#(...might bring in some anomaly trauma actually) | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

vonev · 9 months

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Hey there! Can you do a Miguel x spiderwoman reader where during a mission Miguel accidentally hurts you pretty badly while trying to get you out of the way of the anomaly, leaving you in a medically induced coma for a couple days while you heal? I wanna see an incredibly gentle, guilt-ridden Miggy visiting you when you wake up and treating you like you’re made of glass

Calling (just to save you, I'd give all of me)

Miguel O'Hara x reader Oneshot

Words: 6.06k (yeah i know)

Warnings: Graphics depictions of Violence, Angst, Blood and Violence.

Summary:

A mission gone wrong, some crying, more suffering, rocky relationships (emphasis on the rocky part)

And after all of it, you prevailed. With him.

Tl;dr: Miguel is a crybaby

It was a normal Tuesday night at the headquarters. 11 pm to be exact.

God knows why you stayed as long as you did—having to juggle missions upon missions the entire week because Miguel decided to loosely throw them at you.

Capturing what seemed like an endless sea of anomalies.

“You’re our most capable.” He had said, not even facing you when he once again sent you off on another job to fend for yourself.

Trying to ask to be replaced was met with a sounding “No.” from the big guy himself, so you stopped trying altogether.

Less questions, more work.

Even if the side of your ribs were bruised from the last encounter with a previous anomaly.

Whatever. Bringing your injury up would just have you end up being demeaned and insulted like a school kid who skipped last week’s homework. At least that was what you assumed.

You grew tired of it eventually, wanting to have more than 6 hours of sleep per day and being able to actually live your life—the birthday cake for a friend sat comfortably inside the fridge of your apartment lingers on your mind as you swung through the familiar sight of the city; another rendition of New York, another variant of an anomaly.

That wasn’t to say you didn’t enjoy the thrill and adrenaline that came with the job—no, you loved it. No one ever told you how fun being a superhero can be (aside from the decades of trauma you had to go through) and being able to propel yourself into the air with webs as the people below you gawked at your presence.

The New York breeze hit your figure like a welcomed embrace, the moon winked at you behind fading beds of clouds. You continue slingshotting yourself down the streets, deja-vu splashed in your face with how eerily similar the roads were to the ones back home; shaking your head, you let out a soft sigh and relish in the cold night’s wind.

Today’s mission: an unknown entity that plagued Earth 1610, the only information you were given via a loosely thrown together email from Miguel was that the entity could possess powers greater than we all understood—but with a limited amount of time, you would (hopefully) capture it just in time before it discovered its full potential.

You’d think with how smart the boss-man was, he wouldn’t send a sleep-deprived Spider into such missions with how severe things could turn if everything went wrong.

“I’ll send him an email to complain later, for sure.” You promised yourself; because you were supposed to do just that days ago when tasks started rolling in for you without breaks.

Solo-tasks, might you add.

A cherry on top of the already spoiled cake, salt on the wound, a slap to the face. You grunted, and an alarm sounding from nearby caught you by surprise amidst the (somewhat) quiet of the city. In the snap of a finger, you flung yourself in a different direction, changing the tides in the waves while the wind that hit your face came to a halt once you landed on a roof belonging to a rather tall building.

The viewing angle from above gave you a clear look into what had transpired underneath.

You squint, arms folded neatly in between your thighs as you crouched over the ledge of the building; from what you could see, nothing was amiss—everything looked to be in place. Letting out an annoyed scoff, you were about to turn on your tail before the ear-piercing sound of glass shattering into pieces hit your eardrums.

You immediately snapped around, and panic ensued when the people on the streets started screaming, running amok like wild animals scattering away into their safe spaces. You, on the other hand, now have to clean up the mess—you had no clue where this universe’s Spiderman was, nor did anyone brief you on it.

Nonetheless you approached the bust-up shop with a wavy heart, praying to something out there that there weren’t any critically injured persons. As you stalked near the front of the shop, you could hear loud banters inside; curious, you stare into the messy excuse for an interior: broken decors, smashed up shelvings, and items sprawled out across the floor inside.

You took the opportunity and shot yourself up to the ceiling, both your soles and fingertips clutching onto the surface, cautiously crawling further into the shop.

“Please—” a voice yelled out, “Just let me steal your ATM machine!”

Your lips part, dumbfounded.

“No! Ey! Get away from—” You finally managed to grasp the scene that played out in front of you.

The store manager was running around with a bat in his hands, and the other person that seemed to be wearing a costume with black spots, a jean jacket slung over his shoulders and a rather cute bucket hat. To your surprise, the man evaded the attack when a black hole had been summoned under the manager’s feet, causing him to fall into the portal and out of another one…

…Right above you.

You yelped at the sudden contact on your back, the manager’s weight had you both falling face first into the shards-filled floor; his body cushioned by yours.

“Oh for fuck’s sake.”

The man behind you rolled off, allowing you to take a step and collect yourself as you slowly stood up. Debris started filling up your senses, and the pain from having been cut by thousands of glass shards made you wince in response. You pushed it all down, needing to finish the job as soon as possible so you could flee from more missions when you go back to the headquarters.

You even considered retiring from your spot in the team.

Speaking of spots…

You peered up, eyes catching onto the odd appearance of the man in front of you, who was still attempting to find a way to escape with the ATM. If you hadn’t been as irritated and grumpy as you were, you’d have found the situation hilarious.

“You gotta let that go, big man.” He whipped his head around, eyes darting around before locking in on you. “I’m sorry, I can’t—wait, you look different from my Spiderman.” His head tilted in confusion; you only rolled your eyes in retort, not wanting to drag your already long day out. Webs shot out of your wrists, launching them toward the direction of his foot.

Watching in disbelief as another hole appeared right where his foot would’ve been, the webs flinging into the black void and you felt the substance land on your back, knocking your balance forward.

“What the,” confused, you feel around for it, your fingers finding the source, tracing the substance behind you. “How did you fucking do that?” You glared him down, seeing his stature falter and hands thrown up into the air in defense.

“Whoa whoa, language!” He wagged a finger at you, giving you his head shake of disapproval.

“Shut up.”

“That’s just plain rude, young lady—hold on, you’re a lady right?” Your eye twitched in annoyance.

“Has anyone ever said you’re way too chatty?”

He was fidgeting with his hands, looking away and feeling nervous, unsure of how to respond to your jab. Before he could get another word out, the bottom of your feet connected with his chest, sending his body back against the wall with a loud ‘thud’ watching as he fell on his backside.

“Oof.”

He let out a soft grunt, rubbing the sore spot on his butt; right before you did a chain-attack, he caught your foot with another one of his black holes, your foot now appearing on the other side of the store and out of sight.

“That wasn’t very nice. Listen, I just need some money, let me go and—” He threw the ATM onto a pile of cans and started rolling it out of your way, pushing the huge machine as fast as he could. Pulling back your foot in time, your calf connected with his face, making him trip over the cans comically with his arms flailing in the air.

You quickly reached down to fetch your trap to secure your win.

That would be too easy, though.

Side-stepping a portal of void that almost ate you up, you winced at the pain that shot through your ribs due to your rapid movements. Biting through the pain, you maneuvered to where his body laid and tackled him to the ground once more when he tried to stand up; from then on, it was a cat fight. With you trying to get him detained and him attempting to pry you off of him.

Suddenly, another hole manifested beneath the two of you, watching in horror as you both fell through and landed harshly on top of the rooftop you originally occupied prior; the back of your head collided into the concrete ground; a poor excuse for a cushion.

It fucking hurt.

You were pretty sure you smelled blood.

He tried to get up, but you tumbled the two of you near the ledge of the building; in the midst of all the actions, he found dominance over you when he had your upper body hanging off the ledge with his grip on the collar of your suit. Blood thumped through your eardrums along with the loud horns of traffic, your heart racing in a million miles, if anyone looked up, they'd think you were insane for getting yourself in the situation.

Maybe you are.

Call for backup.

It would be so easy; the gizmo hugged your wrist, just one push of a button and someone will be here—

Too late, his grip on you wavered and you plummet into the air.

Fuck.

You quickly attempt to shoot more webs to find purchase on something, anything.

But terror washed over you the second you realized you had conveniently run out of webbing fuel—being the dumbass you were, you had completely forgotten to get it refilled before the mission at the station back in headquarters.

Closing your eyes, you braced yourself for the impact; your body going limp to soften the blow.

You let out a loud yelp when something flew out of the air beside you and clashed against your body, but you don’t feel the shock at the contact—instead, the warmth of a large arm wrapped around your midsection and you feel the cold wind whiplash you.

Opening your eyes, you were (pleasantly) surprised to find that Miguel caught you just in-time, right before you could suffer any more blunt injuries. You almost cried at the sight of him, his name teased the tip of your tongue, wanting to wrap your arms around him for a hug; you pulled yourself back just in time before you could react on your impulse.

You were still mad at Miguel, you have to act like it.

Before you know it, he came to a halt around a corner into an alleyway and swung down to place you down gently on the ground, your feet now free from the feeling of being dangled in the air. His eyes flickered over your face, then down your body; his arm still pressed into your waist as he squeezed your flesh out of instinct.

Bad move, the squeeze, no matter how gentle, pressed into your bruised rib. The pain sending a wave of shocks throughout your torso, you immediately pushed him away with a small hiss. You couldn’t see it, but hurt flashed through his eyes when you forced yourself out of his grip, his arm falling back to his side; unknowing of its purpose.

He wouldn’t willingly admit it, but the rare moments he would get to feel the heat of your body against him sent him to heaven: like that one time your shoulder pressed into his at the cafeteria, the times your naked fingers would brush over his skin, when your back used to press up on his during missions back in the days he went with you. Sinfully, he would recall that specific time your chest pushed into his torso during a stealth mission, the temptation to take you right there and then a devilish thought that circled his mind.

(Don’t ask what he had done in the shower after the mission debrief.)

That was part of the reason he had stopped frequenting jobs with you, even when you came into his office and invited him; you were met with rejections after rejections, soon enough, he noticed that you stopped trying—and the painful gnaw at his chest reminded him of your growing distant attitude with him, too. Miguel refused to let his personal life interfere with his business, and the last person he would want to hurt was you.

Unknowingly, he had done exactly that whenever he would gradually push your presence away.

Having meals weren’t the same anymore, not when you stopped showing up to his office everyday with his favorite food like a routine, he’d eat less and less as the days passed by; without you there to continuously pester him, he found himself reverting back to his old habits—working after late hours, not sleeping enough, not eating enough, barely talking to anyone unless absolutely necessary.

He had came to the realization that somehow, long ago, your presence had become such a grounding part of his life; the gentle yet persistent reminder that he deserved love and care too, to stop hogging all the responsibilities alone and share his burden with someone who he can trust, and it all manifested into you.

Miguel recognized he royally fucked up when you both barely see each other face-to-face anymore, you stopped showing up to debriefings, the only time he’d get to remotely speak to you was when he sent you off to missions.

He knew he was harsh, yes, but he fully believed in your capability to handle yourself—but while he was relentless, he still cared.

Hence why he arrived and interjected your mission, wanting to extend a helping hand.

“Fuck—what are you doing here?!” You shouted over the loud traffic, emotions taking control of your mind, before Miguel could protest, screams broke out from beside you both. “Shit, let’s get this over with, big man.”

You paused, momentarily forgotten that your webbings ran out of fuel and mentally slapped yourself in the face.

As if he read your mind, he fished out a tube from behind him and threw it your way. You caught it just in time and practically rushed to throw the lid off, tipping the mouth over to allow the liquid flow into the web gadget integrated into your suit. You threw a mumbled “thanks” his way and chucked the tube out of sight.

“Come on,” you nod toward the opening of the alleyway with an arm raised and pull yourself upward with your web.

It was supposed to be an easy job: brawl with the anomaly, win the brawl, capture it.

But this one was starting to grate your nerves—and you were sure Miguel felt the same too, you could sense the rage radiating off of his huge stature like sirens; chasing down the guy who had re-introduced himself as the Spot when you caught up with him earlier, unintentionally finding himself falling in and out of accidental portals he materialized.

“Stop running!” Yelling, you proceeded to jump into the portal he went through, he was always barely a hair away; yet as clumsy as he was, managed to get away every single time.

“Stop chasing me!” Spot shouted back, tripping over the back of his foot and almost falling into one of the portals entirely.

He managed to barely swerve out of the way when Miguel lunged at him from behind, his claws swooping in the air where Spot used to be. It became a constant back-and-forth; you would shoot yourself closer to him and Miguel would come from his back, essentially cornering him, then Spot would narrowly escape; rinse and repeat. Exhaustion crept up on you eventually, nagging the back of your mind as you tapped into your adrenaline to stay awake and alerted of your surroundings.

Miguel noticed it, too, and he went even harder—the intensity of his ferocity grew when he realized he had to end things soon before someone gets injured; he prayed to God it wouldn’t be you.

Somehow, more portals had opened up, and all you could do was avoid falling into them; the possibility of coming face first into the asphalt roads were too high for you to take the chance. Miguel almost got caught in one; hardly dodging a portal that conjured on the wall he stuck to. But unlike you, he was willing to test out his theory, reeling his body back to prepare launching himself into the portal. And he did just that—his reward? A high-five of his face with another set of walls.

He grunted, out of the corner of his eyes, he spotted you latching onto Spot’s back; desperately trying to push him down onto a solid surface. You both spun into another portal and crashed on a different rooftop, Miguel rushed over with claws ravaging the innocent bricks he crawled on; when he went up, he saw the two of you gasping for air on the ground.

You clutched the side of your rib, an indescribable amount of pain overtook your senses; you were pretty sure your ankle was broken when it was caught on a pole. Spot got up earlier than you, and was about to speed off before he felt a large hand tugging at the back of his shirt.

It all happened so fast: reeling in a punch, the adrenaline pumping in Miguel’s veins, Spot’s utter shock at the face of Death himself, the supposed impact of the fist with the other’s face…

…Only for the force to be directed to you in the heat of the moment when a portal happened to manifest where Spot’s face would’ve been.

It was an accident, really, an unintentional line of actions from Spot— he was way too out of it when he figured he was about to go through his final moment; his portals shot out in panic, lucky for him, it was the reason he evaded Miguel’s death fist.

Unlucky for you, the other end of the portal had been right in front of you the whole time; yet in the midst of you processing your surroundings, you hadn’t realized quicker that your senses were screaming for you to dodge out of the way.

The conclusion? You, having just been punched in your guts, falling down a building amongst the New York you shouldn’t have stepped a foot in if you knew the outcome at all. The gust of wind pumped in your ears as you fell, and fell.

No worries—you’ve got your handy-dandy webs, right?

Oh how you wished you hadn’t been wrong.

Miguel had snatched a random refill off of his own shelf when he was about to depart, not bothering to check for its content after his recent use; just shy of a quarter, barely enough to last an average Spider’s fill an hour of webbing. In his defense, he had been distraught when Lyla popped in earlier to warn him of your vitals: most specifically your injuries. He would’ve never sent you out in the first place if he knew you suffered from broken ribs.

But all you knew was that you somehow fucked yourself over.

Panic ensued.

And now, you suffered the consequences of his actions.

“Miguel!” A call for help; he was your last hope.

The fall wasn’t a particularly long one, and you normally would breeze through the impact and pain like a champ—except you have never fell from a building with ribs that squeezed your organs tight, ankle that would most likely not support your landing even if you tried, the adrenaline you lived off of now benched on the side leaving you stranded for some form of strength to pull yourself together in the span of a few seconds.

Your shoulder hit the ground first, then your head; the harsh impact created a string of reactions to your already abused body: pain shooting up your nerves, the corners of your eyes dimming despite the bright lights flashing around you.

Unbeknownst to the three of you, policemen started showing up once someone reported a supposed break-in at the shop you investigated; the sound of blaring sirens filled your eardrums like honey whilst the flashing of red and blue assaulted your blurry sight.

Barely able to distinguish what was happening in front, you attempted to prop yourself up on your elbow; but the more you tried, the more lights started diminishing in your vision. Breathing has never felt so difficult, either.

Miguel was a step too late when he came to you; after having realized what had occurred, he dropped Spot in an instant like a hot potato, prioritizing saving you instead of proceeding with the mission’s objective. He was aware of the policemen being present at the scene when they started noticing your slumped body in the middle of the road, crowding together to watch as you struggled to lift yourself up—they all stood and observed, no one reached out to help, none.

He was by your side right away, his one hand supporting the weight of your head while the other clutching at the hem of your mask, lifting it over your eyes.

His hand felt…wet.

As if things couldn’t possibly get worse: he watched the stiff expression on your face contorted with pain, you seemed to have recognized him as you slowly reached a weak arm out to caress his face, your thumb gently glossing over his cheekbone, your touches light like feathers. His mask concealed the despair in his features, the hues of red and blues still shone on his back as everyone else stayed aside and spectated.

Your hand soon dropped to your side, unmoving, your head now heavier than ever in his hand.

It wasn’t supposed to end like this.

Miguel held your small, delicate hand into his, the tears teasing the corner of his eye as he watched your life slipped by those eyes of yours he’d grown to adore.

“You can’t live like this, Miguel.”

Lyla crossed her arms over her chest, trailing Miguel’s tiny movements on the desk. His fingers delicately move across the keys on the keyboard, imputing password after password for locked files.

“Seriously,” Lyla sighed, rubbing her temple. “You’re starting to worry me.”

“Nothing to worry about, Lyla, get me the decoded files from yesterday.” Miguel ignored her pestering, choosing to focus on his work and his work only.

That was his routine for the past 5 days or so.

After the entire slip-up in Earth 1610, Miguel had been busting his ass to hunt down the anomaly for every hour he was awake; granted, he did take care of other responsibilities too—babysitting Mayday on Monday, depatching teams to bring back more anomalies, and visiting you every day.

And also dealing with that kid he found out to be the Spider-man from Earth-1610.

He hadn’t missed a single day of visiting you, who still laid in the hospital bed at the infirmary he cleared out for you.

Everyday. On the clock. 5 am when he woke up, when lunchtime struck, and in the late hours of night when he should be spending on getting enough rest.

Lyla had been there through it all, watching Miguel’s tormented back every single minute he was awake as he continuously starved himself off of the bare minimums.

Food, water, sleep, you name it all.

And as his assistant, his well-being was her number one priority—hence the constant pestering that would be swatted away, food that went cold despite Peter having brought them in hours ago upon Lyla’s request and his growing concern for his friend in the chair. Jess’s occasional visits to check up on Miguel, wondering if the day she stepped in would be the day she would see his lifeless body on the desk with how much neglect he reflected on himself. Even the new recruits dropped in to say hello, just to see that he was doing…okay in his book: which was not okay in everyone else’s.

Everyone was worried.

About you, of course, and him too.

The situation had clearly taken a heavy toll on him.

But Lyla understood more than anyone else that it wasn’t because of his work, his dwelling traumatic past, or how he barely had any rest for the past 120 hours.

No one else knew of his infatuation with you except for her—and that was only because she snooped through his things, finding the little knit-knacks he kept from all those times you came and dropped it off: the tiny Miguel plushie you made when you impulsively decided to take up knitting that one time, the shirt of yours you had forgotten to take back when you visited his office at late hours, soaked from the rain outside and sneezing everywhere.

“Hey Mig—“ sneeze. “I came to see y—“ sneeze. “I—“ and you sneezed.

“For the love of God,” Miguel turned around, seeing your soaked clothes that cling to your body, and having to turn away for just a tiny moment to compost himself when he caught sight of your curves.

Groaning, he pulled out one of his drawers and shuffled through and fished out a new shirt—undoubtedly his with how large it was.

His shirt was a sight on you, fitting perfectly yet still draping over your thighs just slightly when you went to get changed.

The image of you that night burned into his head, forever engraved in his brain.

Then there was the polaroid picture of the two of you when you had forced Miguel to “take a selfie with me!” when you picked up a weirdly shaped camera from a thrift store in your universe (something something you saying to be smart and conserve money). “It’s called InstaX, it—here, let me show you” and snapped a picture.

In the picture, his expression was one of annoyance, and you were squeezed against his shoulder with a toothy grin on your face.

Lyla saw how Miguel would come back with tiny frames that he thought would frame the film perfectly, but ultimately was defeated when he decided to just stick it in-between the pages of his files labeled: Classified.

She was the only one ever to know the content inside: mostly pictures of Gabriella’s (poor) baking, first day at school, when Gabriella won her first competitive soccer match; and then there was you.

She knew how important you were to him; yet to her complete and utter confusion, Miguel always kept to himself about his little (big) crush—even though she could clearly tell you were just as interested as he was, too.

He was the densest man you had the pleasure of knowing.

He never made a move; and now, he might never get another chance to.

Now you were reduced to a sitting duck, once a shell of what you were; your body laid in the bed he frequented more than his own, the lively demeanor that you carried with you before turned into a tune of stable heartbeats beeping from the machinery installed next to you: the only indicator you were still alive.

Guilt was the only thing he knew for a while; when he’d step into the shower as the cold water bit the skin of his back, like he was willingly punishing himself for allowing that incident to happen.

Everywhere he went, whatever he did, he was only reminded of your face.

“If only I had been there sooner.”

He’d say to himself while he peered down at your figure, not there but, there. You were barely hanging, and part of him knew that it was your determination to fight through whatever battle was going on inside your head during the coma.

“Por favor,” his hand held yours, careful to avoid the IV’s that pricked your skin, forehead sticky with sweat after having just come back from a specifically tough mission that day.

“Concédeme este deseo.”

He would whisper sweet-nothings to you, praying to himself at night by your bedside that you’d wake up one of these days with that smile he yearned for. And for someone to finally share the extra empanadas he would always bring in, to hope that one day, you’d get to share this joy with him.

The joy of eating together again.

So imagine his surprise when he walked into your room tonight, and found you sat up with the metal frame supporting your back.

You were awake.

And most importantly, you were alive.

He had never sprinted so fast in his life; the warm pack of empanadas he brought from the cafeteria drop to the floor, the gentle ‘thud’ catching your zoned out self by complete surprise, your face softened once your gaze landed on Miguel; who was frantically patting your face and checking your vitals to confirm that yes, you are here.

Your hand reached up to palm his that lingered on your cheek, his eyes finally settled on you, slowly taking in the fact that you were now right there in front of him.

“Miguel,” a small knowing smile tugged at your lips, your eyes the most gentle he’d ever seen. “It’s okay, I’m right here.”

He was still so afraid, so afraid that you would just slip by his fingers again; so he held onto you for dear life, fingers gripping your one cheek and hand with the others.

“Estoy tan contenta de que estés aquí,” You whispered.

A soft quiver of his lips; barely there—that was when the dam broke, and his tears started flowing down his sullen cheeks.

You panicked, wondering if you had butchered your Spanish so bad you shamed him to tears.

“I’m…I’m sorry?” You tilt your head in confusion and worry. Miguel only shook his head, a small chuckle emitted from him; as if he knew what you had been thinking.

“Don’t be sorry, silly.” He looked up at you with those earnest eyes of his; ones that melt your heart and warm your soul. You’d taken a liking to him early on; though you weren’t sure when it started, only where it started: during a mission, when the two of you grew physically close, so close.

His breaths fanning down your face, your breathing grew heavy with each and every second; that was when you knew you were in too deep.

You would know it’d take heaven and hell to pull you apart from this man.

There he kneeled, lips on the back of your hand as his thumb gently caressed your cheekbone, enjoying the way hues of red spread out on your cheeks.

There was no way of escaping it now: the pent up tension of a confession teasing the air around you both, and soon, one of you was bound to crack.

“I have something to tell you—“

“I have something to say—“

Only that you both did it at once, together.

Miguel stared at you, lips slightly parted with the ghost of his words and eyes widened, then he cracked into a fit of roaring laughter—and you joined in.

Laughter filled what was once a room only occupied by the sound of your heartbeats on the machine, the two of you clutched each other’s hand, the high soon dying down to mere giggles; as if you two were high-school sweethearts with muffled chuckles thrown at each other in the back of the class.

You two were in your own little world, a bubble that secured around your bodies, forever molding the shape of what once was and what will be.

Wiping away the happy tear in your eye, you stared at Miguel’s devilishly handsome face, and the gorgeous smile you oh-so-rarely get the privilege of seeing. The muted rhythm of his chest rising and falling, in sync to yours, like two lovers on the dance floor—not even the sky could stop your love for each other.

“I love you.”

You blurted out; sure, you were 98% certain Miguel reciprocated your feelings, but that small node of anxiety still tugged at the back of your mind, terrified that you misunderstood his gestures all these times.

But wouldn’t the words he whispered to you during your sleep be all washed away if that was true?

It was a risk, and you took it; it was now or never.

“I—“ Miguel stammered, his heart screaming at him to just lean in and—

—kiss you.

His lips were nothing like you’d ever imagine; it was all the best parts multiplied by infinity: soft, full of all the love he had to give, and passionate.

The kiss lasted for what felt like eternity—part of you wished it did, and you’d be content to die like this, your lips forever engraved on his.

Miguel swore he heard the choir sung to him, albeit with crooked notes; but maybe because he did.

He slowly turned around, and you, who also does the same.

His colleagues had been quietly watching all this time from behind the doors: Peter with Mayday in tow as she cooed at the sight, Jess and that motherly smile of hers—Miles, Gwen, Hobie and Pavitr all stood with heads peeking through the gap of the doors. Even Lyla was there, although she simply floated over Peter's shoulder, joining in on the choir; their mouths agape with barely harmonized tunes of a holy song slipping out of their mouths. Amateur at best, unbearable at worst.

Pavitr carried with the vocals, as always.

They only stopped once they realized they had been caught; thinking that you two were in too deep to notice that there were more guests coming.

“What…are you guys doing here?” Miguel asked, his tone more of a threat than a genuine question.

“We got some food—“ Peter perked up, but was instantly cut off by Hobie.

“‘o watch some sappy romance, ‘ey boss man?” Hobie high-fived Lyla's glitchy hologram, the latter wearing a smirk too wide for her face and nodding aggressively.

“Do the shoulder trick!” Miles yelled out; Gwen looked at him in horror then back to Miguel, this time, it was her who was shaking her head aggressively while crossing her arms into a giant X shape.

Miguel snarled at Miles, not appreciating the cheesy suggestion of a pick-up line while everything went so well for him before they all busted in.

“Remember to host a Sangeet bro! Oh Gayatri is super good at doing Henna—“

“Hey I wanna be the flower girl!” Gwen piped up.

“No, Miguel told me long ago Mayday would be—“

“She’s not even old enough, Peter, can she even throw a fistful of flowers?” Gwen crossed her arms in protest.

“I’ll have you know she’s an extremely capable baby, right, Mayday?” Peter looked down, only to see that Mayday had once again been chewing on his pink robe like always, blabbering with spit foaming at her mouth.

“Oh Christ—“ Jess chuckled at the absurdity of the sight, a hand on her hip and the other tracing soothing circles on her belly; just as Miguel had been doing it with your hand the entire time.

Miguel pinched the bridge of his nose, a frustrated sigh knowing that the special moment between the two of you had been ruined by a bunch of nosy gremlins.

Your hand went up to remove his hand from his face, and even with how (incredibly) noisy the room became with banters and bickering thrown around; it was all quiet with him, only the stable heartbeats of you both reached your ears.

For once, your life was complete.

Miguel glanced into your eyes, the adoration swarmed your orbs; behind them, he could see far into the future where you both exist, always beside each other like glue to a paper—with you on his hips and his on yours.

And at last, Miguel had found what he had been missing from his life.

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Author's note: Thank you so much for this suggestion Anon, it's my first one ever and I hope i did not disappoint u.u, I LOVED writing this and it got me tearing up reminiscing some fictional (sexy) mexican man. Hope u enjoyed!

ps: pls excuse the spanish i only have spanishdict as my holy grail (pls also DO correct me if needed!)

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lovecanbesostrange · 1 year

Text

I want Star Trek: Legacy and I want it asap. Among the things I’d like to see:

Seven and Raffi talk about what happened between S2&3 of PIC, so we can understand how their relationship didn’t hold up (Seven joining Starfleet and Raffi doing spy-stuff made it hart; so I can see a super rational explanation that is not about falling out of love)

Now here we are with a Captain and her first officer and the workplace romance that shouldn’t be, A+

by the end of S2 Jack can complain how he is still an Ensign and Seven tells him one of the best Starfleet officers she ever met was an Ensign for seven years...

Seven has more lights installed, at least on the bridge, so I get to fucking see what is happening

the young crew talking through their trauma, we get a lot of special moments between Seven and Sidney (Seven realises she is now a mentor)

Elnor joins the crew!

we entangle the mess that is Raffi’s personal life

Jack keeps telling crazy stories of what he did with his Mom (some of the things can never leave the room or else she might get stripped of her Admiral rank again)

episodic adventures! A little bit of an arc building in the background is fine, but self-contained episodes while the characters develop, that can actually work (a weak, even bad, stand-alone episode is easily forgotten, bad writing in a dense plot ruins the whole season); mention of the Dominion to pick up the threads is encouraged though

we get to meet a new species and build them up; here is a possible extended arc

meeting DS9 & VOY people along the way in sensible doses; seeing how Naomi Wildman is doing is a MUST!

Risa vacation (we finally get to talk how people on the planet have to power to throw out unruly tourists and there are in fact rules at play; positive sex work story to clean it all up, but also fun times and hanging a lantern on Seven’s catsuit-for-sex-appeal-days)

holodeck hijinks (I vote for a pirates-at-sea adventure)

meeting Sidney’s mom (and that better not be Leah Brahms, people need to stop that nonsense)

Seven violates the Prime Directive (and morally she will be right about it)

also conflict with the Rangers to put Seven through the ringer (not related to the above point)

Lt Esmar on Comms seems fun, would like to see more of them and same goes for Lt Mura on Tactical, keep the Bajoran. But since T’Veen was killed... *sigh*... I want a designated science officer with a bigger role. I need somebody to flash the blue science uniform on that bridge. (Chief Engineer and Chief Medical are also open, although guess Doc Ohk *harrrrr* could still be around, but with Beverly on board she didn’t leave a big impression unlike the bridge crew we got... I liked T’Veen :/....)

somebody should get a pet

I just want the Enterprise getting stuck in weird space anomalies, racing against time to help some colonies against natural disasters, diplomatic missions as allegories for some current events, we could revisit some planets from TNG and see how it’s going now (but more serious than LD would), alien mysteries in weird ruins. Make it fun and hopeful.

Oh, and then, the big drama. Bring back the “Conspiracy” worms!! XD

#Star Trek #ramblings #obviously we need a follow-up with the Jurati Borg Queen and also see how Soji is doing #(I know they ran out of money otherwise we would have gotten a scene between Soji and Data so they can make it happen then)#actually smooth out some of those high stakes things that happen in PIC and make it all feel nice and cohesive #mostly I just need to see Seven spin around in her Captain's chair :3 :3 :3 :3 :3 :3 :3 :3 :3 :3 :3

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thisisawonderfulusername · 3 years

Text

you’re back

five hargreeves x reader

requested: @generouswombyrat

prompts: 19- “oh, and s/he’s totally in love with you.”

again i changed the prompt up a bit, but i think it’s close enough

summary: when five returns from the future, old feelings resurface

warnings: fluff fluff fluff, a dash of angst. for once there isn’t any cursing (i’m pretty sure) lmao

word count: 1.5k

a/n: a few changes to the universe ig: five returns around the same age as the siblings, and not in his thirteen y/o body. reader is not one of the adopted ones, and not one of the forty-three. i was actually working on this all week while sitting in my classes lol. i really hope it meets expectations, i really like it myself. alrighty, enjoy!

the musical voice of tiffany darwish can be heard throughout the house, muffled through the walls of five’s childhood bedroom. you stand at the window, looking out at the fire escape you used to climb up, just to hang out with him.

with a sigh, you turn around to look at the rest of the room. it’s spotless. you assume it has been for a while now. grace definitely kept up with the whole house, even with all of the kids gone. there was no layer of dust, all of the old uniforms in the closet are still ironed. it brings you back to those days, and it’s hard to believe that it’s been sixteen years since he disappeared.

you can remember that day like yesterday, yet you were only thirteen then.

you looked up at the fire escape, taking a short breath. you have done this for years, and you had perfected the technique of getting your coffee and donuts past the ladder to the first platform.

the bag of donuts is held in your teeth, freeing one of your hands. the other holds the tray of the coffees, and you carefully put a foot on the first rung of the ladder, before grabbing on to the side it and pulling yourself.

it used to be a slow process, but you have mastered it by now. slide your hand up, and step up a few more rungs. when you got close enough, you placed the tray and donuts on the platform and climbed the rest of the way. luckily, the rest of the way up was stairs.

when you got to the window and knocked on the glass a few times, you expected five to open it like always, but instead it was vanya who appeared.

your eyebrows furrowed as she pushed the window open, and you hesitantly climbed in. sitting on the sill and silently dropping to the floor, to avoid the risk of his father finding out that you were here. “vanya? where’s five?”

she seemed nervous, which you thought was weird. you slowly placed the food on his desk as she played with her fingers.

“he’s- he’s gone, y/n.”

you think you’ve heard her wrong. you had to. there was just no way.

“what?” you question in disbelief, hating the small crack in your voice. “what do you mean, ‘gone’? what do you mean?” you sound more desperate the more you speak.

“he ran out.” she explains, avoiding eye contact. “during dinner. he was arguing with dad about time travel and he just- he just left.”

you fall onto the edge of his bed, feeling the tears beginning to swell in your eyes. “no.” you whisper to yourself, “no!”

before you know it, you’re sobbing, and vanya is at your side to comfort you.

you bite your lip as the memory rises to the surface. sitting on the bed, you focus on the lyrics playing.

i think we’re alone now

the beating of our hearts is the only sound

the music stops as there’s a loud rumble is heard outside. the whole house feels like it’s shaking and outside, there is flashing blue light that floods into the room through the window.

you run down the stairs, and into the large courtyard. there, in the sky, is a glowing blue portal type thing.

“what is it?” you hear vanya ask.

“don’t get too close!” allison’s voice, and then,

“yeah, no shit.”

luther pushes past everyone, looking up at the thing. “looks like some sort of temporal anomaly. either that or a miniature black hole. one of the two.”

“pretty big difference there, paul bunyan.” diego tells him.

“out of the way!” klaus comes running out of the house, and you quickly step to the side as he rushes forward with a fire extinguisher, spraying at the anomaly before giving up and just throwing it in. it disappears.

“what is that gonna do?” you shout over the loud rumbling.

“i don’t know,” klaus shrugs, a whine in his tone, “do you have a better idea?”

electricity starts to crackle around the portal, and klaus is falling back behind everyone again.

“everybody get behind me.” luther commands, and you don’t mind listening to him for once, but of course diego has to step in front too.

“i vote for running, come on!” klaus yells.

you watch as you can see a person pushing through before falling onto the ground from the portal.

as if it didn’t happen, the thunder and electricity in the air disappear, and all of you step forward towards the man. your eyebrows furrow as you think you recognize him while he is standing up.

“does anyone else see...” klaus points towards him, “he looks like a grown up five.”

your eyes widen as you realize that he’s right. “oh my god.” you rush forward, grabbing him and crushing him in a hug. “oh my god, you’re back!”

“they’re totally in love with each other.” you can hear klaus say it, and your face suddenly feels hot, but you choose to ignore it.

you’re back in his room, and the memory of him disappearing that day is replaced by all of the good times you had together. thinking about what klaus said, you think that he just might be right. you felt it when you were younger- of course you didn’t realize what it was at the time. you felt like a kid again. heart racing at the sight of him... all grown up.

yet he still looked like your five.

“i missed you.” your voice is surprisingly quiet as you lay on your back next to him, staring up at the ceiling as you play with your fingers that rest on your stomach.

“i missed you too.” his voice is quiet as well, and you turn your head ever so slightly to catch a small glimpse at him.

biting your lip for a moment, you think about what to say. “where were you?” you decide to ask, and you can tell that the question makes him tense for a moment.

he takes a glance at you, before taking a deep breath. “i got stuck in the future.” he tells you, and your eyebrows furrow slightly.

“stuck?” you repeat.

“yeah.” he gives a small nod with the confirmation, “i overestimated myself, and the consequences were like some sort of sick punishment. i should have just listened to that old man.”

there’s quiet for a moment as you wonder what he meant by a punishment. turning on your side, you look at him. “what do you mean? was it not just… normal?”

his head turns and his eyes meet yours, and you can see some sort of pain in them. “it was an apocalypse.”

you’re stunned into silence, and your lips just hang apart as you try to process his confession. “i don’t know how it happened, but there was fire and everything was just crumbled to the ground and-” he gulps slightly, and your eyes soften, “i saw all of them. dead.”

“oh my god, five.” you know who he meant, and you can only imagine what he felt in that moment. your hand meets his and you hold it softly. “i’m so sorry.”

“it wasn’t your fault.” you can feel his grip around your hand tighten slightly. “i just wish i wasn’t stupid enough to actually try that.”

“well...” you pause for a moment, not exactly sure what to say. “you’re back now, and that’s all that matters.” of course it’s not all that matters. he must have gathered so much trauma over the sixteen years he was stuck in a literal wasteland… you couldn’t imagine having to go through that.

he’s quiet for a second, before he turns on his side as well and your eyes meet. it was like staring into the past. “it is.” his agreement is surprising, but it makes you smile softly.

a long silence falls, and it feels like you’re just staring into his eyes for what could be hours, but in reality it was only really a few minutes or even less.

you take a shaky breath. “can i kiss you?” the question slips from your mouth unexpectedly, and you nearly slap yourself in the face. “god, i’m sorry, i didn’t mean-”

you aren’t able to finish your apology for the words you blurted out because he had leaned forward and caught your lips in his.

it seemed like something you were waiting for for years. maybe you were. it felt right.

it doesn’t last long enough for you, but you feel like the oxygen has been sucked from your body as you open your eyes to look at him. a small smile spreads across your face.

“i’m glad you’re back.”

taglists

main: @horrorklaus @megasimpleplan4ever

tua: @rasberrymay @noodlextrash @atomicpillar @malfovs @andreasworlsboring101

five taglist: @anapocalypseinmymind @five-hargreeves-official @insatiable-ivy @coffee-e-addict @xplrreylo @fandomfreakff @colie-babi @flowertoty @avovada @badwolf00593

#the umbrella academy #tua #umbrella academy #five hargreeves #five #number five #the umbrella academy x reader #tua x reader #umbrella academy x reader #five hargreeves x reader #five x reader #number five x reader

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motherjoel · 3 years

Text

hot cocoa (spencer reid x reader)

summary: spencer accidentally spills some of penelopes famous hot cocoa onto a beautiful stranger in the airport (who just so happens to be sitting next to him on the plane)

a/n: this one takes place during the holidays but its not all about xmas! also i tried to make this gender neutral and i think it is but if i missed something let me know

wc: 2.2k

warnings/includes: reader curses a lot & has flight anxiety, spencer is awkward and sweet

Spencer was rarely late- even when he had food poisoning from some bad chinese food, he made it into work with time to spare. Sure, he might have turned green at the sight of the evidence board, but he even made it to the trash can in time. His punctuality had come into question today, however, as he booked it to the boarding area. I shouldn’t have let Garcia distract me, he thought back to the holiday party at the office. Well, surprise party- they had all returned from a case sore and exhausted, but of course Penelope had baked an entire array of cookies and decorated the office to the brim. He stayed for one cup of hot cocoa, which turned into three, and before he knew it, his flight was an hour away. With his travel mug filled with cocoa in hand, he awkwardly ran through the airport to catch his flight home to Vegas.

Spencer never considered himself a coordinated person- sure, he had to have a certain level of finesse to be an FBI agent, but if he wasn’t a genius he never would have passed the physical. So when he found himself tripping over his own feet in the middle of an airport, he wasn’t as much surprised as he was perturbed. That annoyance soon shifted into pure embarrassment when he looked up to see you- the ethereal being he had just spilled Penelope’s famous hot cocoa onto. The beautiful person whose “I <3 DC” sweatshirt was now stained an unattractive shade of brown. His mind went completely blank in that moment, the apology he had wished to conjure up lying dead on his tongue. As he began to stammer in shock he stopped in his tracks- you were laughing. A noise Spencer swears could find world peace and end world hunger. A voice that finally encouraged Spencer to find his own.

“I am so sorry,” he apologized, hands frantically flying to his personal pack of tissues he kept in his bag. You continued to laugh, doubled over as you accepted the wad of tissues.

“Oh, it's okay,” you said, taking a deep breath. “God, I definitely seem insane. Sorry, I’ve just been having one hell of a shitty day,” you began to explain, confusing Spencer even more. “So my boyfriend breaks up with me the morning of my flight across the country, which I’m running a bit late for,” you continued, glancing at your watch. “But I have to go home for the holidays of course so I pack my shit and head out anyway, but I forget a sweatshirt! I’m freezing cold so I buy this overpriced ugly thing,” you gestured to your now-stained sweatshirt. “Only for you to spill your…” you sniffed the mess, “hot cocoa?” you questioned, Spencer nodded frantically, “all over it. I guess that's one way of warming up,” you huffed.

“Wow, I- um, I don’t really know what to say. I’m really sorry about your day being bad. And for spilling my drink on you, of course, um,” he reached into his suitcase and pulled out his backup cardigan. “Here, take this,” he said, almost shoving the knitwear into your hands. “Please, it’s the least I can do,” he said, unintentionally flashing what Prentiss called his “puppy dog eyes.” He exhaled in relief as you grabbed the sweater from him, sliding off your stained hoodie and replacing it with his soft and coffee-scented cardigan.

“Thanks. And I’m sorry for dumping my days' trauma on you, but I really do have a flight to catch, so,” you gestured towards the boarding area (which just so happened to be his designated boarding area). You rushed off to board the plane after giving him a tight-lipped smile and a soft wave, leaving him in a dazed state. Breaking out of his trance, he grabbed his suitcase and continued his beeline towards the plane.

There was something about you that stuck with Spencer- although it may not have been your proudest moment, he was incredibly intrigued by you and the way you reacted to disaster. Spencer had seen his fair share of terrible coping mechanisms, but the way you laughed in the face of tragedy was something he admired- envied, almost. Envy wasn’t the right word for it, there were no negative connotations he associated with the way he felt about you. Perhaps it was too soon to tell.

He breathed a sigh of relief as he stepped onto the plane, the anxiety of missing his flight finally lifted. Said anxiety was soon replaced by a new feeling that was ruled by a flutter in his chest, one that he had only experienced a few times in his life. This fluttery feeling was the result of seeing you planted in the seat directly next to the one written on his plane ticket. His breath caught in his throat as you looked up from the book in your hand, giving him a small wave. His eyes widened as he looked around, wondering if you were actually waving at him. You laughed and looked back down at your book, a soft smile rested on your lips. As Spencer got closer to his seat he could feel his heart rate picking up. You looked up from your book as he struggled slightly to lift his carryon into the overhead compartment. His cheeks heated up in embarrassment over the struggle, but he eventually managed to secure his carryon, taking a seat in 32 B.

“So we meet again,” you smiled at the disheveled man next to you.

“So we do,” Spencer smiled and grabbed his copy of Les Miserables from his backpack- he lost track of how many times he had read it, but it was an easy plane read for him.

“I’m Y/N, by the way. Sorry, I probably should’ve introduced myself earlier after telling you my life story. I just didn’t expect to be sitting next to you,” you said with amusement.

“I’m Spencer, and no problem. Hows, um, the sweater?” he asked, trying to continue the conversation. Normally he’d be a quarter through his book by now, but you were a rare something that was more interesting to him than Victor Hugo.

“It’s great! Cozier than my ‘I heart DC’ hoodie for sure,” you laughed and Spencer swore he heard angels singing.

“I’m glad, I felt really bad. Hot chocolate is actually a really difficult stain to remove because it has fat, sugar, tannins, and protein. It would take a lot of work to remove that stain, especially with the chocolate to milk ratio Penelope uses,” Spencer rambled, the embarrassment setting in the second he closed his mouth.

“Penelope?” you asked, genuinely curious.

“Oh, she's my coworker. She’s known for her hot chocolate and her cookies. Oh!” Spencer remembered the plastic bag of cookies Garcia had sent him home with. “Want one? They’re chocolate chip,” he said, grabbing the bag of cookies and holding it out to you.

“Sure,” you laughed, taking a bite of the surprisingly delicious cookie. “Oh. My. God. That is incredible! This Penelope person has a gift,” you laughed, finishing the cookie surprisingly fast.

“I’ll be sure to let her know,” Spencer smiled, taking a cookie for himself. A comfortable silence ensued as the two of you munched on your cookies, the plane almost done boarding.

“So, what brings you to Vegas?” you asked. Spencer was a little confused as to why you wanted to talk to him, but he decided not to question the anomaly.

“Oh, I’m visiting my mother for the holidays. I work at Quantico in Virginia so I don’t get to see her too often,” he shared, surprised at his willingness to be open.

“That’s nice! I’m kinda doing the same, except I am not returning to DC,” you sighed. Spencer felt his heart drop as he internally begged for you to elaborate, and as if reading his mind, you continued. “That boyfriend I mentioned earlier was kinda my only reason for moving here, and now that he's a cheating jackass- sorry, oversharing again, um, now that we broke up, I’ll probably just stay in Vegas,” you explained, opening the book in front of you and mindlessly flipping through the pages. He focused on the chipped nail polish painted on your bitten nails as you turned the pages, eyes moving to the title of the book.

“Le Petit Prince?” he asked, pointing at your book.

“Oh, yeah. I’m trying to teach myself some french so I’m reading this to get a little better,” you smiled before your eyes drifted down to the thick book in his lap. “You’re reading Les Mis?” you asked, slightly shocked at the french writing on the cover.

“Yeah, well it's my.... fourth, I think, time reading it. Well, in the original french,” he said, oblivious to his accidental brag.

“Damn, are you a genius or something?” you laughed, noticing the blank stare on Spencer’s face. “Wait. You are,” you pointed at him, your shock turning into joy.

“Well, technically, I am I guess,” he smiled awkwardly, trying not to flaunt his intelligence.

“That’s so cool! God, maybe if I was a genius I could get past the first chapter of this book,” you huffed, looking defeatedly at your book once again.

“May I ask, why are you learning French? It’s the fourth most important language behind Mandarin Chinese, Spanish and German. That’s just my opinion, of course,” he said, slightly flustered by the look on your face.

“Yeah, I guess it's not the most practical. But there's something so romantic about France, you know?” you asked and he nodded, blushing lightly. “I’ve always wanted to visit Paris, hell, maybe even live there. It’s stupid,” you laughed, brushing a piece of hair behind your ear.

“No, it’s not. It’s called the city of love for a reason,” he said with a tight-lipped smile. You were both silent for a moment before the flight attendants began their safety announcements and prepared for takeoff. Spencer noticed you stiffen as the engine started to rumble and the plane got faster. “Are you okay?” he asked as you shut your eyes tightly together.

“Yeah, yes, um. I just have really bad flight anxiety,” you confessed, eyes remaining closed. The plane lifted off the ground and you sucked in a deep breath, instinctively reaching over to grab Spencer's hand. All thoughts of germs and disease had completely left his mind at your touch- facts and logic meant nothing at this point if it meant you wouldn’t let go. “Could you just um, distract me?” you asked, peeking at him from the corner of your eye, hand still clutching his.

“Oh, yeah of course,” he said, thinking quickly for a distraction before grabbing the book from your lap and opening it to the first page. In perfect french, he began to read. “Lorsque j’avais six ans j’ai vu, une fois, une magnifique image…” he read for almost an hour before he felt your head relax on his shoulder, eyes closed. He continued to read for a bit longer before the lull of sleep pulled him under as well, your touch comforting him and providing safety.

Spencer woke a few hours later with a start to the seatbelt light beeping on. Gathering his bearings he looked to his left to see you already awake, looking at him with a smile.

“You’re cute when you sleep. Snore a bit, though,” you laughed and yawned, looking out the window. Spencer's heart rate picked up at your mussed hair and dazed expression. “Thank you for reading to me. I’m completely chill now,” you reassured him.

“Oh, no problem. Also, I’m not the only one who snores,” he quipped, a soft smirk on his lips.

“Hey, gimme a break! That was the most I’ve slept in days,” you defended.

“Believe it or not, me too,” Spencer realized, surprised that he slept more on an airplane than in his own bed. Maybe that difference was you.

“Looks like we’re almost landing,” you noticed, causing a pang in Spencer’s chest.

“Oh. Yeah, I guess so,” he acknowledged with a slight tone of disappointment.

“Hey. So this might sound crazy, but what if I gave you my number? And while you’re still in Vegas, maybe we can hang out? Sorry if this is too forward,” you cringed in embarrassment.

“No!” he started, eyes wide.

“Oh, okay. I shouldn’t have asked,” you immediately took back your statement.

“No! I mean, it's not too forward. I, uh would love to… hang out with you,” Spencer said, the words seeming unfamiliar on his tongue. The smile you gave him seemed to stop the earth for a few seconds (although Spencer knew this was scientifically impossible, something about you defied laws of science).

The plane soon landed and numbers were exchanged, and one unexpected (but lovely) goodbye hug was given, and Spencer was floating. He couldn’t wait to tell his mom.

shoot me an ask or message to be on my taglist! :)

taglist: @rigatonireid, @goldenxreid, @aworldoffandoms, @moonshinerbynight, @averyhotchner

#spencer reid #Criminal Minds Spencer Reid #spencer reid fanfiction #Spencer Reid/OC #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x oc #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid/reader #spencer reid/you #Criminal Minds #Criminal Minds Fanfiction #Criminal Minds Reid

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blackxkatt · 3 years

Text

I need this out and I don’t know where else to put it because if I put it anywhere where people might see, I’m giving more ammunition to the idea that I’m just some monster or something, and I'm tired of having to hedge every bit of opening up about this with, "I know I fucked up, too". It's time for me to be able to tell my story without diminishing my own experiences.

I used to vent to the void on tumblr a lot so I figure this is a good place to do so. Writing out stuff like this is a good therapy technique, and I don’t hurt anyone this way. Okay here goes

My relationship with Becky was awful. In hindsight, I should have ended it so much sooner than I did, but I kept trying to force it because I wanted it to work. We were awful for each other. We made each other worse people. It needed to end.

I did everything I could thing of to make the break up smooth for her. I avoided Easter so that I wasn’t marring a holiday. I asked Tanner to cancel D&D for the day (little did I know, I was canceling that game forever) so that she’d have a week until we had to exist in the same space again, even virtually. I drove to her house, so she wouldn't have to deal with a drive before or after. I knew she had therapy the next day, so that she’d have time to process and professional help soon. I didn’t bring up anything either of us did and didn’t bring up any blame. I said we were just incompatible, because we were. I told her I understood if she didn’t want to be friends -- she said she did. I said if that changes, just let me know. I held her while she cried, walked her dog with her, and went home.

Over the next week, she began to escalate attacks towards me with no warning. On the morning of our D&D game, 2 hours before we had to coexist in front of our friends, she sent me a list of grievances during our relationship and demanded an apology for them, to help her healing. I wanted to be done with this, I had thought that the break up meant we could finally be done with it. I apologized regardless, because I knew I wasn’t perfect and had admitted when I’d fucked up before in the relationship, but not for all of it because some of it plainly wasn’t true. I asked if I could respond and ask for an apology for my own healing. She said no, she didn’t care, and that she wouldn’t let me make it all about myself.

She demanded Tanner message her practically every second of every day, elsewise she’d melt down that he was spending time with me instead of her, when we live together. She literally got pissed off that I visited his Animal Crossing island before her. Tanner couldn’t even mention me neutrally without her going on a tirade about how awful I am and how he shouldn’t defend me, let alone mention that I was hurt, too.

Eventually, she blocked me. I had spent the entire time keeping the door open and trying to maintain a friendship, both because I didn’t want to lose that, and for Tanner’s sake, and meanwhile she was nuking the bridge. I couldn’t handle it anymore. I couldn’t see myself being metamours with someone who so clearly and actively hated me.

Tanner, on advice from a counselor, sat us both down to talk about our abusive tendencies and how this was affecting him. The first thing she did was give me the most disgusted look when she walked in. She nodded vigorously during the entire bit where Tanner raised his issues with my behavior.

Almost all of what Tanner talked to me about were things we’d worked on in the past, that I’d been fine on, that I’d backslid on since dating Becky. Others we’d discussed before and he’d been fine with, but had changed since. The rest, he later apologized for, because he realized he was being abusive in those expectations and hadn’t been concerned with fairness at the time. Almost all of what he brought up wasn't new, because Tanner and I have checked in with each other and worked on our relationship for almost 7 years.

Meanwhile, Becky continued to be abusive to him, in the same ways she had been to me, amped up to 1000. And I had to sit and let it happen. I left my own house for hours at a time for them to have dates. I canceled or moved my own plans for her. I had a festering wound I was hoping would heal, because Becky continued to insist to me that we’d forgive each other some day, but I was the only one working towards it, while she cursed me at every opportunity.

This all culminated in her calling Tanner one day, during our date, to demand that he choose between us. To try to convince him to be monogamous with her. To tell him how awful I am and that she can’t believe he would choose me. To guilt him for daring to do so, even though she’d forced the choice.

I beat myself up, like I was the reason for the break up. But I wasn’t. Even if I wasn’t in the picture, she was abusive and had continued to be without pause. It was her own jealousy and refusal to heal that ended their relationship. I know that now. But it took awhile for my anger to set in. It did once I found out she messaged him more times after that to try to convince him, once again, to leave me, and once again getting upset with him when he wouldn’t.

I waited for a while before asking Tanner if he was alright with me cutting Becky out, since after those instances, I didn’t see our relationship being positive again, at least not for quite awhile, and I’d spent months swallowing my pain for the sake of their relationship and couldn’t do it anymore. That was when I found out, from him, that Becky had already cut me out with no intention to recover. She had remained in all of our group chats, so that was news to me. It was power I was not willing to let her hold over me any longer, pretending she was the bigger person for being silent in the chats but not leaving them. I won’t be made into a monster for defining and defending my boundaries for the first time since the break up. It was unfair of her to remain in every single chat when she’d made it clear she was cutting us, or at least me, out, forcing me to face that trigger every day, giving me almost to reprieve or space to vent about my own pain. I asked friends to remove her from those shared chats, and they did, and I refuse to be made into a villain for being the one to cut the last of the bridge she’d torched. The last one is the d&d game that wasn’t destroyed with our relationship, and it’s the last thorn in my wound keeping me from healing, but Tanner and I are both scared that group will fall apart, too, if she’s removed, due to reactions in another chat she was removed from. So, I have to continue to swallow that, for who knows how long.

Now that that story is out, I’m going to list what I can about my and Becky’s relationship -- her abuse, her gaslighting, making sense of it all and getting out what she never let me.

-A lot of our problems stemmed from the fact that I didn’t react how she wanted. She would be abusive or demanding, and instead of reacting like Tanner, who would submit for the sake of keeping the peace, I would push back, either calmly or not so calmly due to it triggering me. Both elicited negative responses. We triggered each other this way often.

-She was racist to me. She weaponized the exact racism I told her I had experienced from almost every white person I’d ever known, even my loved ones. She promised she never would and then did exactly it, armed with the knowledge of how to shut me down. She told me I *was* aggressive, actually, that she’d surveyed my friends and they all agreed that I was aggressive, and by insisting that I wasn’t, by defending myself, I was gaslighting her. Oh, and she only used the word aggressive because that was the word I’d used, not that she actually thought I was aggressive. Why did I think she thought I was aggressive? That was my own fault. I constantly made myself smaller for her, like I had for so many racist people in my life. I could no longer be all of me anymore.

-She insisted I was incapable of calm discussion (see the racism above), that I deserved her anger and brought it upon myself because it was the only way I listened. Never once in our relationship did she ever say, “can we talk about this?” or anything along those lines, which I would have responded to (and have in other relationships). It was always blowing up out of nowhere because I said the slight wrong thing or didn’t say the right thing or because she’d misunderstood me.

-On misunderstanding, she admitted that she constantly misread me and misunderstood my words due to her past trauma and expectation of negativity. Once upon a time, she told me that if she took what I said in the most positive light, she understood me finally. Yet, later in our relationship, she started insisting that every misunderstanding was my fault, that all poor communication was on me, that I was an anomaly, that I somehow experienced less emotions than other people. When I would refuse any of these accusations or point out what I had actually said, she told me I lacked critical thinking or was gaslighting her.

-Tanner said something that made so many of our problems click: Becky didn’t want a relationship, she wanted codependence. Something she admitted she struggled with, something her family struggles with, and yet I never put it together. She wanted all of our attention, all of the time. Every triad date we had was centered on her. My healthy independence was a threat to her. She insisted I was lying if I didn’t have some deep issue to discuss with her every day. She insisted I was lying when I promised her I wasn’t hiding my life from her, that I just sincerely didn’t have any crisis or something to discuss. My refusal to enable any of her bad habits or abusive behaviors upset her. When we broke up, and she could no longer guarantee all emotional energy was given to her, she spiraled.

-Of many things we’d previously discussed and she said she understood, group chats take less energy for me to participate in, and I was always happy to interact with her in group chats if I couldn’t handle a 1 on 1 chat. Eventually, I was scared to interact in group chats, post online, show any presence that I wasn’t busy or asleep, because she would become upset with me for not messaging her individually.

-The biggest red flag I ignored, one that terrified me so much I told no one about it until I was considering the break up, was when she asked me to choose between herself and my best friend. When I told her I couldn’t do that and was uncomfortable that she’d even asked, she got upset, and I ended up comforting her instead of addressing it any further. And without even realizing it, I began to feel anxious and guilty whenever I interacted with Dan. I would fear even mentioning them to her, because it inevitably resulted in her jealousy. I began to interact with them less (notice a pattern? Interacting with my best friend less, interacting with my group chats less, interacting online in general less...)

-Every concern I brought up ended the same way: she’d say I was gaslighting her, or she’d get upset and I would have to comfort her.

-She was never polyamorous; this is obvious in hindsight. She was a monogamous person who happened to form a crush on two polyamorous people. She would consistently try to persuade me away from polyamory and into maintaining a closed triad, and would get upset with me when I expressed that wasn’t what I wanted. She’d often remind me that she’d be extremely jealous of anyone I ever dated and that they couldn’t be as important as her.

-She said she understood it would take Tanner and I time to feel as close to her as we do with each other. Yet, she was constantly jealous of us and became more and more angry as time went on. She seemed to expect a timescale of months to level out a 7 year relationship with a 7 month one, when it would have taken years.

-Along with codependence, she was looking for a therapist in her SOs. She would have a new breakdown to discuss daily, and a myriad of untreated phobias and illnesses. She’d consistently complain about her therapist; when I made suggestions to tell her therapists her concerns or get a new one, she’d brush it off or insist it wasn’t that bad. If Tanner or I didn’t enable her phobias, she’d get upset with us. We could neither make plans for just us two(though she hates being left out) nor bring her (she hates crowds and spontaneous plans). She’d say she’d come, we’d just have to deal with her crying the whole time. I’d express that we want her to have fun, not suffer, and she’d say she’d suffer either way. We were guilted out of most plans.

-Most of the end of our relationship, that finally made me realize we needed to break up, was a slow change that I’m not sure how it happened. At some point, Becky stopped seeing me; she only saw what fit her preconceived notions of me. She made assumptions about me, my thoughts, my character, who I was. She made up situations in her head and got angry at me for them out of nowhere, with no communication, and the one time she did listen that she'd made up the situation (because Tanner told her), she spiraled into self-hatred, not an apology. She twisted everything I said into some kind of attack against her and insisted every clarification, explanation, or evidence was an excuse. When I would point any of this out, that some of what she said was just plain untrue, she’d once again insist I was gaslighting her. I was trapped. She refused to see the changes I made for her, and was coming up with her own reality of our relationship. Nothing I did mattered anymore; even Tanner told me he saw it. He told me that I had done a lot of work but he didn’t see the same improvement on her end, and that she needed to meet me in the middle if we were going to work. But she only saw the monster she’d made me. I couldn’t continue to date someone who was so committed to misunderstanding me. This is why I only apologized for most of what she said in her list of grievances -- because some was simply untrue. I never lied to her, I never gave her half-apologies -- never in my life have I given anyone an “I’m sorry you feel that way” apology. I apologized for things that didn’t even merit apology. I regressed and backslid on so much healing I had done. She mentally sent me back to high school, convinced me I was who I was as a child, when that was completely untrue. So much of the relationship had become this perfect trap -- where it was damned if I do, damned if I don’t. I ended it because I couldn’t live like that anymore, and I wanted our friendship back. We were awful romantic partners, but such good friends. Not anymore, I guess.

-Every trauma I ever did confide in her, she eventually weaponized against me. She'd recreate every one, or bring them up to silence me. She'd use every moment of vulnerability to further convince me I was an inherently awful person and push me to back slide and regress into trauma I'd grown beyond. Any questioning was met with, yup, I'm gaslighting her or lack introspection.

-She said I never showed interest in her, and I still don't know where that came from. We'd talk about life goals, the world, our ideas. I told her I loved seeing her creative projects and that progress. I read her fan fiction and bragged about it. I don't know when she stopped seeing it, when she stopped seeing me. I introduced her to all of my friends, integrated her into all of my friend groups, because I thought I was building a future with her. But now I'm the villain because she wanted to hold my social life and the friends I'd introduced her to hostage.

-One comment that stuck with me was that she said we weren't even dating, just friends who kissed. She said it again in our last argument before we broke up. I literally didn't know what to do to prove to her that I cared about her, to make her believe me when I said she was my girlfriend. I even came out to my parents about her to try to prove it and it wasn't enough. I got to the point where I almost finally had sex with her just because she wanted it, just to see if that would finally be enough for her to believe me. I'm very glad I didn't.

-She was consistently passive aggressive. She would always say something was fine, then clearly be upset when I'd do it. I'd have to press for there to be any chance of her admitting she didn't like it. There were clear "correct" answers to all of her questions and suggestions, and whenever I refused to acquiesce, it would become an argument.

-Intentions don't matter and all that, but they do. They do, because that's shorthand. She'd constantly use that as a shield, telling me my intentions didn't matter, when at a certain point, she had to be responsible for refusing to hear me. And while intentions don't matter, I never intentionally hurt her, but she intentionally hurt me several times, almost never apologized for it, and in fact insisted to me that I deserved it and had brought it upon myself.

-And I defended her. I continued to defend her for so long, from so many people. I knew she had trauma, and I knew she was in an environment that wasn’t suited to her healing. I convinced myself that I just had to endure until post-pandemic, or until she moved out, or until she got medication she could take, or, or ,or-- and Dan gave me the wake up call that if I was walking on eggshells with her, the environment we were in would only change where I was walking on eggshells with her. Tanner gave me the wake up call that we aren’t even sure she *wants* to leave that house with her family, because of that toxic codependence.

-I’m still terrified of how quickly she turned on me. How quickly she made me a monster. Our break up didn’t have any villains; break ups don’t always need villains. But like a light switch flipping, she turned hatred upon me. She told me that she doesn’t feel empathy and only performs goodness because of a moral code she made for herself, but I never considered what it would be like if she designated me an enemy in that moral code.

Some of this I realized towards the end of our relationship. Some of this I realized after. I’ll add to this post whenever I need to as I parse out more, or remember what I’ve forgotten to add.

I’m not the monster she made me in her story. I’m not responsible for her version of me anymore. I won’t be made to feel guilty or like a villain for finally enforcing my boundaries. I’m still angry that I can’t be open about all of this without continuing to fall into this trap she’s made, of me being awful and hateful instead of abused and rightfully angry. But Tanner and I are the happiest we’ve been in a year. I deeply regret that relationship, but I’m so happy now that I’m out of it, even if it didn’t end how I’d hoped. And I think that says I made the right decision.

#blah blah

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astronautikals · 4 years

Text

empires fall

Request: where spencer has a hard case so the reader reminds him the world can still be kind?? 🥰 (@spenceneedsahug)

A/N: Alrighty takin’ the dive for CM fanfic haha--hope I’ve fulfilled at least some of what you’re looking for! requests are open

Category: Hurt/Comfort; Emotional Angst; Fluff

CW: implied depression, emotional distance, work-related traumas

Word Count: 1.75K

________

I wake up just as the secondhand ticks past 4:36.

Someone’s moving around in the living room, letting their keys clatter together and dropping down what I know is a heavy, well-worn satchel.

I relinquish some of my grip on the comforter and roll back to my side of the bed, settling in only moments before the bedroom door is pushed open. He’s trying to be quiet for my sake, so I close my eyes and pretend he actually is. I’ll let him have his peace for tonight—from the way he lifelessly pulls off his clothes, I can tell he doesn’t really want to talk. Not yet, at least.

The creak of the bathroom door cuts past the white noise of the quavering fan overhead, and moments later, when the shower turns on, I start to drift off again.

And then I’m awake once more, startled by the sound of something—someone—gasping. When it happens a second time, I don’t miss it.

I swing my feet out of bed, nearly stumbling on the covers as I try and get to the bathroom door. My heart’s jumped into my throat and I can hardly see through my panic. But just as I make a move to burst inside and save this boy from some unknown enemy, I hear him choke on a sputtering of sobs.

I knock gently instead.

“Spencer?” I call, softly pushing the door open. The steam that rushes out is uncomfortably warm for this cool July night, so when I step inside, I pull off my sweatpants.

“Spencer?” I say again. On the other side of the curtain, I hear him struggle to even out his breathing.

“I’m fine, Y/N,” he replies, just loud enough to be heard over the water. “Go back to bed. I’ll just be a minute.”

His voice is steady and practiced. But I know him—and I know that he’s spent too much time with professional profilers, learning exactly how to lie.

I peel back the plastic drape quietly.

His back is red from the heat and marked by old scars cutting back and forth, but he doesn’t move out from under the shower head.

“I’ll be okay,” Spencer croaks, his head still turned down. “Go back to bed. It’ll be okay.”

“Let me just be here with you,” I try. I don’t want to force him into anything—of course not—but leaving him alone to argue with his own mind is more dangerous than any potential outburst he might have at me. So when he doesn’t respond, I quickly tug off my shirt and step over the lip of the tub.

He doesn’t turn to me. The water steams off in waves just as it splashes onto his shoulders, and I ease my hand into the stream so he can sense my approach.

Still, when the pads of my fingers meet his upper arm, he shatters—choking on air, dipping his body over, and falling into my chest as a strangled sob breaks through. His lungs are tripping over themselves, struggling to grab oxygen for the rest of his body as he gasps and cries into my collarbone. I stumble under the unexpected weight and the wild swing of emotion, but I never let him go.

“Spence, breathe,” I plead, wrapping him in my arms. My hand runs up the nape of his neck and into his hair, scratching the backside of his scalp. The bridge of Spencer’s nose presses into my throat.

It’s a parental kind of position—the sort you get when you curl up to your mother after an endless nightmare and beg for comfort. I don’t know exactly what he’s looking for in this moment, honestly, but I’ll be anyone he needs.

Regardless, as his breathing evens out and warms the skin pulled over my collarbone, Spencer untangles himself slightly in search of a stretch. Without meeting my eyes, he brings me into his chest before easing us towards the floor of the tub. My undergarments are soaked through entirely at this point, but I haven’t thought about it since I stepped into the water.

The water is still warm as it hits us down here on the ground.

Spencer rests his back against the wall, wrapping his arms around me from behind and scooting me over to sit on his upper thighs. I lean backwards slowly, laying myself along his torso and my head just below his shoulder.

He doesn’t say anything for a long while. I don’t press him to, either. His breathing isn’t nearly as erratic as it had been, but I know there are still tears slipping silently out of his eyes.

I turn slightly onto my side, reaching for his right arm and pulling it to my chest. For a while, it doesn’t even feel like he recognizes I’m there anymore. I steal a glance at his face, but Spencer’s not looking at me—his eyes train lifelessly on the tile around the faucet and his muscles grow limp. When I trace my finger along the inside of his forearm, he doesn’t even tense up the way he often does when I inadvertently inch too close to the scars tucked in the crook of his elbow.

Eventually, Spencer’s torso shifts as he turns to stare off into the shower curtain instead. He inhales deeply—a mark of some stability.

“I’m not—I’m not as good at compartmentalizing anymore,” he soon confesses, curling his shoulders in. “I just—just—I can’t leave it in the field anymore and I—”

“Hey,” I interject softly, rubbing my thumb against the inside of his wrist, “maybe that’s not such a bad thing. Maybe you needed a reminder that you’re not just some machine for the Bureau to run into the ground. It’s okay if you need time off—it just means you’re still human, that your empathy is still strong.”

“No,” he disagrees grimly, “it means I’ve got a clock on me.”

I hesitate for a moment, pushing my hair off my neck. His heart thrums softly now against his ribcage—a mark of either acceptance or defeat. My hands grip the sides of the porcelain tub, pushing myself into a position where I can move his own hair out of his face.

“This doesn’t make you useless,” I finally say. “Not at all.”

“I don’t know where I go from here, Y/N.”

He meets my eyes for the first time since he’s come home. There are years and years of exhaustion caked behind those irises and under those bags, but I know that this isn’t the kind of tiredness you can sleep off—this is existential.

My stomach sinks as his lips twinge downwards.

What do they call it—the bystander effect? Yeah, that feels appropriate.

“I’ll never make you talk about anything you can’t bear to relive,” I begin, catching Spencer’s chin as he averts his gaze, “but whatever you’ve seen in the last few days is an anomaly in a world largely made up of good and loving individuals.

“You see the worst of us. I know you know it’s hard to forget the things that hurt the most, but there is so, so much good in even our little corner of the world. I watched a man stop traffic today for a raccoon. A girl in the grocery store ran through the aisles singing about beavers as her grandmother picked out cake mixes. The sun came up this morning during my run, and the whole park stopped to watch.”

A tear slips from his eyes, but I catch it before it can fall off his jaw.

“You’ve got me, Spencer. You’ve always got me. And I love you more than I ever thought I could love anything. I don’t know what I’ve done to deserve to have you in my life, but I’ll never win a better lottery.

“Your teammates would take a bullet for you without a second thought—you know that, right?” I ask rhetorically, encouraged when the corner of his lips twitch upwards. “You’ve saved the lives of more people than you could ever account for, Dr. Statistics, and I know from personal experience that the world is far better just because you’re in it.

“You don’t have to work for the Bureau anymore if you don’t want to—at some point, I know it’ll be too much, and I will never think any less of you if you ever decide to step away. Just, whatever you want to do—I know that your mom is so, so proud of you. And you don’t need my validation, but I am extremely proud of you, too. All the time.”

His tears come a little more freely now, slipping down his cheeks easily and leaving salt and red-rimmed eyelids in their wake. Spencer’s nostrils flare slightly as he swallows down the lump in his throat, and though I keep one hand under his jaw and rubbing the skin just before his ear, I don’t force him to look at me.

“You deserve the world, Spencer. And I will spend the rest of my life getting you to believe that, too.”

He doesn’t respond verbally, but I know he’s heard me from the way his brow slowly furrows in harsh acceptance. After a few heavy breaths, Spencer seems to tune back in, and when he tilts back towards my own gaze, the creases in his forehead soften. I watch as his lips quiver into the most delicate of smiles.

His hands drift from their place on my outer thighs and instead gently cup the back of my head, his thumbs on my tragi. It’s a long, closed-mouth kiss he gives me—the kind where I have the time and awareness to scratch over his scruff and remember just how rigged my life’s lottery must’ve been for me to be here.

After the blink of an eye and an eon pass simultaneously, Spencer pushes my head past his own and wraps his arms around me tightly until we’re one body. It’s kind of sticky for a moment, but I don’t dwell on it long. I’m never far from comfort with him around, and really, I’m never that far from him at all.

“I wish I had a thousand words for love, but all that comes to mind is the way you move against me while you sleep & there are no words for that.” — Brian Andreas

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rivertalesien · 4 years

Note

They had the perfect opportunity for an emotional moment for Clarke with Mcap to face the traumas she’s running from and they did nothing with it. Unbelievable.

They’ve set up so many potential moments like that over the years only to back off and that isn’t an accident.

They’ve built themes and story progressions that are highly suggestive toward Lexa.

They tease Clarke getting the Flame. She doesn’t.

They show Clarke finding Lexa’s throne (it helps her carry on, literally, it becomes a crutch).

They give her a nightblood daughter who might be Lexa’s little sister or something.

They give the Flame to Madi and have Lexa speak to Clarke through her.

“We will meet again.”

They send Clarke to a planet where there are other nightbloods who mechanically “reincarnate” via host bodies. They live in a village that might be a cleaner version of Polis. Set design and even some costume design reflects Lexa’s rooms in Polis. We see a symbol we associate with Lexa everywhere.

This same planet is home to a temporal anomaly that creates “hallucinations’ and projects voices from other places, maybe other times, but by the time Clarke gets close enough to it, that plot point is no longer in play. It only happened to Gabriel and Diyoza. Clarke has been in and out of that thing a few times now and heard and seen no hallucinations (she also hasn’t worn a helmet and how she still has her memories...I guess they didn’t care much about that plot point either).

Same planet, same season, she is stuck inside her own mindspace to face memories and trauma...and Lexa is on the walls, but it’s Monty who embodies the help she needs to free herself. Monty.

She doesn’t even get to *talk* about Lexa. Others name-drop her, but Clarke never talks about her. Ever. To setup so much and not even have Clarke talk about to anyone? Disingenuous, at best.

And then the Flame is destroyed, but one Commander is free with a new body...and its someone we have no real connection to or history with. A nazi asshole came back. Just what everyone wanted. Just what the show needed.

And then her mother is killed. Wiped out of existence as if she were nothing (like Lexa) and Clarke has to “float” her body much like her father was “floated.”

This show is so cruel to its female characters in particular and puts so many hardships and responsibilities on them, so much judgement? We *could* make an argument that they’re presenting a dark, satirical take on misogyny in our society, but its laid on so thick with no reckoning (and no actual satire), so that excuse falls flat. It’s closer to what they do with horror films where women are the focus of exploitation and victimized. It’s deliberate.

Which brings us to this season: we visit a new planet that has technology to invade memories and even simulation/VR technology. We learn the anomaly is a wormhole that goes *everywhere* and suddenly...Clarke is barely around for any of it. When she gets brought in for m-cap...all we see is her screaming/crying in the chair without seeing any of her memories (the only memories shown are scenes we’ve already seen from the previous episode, Bellamy’s, not hers!).

And it’s so quickly resolved and they’re back on Sanctum, it’s head-spinning.

Again and again and again, Lexa is referenced or a potential scene/moment is setup...then knocked down. Now that Clarke’s story is *about* the Flame, we might finally get a cameo/moment, and if the spoilers hold true, it won’t be via Lexa’s living consciousness from the Flame, it will be a *backup* that has been in Clarke’s mind for over 130 years (even though she only had the Flame herself for like, an hour and struggled just to deal with Josephine in there so...yeah, convoluted nonsense that doesn’t follow). That means it’s possible we’ll just see an avatar of Lexa, a memory of her, not *her,* because the *real* Lexa was blinked out of existence without a word when the Flame was destroyed. I really hope that isn’t so, because that is just the last level of shittiness this show could do, but we know they’re not above it, so.

But then there’s this “transcendence” business that sounds like another convoluted nightmare with no catharsis, so, yeah. Clarke, like Lexa, has become another character in service of this scintillating plot.

#questions #the 100 #clarke griffin #season 7 #lexa #clexa #spoilers #it would be nice if we could just go #oh its just bad writing #but there is a deliberateness to how they've played these themes #and it isn't kind #queerbaiting

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comradelup · 4 years

Text

Julia would never describe death as enlightening. Quite the opposite, actually. Maybe… endarkening…. Point is, she never knew death until she died.

She opens her eyes on the shore of the astral sea. She feels bruised all over, and half her mind is still fast asleep. Groggy. That’s the word for it.

The sunless grey sky is above her, and the sound of lapping waves fill her ears. Sand surrounds her on the ground, and it’s almost comfortable, even if it may be getting in her hair. She doesn’t want to move, so she doesn’t.

A weird sense of familiarity washes over her as lazy as the waves. She’s been here before, right? Or perhaps she’s seen one too many friends and comrades die for death to be confusing and scary. Her most likely theory is that The Raven Queen does this to people to ease them into death after trauma.

She recalls the events before her death. Kalen returned with vengeance to blow up Raven’s Roost. She bets he was bitter about his loss and decided to erase any memory of his weakness. Well, he got his revenge. Julia tried to get as many people as she could out, but a whole building fell on her as a result. One of the two leaders of the revolution is dead. She’s only happy he didn’t get Magnus.

Magnus… she remembers him. A cheerful carpenter, a loving husband, a great crewmate.

Wait. What?

The memories trickle into her mind like a summer creek. The two of them in flowing red robes, standing somewhere up high. On the deck of some ship, but on land. Above land.

The Starblaster.

There were others too. Beautiful twin elves, a plain-looking human, a crunchy dwarf, a wallflower of a human, and a gnome captain. Their names hit her like arrows to the chest.

Taako. Lup. Barry. Merle. Lucretia. Davenport.

It comes back faster now. The flow quickens. The eight of them, on the Starblaster, on an endless mission. Images flash in her mind. Good times, bad times, laughter, love, screaming, crying. Life and death alike.

They were running from something, running to something else. But… what?

At least she knows why death is familiar. She’s died before. An explosion, an accidental poisoning, turning to a statue… death is an old friend in a way. She remembers her friends dying too. The four judges killing everyone but Lucretia. That time everyone but her, Lup, and Lucretia died so it was months of girls’ nights. One year the twins died and everyone else tried to cook like them but couldn’t, because who can cook like the twins?

These memories don’t quite feel like her own. She’s missing something. Lup and Barry trying to understand the chemical makeup of the Light of Creation. Merle dying so many times talking to John. Magnus died in the first cycle at the hands of The Hunger.

A weak groan escapes her and she closes her eyes. This is giving her a headache, trying to think through the static. Static… static…

Fischer! Her eyes snap open, arm frozen halfway to rubbing her temple. Death really is enlightening, the voidfish’s power doesn’t work on the dead. Somehow she forgot everything, or at least everything in Lucretia’s journals.

Oh, poor Lucretia. Now that it’s coming back to her, she remembers Lucretia bringing her and Magnus to Raven’s Roost, trying to hide her tears. She told them, this is where you’ve lived your whole lives, it’s not much, but it’s home. Julia retroactively corrects that no, the Starblaster is home, Lucretia is home, along with the rest of the crew. Lucretia must have erased their memories of their mission, but Julia can’t quite remember why. She can’t bring herself to be truly angry though; she loves Lucretia too much to be.

She starts to remember more recent details too. Lup… Lup went missing. She’s nowhere to be found, even with Barry and Taako’s rigorous searching. She went missing after the eight of them made the… the… the Grand Relics.

The dam breaks, and she knows everything— the Light of Creation, The Hunger, oh stars.

She lets her arm fall and stares up, letting all the sadness show on her face. The world might end, and no one else but a dead woman will know how to stop it. Not even, right? All she knows how to do is run away. This plane will be consumed and feasted upon until there’s nothing left, and she’ll be destroyed right with everyone el—

“Um, Julia?”

Julia cranes her head back towards the sound of the voice. Upside down, she sees a pair of fancy shoes and the hem of fancy slacks. They step closer and Julia looks up at the sky again as a face comes into view.

“You’re Julia Burnsides, right? Are you okay?” the man asks, and he’s handsome. Not the same rustic and warm handsomeness of Magnus, but a sharp, well dressed handsome. It isn’t her thing, but it’s hard to not admit that this guy is a looker. His long dreadlocks are pulled back in a half up half down style, and some of them fall over his shoulder as he looks down at her.

“I’m Julia,” she says, and her voice is raw. She coughs into her hand and he looks sympathetic. “Who’re you?”

“I’m Kravitz. Let me help you up.” He holds out a hand, and she takes it. It’s cold as shit but she doesn’t comment on it as he helps her stand.

Her body doesn’t like being vertical apparently. She now knows her bruises are the incorporeal equal of the injuries sustained from her death, and they make all movement painful. She wobbles a bit when on two feet and balances herself on Kravitz’s steady hand.

“Thanks,” she mutters through the pain, because her parents didn’t raise a rude girl.

“Of course,” Kravitz says, taking his hand back and using both hands to hold onto a sharp scythe taller than him. It’s actually about Julia’s height, as she stands a good few inches above him.

“There’s a bit of… an issue here,” he continues, “When a person dies, they either go into the astral sea or the eternal stockade. Or, in special cases, to the Raven Queen herself to discuss joining her retinue. You shouldn’t have ended up here.”

He’s saying a lot of words at once. Her head’s still swimming. She feels dizzy. Remembering a century all at once after a falling building killed you is… tough to handle all at once. And it's not the position she should be in when discussing… what was it? Death crimes? He mentioned a stockade, right?

“I… I should…” She brings a hand to her head and rubs the part of her temple that isn’t super bruised.

“You don’t look good, here.” Julia’s staring at the ground, blinking and trying not to sway, so she doesn’t see what he does. She hears fabric ripping, and he puts a cold hand on her shoulder.

“Step right through here,” he says, voice quiet. He seems tuned in to her headache and is accommodating, for which she's thankful.

She follows his direction, through a portal of sorts. One second she’s on a beach, the next she’s in a throne room, four stories tall. The floors and walls are black marble with an iridescent sheen to them. The far left wall is floor to ceiling windows, showing off the astral sea. It's beautiful, swirling rainbow waters with millions of lights floating above the surface. The sky is grey, but not like it’s covered by clouds, it’s naturally grey. Not a sun or cloud to be seen. In the window sills are ravens, hopping around or snoozing or watching her. All of them are silent in the presence of their queen.

The Raven Queen is hard to perceive. She is in the back of the room, on a large throne. Shadows cover that end of the room, so she can’t see the queen’s face. She does know she’s huge, though. Tens of feet tall, Julia guesses she’d be almost as tall as the throne room if she wasn’t sitting. She’s wearing an impeccable dark suit glittering with gold accents and jewelry. There are rings on her gloved fingers and bracelets on her wrists, and her hands sit on the arms of the throne. One leg is crossed over the other, letting a dark flowing cape pool at one foot.

In her presence, Kravitz kneels. Following, Julia does the same. He says, “My Queen, I found Julia Burnsides on the shore of the astral sea, disoriented and in pain. I don’t know what her soul’s fate is, so I come to you for guidance.”

Julia stays quiet, looking at the floor. She can kind of see her reflection, and sees that her face isn’t as beat up as it feels. In fact, it’s completely free of injury. She’s also wearing her IPRE robe. Huh.

After a moment of silence, The Raven Queen speaks. “Julia Burnsides, you have died twenty-two times, including your most recent death.”

Julia looks up to the queen and sees Kravitz staring at her bewildered out of the corner of her eye. She can’t see the queen’s expression, but her voice makes her sound accusatory. So Julia nods, unsure of what else to say.

“Yet… you have entered the Astral Plane every time. You also never escaped the plane. That is an anomaly.”

“I can explain, your majesty.” Julia remembers other Astral Planes too, with the occasional alternate death deities. At least in this plane, it’s The Raven Queen and not that other one, The King of Death and Insects. She hates bugs.

“Please do.” The queen waves a hand, and two armchairs appear, with a coffee table in front of them. Julia takes the silent invitation and moves to sit down in one. Two mugs of tea appear and she takes one. What's most strange is Kravitz seems more confused than her as he does the same. Julia must be a real edge case.

She takes a sip of tea and feels the warmth travel down her throat into her stomach, then spread to her whole body. It seeps away the pain and clears her head, making her sigh in relief and relax into her seat.

“Now,” The Raven Queen says, “explain your deaths.” She holds up a palm in her direction and pushes it towards her. Julia feels a breeze blow past her as a Zone of Truth appears around her. Admittedly, she’s developed a familiarity with it thanks to Merle, but she lets the spell affect her this time. She has no reason to lie to a queen.

“I… I don’t know where to start,” Julia says. If only she had Lucretia’s journals and could read them to the queen. “Do you know about the multiverse theory?”

She goes on to explain everything from the beginning. Where she's really from, the Light of Creation landing on her home plane, and the original mission of the IPRE. The Hunger and how it interrupted this mission, the cycles that brought her and her family from the dead. She even explains that this is the first death where she wasn’t put into the astral sea. (Except for that one time she and Barry ended up in that plane’s stockade, though. It was only an experiment gone wrong, after all, so why include it?)

All of this is new information for The Raven Queen and Kravitz, but it feels new to Julia too. For some of the details she says them without thinking and then reflects on them. Taako made a fake Light of Creation? Oh right, he did!

After she’s done explaining, she sits back, taking a big sip of her tea. Her cup never seems to empty and for that, she’s glad, because every sip brings back that warm feeling in this cold, dead plane.

Kravitz looks bewildered and intrigued by the story, but also says nothing. The Raven Queen is quietly contemplative for a moment, then says, “Those relics are causing a lot of death. You created them?”

Julia flushes. “Yes, your majesty, but we didn’t mean to cause wars. The Light of Creation needs to be needed, so we tried to make intriguing objects. They ended up using the people wielding them instead of the other way around.” She looks down into her lap, staring at the tea swirling in the mug. Voice low, she adds, “We would never do that to so many innocent people.”

She can tell she brought down the mood of the room, evidenced by Kravitz’s kind of awkward look as he clearly doesn’t know how to make her feel better. She can’t bring herself to care though. Maybe ignorance really is blissful, she was happiest she’s been in decades when all she knew was Raven’s Roost.

“Things like this are rarely intentional,” The Raven Queen says, her tone somber. “These objects, they are an affront to the nature of life and death. They are an insult to my domain.”

“You’re really good at cheering people up, you know that?” Julia deadpans, apathetically staring at her drink. Kravitz stares at her with wide eyes.

“I am saying this to ask: can you stop these objects from killing people?” The Raven Queen asks.

“I… imagine that we could. We’ve handled the Light so much that we are more or less immune to it’s craveability.”

“I’m sorry, ‘craveability?’” Kravtiz interjects. Julia nods, sipping her tea.

“So your living crewmates could put an end to these wars?” The Raven Queen asks.

“They’re the only ones who can,” Julia says.

The Raven Queen is silent for another moment. Then, “Until all Grand Relics are collected and disposed of, your family’s bounties will be called off.”

Julia sighs, relieved, and sags into her seat. Then sits back up. “But what will happen to me?”

“You cannot influence the Prime Material Plane anymore. You have the option of joining the astral sea, or lessening your family’s sentence by serving time yourself.”

“But their deaths are like mine. They didn’t escape the Astral Planes willingly and you technically can’t punish them.”

Kravitz looks at her like she’s walking into a volcano and expecting to live. She gets it, she knows she’s talking back to a goddess, but she doesn’t care.

“Lup Hallwinter and Sildar Hallwinter are liches, and they will be punished accordingly.”

“Just call them— ugh—” Julia huffs a sigh and sags into her chair in frustration. She puts her cup down and says, “They did it ethically, for the greater good. Lup and Barry were able to do so much good without death to stop them!”

“There is a reason death stops them. Everyone thinks they have a good reason to cross me.”

“You wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for them!” Julia shouts, standing. Kravitz stands too, scythe at the ready. Julia pays him no mind, pointing a finger at the queen. “You OWE them!”

The air is still. Kravitz is ready to strike at the queen’s order. Julia doesn’t give a shit. Goddess or not, she can’t act like she knows Barry and Lup enough to just declare their fates. Other liches? Yeah, they’re almost always corrupt and selfish, but what Lup and Barry did is selfless if anything.

“There is no point in arguing. Make your choice.”

Julia raises her chin defiantly. The same look she’s given corrupt warlords and wealthy industrialists, the look she’d give John if she met him rather than Merle. The queen is unmoving and Julia knows her effort is futile, at least now. She crosses her arms. “I’ll serve their sentence.”

“It’s decided then. Julia Burnsides, you will begin training as a Reaper, serving the sentences of Lup and Sildar Hallwinter. Reaper Kravitz, you will train her."

#REBLOGS > LIKES lol #taz #taz balance #the adventure zone #taz julia #balance #julia #txt #writing #8th bird julia #is my fave #i love her so much #and reaper julia!! the potential is delicious #life after death

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angerissue · 3 years

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Character Survey.

Real name: Dr. Robert Bruce Banner, Ph.D..

Single or taken: Single, and this probably isn't going to change anytime soon. He has a number of ingrained emotional issues, and ideological issues that pertain to his condition, that prevent him from seeking romantic relationships and even just becoming close to someone. One-night stands are possible, because they don’t involve emotional commitment from either party, but real relationships scare the hell out of him. The closer that someone gets to Bruce, the more he fears hurting them or being hurt himself.

Abilities or powers: He has an extremely high IQ, almost unprecedented intuition when it comes to the sciences and its numerous technologies, and a great ability to think outside the box and solve complicated, confounding problems. Also, he can turn big and green, which makes him capable of inhuman physical feats and gives him a ridiculous healing factor. This cannot be understated; he can literally recover from decapitation if the conditions are right. It's debatable whether these qualify as gifts or curses, because of the experiences they've created for Bruce in the past, but they're definitely abilities at the least.

Eye colour: Brown. Sometimes green if he’s in a mood.

Hair colour: Dark brown with some grey.

Family members: Rebecca Banner (mother / deceased), Brian Banner (father / incarcerated), Jennifer Walters (cousin / alive), Susan Drake (adoptive aunt / unknown), Elaine Banner (aunt / deceased).

Pets: In The Persistence, he owns a white knockout mouse named Eddie, who came from a selection of ailing lab mice that he experimented on with the Hulk's plasma. He doesn’t have pets in other verses, though he wouldn’t mind a cat, or a dog with a calm and mellow demeanour, as long as his living situation and overall routine is constant and undisturbed. Otherwise, it will never be a possibility. Back when General Ross' squad broke down his door in Brazil, he needed to abandon a mutt named Rick, and it hurt because he’d become very fond of him. He doesn't want to do this to another animal.

Hobbies or activities: He loves hiking and jogging (with trails in forested areas being his preferred location), cooking and baking, gardening, reading textbooks and science journalism, bait fishing, programming and experimenting, travelling, sightseeing, meditation, yoga, collecting and listening to vinyl records, and being a rebel by listening to police scanners and going after bad guys if he doesn't have much else to do. But even if it seems like he's not outwardly doing anything, he's probably still occupied — he tends to spend a profuse amount of time in his own head, ruminating and reflecting on future goals, whether it involves anticipating or dreading them. He also likes to contemplate new concepts and designs for technologies.

Animal that represents them: Definitely a pangolin, because you can’t look at a pangolin and the way it carries itself and not think of Banner from a purely visual perspective. Add on the fact that their bodies are covered in hardened scales for defense, and how they curl up into a ball whenever they're upset and threatened, and you have a metaphorical version of Bruce, who tends to shy away and retreat into himself whenever he's having a lower moment, and has a lot of deep-seated defensive mechanisms on display during social interactions. But seriously, these animals just want to walk around eating ants, minding their own business. They don’t have a bone to pick with anyone... Which is also similar to Bruce. And did I mention that pangolins are endangered, because they're frequently hunted and trapped by humans for their supposed “beneficial properties” in medicine (none of which are proven)? That's similar to how Banner has been followed all over the place by the U.S. military, just because they perceived his condition to be useful somehow.

Worst habits: Take your pick. Distancing himself from other people even when he could use the company, self-flagellation, humouring his guilt complex even when he's not responsible for certain negative outcomes, repressing or suppressing his emotions when he needs to express them (or the opposite, staying as the Hulk so he can stew in those strong emotions and therefore punish himself for whatever he “did wrong”), running away from connections that involve real commitment, especially romantic ones.

Role models: Steve Rogers for his patriotism and overall sense of morality, Neils Bohr for his defense of the Bohr atomic model (which had been a radical theory for the time) and subsequent successes, Ernest Rutherford for similar reasons, and his mother when he was younger, though he doesn’t remember much about her because he was only six when she died. Same goes for his aunt, Susan; while he spent more time around her than Rebecca in total, he was rather emotionally absent by this point because of all the trauma earlier in his childhood. In general, his role models tend to be people who remain strong in the face of adversity and judgement, and stick to their values for the benefit of others. All the above people qualify in that sense, for different reasons.

Sexual orientation: Heterosexual.

Thoughts on marriage and kids: Nope, and bigger nope. He would love to have a close connection with someone, however much he's actually repressed the desire for the time being, and some part of him does want to have a child — however, he always concludes that it wouldn't be worth it. Bruce believes marriage would be a shackle for anyone who's unfortunate enough to become his partner, and it would open them up to potential threats from people who could use them to get to him and his condition. And children are a no-go because Bruce doesn’t want them to have a father like him; he might be absent for a lot of their upbringing, and either unstable or otherwise unaccommodating in temperament if he’s upset. And he'll constantly be trying to hide his condition from them as well, because god forbid they find out their father is a monster, and they feel like a freak because of it. He's been in a position where he felt like an anomaly as a child, and he's not interested in subjecting his children to this. He also loathes the idea of bringing children into the world because he would not be able to ensure their safety — after all, he can’t even ensure his own. So to Bruce, he'd be setting them up for endangerment just because they’re related to him, similar to how his partner would become a target as well.

Style preferences: Safe and conservative, and not flamboyant by any means. He usually sticks to warmer and neutral palettes, and cuts/styles that are classic and unlikely to fall out of style; this includes his suits, jackets, pants, and shirts. We're talking chinos and slacks, poplin dress shirts, wool sport coats and blazers. Most occasions will see him wearing the dress shirt, slacks, and sport coat together. If he's feeling more adventurous, he'll pair a sport coat with a crewneck, or he could even go with a polo shirt and jeans, but the latter is rare. In general, Bruce's most interesting piece is a brown leather bomber jacket, which he usually wears in the warmer months; colder weather will bring out a peacoat (and he loves to pop the collar in lieu of using a scarf). As far as cost goes, Bruce is fairly well-off between the royalties from S.H.I.E.L.D. and other work he's done here and there, but even so, he doesn't purchase outrageously expensive clothing and tends to go for the mid-upper brands. He'll do made-to-measure, but not full bespoke. He finds any further spending to be superfluous.

Approach to friendships: Cautious and uncertain about them, and tends not to approach people first, because he would hate to overstep his boundaries / make someone uncomfortable. Rather accommodating to people he considers friends, but he's extremely quick to duck out if they can’t meet him eye-to-eye regarding touchy topics, like decisions that affect the well-being of many people. This is the reason he shunned his friendship with Tony after they debated about the Sokovia Accords. Being an introvert, he’s one of those people who doesn't like bothering his friends; even if they make it abundantly clear that he's welcome anytime, he'll hesitate, but he’s completely okay and even happy if those friends approach him instead. He doesn't always like when his personal space is invaded, or if someone touches him, but he'll start to make exceptions if he becomes more familiar with someone. He loves the people that he can consider friends, but he always views the friendships as something that could dissolve in a heartbeat. On some level, even unconscious, he's always expecting things to end.

Thoughts on pie: An acceptable desert. Bumbleberry, strawberry rhubarb, and pumpkin are his favourites. He prefers the homemade variety, and because of it, he tends to make his own, butter crust and all, avoiding store-bought unless it’s particularly memorable — or if someone buys a slice for him. He’s appreciative like that.

Favourite place to spend time: Somewhere he can guarantee that he's not being watched; these are most commonly his labs in the Northwind Observatory, quiet and secluded trails, or his chambers in the Crown City citadel on Sakaar. Not only do these locations ease his anxieties about being studied, inspected, or followed, but he feels less of a pressure to put on false pretenses and exhaust himself with social niceties, many of which may be fabricated. He doesn’t need much external stimulation, because he’s fine simply turning inward and thinking, without paying much attention to his surroundings, but he’ll certainly admit to spending a ton of time tinkering with pet projects if he’s in the labs. Obviously, Bruce prefers to be alone in most of these cases. But if he's with someone he cares about, whether a friend or a romantic partner, and can openly express himself around them, that's nice for him too.

Swim in the lake or ocean: Lakes, without question. He has some bad memories of being in the ocean, whether it’s about the time he was tossing and turning in glacial waters after his failed suicide attempt, or clawing his way out of a quinjet that crashed into the water while his alter started to take over. Bruce remembers all that, and it's not pleasant. The openness of oceans perturb him as well; lakes are usually far more intimate and amniotic because they’re often surrounded by forests, which allows him to feel safer and less exposed.

Their type: Someone who is, and is comfortable with showing, some semblance of dependence on him, which would placate his need to fill a provider role and not simply be a charity case; he's had enough of that between begging on the streets and asking Tony Stark for boarding. (This doesn't mean he's looking for someone who's a total pushover, cannot make their own decisions, or is emotionally needy, because those would make him run in the other direction, frankly.) Someone who can hold their own and stand up for their beliefs when necessary. Someone who can challenge him intellectually, though not necessarily in an academic sense; it really just depends on how much they can expand his own perspective by giving their own. Someone who really understands his needs and issues. And obviously, someone who isn't scared of his condition, because it's going to manifest a lot. It needs to; he doesn't really have a choice in the matter. Hulk is another story, but fortunately, he doesn't show up enough to really be an immediate concern, and Bruce and his partner can cross that bridge when they reach it. Physically, he's usually attracted to women who are slightly shorter than him; their hair can be anything from blonde to brown, and he prefers body types that are similar to his own; more on the slender side but not necessarily fragile.

Camping or indoors: He’d rather be indoors. He isn’t extremely fond of camping, if we’re using the most common definition of "pitching a tent, cooking with a fire made from sticks and tinder, and spending the night in the woods with the bears and the bugs". There are indeed occasions where he cannot stand to be indoors, whether because he’s feeling claustrophobic (a common symptom of abstaining a little too long from transformations), or he simply needs some time away from other people in the geographic sense, but in those cases, he’s more likely to go for a walk or hike, not set up an entire campsite and spend the rest of the night outdoors. For him, camping is meant for a survival-type situation rather than a recreational one. The closest thing to camping he'll do is living in a cabin with a wood stove and local water supply, which he’s done a few times over the years. He's even purchased a few cabins by the time his Persistence verse rolls around, so if one of the properties are compromised, he could always retreat to another one.

Tagged by: @mynameisanakin! Tagging: @fallencomrade , @asgardianhammer , @alongingwithin , and anyone else who wants to do this.

#( meme response. )#( headcanon. )#( multiple. )

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sometimesrosy · 4 years

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You know what,I joined the Tumblr last week and,your posts have made me positive about the final season.I get it when you say understanding the story and how it has been abt bellarke.But to sound a tad bit reserved,if this has been any other show it would be much more easier to go into the final episodes as there is a possibility Jason by some hook or crook can make CL end up together which doesn't make sense story wise but this way he can or feel that he stood with a community.What's your view?

I think people are afraid that JR is going to pull a D&D, but I don’t think JR is LIKE D&D. D&D took a story from GRRM and made it full of flash and dazzle like hollywood. They never put the story or the characters in front. It was SPECTACLE for them. They are flimflam men. And when the story ended and they were left on their own to finish it, you can see what happened. It crumbled because they didn’t know how to tell a story, how to develop characters, WHY to develop characters, how to tie up the narrative threads, what the purpose of fantasy tropes were, etc, and so they finished with what they know: flash and dazzle. Shock. Plot twists without the plot. “foreshadowing” like *ooh she’s wearing red she’s a bad guy now.*

Fandom doesn’t like JR. It’s a pretty widespread thing. He fed the CLs while dismissing BCs in season 2 and 3 and then killed L off. They felt betrayed and baited, because they thought he was “on their side.” And then the Bellarkers thought he was on their side and put in B/E so they Bellarkers turned on him, even though he refused to tell them what would happen or even admit Bellarke was romantic. Actually no. Bellarkers think JR HATES them. The CL feeding made it a war between CL and BC where CLs were the favored children. Maybe if he hadn’t fed the CLs so much in 2 and 3, Bellarkers wouldn’t have had so little faith in him in regards to Bellarke. Because he did treat Bellarkers like the bastard step child while THE STORY continued on its way, almost independently of what he was telling fandom.

THE POINT I’m trying to make is that JR might be a bastard. He might be an egotist. But part of that is him putting his story first. He doesn’t bend. When fans want something, he’s like, ‘oh sorry too bad my story not yours and i won’t give it to you until and unless it’s time.’ which makes people mad because they want THEIR story when THEY want it. So there’s this constant tension between fans and jr. GIVE US OUR STORY!!! fandom yells. “no,” says JR. Because it’s not their story it’s his. And he’s gonna do it how he likes. Not how fandom likes.

Sometimes he’ll give fandom little bits, if it doesn’t interfere with his story. There’s lots of room within the story for adjustment, or there used to be. The closer it gets to the end the less wiggle room there is.

But he’s not like D&D. They have different egotism. D&D didn’t respect audience, genre or story. They thought they could do whatever they wanted because they were the geniuses, plus they were getting tired of the story and wanted to make more money and fame on other projects. So they basically murdered the story so they could be done.

JR respects and understands the genre AND the story. I don’t know if he even really understands fandom, although he learned his lesson about feeding fans in s3. And he learned NOT to do it. This is HIS story. And he’s going to stay true to the story, despite fandom’s demands. Ego, yes. But I at least think this is the kind of ego needed to tell a good story, especially in a public way like this, where other people are also involved. I think he cares more about the story than he does about the community. I think it’s his legacy, no matter what shippers think.

And he keeps saying that no one who is dead is coming back to life. Lxa is dead. That doesn’t sound like he’s giving anyone hope does it? And there’s no storyline about Lxa anymore. Can she be mentioned? Yes, because Lxa affected the current storyline and characters. But not only did she die, her world ALSO died. There’s no more Polis, there’s no more coalition, there’s no more flame. Her part of the story has moved on to wonkru, to Madi, to Octavia. She’s got no PLACE. If he had wanted to bring L back, he could have started to plant seeds in s6 when we started learning more about the flame. But he didn’t. He killed the flame.

The only connection L still has with the narrative is with Clarke and her trauma and her past love. Which never died and never had to die. She moved on. She talked to Bellamy 2199 days without response, not L. She said she loved Madi more than she ever loved L. She got the closure with flameLxa apologizing and telling her that betraying her was the biggest regret of her life, love is not a weakness and told Clarke not to betray her love like she did. THAT closes the relationship story. It’s over. Clarke can carry her memories with her now without all that trauma. People ARE allowed to recover.

Is there a POSSIBILITY that Clarke will end up with L in some fantasy inside the anomaly? If JR reverses her character development and relationship development with her soulmate Bellarke. If no one cares that would mean that Clarke’s life would cease connecting with reality and become a delusion or at best a tragic tale of someone in love with someone who is a memory/projection/fantasy/AI/ghost. There are stories where that could happen. But for this one it would be taking a HUGE swerve away from who the story has been about (clarke, bellamy, octavia, madi, raven, murphy, echo, emori, jordan, hope, gabriel, diyoza,) to make it about a character even her ex lover doesn’t think that much about. (2199 days she called bellamy not L.) Heck, I still think about my ex who I haven’t seen in years, but that doesn’t mean I’d get back with him if he came back.

The possibility of the story making it so L can come back and be Clarke’s endgame without development, foreshadowing, narrative or magic is so low as to not worry me. Is it impossible? No. But if he wanted to be nice to the CL community he could have done it with making Clarke’s consciousness alive in the flame, since it was indeed connected to her. As the only person who had a flame and took it out, we didn’t know what would happen. He COULD have made Clarke and Lxa have an endgame in the flame. For eternity and I specced last season that he would. But that was jossed in 6.02 i think when Gaia told Madi that a consciousness could only be in one place at a time so a living Clarke could not BE in the flame. But that’s his sci fi worldbuilding. It could easily have kept a copy of her mind, given flameCL endgame and fanserviced them that way without ruining his story. But he didn’t. Why ruin his story for people who hate him? Remember his ego. It’s HIS story, not theirs. HIS legacy.

#the 100 #the jr whisperer #cl #endgame #the cl endgame is fanon with little evidence from text #they look for ways it COULD be put into the story and they are there. but the truth is that the real story isn't doing that #the story moved on clarke moved on and healed but fandom has not moved on or healed

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buddha-in-disguise · 4 years

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Let Kelly and Lena work together. Please.

I know I’ve written about how little Kelly and Nia have had to do on Supergirl this season, especially when scenes that could’ve easily been handled by either of them have gone to a new character, that feels continuously out of place after the Andrea and Russell storyline wrapped.

I’m not going to rehash too much of that, other than to say Kelly in particular has been woefully under-utilised, especially as we know Azie has been on set filming.

Which brings me to my thoughts on what I would love to see one storyline to actually make use not only of Kelly, but help tie in Lena being brought back into the Superfriends fold.

We know Kelly is using her expertise as a psychologist to utilise Q waves in treatment for trauma patients, especially PTSD.

However, in ep 12 they popped in the fact that they had problems on the platinum lens, with the bio link algorithm, and out of her entire staff, Andrea was using Kelly to help try to resolve the problem.

Of course we now know that Lena sabotaged the lens, (although how she achieved that we don’t know).

But it planted a seed in my brain.

Reconciliation does appear to be on the cards for Lena with Supergirl et al. Or at least we got the hint in interviews from the 100th episode, even if they hedged around it. Not forgetting Winn and Mon-El both suggest that it resolves itself - Winn with "Give her time." Mon-El with "Now, I know Lena's hurting right now, but once she understands that she'll forgive you."

The other thing. Brainy believes in Lena. All three are from the future. Plus, the whole reason Mon-El can even be there? Because L-Corp develops a cure for the Daxamite lead allergy. Not LexCorp. Not Luthor Corp. L-Corp. Now I know that Supergirl and continuity are really poor at times, but I truly hope this is another nod that LexCorp is defeated, and Lena takes control of L-Corp once again, and she does good things, that lead L-Corp in the future to being the cause for good she has always wanted it to be.

Let alone that in all the scenarios shown, the only Lena who didn't try to protect Kara was the one who didn't know her. Evil Lena. Even the Lena who went back to Metropolis to talk to Sam, who questioned who Kara really was, would've helped when the atmosphere was seeded with Kryptonite, only she couldn't because she didn't make it in time. So even angry, even hurt as she was, Lena can't hurt Kara. Even this season Lena was so worried when the missiles armed with Kryptonite were about to launch. Her panic for Kara was real. Plus not allowing Hope to kill her (that is still an anomaly for me in Hope).

We begin to get answers on that next episode, even if Lena appears to move forward with Non Nocere from the episode synopsis. Let me state here: if reconciliation isn’t on the cards with Lena and Kara, I think there would be an even bigger riot from fans than William caused. While angst and drama is all well and good, if it diverges too much from friends to enemies or even frenemies, it would be a step too far for so many of us. Supercorp absolutely isn’t a driving factor for me saying that, but Lena has been an integral member of the Superfriends for too long for it to all be thrown away in my opinion. Plus what would the point of the 100th really be if not to solidify just how important the Kara/Lena friendship is, as well as the Winn comment in ep 12, plus the L-Corp link already mentioned. Truly, I’d find it impossible to defend a decision like that. Let alone just watching not just viewers, but media, bloggers etc who react so positively when Lena is in the fold of all the friends. There would be uproar from so many.

Back to Kelly.

We know from Azie posting that she and Katie were on set together recently.

The set backdrop suggests it in Obsidian North. Now of course being on set doesn’t mean they filmed scenes together as Staz posted photos with Katie in the same dress and wearing the same boots, but since Nicole and Jesse were saying how little they’ve seen Katie on set because she has been filming so much in her lab, I would hope there is a good chance they were filming together.

Since LexCorp have entered into partnership with the lens, this would be an ideal opportunity for Kelly - as the person heading Obsidian North on the project - working with Lena, who obviously is the LexCorp representative. This could allow not only Kelly to bridge the friendship gap that’s been lost. Kelly (according to Azie) doesn’t (or until recently if that status has changed because nothing has been said on screen - ugh,) know Kara was Supergirl. She was the one friend in the group, who like Lena, had no clue. Who wasn’t lying to her in any shape or form.

Kelly is going to realise pretty quickly that Kara and Lena’s friendship is on the out and out. She might not know why, but if she asks Lena as they work together, it could easily be a way to bring all this up. To even give Lena an ally, insofar as someone who didn’t know any more than she had before the reveal. Add in Kelly being a psychologist, and able to offer Lena good solid advice. Who knows, she might even be able to make her realise that Non Nocere has to be stopped by Lena if she hasn’t made that decision already? Maybe this could be another turning point?

Another benefit could be Lena acknowledging she isn’t working with Lex. That she could admit Kara (and everyone else) was wrong on that assumption, and in fact she was now using Non Nocere to try and beat Lex, Lillian and Levithan. Lena could then begin to team up with Kelly, who uses what they learn to help the rest of the Superfriends back at the Tower.

It could also then give us some hopefully good Dansen moments as Kelly works through it with Alex at home, and she could offer advice and perspective on Lena to Alex (who looked devastated when she saw the Fortress footage of Lena, and not just devastated for Kara, but for Lena as well, because although she knew what had occurred, she obviously didn’t see it play out). Or Kelly could talk to Kara, as the earliest episode suggested Kara and Kelly had a good solid friendship as it was.

These thoughts are just how I would love to see some of the coming episodes play out. Considering how badly Kelly has been under-utilised, it could go a long way in helping us see her back on screen.

Of course I have no clue on how they plan to proceed with any of this. If Kelly does begin to get more screen time (which isn’t going to be hard considering how little she has had so far), then I’m going to be grateful just for that. Of course I really want more sustained Dansen time, because we had more between them in S4 than currently. Considering what we were promised it has been nothing short of pitiful. At least we know Nia is getting a good episode in 15, but with episode numbers running out, it is squeezing the time available for Dansen or Kelly even more. Let alone trying to resolve the Lena/Lex/Lillian/Lethavian that will need wrapping up.

I guess we wait to see.

#katie mcgrath #lena luthor #melissa benoist #kara danvers #kara zor el #supergirl #chyler leigh #alex danvers #azie tesfai #kelly olsen #dansen

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viktorfm · 4 years

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(MAXENCE DANET-FAUVEL, NONBINARY) - Have you seen VIKTOR SAMUELS? VIKTOR is in HIS/THEIR SENIOR year. The VISUAL ARTS MAJOR is 24 years old & is a CAPRICORN. People say HE/THEY are OBSERVANT, INGENIOUS, RETICENT and DEPENDENT. Rumors say they’re a member of KINCAID. I heard from the gossip blog that THEY'RE HAVING AN AFFAIR WITH THEIR THERAPIST. (JAMES. 21. EST. THEY/THEM.)

dont. look at me. i know. anyways if it wasnt obvs i abandoned cupid (n darrow) in order 2 bring the two ocs tht he ws inspired by n ws a combination of bt. theyre better as different ppl methinks.

DEATH, HEAVY GRIEF, OVERDOSE / DRUG ADDICTION, HOSPITALIZATION, HYPERSEXUALITY, RELIGION MENTIONS TW

aesthetic.

old tvs and their static, worn tapes, horror movie screams, spilled ink, a sculptor’s hands, clay-stained, chicken scratch handwriting, messy notes, messy hair, scoffs and eye-rolls, bruised knuckles, sore throats, funeral homes and a crying preacher, shattered ceramics, knife fights, high ledges, vertically-striped pants, red lights, the moon shrouded in clouds, cigarette butts, graveyards and half-empty wine bottles, sitting there for hours and talking to nothing, about nothing, a god complex, gold rings adorning both hands, barbwire baseball bats, having never played baseball in your life, deep eyebags and broken mirrors, a permanent chip on one’s shoulder, yearning, longing, wishing.

basics.

full name: viktor phillip samuels

nickname(s): icky vicky :/

b.o.d. - january 2nd, 1996

label(s): the black hole, the crepehanger, the impious, the opaque, the tempest, etc.

height: 6′1″

hometown: preaker, vermont

sexuality: pansexual uwu

stats

favorite song: disorder, joy division / it’s getting faster, moving faster / now it’s getting out of hand / on the tenth floor, down the back stairs / it’s a no man’s land / lights are flashing, cars are crashing / getting frequent now / i’ve got the spirit, lose the feeling / let it out somehow

background.

born to mama and papa (preacher) samuels in preaker, vermont - fifteen minutes after his twin sister, tatiana samuels. years later, rosa samuels joined the gang.

was an awkward, quiet kid growing up, he didn’t interact well with others and preferred being left alone to dig up worms and draw on the walls of their childhood home. the only exception was his twin, really.

as he got older he grew out of this, but instead became like … sort of an asshole? maybe to compensate for years of childhood awkwardness. he’s the sort of person who will bite the hand that feeds him & developed into a full time nuisance by middle school, unlike tatiana who was much more subtle about her conniving manners.

always has been a fan of ‘darker’ materials. grim & creepy morbid shit. probably the biggest tim burton fan, ever since he was a kid … not a good look for a preacher’s son, but he never really felt ‘in’ with the rest of his family to begin with. classic black sheep syndrome.

drew disturbing pictures as a kid that probably prompted one or two or five phone calls home to assure everything was fine.

just really had a knack for art at a young age, from drawing to painting to playing with clay. it’s always been his thing and probably is the only thing he’s good at.

being twins with tatiana was hard. they were near opposite besides both being quite mean-spirited. tatiana handled being in public better, left a better image behind - but viktor had talent, more than she did. they loved each other deeply - y’know, those unbreakable twin bonds as cliche as it sounds - but found each other as competition for their parents’ attention. a rivalry for affection.

in high school is when viktor really started to act out. it started extreme, like losing his virginity in their church and vandalism around the neighborhoods. faked being possessed in the middle of sunday service & almost had an exorcism performed on him.

his only redeemable trait was like … just his sheer talent in the arts. was in a 3d art ap course and specialized in sculptures. he could pretty much create anything he wanted with enough dedication.

because he was the problem child, the one who deserved to be disciplined for all his antics, tatiana could sneak away and get away with whatever she wanted much easier. on the bright-side, for her, i guess.

not a very motivated person - wasn’t planning on going to college, much less going to yates but his parents literally wrote & sent his college application for him because they weren’t going to house a deadbeat but had too much heart to kick him out onto the streets. cool!

he’s actually pretty smart but he just doesn’t apply himself. has a minor in english because he didn’t care for an extra course-load, but he’s good at writing & analyzing literature. is going to use it to write and illustrate his own series of children books with a style similar to tim burton’s. not for the kids, but because he likes to leave a trail of terror in whatever he does.

has been experimenting with himself since high school but college is where he really had started to crack down on himself. was out as pansexual & nonbinary by his sophomore year of college just … not to his parents, who don’t really need to know.

if you asked him if he believed in twins having a psychic connection with each other - he’d tell you he wouldn’t know. it felt believable at times, but sometimes he had no idea what was going on inside of tatiana’as head. on the other hand - viktor had always felt oddly transparent to her, like she knew all of his moves before he did. the only person who could predict him accurately.

( tw death, grief, overdose / hospitalization beyond this point )

when tatiana disappeared, viktor knew something was up. it was a twist in his gut, pure instinct that something wasn’t right. and it wasn’t right - and when she was proclaimed missing, they couldn’t find her.

and when tatiana died - viktor knew. it felt wrong, something cut so severely in him he could pinpoint her death to the second. he didn’t know how, or why, but he knew it. knew it before anybody else had.

afterwards he went on a sort of bender. he’d begun to struggle with a mild drug addiction late senior year of high school / early college, but he was managing it up until this point.

his mental health had also sunk to an all-time low, when it’d never been great to begin with. (manic & depressive episodes. once fixated on a sculpting project for six months and then knocked it off the table and destroyed it as soon as he finished it for no apparent reason.)

tatiana’s body wasn’t found immediately, and when it was … viktor went off the rails. ended up overdosing & being hospitalized. spent six months in & out of psychiatric care after that.

came back to yates to finish his senior year because … for the reasons above, he hadn’t been able to complete it. just wants to get his credits and get out of here.

is still dealing with a lot of trauma & grief - causes him to spiral and be unpredictable in regards of his mental health. he stopped taking his medication, so. :/ some days are alright, other days are pretty bad.

personality & facts.

the human embodiment of a gremlin that was fed after midnight. a goblin, if you will. one of those cats with a narrow head and really big ears … that’s them!

a big horror & halloween enthusiast. loves the old campy horror movies & probably has an abundance of masks from different movies. dresses like a grimy millennial beetlejuice more than they should because they just … love those black & white vertical-striped pants.

can appreciate the ~urban legends~ at yates and likes to feed into the fear that surrounds them. is probably the cause of a few ‘anomalies’ and ‘paranormal sightings’ because they’re just … a jerk.

fashion alternates between e-boy (they would be tiktok famous if they were 17 & didn’t think that a majorly minor based app was weird.), millennial beetlejuice, and goth in a crop top & sweatpants. big fan of crop tops and a big fan of sweatpants.

they can be really fucking mean? petty, aggressive, a major instigator. will literally spit in your face for little to no reason, you could just look at them the wrong way. the kind of person who will stick their gum into someone else’s hair. other than that? they’re like … sort of okay. they’re not always mean, just a dick about 90% of the time lmao

like okay yeah they’ll call someone a stinky bitch for no reason except they feel like it and believes it. it’s fine, they’re fine, we’re fine.

despite the fact that they’re probably getting into a fight whenever, considers themself to be a lover and not a fighter but that’a primarily because they fuck a lot. uses it as a coping mechanism, like they’re this big fancy carnival show that’s like ‘come one, come all! fuck the dead girl’s twin brother!’ and it’s … a lot. might have a problem with hypsersexuality but they’re not fully aware of it.

the preacher’s whore son, basically :)

pansexual & nonbinary, switches between he & they pronouns often and without a pattern, but they have such a fragile grip on their identity that you could call them ‘dog-faced bitch’ and they’d turn around like. sup.

vastly impulsive … like i said, they destroy their own creations for the fun of it. spends all their money on useless shit, will cheat on someone because they feel like it & likes the thrill, screams into the night sky frequently like a cat in heat.

will also spend months creating useless shit for no reason too. spent six of them sculpting a hollowed out tree the size of them & then took a sledgehammer to it.

they’re very super dramatic. would play the organ at church when nobody was looking after them and service was about to start. would just churn out these super haunting, creepy melodies like they were phantom of the opera. would do the same exact thing at home on their keyboard with the pipe organ setting whenever they got grounded until their parents took it away hbdsjfngkh

will absolutely not talk about their ‘time away’ because it’s not anyone’s business, not even their own younger sister. still refuses to talk about tatiana’s death, or their mental health, or their addiction (fallen back into it but it hasn’t gotten severe … yet :/), or anything involving their own emotions.

will just change the topic abruptly, no warning. asks about the jonas brothers instead and they fucking hate the jonas brothers.

that being said they’re absolutely not over tatiana’s death & it’s to the point of obsession over it. like there’s some kind of secret that needs to be uncovered, even though there just. isn’t. tatiana was their rock and they were pretty much dependent on her. kept them grounded. could control them when nobody else could, got into their head easier than others. it’s sort of like rosa lost two siblings that day because viktor hasn’t been the same since.

emotionally unavailable while also crying twice a day. cries during their brawls but still wins. is stony-faced when they tell you they cheated on you with your much hotter best friend.

will tell you straight up what they want from you, no bullshit & no beating around the bush. just blunt. if they want to fuck, nothing else, then that’s it. if they feel deviation or developing feelings then they’ll ghost in less than a second. is awful like that but feels no shame.

but also emotional as shit and it’s confusing. will cry on a whim and then flip you off if you try to console them or ask them what’s up. will bite you.

they go to therapy but they just fuck around and wastes their therapists’ time … also is fucking their therapist, but that’s neither here nor there. so they’re not really getting the help they need.

likes to be intimidating but not … with their body or anything because they’re a twig but uses their love & knowledge of horror and creepy shit to their advantage. has an abundance of fake blood. has channeled the energy of jack nicholson and used it on tatiana’s boyfriends before (also is a big fan of sfx makeup & has dabbled in it)

probably chases kids around with a chainsaw without the chain on halloween every year.

generally never doing good, both mental health wise & morally. would probably steal candy from a baby for funsies.

i don’t know if there’s a good to them somewhere deep down, but they don’t see any issues with themself either. nothing really breaks through to them anymore because the only person who ever made them stop and think about their actions was tatiana, and well, y’know. :/

an introverted reclusive type who doesn’t like most people or going out, but does so anyway if it means a quick high & a cheap thrill.

pretty observant and likes to analyze people even though they’re often like … partially wrong. judgmental because they like to make people feel bad, not because they’re a righteous mighty person. because they’re not. so like, a hypocrite!

wanted connections.

religious trauma? oh worm ;; three cheers fr <3 guilt <3 anyways uh. just people tht viktor hs known thru the church in some way even tho hes a fkn. freak now. maybe even family friends.

the horror of our love :/ ;; hmm. any romance tht cld b toxic i think this cld fit. just rly a bad fit. viktor doesnt rly know hw to love so nothing rly lasts bt. maybe they try n try n nothing works bt they keep trying. cld also just be anything unrequited.

little fkn gremlins ;; theyre all evil n mean. bt theyre all friends. <3

you are nothing ;; uuh. enemy plots. spicy enemies. rly bad enemies. rivals. they r brutal towards each other bcos nothing viktor does is ever soft.

fuck u dont pity me ;; uh. people who try to get close to viktor n he just. bites at them. he’s like no. bc he assumes ppl who r kind in response 2 his vileness r. theres smth wrong w them. n it might hv to do with pity. n he hates pity.

ugh. locals x ;; ppl who also grew up around preaker, vermont. the samuels r <3 well known folks n the uh. hm. the murder is an ongoing case. so they cld know abt it <3

dont tell anybody x ;; this is for soft plots. i dont know much about soft plots but.

maybe i am part of the problem ;; the problem is chlamydiagate. this is a hook-ups connection. fwbs n one night stands. ppl viktor hs brutally ghosted. he doesnt acknowledge their existence outside of these events, perhaps.

dont u just wna go apeshit ;; this is where viktor becomes a bad influence.

bt uh. anything. pelase

#yatesintro #death tw #grief tw #murder tw #addiction tw #drug abuse tw #hospitalization tw #overdose tw #hypersexuality mention #religion mention #zooweemama

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ks-caster · 4 years

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The 100 Season 7 Episode 4 - Post-Liveblog Recap

Okay, so I liveblogged an episode for the first time - and it turned out to be a nice way to stay focused through the commercial breaks. Might continue to do that for the rest of the season.

But TBH I started doing it just so I could bitch about the CLEAR AND BLATANT LACK OF A SCENE WHERE SANCTUM!KRU REALIZE THAT BELLAMY AND ANOMOLY!KRU ARE MISSING. That was an important scene that the whole fandom, more or less, has been waiting for the entire time for various reasons.

How do the characters react? Who figures out that something’s wrong first? Does Clarke sense Bellamy’s absence because they have a bond? Does Emori go looking for her space sister to comfort her other space sister only to find her missing?

(Actually, she does. That’s my headcanon and I’m sticking to it. Might fic later. Accounts for Emori’s complete absence while her bestie Raven is falling apart.)

Edit: here's the fic!

Anyway, back to the episode - whoever was in charge of editing really really dropped the ball. Missing realization scene, poorly ordered Raven and Clarke scenes. The music during the Dev-and-Hope montage was a nice touch but just too loud enough that I really had trouble telling what they were saying - and the pacing would have felt better with just one show of teenage!Hope before we got 20-year-old her. The cut from Orlando agreeing to train Anomaly!Kru to 5 years later was WAY too abrupt for me to get a feel for the character and relationship development that they were trying to shoehorn in in order to create conflict at the end. I got where they were going with everything, but in a I’m-reading-a-newbie-writer’s-fanfic-because-I-love-the-story-concept-and-want-to-support-them kind of way and not in a I’m-watching-a-show-made-by-experienced-professionals-and-paying-for-the-privilege-in-ad-revenue kind of way. Disappointing.

Jumping around here for a bit: I gotta say I’m loving the makeovers this season! Hair and makeup did a great job on bringing back the old Raven without losing the maturity they gave her, giving Murphy and Emori their Gucci Royalty Vibes without losing the feel of their individual styles, and making Hope look like she can’t find quite the balance between feral forest girl and innocent shut-in who can’t bear to take a life (which is accurate to her character, of course).

And Echo! So I really, really didn’t like her makeovers in seasons 5 and especially 6, because it felt like they were trying too hard to make her look pretty in a 21st Century kind of way. She looked softer, more vulnerable, which really contradicted her character traits - but I thought that might’ve been on purpose, to show a change in her (that she did indeed allow herself to become softer and more vulnerable for her family). And her post-time-skip (not that one. Or that one. The other one. There’s a lot of those. Bah.) look feels like a return to herself; she’s beautiful but in a no-nonsense, don’t-forget-I-can-cut-your-throat kind of way. (Is this because I just really love the butch look on woman and am myself a butch woman? Maybe. But that doesn’t mean I’m wrong.)

Side note: Where the hell did they get clippers on Penance? Those haircuts were entirely too even to have been done with scissors. I’ll buy that Gabriel and Orlando shaved their heads and their perfect round cuts were growout, but Hope and Echo? Electric clippers. Like I said I like the looks, but guys, there’s no way.

I liked that I got a better feel for Hope’s character this episode - she’s trying so hard to be like her mom and Aunty O and all the heroes they told her about when she was a child, but the truth is she’s been in one real battle, she froze, and her best and only friend died. And since her only role models were these incredibly strong people who didn’t give up, back down, hesitate, that wouldn’t be an easy thing for her to get over. (Given that Diyoza was pregnant with her for two entire seasons, I’d really like to have more time developing Hope’s character - or even the same amount of screen time but go easier on the timeskips, lol. She keeps having growth/maturity/life experience spurts so it’s hard to keep up with the development that we’re shown.

So, 5 (7? Wasn’t she 22? There’s still 2 years we missed right?) years after watching her friend die, and 5 (7?) years of blaming herself for freezing, she’s put into the same position, and she stabs some lady in the neck. Kid didn’t steal her coping mechanisms! All joking aside thought, the kid basically relived her trauma in real life - honestly her reaction was 100% valid.

I’m sure I’m supposed to be upset by Echo’s choice to kill the remaining gold-head people. But I think the only reason that’s supposed to bother me is that she promised (ish - she was real explicitly clear that she’d do what was necessary to rescue Bellamy and them were the breaks) Orlando that she wouldn’t. I think I’m supposed to care about the fractured relationship between AnomalyKru and Orlando.

I don’t. I don’t know if it’s the super-fast timeskip (it was weird enough to see the changed dynamics in SpaceKru when I deeply knew all of the characters AND we got time to see the changes play out) or the fact that I didn’t really get to know Orlando in a way that made me super sympathetic to him (I’ll get to that in a minute) or if it’s just that he was smart enough to know he was being played from the start (see Navy SEAL mom didn’t teach you how to swim and Echo again being 100% clear that killing people might still happen) and walked right in anyway. Either way, his betrayal wasn’t enough of a motivator for me as an audience member to be bothered about how things ended between him and AnomalyKru. I kind of shrugged and moved on.

More on Orlando... So The 100 has had several plotlines that center around people doing dangerous, terrible and downright ridiculous things because of their religions; see the kidnapping and conclave of freaking children killing each other to become commander, Gaia’s whole character arc + starting a new religion around Octavia/WonKru betraying that religion to go back to their old one centering on Madi, WHO IS GODDAMN TWELVE, all of Sanctum and season 6, the Sanctum conflict here in season 7, and now this goddamn Bardo Disciple shite.

Now I’m not dishing on real life religion or religious people - I happen to have one of those myself - but the plot of some-people-take-their-religion-way-too-far-drink-the-koolaid-and-hurt-people-around-them has been done and done and done on this show. And now here we have Orlando, who was a high-ranking member of his religion, drank the koolaid, cast out, still a true believer and therefore dangerous because his perspective is fundamentally skewed. I don’t know anything about this religion but that it’s militarized (they can arrest people) and think that sentencing people to 10 years of madness-inducing Geneva Convention violations and then bringing them back to their families two days later is okay. I don’t really want to know anything else, because I’m worried that the show is going to work hard on making this religion scarier than the Sanctum one (needing to one-up themselves with the big bad, of course) which just keeps making the commander religion look humane in comparison.

Which it wasn’t. But I digress.

So Orlando was kinda’ cool, but getting in too deep with a fundamentalist who was complicit in his own abuse by said religion (and so who knows what he thought was okay to do to other people) and then it ended badly.

Cue shocked Pikachu.

Moving on. Clarke. Baby. After the harrowing experience of the radiation destroying the radio so you couldn’t say goodbye to your mom when you were supposed to go to space, then missing your time window and getting left behind on Earth, and the radio broke them too so you couldn’t even be sure your friends would leave in time until they blasted off, and then calling Bellamy every day when you knew he couldn’t hear you, and ALL OF THE FREAKING LAST SEASON WHERE YOU WERE POSSESSED AND WOULD HAVE GIVEN ANYTHING TO LET YOUR FRIENDS AND DAUGHTER KNOW BOTH THAT THAT WASN’T YOU AND THEN LATER THAT YOU WERE ALIVE and THEN your MOTHER getting possessed and you had to check to see if it was really her and it WASN’T. Clarke.

After all that terrifying inability to communicate.

You leave Gaia behind to warn everyone of the danger. INSTEAD OF CALLING THEM ON A PIECE OF HANDY TECHNOLOGY OR TAKING A QUICK TRIP BACK YOURSELF. TO TELL YOUR DAUGHTER WHERE YOU WERE GOING. YOU DON’T THINK THAT MAYBE MAKING EXTRA SURE THAT EVERYTHING GETS COMMUNICATED CLEARLY AND IMMEDIATELY MIGHT BE A PRIORITY.

And then Gaia gets kidnapped. Honestly, cool! Not ‘cause I’m rooting for Gaia to be hurt (I don’t care all that much about her tbh) but I LOVE Indra and I want her to have more screen time and development this season - and or the chance to cut people up with her sword - and kidnapping her daughter seems like a great way to facilitate that.

*Looks at list* Oh, right, Jordan. I forgot you were here. Honestly I can’t figure out what the fuck is going on with you, and since I’ve had a whole season of not connecting with you because the story was too busy focusing on external plot... I don’t see that changing any time soon buddy. Sorry.

Oh and that FrEaKiNg PrOmO!

My garbage boy! My chaos gremlin! My excellent-at-impersonating-a-deity-even-if-it-goes-against-his-programming! What are they doing?!

I’m torn between NO DON’T HURT HIM and YES HURT HIM BECAUSE CHARACTER DEVELOPMENT AND BRAVERY BWAHAHAHA. At least I know there’ll be Murphy and hopefully Memori content in the next episode. That’s the good shit. It’s the only thing left about this show that still feels “pure,” not that I didn’t know what sort of darkness I was signing up for when I started but just because he and Emori are sort of the last light in the darkness, and it’s nice to get a break periodically.

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jinruihokankeikaku · 4 years

Note

I love your classpect analysis style, you’ve got a great framework for explaining things! I’d love to get your take on the Prince of Time if it’s not too much bother?👑🕰

Hey thanks!! I’m really glad u like my methodology ::::) And it’s not too much 8other at all!! Here’s my take on the…

Title: Prince of Time

Title Breakdown: One who actively destroys or destroys with [threatens, breaks, annihilates] Time [endings, death, rhythm, narrative, literal Time]

Role in the Session: Destruction Classes are always a volatile force in a session, but where Bards are capricious, Princes are simply explosive. The Prince of Time, as a Culminative-Conclusive Aspect with heavy themes of death, fire, and inevitability, is rendered further explosive by this harmony between their Class and Aspect. Nonetheless, like any other Prince, they will begin with a deficit of Time – they are, much like the Thief of Time, simply running out of it.

The Prince will feel, at first, paralyzed, trapped in any given moment, unable to take decisive action no matter how much they want to. This may not last, but it is certainly the case at first. As such, they might be compelled towards numerous creative endeavors, as a Space player might be, but because they are merely ghosting the Aspect these creations are unlikely to ever reach completion, or even come particularly close. The Prince will be therefore driven towards increasingly reckless courses of action, but might at first choke or freeze up at the deciding moment, and lose their opportunity. In order to overcome the absence of Time that’s stymieing their efforts, the Prince will have to act at the right moment, intervene in Time to prevent catastrophe. If the Prince of Time fails to break through this disorganization, this lack of rhythm, structure, and organization could send them into a downward spiral of continuing to ghost Space while further destroying Time (that is to say, wasting their time!) within themselves. They might go so far as to refuse to participate in the narrative of the game, attempting some novel personal project, doomed to failure, and abandoning their duty to the Alpha Timeline.

Time and Space, unlike the other ten Aspects, are given very specific duties by the game – the Space player must breed the Genesis Frog and create a new Universe; the Time player must preserve the Alpha Timeline’s integrity through strategic use of their ability to travel through time, and create, destroy, understand, exploit, manipulate, or appropriate doomed timelines. The Prince of Time, being as they are so volatile, is going to require some pressure to step into their role in the Game, but if and when they do, they will be remarkably good at their job. We’ve already covered “Destroying Time” and its possible negative consequences, if the Aspect-inverted Prince declines to change their ways and attain some focus, but “Destroying through Time” is a decidedly more positive function, and could mean any number of things. They might destroy Doomed versions of themselves, drawing on their power to prune down the number of Timelines and assure success at a particular class – or they may take the greater risk of creating and immediately sacrificing doomed clones of themselves, literally using these already-dead versions of themselves to attempt suicidal (but effective!) attacks, or to gain a few extra shots at destroying an enemy that won’t stay down. As soon as the Prince realizes that they can be the ones in control of what Time they do have, rather than fixating excessively on their (past or present, perceived or actual) deficit of Time, they will truly come into their own, becoming a Machiavellian plotter-extraordinaire with the power to decide which Timelines keep going, and which ones must die for the good of the team. As a side-note, I think this class, even more so than other Time players, would be inclined towards self-prototyping (for the sake of the team, one would hope they’d have the good sense to do that post-entry, as opposed to “the moment they see the Kernel”.

Speaking of Hope, Hope players tend to work well with Time players, and our Prince is no exception. The Prince would work especially well with a Seer or Sylph of Hope, I think, both of whom would be players inclined towards showing the Prince (and the rest of the team) that they have a chance of success within the Game’s narrative, and that there are things even in this grim post-eschatological landscape worth believing in. On the other hand, a Knight of Doom in cahoots with the Prince, while perhaps… less than beneficial during the early stages of the Game, would wreak havoc in the climactic confrontation with the Black King and/or Queen, by combining the Knight’s pragmatic attitude and strategic acumen with the Prince’s reckless, but certainly explosive, weaponization of Doomed clones.

Opposite Role: The Sylph of Space. Here we have a role that’s decently well-developed within the canon, through Kanaya Maryam. The Sylph of Space will likely try their best to guide the Prince, at first, but could quite possibly inadvertently guide them in the wrong direction, towards Space-inversion and unwitting self-sabotage. The Sylph of Space “heals or passively generates possibility, expansiveness, and … beginnings” which is… rather the opposite of what an under-developed Prince of Time needs. Sylphs are almost always well-intentioned, but in situations of direct or near-direct opposition like this, their meddling has the potential to do more harm than good – and even if they are sufficiently knowledgeable and well-realized as to do the right kind of healing (that is to say, excising the Prince’s excess Space rather than encouraging it to run rampant), the Prince’s backlash against said meddling would certainly do more harm than good. Player-versus-player violence is almost unequivocally Bad News™ for a Session’s chances at success.

God Tier Powers

I’ll keep it brief since this analysis is already running a bit long – Time is the Culminative-Conclusive-Actual Aspect, and it has strong associations with fire, rhythm, and the concept of doomed timelines (and death/narrative conclusion in general). Here are a few ways to bring those notions together…

Temporal Flames: The Prince induces imperceptible fractures in the timeline and grinds them together, generating both literal heat and an increasing rate of Temporal Anomalies (interpret that as you will), the longer they concentrate on this ability. Set enough of a Timeline on fire and you get a hole in the Timeline through which entities from the Furthest Ring, or more likely, another (Doomed) timeline might enter, and through which anyone else might fall. These ruptures would be localized – they aren’t instantaneously dooming the timeline they happen to occupy just by using this ability – but if it sounds disruptive, that’s because it is. Use With Caution.

The Killing Time: The Prince burns through Doomed clones like they were kerosene, unleashing a barrage of inter-timeline assaults against their hapless foe. Each Doomed clone sacrificed fuels the Prince’s own access to their Aspect, but reduces their control over it, given that they are, in a metaphysical sense, “killing the hostages” and thereby surrendering some of their leverage. In addition to being a line of attack in its own right, this self-destructive maneuver also fuels the Prince’s Temporal Flames, damaging the timeline and entities nearby at a frightening rate.

Cutting Room: Reality starts to drop frames in the presence of the Prince, allowing them and their attacks to occur at an accelerated rate due to the falling-away of infinitesimal bits of the timeline. This would be especially effective with firearms, and ranged weapons in general, as it would greatly magnify the rate and accuracy of projectiles’ connecting with their respective targets (at the cost of the occasional arrow, slug, shell, or laser-beam disappearing outright, from Time to Time.

Personality: The Prince of Time is likely to have an interest in music, but be unsatisfied with their own progress and lack the patience, at first, to deeply commit themselves to it. Their personal life is bound to be fraught, even by Time-player standards, and it wouldn’t be unlikely for the Prince to have experienced some childhood trauma that left them feeling as though they’re constantly racing against Time, or that wasting too much Time on any one endeavor is too great of a sacrifice. They might, unfortunately, grind away slowly at the patience of their personal friends or romantic interests, due to their initial lack of focus and extreme impulsivity. These are the main issues that our Prince will have to work past – their failure to engage with their Aspect due to trauma or isolation, and their inability to commit, not only to hobbies or relationships, but to their own plans and schemes post-Entry.

Songs: Well, as it happens, a couple of weeks ago, before I even started doin this Classpectin thing, I made a 10-track Prince of Time playlist, linked here. It shares one or two songs with other Time classes I’ve covered on this blog, but there’s also some new stuff there if you’re interested in checkin it out!!

Thanks again for the request!! As you can probably discern from, uhm, how very long I’ve gone on, I’m a big fan of this Classpect, and in fact suspected that it was my own, for a minute. Princes and Thieves do have a fair few things in common. As always, requests remain open (as of time of writing), and do send any questions you have re: this Role or others!!

~ P L U R ~

#yo-yo-in-attack-mode #ask #classpect #classpect analysis #time #prince #prince of time #Homestuck #class #aspect

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illwork4anime · 4 years

Text

Original Ch1 for Done with Love

@rebuildingkonohaonceagain requested this deleted chapter of done with love - so here it is! Read if you’d like!

Summary: Sakura saves a patient important to Shikamaru, then She and Shikamaru discuss how to get Sasuke back on her own.

I like this take, because it makes fun of Kishi’s Sakura a bit through Shika’s perspective and shows how I’d make her actually a good character instead of a love obsessed bimbo - hence the title “Done with Love’

Chapter 1 – Not Mine

Present Day

Sakura

REDACTED FIRST SCENE BUT SHE IS CAPTURED

10 months, 10 days ago

5:30 PM

Sakura

At some level, I've always felt my life was not mine.

As a child, my life had been lived for my parents, who loved me so fiercely. I'd been a miracle, they said. My mother never said so, but she had always loved kids and wanted several of her own. She'd babysit her friends' children and look at baby clothes just for fun. She volunteered at the children's wing of the hospital too. Only later would I learn my mother was afflicted with a disease rendering her infertile according to the doctors. I was a statistical anomaly and my mother's baby themed extra-curriculars were trying to fill a void that even I couldn't.

As a slightly older child, I'd lived for the sisterhood of Ino. She stood up to bullies for me and told me I was pretty. She was everything I needed and wasn't. Brave, caring, and so effervescent. If anyone truly lived for themselves, it was Ino, and I so desperately wanted to be like her.

Then, in the golden years of the academy, I met Sasuke and unwittingly gave my life to 'love'. More accurately to an unhealthy infatuation with Sasuke. What girl my age hadn't? All it cost was my relationship with my best friend, Ino, and any chance I had to be taken seriously as a ninja. Looking back, what a rip off. Girls do the stupidest things in the name of love. Hear a rumor Sasuke likes long hair? Grow your hair long even though it makes taijutsu practice a nightmare. Hear Sasuke likes delicate hands? Well, better do half hour-long skin treatments in the evening and skip out on kunai target practice whenever possible.

It wasn't until the Chunnin exams that I really realized how much I'd screwed myself. Even then, I'd doubled down on 'loving' Sasuke. When he left us, I clung to my love for him and let it motivate my life. I'd get stronger and work with a legendary Sannin myself and someday, I'd bring him home. He'd see how devoted I was throughout it all and he'd respect me for that until eventually that grew into love. We'd start a family and be together forever.

So misguided, right?

As I sit here in my office at the hospital, trying to fill out my charts from my shift, I can't help but chuckle at my own naivety. That was a dream.

And I am finally awake.

I dip my hand in to my lab coat, tracing the note there. The one I found when I 'woke up'. When I broke into Sasuke's childhood home, mourned him, and left him there with the rest of those broken dreams.

I was done with love. I was done with it running my life and I was ready to live for what I wanted. And what I wanted was my family back – my team 7 home. That meant Naruto no longer reckless and desperate for Sasuke, and for his only to focus to be on becoming Hokage. For Kakashi, to stop sulking around the village, hung up on another failure of a student.

I want to stop Sasuke from hurting my precious people. Mine not his.

But first, I want to go home, eat some takeout, and have a bubble bath because it's been a long day. Only 3 charts stand in my way.

When I finish them, I stretch my hands over my head, trying to straighten the hunch in my back from slaving over paperwork. Gathering the files, I make my way to the hallway.

"Thanks for your help today, Kanna," I hear the new girl, Ami, say to the plump, middle age nurse as they make their way toward me.

"Of course, dear. We'll done." She says with a motherly smile. Kanna notices me and gives a wave. "Ah, Sakura. Headed out for the day?"

I nod. "Sure am. I've got a hot date with some fried rice." I say smiling.

Ami looks disappointed, "Careful now. If you keep dating fried food, you'll end up like me some day." She gestures to her round figure and the comment makes me feel uncomfortable.

"If I end up being half the woman you are, I'd be quite happy with that," I say encouragingly.

"That's very flattering, dear," Kanna replies looking not the least bit flattered. "But take it from me, men taste much better than fried food. Fewer calories too."

Kanna's following wink has Ami and me turning scarlet.

"I – uh," I stutter not quite knowing what to say to that. "I'm not sure I have time for a relationship right now."

"Come now," she dismisses my excuse, "There's more to life than working at the hospital. Plus, it doesn't have to be anything serious! Women have certain needs too, you know."

Ami looks ready to faint. I decide to not so subtly change the subject.

"So, Ami, good first day then?" I say sweetly. Ami nods, smile coming back to her face.

"Yes, its been wonderful. Thank you for asking. Everyone has been really kind and helpful." She said gratefully, "Plus, it's been such a slow day-,"

"No, Ami!" Kanna interjects, "Look what you've done. You've jinxed us all!"

Ami looks surprised again and looks between me and Kanna looking for a clue to what she said wrong.

"Jinxed us?" She squeaks.

"If you learn nothing else today, remember this: never ever say 'its been a slow day'. That's how you get slammed with new intakes and stuck here until 2 am." Kanna scolds back.

"Oh, you don't really believe that, right?" Ami tries to laugh off the mistake. She throws a pleading look to me, like I'll be more reasonable. "That's just an old wives' tale."

I just shrug and say, "I'm sorry, but she's right. Its been scientifically proven. I even had my intern last year do a study and the findings were actually-,"

I was cut off by the slam of doors flying open at the end of the hall. Three nurses pushed a stretcher toward us, voices breaking the quiet.

"Here, take these to the record room," I say shoving my charts into Ami's arms. She looks shocked white. "Kanna, you're with me."

"Yes, ma'am." She says, shooting a mild glare at Ami before following me to commotion.

As I arrive, recognize that woman on the stretcher immediately and suppress the emotional response that spikes up. It's Kurenai-sensei.

I note one nurse is holding hemostatic gauze to her chest while another tries to attach a blood-pressure cuff. The third is driving the stretcher, reporting her heartrate states from the EKG. I turn to him and say, "What are we dealing with here?"

"Haruno-san," He looks relieved, "Puncture wound to the chest, possible internal bleeding in the abdomen. Heart rate is dropping, but doesn't appear to be damaged from the puncture wound."

"Poison?" I ask.

"No, it was a training exercise." He answers. Good, that makes things easier.

"Head to surgical room 5. Kanna, take the puncture wound. Stop the bleeding," I announce and turn to the nurse struggling with the BP cuff, "Get me those BP stats, ASAP."

I don't wait for her confirmation and order administration of an anti-coagulant before pressing a charka gloved hand onto Kurenai's abdomen. It's not good.

There's massive internal hemorrhaging crushing her insides. It thrums with each pump of her heart. Something else as is thrumming as well. A flutter like a hummingbird's wings smothered underneath the blanket of blood.

"Stop the coagulant!" I cry, eyes flying open, "She's pregnant."

Sakura

10:30 pm

While it's not quite 2 am when we finish, the surgery takes me well past the end of my shift. We got Kurenai-sensei stabilized with no harm to her child, but it wasn't easy. I'm dead on my feet, as is the rest of my staff.

I address Kanna as we disrobe out of our PPE, "Let's keep her 3 days for observation. I want to make sure the baby is alright. She appears stable now, but sometimes there's delayed trauma that can terminate."

Kanna nods, "I'll tell the attending right away."

I smile weakly, "Thanks Kanna."

"Now go home! You're late for your date." She says winking. I laugh.

"See, isn't it lucky I don't have some poor guy waiting on me? This is why I don't date." I joke.

This time her smile is full of pity and I regret making the joke at all.

"Haruno-san?" An aid named Daichi calls into the surgical room, head swiveling until he finds me by the sinks. I wave him over.

"There's a young man pacing in the waiting room. Shikamaru Nara, I think. He came in with the patient." He says. Its customary for the attending physician to give an update once patents have stabilized, but as he looks me up and down taking in the exhausted expression on my face and my hunched shoulders, he asks, "Should I send a nurse for an update?"

If she hadn't know Shikamaru personally, she would have readily agreed, but this kind of news was better coming from a friend.

"Not necessary, Daichi," I answer, "Shikamaru's a friend. I'll see to him as soon as I'm finished here."

He nods and leaves.

Kanna elbows me in the side, "Looks like you might have a date after all."

I roll my eyes at her yell, "Go home, Kanna!" over my shoulder as I leave to the waiting room.

When I arrive, Shikamaru is easy to spot. As Daichi said, he's pacing back and forth I the rear of the waiting room, his spiky ponytail bobbing with each turn. I don't think I've ever seen him so worked up.

I call to him as I approach, and it startles him out of his state of worry.

"Sakura!" he says, "Is Kurenai alright? Tell me everything's alright."

I give him my best reassuring smile and say, "Yes, she's stable Shikamaru. It was a tough surgery, but she's a fighter."

People love to hear that their loved ones are 'fighters' I've noticed. It gives them some feeling of control over something that is so often uncontrollable. Shikamaru was no different as he relaxed slightly.

"And the baby?" He asks. This surprises me. How did Shikamaru know this before I did? I may socially live under a rock here at the hospital, but if news like that was public knowledge, then Ino would have called me right away to gossip. Then I remembered Kurenai's chart. The emergency contact listed as Asuma Sarutobi, crossed out with Shikamaru's name and number listed below. Asuma had entrusted Kurenai and her child with Shikamaru, it seemed.

"The baby is also stable," I say and his shoulders finally go slack as he collapses into one of the plastic chairs lining the walls. I slide into the one next to him and continue, "We need to keep her here under observation for a few days. Sometimes there is a delayed response to acute trauma and the child's condition turns for the worse. We're closely monitoring her and the baby to make sure this doesn't happen."

Shikamaru nods, and it seems he's only half listening to my words.

"Can I see her?" He asks, but I shake my head.

"No visitors until morning. I'm sorry, but she needs to rest right now." I say. He just drops his head in his hands and takes a deep breath.

"I really screwed up, Sakura." He whispers. I place a hand on his arm.

"Don't beat yourself up. Everything's fine. Kurenai's fine." I try to reassure him.

He looks up at me, eyes holding a strange reverence I've never seen from him.

"I owe you one, Sakura." He says. Now that she had heard before. She almost says 'its nothing', but it isn't nothing.

"I'll send you this bill later, then, okay?" I say with another soft smile.

"I'm serious," He says, upset by my joking tone. "A life debt. I owe you a life debt."

Coming from someone like Shikamaru, I know he's serious, but that weight behind his words and the look on his face have me shifting uncomfortably in my seat. This is just my job, and I don't keep tallies for wins, loses or debts. The scales never quite even out when I do.

"How about we just start with a drink?" I say lightly. "I think we both could use one."

Shikamaru

10:45 PM

I've never really enjoyed the company of Sakura Haruno. She'd always been lumped into the under-achieving, Sasuke loving fan club that was too much of a headache to pay attention to. Instead, he was force fed all his updates about her from Ino. There was constantly something to be up in arms about but never anything of real importance. Mostly he equated her presents to a fruit fly buzzing around in his periphery. Annoying, but easy to ignore.

He remembered the first time he was impressed with a Sakura related update. After Sasuke left, she had landed an apprentice with the legendary Tsunade herself. Other than that, he hadn't really given her a second thought.

But when he heard her call his name in the waiting room, all the little bits of information jealously relayed through Ino added up to one single emotion – relief. Sakura had made something of herself and Shikamaru didn't know what he would have done had she not been there.

As they entered a late-night food stall with excellent Takoyaki and Sake, he was once again reminded of how little he really knew about Sakura. The old Sakura would have chattered away, filling any silence she could with inconsequential self-centered information which would eventually lead back to Sasuke. But this Sakura wasn't like that at all.

She had been mostly quiet during the walk over, beginning with some additional facts about Kurenai's condition which he only half understood. Then sensing his disengagement with the subject, she asked if he a favorite food stands he like to visit.

Which led them here.

The sake comes first, and I drain one saucer, then two. It steadies my nerves just as he hoped. I feel her eyes on me, but Sakura doesn't comment. Instead, I see her lift her saucer in a 'cheers' motion before draining it as I had. She smiles until her stomach grumbles loudly and she her face goes red.

"Sorry – I haven't eaten since lunch!" She explains. "My shift was supposed to be over at 6:00 and I was going to grab dinner but then, um, you know." I nod sparing her.

"You forget Chouji's my best friend. I'm used to hearing that sounds every hour on the hour."

"I'm not sure being compared to Chouji really makes me feel any better." She says carefully, with a laugh.

"Well, I'd compare you to Ino, but I'd probably get punched for it later." I say and she laughs again.

Our Takoyaki comes, just as I feel myself loosening up a little. It feels like I'm talking to a stranger and I've never been good at small talk. It doesn't seem to matter though, because Sakura is fully fixated on the food in front of her, popping the first Takoyaki in her mouth with a groan.

"This is either the best Takoyaki in the village, or I'm way more famished than I thought" She says.

"Hunger is the best seasoning," I say lamely. She doesn't make fun of me like I expect though.

"Is that another Chouji thing?" She asks, "He might be far wiser than we ever believed."

I chuckle a bit at that. She's kind of funny, and the light-heartedness is exactly what I need right now.

"Please never tell him that. I would totally go to his head and I don't need any more self-confidence on my team." I say.

"Right, I think Ino has enough for all three of you," She says, understanding my reference right away.

I grunt in agreement and take a bite.

She waits until she halfway through her plate before saying, "So, what have you been up to? I haven't seen you in forever."

"Mostly doing paperwork for the Hokage. It appears I'm her lap dog now." I say more sarcastically than bitter. It occurs to me that being the Hokage's apprentice, that's probably something Sakura already knew. Just like she also knows I'm off field work for the next month for bereavement after Asuma's passing.

"I know how that feels," Sakura commiserates. "What does she have you working on?"

This Sakura must also already know but I answer anyway, "Mostly doing analysis on upcoming Chunin. I go over their strengths and weakness, then make recommendations on training routines to help round them out. I also suggest team assignments for mission requests, but I think this is mostly an exercise in mentoring the younger generation."

She makes a thoughtful sound then says, "That doesn't sound like something you'd be very into."

I raise an eyebrow at her and she adds, "Not saying you wouldn't be great at it! Just seems like you wouldn't be into mentoring is all."

I ponder this for a moment and realize Sakura is probably dealing with the same challenges I am, trying to reconcile the lazy, reclusive boy with the person Shikamaru is now.

"I actually like it better than I thought I would." I explain, "Asuma-sensei actually taught me that the next generation is what's worth protecting and shaping them is our duty as Jonin."

"Well, I think he'd be proud of what you're doing her Shikamaru." She says encouragingly. I fiddle with the empty cup in my hand and blanch at the sappiness of it. Somethings haven't changed, I guess.

"What about you?" I change the subject, "how is the hospital?"

I expect her to smile and gush about how great it is working for the Hokage and saving lives, but she doesn't.

"Its…Its good." She finally says. "Its rewarding, but I miss field work and going out with a team, you know? Its just a little lonely training by myself."

"That's right, Naruto's back out with Jiraiya." I suddenly feel a little like an ass for talking so much about my team.

"Yeah, but don't get me wrong, I'm really happy for him." She says, "Its such a great opportunity and he needs to do it."

I nod.

"I guess what I'm trying to say is I wish I got out of the hospital more. I get a lot of flak from the older nurses for not having a social life or a boyfriend." She rambles a little bit, showing some signs of discomfort at having to explain herself.

I have no interest in talking about her dating life so I say, "Do you feel like you've peeked at the hospital then?"

"Exactly!" She looks relieved, "I feel like there's nothing more to learn there, but I'm stuck. I just want to move on to the next chapter like Naruto and…" Sasuke. She doesn't say it but I know that's what she's thinking.

"And I just need to, like, move on," She finishes instead.

I just nodded and take another drink. Its not clear if she's talking about moving on from the hospital or Sasuke at this point. Either way, I'm not good with advice, so I don't say anything. There's a few moments of silence before Sakura turns to me again with a look of excitement that has me instantly on guard. It's the same look Ino has before she forces him to do something reckless and utterly troublesome.

"Do me," Sakura says, her eyes lighting up. I sit up, a blush spreading across my cheeks.

"I'm – um, what?" I stammer.

"Do me," Sakura says with more conviction, "So I can get unstuck and move on."

I tug at my collar a bit, my throat feeling a little tight, "Look I'm sorry if I've sent you some mixed signals here, but I'm not interested in a hook-up and I don't think that's a healthy way for you to 'move on'."

This time Sakura stiffens with a blush.

"What?" she exclaims, and I can see the wheels turning in her mind, going over what she's said again, "No. No, no, no." She said waving her hands in front of her as if clearing the air of an unpleasant smell.

"I meant, analyze me. Like you do for the chunin you mentor." She clarifies, unable to look me in the eye.

"Oh - well, sure." I said quickly, turning into my drink to avoid eye contact as well. Normally I'd be annoyed at a request like this, but anything to change the subject from a drunken hook-up with Sakura Haruno.

"What are your goals?" I ask quickly. She takes a beat to catch up with the misdirection, then responds.

"To bring Sasuke back home," She answers. She doesn't ponder, but that doesn't surprise me. Though a lot has changed, I understand that this fundamental part of who Sakura is probably never will. I imagine that phrase constantly running in the back of her mind until it fades into the subconscious like the sound of your own heartbeat.

"What a surprise," I drawl sarcastically. Her eyes narrow as I've obviously hit a nerve, but she waits for me to continue. "And how do you plan to achieve that goal?"

Her certainty stutters. "Well, I have to get stronger. Strong enough to stand shoulder to shoulder with Naruto and Sasuke. Then we can bring him home together and be a team again."

I want to bang my head against the table at how unrealistic this idea was. This was going to be harder than I thought. Still better than talking about her dating life, I remind myself. Also, somehow this is much better than the niceties and small talk from before.

"Okay, but how will you bring him home?" I reiterate.

"I just told you," She says annoyed.

"No, what you told me is an intention or an idea. I want details. What are your steps to achieving that idea? What's your plan?" I continue.

She sits there for a few seconds, waffling. "Um, I-I'm not sure."

I raise an eyebrow, "I find that hard to believe. You've been obsessing about this for over 2 years."

"I haven't been obsessing, okay? I've been training. That's my plan. I'm getting stronger, so I don't get left behind anymore by them" She replies.

"That's a good first step." I conceded, trying to placate her a little. Last thing I need is her getting too worked up, punching me in the gut and storming off leaving me with the bill. I try a different approach, "When you imaging bringing Sasuke home, what does it look like? What happens?"

Her cheeks turn pink again, and she starts with what I assume is a heavily edited daydream.

"Well, usually there are two scenarios. In one, Sasuke comes home on his own, having escaped Orochimaru after realizing that snake only wanted him as a vessel and that the only real way to defeat Itachi is with me by his side." Her eyes were focused in the distance, far away from reality. "And Naruto! I mean. Not, um, just me by his side. With Team 7 by his side." She corrects.

I struggle to keep from rolling my eyes. I was totally right about the daydream.

"The second, Naruto and I find Sasuke in the sound village. We try to convince him to come home, but he doesn't listen, and we fight. With two against one, we eventually ware him down, and offer him another chance to come home. He realizes he was wrong about cutting his bonds and accepts. Or we just kick his ass and drag him back." She finishes with a self-satisfied smile.

What a fairytale, rose-colored, underdeveloped plan. A fantasy and nothing more. I am in over my head. Telling her as much would certainly land him with a broken bone or two, so he redirected her.

"Okay, let's focus on the second scenario. I think we can both agree that this is the more likely of the two." I start. She looks like she does not agree, but I continues anyway, "There are two things to consider further. How do you get to the start of this encounter and what happens after. Let's start with the start. In this scenario, how do you get to find Sasuke in the sound village?"

"On a retrieval mission from Tsunade-Sama," She answers. Of course, she would pick the most by the book option.

"And who normally goes on retrieval missions for missing-nin?" I ask, not missing a beat.

"Well, that depends on the missing-nin and what skillset is needed" She says stubbornly, but she knows what I'm getting at.

"What rank, Sakura?" I say, not giving her an out this time.

"ANBU black ops. Hunter-nin." She answers, but quickly adds, "But this is different. Tsunade would make an exception. Naruto has the nine-tails and she trained me herself, so-,"

"Even if she wanted to," I cut in, "She couldn't make that exception. The council wouldn't let her."

Sakura doesn't answer, but she frowns telling me she knows this is true.

"If you wanted to get the mission legally, you'd have to be accepted into ANBU and then petition Tsunade to grant you the mission." I explain.

Sakura's mind snagged on one word, "Legally?"

I nod. "That's the only legal way for you to get assigned such a mission. The other option is to defect, become a missing-nin yourself."

"No," She refuses, "that's out of the question." I nod again, unsurprised by her stubborn rejection.

"Then you're looking at one to two years to build up mission requirements to enter the Jonin exams. You have to pass on the first go, a 50% probability given passing rates of the exam. Then, a minimum of 3 years to get noticed for recommendation to ANBU. For those not from a clan and with no kekkei genkai, it's more likely double that. Total, it'd be at least 7 years before you could go after him with the village's approval." I finish.

"I can't wait that long!" She exclaims, "We only have a year left before Orochimaru takes Sasuke as his vessel. It has to be before then."

I raise my hands in a gesture of surrender, "Don't shoot the messenger. I'm just stating the facts here."

"I know," She is quiet a long moment. "I know."

I finish off my drink, pouring another sake for myself and topping off Sakura's. Her plate is finished, and she's fiddling with her chop sticks. I can see she's struggling with what I've laid out. I get it. She didn't want to defect and turn her back on her home, family and friends. Sasuke had nothing to lose when he left Konoha behind, but Sakura had everything.

"I'm not afraid to work for it, but," She trailed off, killing her full glass before continuing. "I want nothing more than to help Naruto bring him back, but I can't throw everything away. I want to be strong enough to put everything I have on the line for the people I love, but I can't. I can't go down the same path as Sasuke without somehow becoming him, or at least letting him control my life again, you know?"

I don't fully get that but nod anyway. I can tell she is feeling the sake now, because her words are more rapid and smear together a little.

I take another long drink from my glass before laying out the plan that I find most optimal.

"There is one more way," I say, not looking at her. "It's still difficult and with the one year time limit, you might be cutting it close. Its not exactly legal either, but if you pulled it off, you wouldn't be labeled a missing-nin."

I glanced at her from the corner of my eye to find her hanging on my every word.

"As you are now, a chunin, it's extremely rare to go on solo missions. Even if you do get one, its only for a day or two and very close to the boarder. For Jonin, however, its not uncommon to have a month-long solo mission in remote countries like Wave or Sound. I'd say about 30% of current A-rank missions meet these criteria." I state.

She nods, "So, what's your point?"

"If you were to make Jonin, and get assigned to one of these, it would be possible to take a," I search for the appropriate word, "- detour to find him. Given the timeframe and location of the mission, that would be easy to cover up by reporting a slightly different version of the events. Say Sasuke ran into you and you had to engage him. At that point, it's required to attempt to bring him back as long as it doesn't jeopardize the primary mission. The only person who would refute you would be Sasuke, but I doubt they'd put much stock into what he has to say." I say.

"Shikamaru, that's brilliant!" Sakura gushed. "I'd be able to bring him back without leaving the village."

"Don't get ahead of yourself. It's not that easy," I try to temper her joy. "There's still a lot of unknowns and things that could go wrong to get there."

Sakura isn't deterred, "As long as I work my hardest, I can get there. Or at least I'll know I did everything I could."

I let out a laugh, "Haven't you heard the phrase 'work smarter not harder'?"

"Yes, and I get the feeling that's your nindou, Shikamaru." She teased.

"Something like that." I mutter, feinting slightly that I'm put out.

"I'll need your help then, Shikamaru." She says with sudden soberness. "If I'm going to pull this off, I need you to help me strategize. To see the obstacles in my way and help me think of ways around them."

"Absolutely not," I say, without hesitation, "This is a fun little exercise, but that's all. You aren't seriously considering it?" I say, but the sinking feeling in my stomach tells me I know full well she is taking every word I've said tonight at face value.

"I am, and I'm not drunk enough to be convinced otherwise." She says, "But you seem to be forgetting something. You owe me a favor." Her grin is positively Cheshire.

"This is a little much –," I protest.

"You said a life debt. This is well within that definition. You are helping me save Sasuke's life." She counters.

"And you are also forgetting something," I remind her, more force behind my words this time. "We've only gone over half the story. These are the events leading up to you confronting Sasuke. What are you going to do afterward? I don't see a lot of positive outcomes here, Sakura."

"Then explain it to me." She says, not backing down.

I sign a longsuffering sigh, knowing I'm going to regret this later. More than I already do.

"Sasuke isn't going to come back to the village by force. Even if you, how did you put it, 'kick his ass and drag him back', as soon as he is well enough, he will leave again. Even if he didn't, you wouldn't be a team again because he will most likely be imprisoned for some time, then on a probationary period as a genin. Probably capped at chunin rank for life."

Sakura carefully considers my words. "You're right."

That surprises me, probably the first time she's agreed with me all night.

Sakura continues, "Unless he comes willingly, there's no point in forcing him back, but I don't care about the probation. Naruto is willing to wait as long as it takes to be a team again. Even if we don't go on missions anymore, we can still be a team. We can still be together."

My initial reaction is to groan. Just sappy. Totally sappy. But, I give it a moment to sink in and think about my own team. They are a family and if I was in Sakura's shoes, I'd probably feel the same.

"Fair enough," I grunt. "What a drag. Persuading him to come back would be ten times harder than using force. It might even be impossible."

"Come on, Shika. Nothing's impossible with your mind on the case." She said a little too sweetly.

"Shika?" I wince, "If you're trying to butter me up, that's not going to work. You were better off your original approach– emotional blackmail."

Even with the duplicitous tone, her smile is genuine. It stops my heart for just a beat. Her cheeks are still rosy from the drink, hair tied back in a messy knot that leaves carefree strands swinging around her face, and her jade eyes sparkle.

I can't remember the last time I'd seen such a look on her, or anyone's face for that matter, directed at me. I'd seen her smile though tears often enough, and though I'd never say it to her face, she is an ugly crier. There was the exhausted but satisfied smile as she left the hospital. Also, a sterile, polite smile she gives to acquaintances or strangers as they passed in the Hokage's office. Even the comforting, professional smile of a doctor reassuringly delivering Kurenai's progress report. Never this.

This is lightning across her face - lighting up with unadulterated excitement and crackling with conspiratorial comradery that bordered on flirtation. Was it her one hundred percent focus on me, the way she was hanging on my every word, or the proximity in the tiny food stand that has me feeling drawn in by her? I strangely want to lean closer and –

"Better than slapping you across the head until you help me!" She says in an innocent, sing song voice. (AN: GOD I HATE THAT LINE. OH WELL)

And there it goes.

"God damn it, Sakura! Don't even joke about that," I say, pulling away from her as much as the seat will allow. She just laughs and waves off the joke.

"One way or another, I know you love to strategize, Shikamaru." She says, mercifully using my full name. "This might be enough of a challenge to catch your interest even without blackmail."

"Don't count on it. You forget how lazy I am, and this sounds like too much work to be bothered." I say brushing her off.

"Humor me here. How would you do it? How would you convince him to come back?" She says, tone coming back to serious again.

I think quietly for a minute. Then another.

"Don't fall asleep on me," She says, impatient.

"I'm thinking, woman," I snap.

"Then think out loud." She replies. I mutter 'troublesome women' under my breathe but comply with her request.

"From Sasuke's perspective, he left for revenge on Itachi, or rather strength to carry out the revenge. He won't want to come home until this is complete. He's made it clear several times that he's discarded his bonds and even Naruto couldn't convince him otherwise. So, any offers to help him will be disregarded."

"Well, obviously," Sakura says with a little too much force. I ignore her tone.

"The easiest course would be to wait until he's completed his revenge and confront him then." I conclude.

"We can't wait that long," Sakura counters, "Naruto will want him home before Orochimaru tries to use him as a vessel."

"Honestly, if I were Sasuke, I'd be planning to kill Orochimaru the second I surpass him, well before Orochimaru tries anything." I say candidly.

"Yes," Sakura gasps, "He wouldn't just turn over. He'd fight."

"Exactly. Sasuke's smart and wouldn't trust Orochimaru to kill Itachi after the body transfer is complete." I add on. "Let's assume this is the case."

"We can't," She interjects, "I want to believe Sasuke could kill Orochimaru, but what if he fails. Naruto would want to be there to help him."

"I don't think that's wise. You'll just be two more people Sasuke is trying to fight." I respond.

Sakura lets out a frustrated huff, "Then why don't we just kill Itachi ourselves?"

Even though I'm sure she said it sarcastically, I dismiss the idea. "I don't think that's an option either. Too big a risk he'd just hate you guys forever and never return home. Even if we framed it on someone else, he would just have a new target."

"What are you trying to say then? That waiting is the only option and I should just give up?" She raises her voice a little too loud and the stall owner shoots a glance our way. I give him a smile back that says 'everything's fine here' and he turns away again.

I lean forward and say quietly, "Yes, that's exactly what I said in the beginning, but you wouldn't accept that."

When this doesn't change her expression, he continues, "There is one more thing I can think of, but you'll never go for it and neither would I."

I wait for her to say something and after a moment she prompts, "Well? Let's hear it!"

"We could offer Naruto as bait if he leaves. You could help lure Itachi to Sasuke since we know Akatsuki is after the nine-tails," I'm practically whispering. This is not something I should even be saying out loud.

"No," she whispers sharply, understanding the gravity of the idea. "How could you even think that?"

"I warned you that you wouldn't like it," I grumble, "I'm just trying to show you how few options you have here, and that the ones left aren't favorable. You will have to get your hands dirty here Sakura. One way or another."

She hisses out a breath, "I know. But I won't give up until I find a way to do this as clean as possible. I won't throw away my future for Sasuke anymore. I don't want to betray the village or Naruto for this."

"I know," I say with a sympathetic look. "I get it, I really do. But until we get more information or think of a way to convince Sasuke to give up his revenge, there's no way forward."

"More information…to convince him," Sakura mumbles, and dips a hand in the pocket of her coat. The pulls a piece of folded paper out, but doesn't open it. She mumbles something under her breath he can't quite catch.

"What was that?" I ask.

"I can do it." Sakura says with resolve. She grabs the paper and gestures with it, "I can get more information to convince him to give it up. I think I have a lead. I just need time,"

"Sakura, as you've said multiple times this evening, we don't have time here." I say sarcastically. That and I'm quite certain there is no new information out there to convince the only man more bull headed than Naruto to abandon his lifelong mission of revenge.

"Okay, fine. Here's the deal," She says, squaring up with me on her stool, "You be my mentor and help me strategize to get into the next Jonin exams. We agreed this was the first step regardless of what we plan to do after the confrontation with Sasuke. While I train, I'll keep looking for more information, for something big enough to convince him to stay. Once I have it, I'll do as you said and slip away during a long solo mission nearby the Sound Village. With whatever 'emotional blackmail' I uncover, I confront him and do my best to convince him to come home." She explains.

It was a terrible, awful plan. There were way to many what-ifs to be reliable. I pick one hole and probe.

"And if you don't find more information to convince him?" I ask, with no confidence that something like that exists.

"Then you win, and we wait Sasuke out. We monitor what he's up to and intercept him after he's finished with Itachi if he doesn't come back on his own." She reasoned. "No harm done if I get a promotion out of it anyway. And it will make it easier to track his movements, should it come to that." She tacks on at the end.

There is a tense moment as I mull over her words. Not like I really had a choice, here. I did owe this woman a life debt.

"Alright, deal." I grumble finally, "Damned if I do, damned if I don't."

Sakura lets out a relieved, heady laugh, and throws her arms around me with so much force, I'm almost knocked off my bar stool.

"Thank you!" She breaths out, pulling back. My cheeks grow warm, surprised by her outburst and the sudden physical contact. "Let's get me promoted!"

"They won't know what hit them," I say sarcastically, trying to make my reluctance known. Then, she's giving me that lightning grin again and I can't help but recognize those words I spoke are true, because I certainly didn't know what hit me either.

#DWL #Deleted chapter #done with love #beginning sucks so just skip to the Shikamaru POV

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