing in tandem with the rhythm of the room. "Only one way to find out."

As the night waned and the bar's patrons began to thin out, it was decided that we would leave. The crisp night air hit us as we stepped outside, laughter still bubbling up between us. "So, what's the plan now?" Foggy's voice held a teasing note.

Matthew's lips curved into a mischievous smile. "I think we have one more stop to make."

We ended up back at Matthew's apartment, the night's revelry still alive in our veins. The air between us was charged, heavy with unspoken words and lingering glances. As Matthew poured us each a drink, our fingers brushed, a spark igniting between us.

"Here's to new perspectives," Foggy raised his glass in a toast, breaking the moment's tension.

We clinked our glasses together, but our eyes remained locked, the connection unbroken. With every sip, the space between us seemed to shrink, the weight of our shared experiences pulling us closer.

"You know," Matthew's voice was a low murmur, "I always knew there was something remarkable about you."

I swallowed hard, my heart pounding. "Remarkable? In what way?"

His fingers brushed against mine, his touch sending shivers down my spine. "You faced your fears, adapted, and emerged stronger. That's the mark of a true hero."

My voice was barely a whisper. "And what does that make you?"

His gaze never wavered, his intensity undeniable. "Someone who's been deeply affected by the remarkable hero standing before me."

The air was thick with anticipation, the unspoken tension finally finding its release. With a shared understanding, we closed the gap between us, our lips meeting in a kiss that held all the unspoken words, the shared struggles, and the promise of a new beginning.

As the night deepened, we found ourselves in Matthew's apartment, the darkness outside mirrored in the intimacy that enveloped us. In the heart of the night, as the city slept and the world outside faded away, it was just us – two souls who had navigated darkness and found solace in each other's arms.

The first rays of dawn crept through the curtains, painting the room in a soft, golden hue. As I stirred, my senses gradually coming to life, I realized I wasn't alone. Warmth enveloped me, and the steady rise and fall of a chest against my back indicated that Matthew was wrapped around me.

Turning in his embrace, I met his gaze, his eyes soft in the morning light. "Morning," I murmured, my voice barely more than a whisper.

"Good morning," he replied, his fingers tracing gentle patterns on my arm.

A comfortable silence settled between us, the weight of the night's intimacy lingering in the air. And then, with a hint of a smile, Matthew broke the quiet. "You know, this was probably inevitable."

I chuckled softly, shifting to face him completely. "You're probably right."

His fingers brushed a strand of hair from my face. "We're both adults, with complicated lives. This... us... it's just a way to find comfort."

I nodded, understanding the unspoken agreement. "Friends with benefits," I said, my tone lighthearted.

He grinned, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Exactly."

As we lay there, wrapped in each other's arms, I felt an overwhelming sense of contentment. There was a comfort in our shared understanding, a mutual recognition of the complexities that had brought us together. We had faced darkness, both within ourselves and in the world around us, and in each other, we had found a safe haven.

"We've been through a lot," I said, my voice tinged with gratitude.

Matthew's fingers intertwined with mine, his touch reassuring. "Yeah, we have."

"And these six months... they meant something," I added, my heart swelling with emotion.

His gaze held mine, the depth of his feelings reflected in his eyes. "They meant everything."

Our words hung in the air, a testament to the bond we had forged. We might not be able to navigate the complexities of a traditional relationship, but we had found solace in each other's company, in moments of intimacy that offered respite from our challenging lives.

With a sigh, I rested my head against his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. "I'm glad we did this."

"Me too," he murmured, his fingers tracing soothing circles on my back.

As the morning sun painted the room in warm shades of gold, I knew that this chapter of our story was far from over. We might not have a conventional romance, but we had something even more precious – a deep and unwavering connection that defied the boundaries of labels and expectations.

And so, we remained wrapped in each other's arms, finding comfort in the presence of the one person who truly understood the journey we had been on. As the world outside stirred to life, we found solace in the knowledge that, no matter where our paths led, we would always be a constant in each other's lives.

...

In a part of the city far from the warmth of Matthew's apartment, Wanda Maximoff sat alone, her thoughts a chaotic storm. Guilt had woven itself around her heart, a relentless reminder of the avenger who had risked her life to protect her. She replayed the memories of their shared battles, of the sacrifices made on her behalf, and the absence that had now stretched for months.

Her twin brother, Pietro, had been observing her from the shadows, concern etched into his features. "Wanda, you can't keep doing this to yourself."

She looked up, her eyes heavy with the weight of her emotions. "I know, Pietro. But she's been gone for so long, and it's all because of me."

Pietro sat down beside her, his presence a steady anchor. "Maybe there's more to this guilt than meets the eye."

Confusion furrowed Wanda's brow. "What do you mean?"

Pietro studied her for a moment before a knowing smile tugged at his lips. "Wanda, you're my twin. I know you better than anyone else. There's something else under that guilt, isn't there?"

Wanda's breath caught in her throat, her heart racing as she struggled to find the words. "I... I don't know what you're talking about."

Pietro chuckled softly, the sound carrying a mixture of amusement and warmth. "Don't play coy with me, sis. I can practically hear your thoughts."

She looked away, her cheeks flushing with a mixture of embarrassment and realization. "Fine, maybe there's... something else. But it's complicated."

Pietro nudged her gently. "Complicated feelings are still feelings. And you're not the only one who's noticed."

Wanda's gaze snapped back to him, surprise evident in her eyes. "What do you mean?"

Pietro leaned in, his tone conspiratorial. "I've seen the way you two interact. The tension, the chemistry."

Wanda's shoulders tensed, her gaze distant as she let herself drift back to memories of shared glances and unspoken words. And then, her voice trembled as the truth slipped from her lips. "You think I like her?"

Pietro's laughter was light, filled with brotherly affection. "I'm your twin, Wanda. I know how you breathe and what you feel at all times. And I know you've had some unresolved feelings about her for a while now."

A small smile tugged at Wanda's lips, a mixture of fondness and self-awareness. "You always know, don't you?"

Pietro shrugged, a playful grin on his face. "It's a twin thing."

But then, doubt crept back into Wanda's expression, casting a shadow over her features. "What if it's too late? What if she comes back tomorrow, and everything's changed?"

Pietro's voice softened, his gaze holding hers. "You won't know until you try, Wanda. If you feel something for her, if you've been carrying these feelings for so long, maybe it's worth exploring. Life's too short for regrets."

As Wanda's eyes filled with a mixture of hope and uncertainty, the sun began to set, casting a warm glow over the city. The realization that her feelings might be reciprocated weighed on her heart, and yet the fear of the unknown held her back.

But as Pietro stood up and offered her a hand, she knew she couldn't let fear dictate her choices any longer. Tomorrow was a new day, a chance to finally address the emotions that had remained unspoken for far too long.

With a determined smile, Wanda took her brother's hand, her heart set on facing the avenger and her own feelings head-on.

#wanda maximoff x reader #matt murdock #matt murdock x reader #wanda x reader #marvel #mcu

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moonlightdreamzz · 1 year

Text

Ok — Mark Lee

The two of you could never make it work; that didn’t mean that Mark would ever stop trying.

My baby says she wanna dance with a ghost / She wants to leave me, uh?

Another night, another fight. Well, at least that’s how it would’ve been had you not finally called it quits with Mark officially a month ago today.

You knew it was the right thing to do. If you wanted to go right, he wanted to go left. If he was in the mood for sour, you were in the mood for sweet. The only fucking thing the two of you could see eye to eye on was the fact that you believed in God, and that you loved each other more than life.

Every time you tell people this they all ask the same question; isn’t love enough? The other things seem so fixable.

As you sit in your apartment, everything seeming so damn gloomy without his precious love wrapping around you like a blanket on the coldest day of the year, you’re wondering the same thing.

No, y/n! You think to yourself. You do this every time. The two of you get in a big fight, one of you breaks up with the other, then you realize you can’t breathe without one another and come back like nothing happens until the cycle repeats.

You meant it when you said you had had enough with it all. You had been doing so well. You hadn’t looked at your phone in a month. Some would call you weak for not being able to simply decline the phone calls and mass texts - if they were even there, but you did what you had to to do to stick by your word.

What you didn’t know was that Mark was doing the same. He currently sat in his room in the dorm feeling so fucking empty. Luckily he had practice to keep his mind distracted from how much he needed your body on top of his - how much he needed to feel your heartbeat on his own as you struggled to fall asleep. He needed to rub your back and press light kisses on your forehead; the scent of something a perfect mix of sweet and sour resting on your scalp. It was his favorite smell in the entire word other than the one that lingered in places where the sun rarely shines. Don’t even get him started on how much he needed that.

His fellow members tried their best to check on him. Even they began to get worried when days had passed without you stopping by as they were aware of your make up, break up schedule to a T.

“I’m fine.” is what he said every time. He never took his eyes off the ceiling. He knew sometimes they weren’t even asking was he okay. Sometimes they were offering to take his mind off of you with some dumb activity that wouldn’t do the trick. Sometimes they were saying that dinner had arrived. Regardless his answer stayed the same. He was fine. Mark wasn’t fine though. He was completely heartbroken. You were the love of his life. The two of you didn’t have to see eye to eye for him to understand this.

He would’ve usually blown your phone up by this time, begging to see you. But he saw the look in your eyes this time. He deserved better. You deserved better. Why was it so hard to let go of something that clearly wasn’t working and never really did?

It was because you were his baby, and he couldn’t see you with anyone else. He wouldn’t.

This time it was your fault. He can remember the argument clear as day.

The two of you were in the car - the only place you could ever be if you weren’t inside for privacy purposes.

“Do you really think I’m about to sit here and watch that shit!” He yelled, referring to how close and cuddly he clear as day saw you getting with Juyeon from The Boyz. I mean it was painful to see how much he was making you laugh. The subtle touches. He wasn’t stupid.

You still looked like his angel even through your excuses. You also remember lying right to his face as the two of you recalled the same memory from your different points of view.

Maybe you did notice how hard Juyeon was trying. Maybe you did realize that it wasn’t appropriate for you to be so close to him, especially with your boyfriend at the same function. He was the one who was supposed to be giving you that attention. But Mark didn’t understand - he makes you feel so much, and it’s terrifying because every time you get this way; obsessed, always needed ones touch, allowing no one to ever seemingly take their place at the time, the person fails you. You remember yelling this at him in the car.

“I told myself after I got cheated on the last time that I would never even do this again!”

“Do what?!” Mark yelled back, damn near shaking with how upset he was.

“Let someone in! Fall for someone so hard! You don’t fucking get it, Mark. That’s where I am with you and I feel like if get too comfortable I’m going to get my heart broken and I love you too much to go through that. We already have enough problems. You don’t make me feel stable enough to truly feel this. You’re no fucking help at all!”

“Are you deadass, y/n? After everything I’ve ever told you about me? The way I’ve comforted you through every little stupid thing you’ve brought to me? I have held you the fuck down for the past eight months and you’re telling me that I don’t make you feel safe?”

“Yes.” You said, feeling every emotion wanting to explode inside of you in that moment. “Yes, Mark. that’s what I’m saying.”

“Get out.”

“I’m not getting out.”

“Why not?

“Because I have something I need to say.”

It was at that moment that you broke up with him. That you told him you meant it this time - he wouldn’t be hearing from you again.

Yes, you were wrong in what you did. but Mark had been wrong a million times in the same ways. It was just how the relationship was.

The question still remained - did it have to be like that? Or is that just what the two of you settled for?

Mark asked himself the same question as he heard a knock on his door. He didn’t want company right now. He wanted you. He wanted to figure out a way to make everything work. You belonged with him even if it didn’t feel like it sometimes.

"Have you even like...showered?" A familiar preppy voice spoke.

"Not in the mood dude, seriously." Mark says sternly. Anybody could get it over you, over this entire bullshit situation.

"Okay. That's fair, my bad. I meant what I said though, Mark." Johnny plops down on the assumed full size bed beside his best friend. It has pained him to see Mark like this - not eating, bathing, or speaking unless spoken to. And all because of such a toxic situation that he never belonged in.

Mark stays silent as his eyes refuse to leave the ceiling. He’s pretty certain he hasn't moved from this position since he got in it.

"Please let me get you out the house today. Please."

Silence.

"Do you at least want to talk about it?"

"What's the point in doing that when I know you don't like her. None of you do." Now Mark's mind is flashing through different memories. He couldn't count on one hand the amount of times he had been sat down by his members to "talk about y/n". Talk about how your fights were affecting practice. How you seemed to be "too big of a distraction".

"That's not true, Mark."

"Are you serious? How can you look at me and say that bro? You guys love it when we're not together."

"You think we love seeing you moping around everywhere like your dog died? No. We just want the best for you. Yes, we've mentioned that we don't think she's the best choice for you, but we tried to respect it. She's a sweet girl, and you're a great guy. Sometimes the two just don't go together.

"Okay, then case closed."

"But," Johnny breathes out, "Maybe there is something I don't know about you two. Which is why venting to me would likely be helpful for the both of us."

Truth be told, Mark was down too bad to past the opportunity up. When you two had issues, you had a million people to run to. He had no one. Just the thought of his brother being able turn his foggy head into a semi-clear one gave him a sense of relief he didn't know he needed.

He finally gets up, his back thanking him, but saying fuck you at the same time with the mix of pain and pleasure that ran up his spine.

"A judge free zone?"

"A judge free zone." Johnny promises.

You finally woke up from a much needed nap. your house was as a quiet as a mouse, which never bothered you, but that gloominess was still there.

You should look at your phone, shouldn’t you? I mean that was the only thing left at this point to distract you.

You grab it off the charger and start easy - TikTok. You can’t lie, it boosts your mood. You’re giggling a little, which is good. That means you’re finally able to be happy by means of someone other than Mark.

After about thirty minutes, you’re bored again. You were never the type to sit for hours. God, you wish Mark was here rubbing on your back letting you know he was trying to do a little more than laugh. The way he looked at you when he wanted to be inside you…no one could ever say no. It was the way he bit his lip. It was the way his tone of voice turned dark and sultry, and his hands always knew exactly where to touch you. You want to touch yourself, but you won’t. It’ll make you go back.

So what do you do now? You didn’t have anything to cook with, and you wouldn’t have done it anyway. You’re not that happy. You don’t want to order anything because you can hear Mark’s voice telling you it’s too dangerous when you’re home alone. You always persisted you were a grown woman - he insisted that when you were with him, you were to be nothing but a princess, and when he wasn’t there with you? You were to stay in the kingdom with no visitors until your knight and shining armor came back from war. War, being practice, or whatever artistic thing he was working on that was stopping him from being able to inhale your sweet scent.

He was so damn corny sometimes, but you loved it.

As you’re about to settle for another nap, you hear a familiar knocking on your door. You freeze up immediately, automatically sweating everywhere and itching all the same - a habit you formed as a child when you were nervous.

Why would he do this? Why? It had been a month. You were doing good. He knows all it takes is one good apology and you would crawl back. He was all you had.

No, y/n. You say, forcing yourself up as you approach the door strongly with your alien pajama pants he gifted you and a mere fitted tank top. You hair stayed in your bonnet and your face was bare. You didn’t want to look anything but like this.

You open the door, and you know he thinks that he’s won already considering your lack of hesitation. He’s staring at you with those beautiful, brown doe eyes of his that always make you melt. Even when he was angry with you. You want to say I love you. You want to tell him that he’s the prettiest boy in the entire world and that you’ll do anything to make up for everything. But no, y/n.

“Baby.” He breathes out, his hands shaking. Even in your natural state did he find you to be the most beautiful specimen in the entire universe. He loves you so much. He could never doubt that. Never ever. You look so good even as your eyes pierce through his own, clearly still frustrated about everything the two of you just can’t seem to overcome.

His talk with Johnny was what he needed. He could’ve used it a long time ago. He would’ve never lost you this time had he just had a mature person to vent to.

Johnny’s advice was simple.

“The two of you keep doing this because you’re content with who you are as individuals, and you both feel like you don’t want to be together if you can’t be that. But that’s not what relationships are about. Relationships are about changing each other for the better. When she does something you don’t like, she’s supposed to upgrade herself and not do it again, and vice versa. Ya’ll refuse to grow together.”

“You also don’t know her. You think you do, but you don’t. Every time she tries to hint to you why she acts the way she does, you ignore the chance to really understand it. You just get angry.”

“If you want a chance at making this work, you have to start over with her.”

“I know you told me you meant it this time.” He steps past you as if it was his house, but you’re not angry. You’re speechless. “But I don’t.”

“Mark, it doesn’t work like that.” Is all you can utter as you take him in. Every time you look at him it’s like you’re looking at him for the first time. Your heart is beating so fast and hard. Those pretty eyes of his. His made for you build. You just wanted to climb him in this moment.

He inhales the scent of that candle that you’re completely obsessed with. Was it sugarplum? Or something like that. He feels like he’s home. He knows this is right. This is what it’s supposed to be.

“It does. It will.” He whispers, looking back to you now.

“Mark, you need to leave.”

“Can you please just hear me out, y/n? Please? If I say what I need to say and you don’t agree, or you’re not willing, I will walk out that door and genuinely fight every atom in my body from coming back to you. But just hear me.” He says with a fire in his eye that you had never seen him use on you before. This was the look when he was writing a song. This was the look when he was about to give his all to a performance.

You don’t need to be convinced twice. You slowly drag your feet to sit on your couch, and he’s right behind you. The two of you sit down at the same time. He begins.

“Y/n…do you know how much I love you?”

You do. Even through it all, you knew. I mean, Mark didn’t really gain anything by coming back every time. You had your life together, but he was always going to be more better off than you were. He had to love you considering the way he dealt with you.

“Yes.” You whisper, looking him in the eye even though it made you want to combust.

“Do you love me?”

“Yes.” You answer without hesitation.

“That already has us ahead by 30 points.” He references. “I do love you, y/n. I love you more than I love anything. More than I love music. More than I love life damn near. I want this. I want you. But I realize that we’ll never get this right if we keep starting over without changing who we are.”

“But I don’t want to change you, Mark. How is that fair? You deserve to be with someone who you can be yourself around. Not someone you have to be another person with.”

“When I say change, baby…” he scoots closer to you. You can feel the warmness of his body radiating on you even though he’s not touching you. “I mean, maturing together. I’m not perfect and neither are you, and that’s okay. What’s not okay is neither of us trying to do better. I want to do better baby. And I know we can.”

He was so afraid. Johnny said this would work, so why do your eyes tell a different story?

#kpop black reader #nct imagines #nct mark #nct scenario #nct scenarios #nct x black reader #nct x poc #nct x reader

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